So, it’s Monday morning yesterday like it is most Tuesdays, and I am heading to work late as per usual. Coming around the corner from the F Train stop is a super pretty, raven haired girl in her mid twenties, who gives me a look. I thought I was looking pretty OK as I stepped from the home after having kissed my adorable wife and hyper cute little 2 year old boy goodbye. It was chilly. It was Spring. And as I locked eyes with this wonderful looking young woman, I gave her my model squint (having once been the type of boy who in his late teens and early 20s considered modeling an option) and the pursed lip, cocky grin. She returned that look in kind and one-upped me with an up-and-down look over before she disappeared behind me forever. It was a nice way to start the day.

Then, I step onto my waiting subway car and realize I have walked into a vortex of pretty girls! The sun was out and streaming through the streaked grime of the subway car’s windows. You could see everyones’ clear eyes as they swept the car to look at those around  them and see if those around them were looking back. I had the new Gorillaz album pumping through my iPod, Melancholy Hill, the standout on Plastic Beach. I was feeling good and acting all lothario like. These pretty girls, one young and breezy with a big French cum Williamsburg scarf on, one half-Japanese and tall with curly pulled back hair and another with porcelain skin and a ponytail so tight she must have been a ballerina at some point, were all looking around to see who was worth looking at. None of them knew I was a toothless tiger with a ring, child, mortgage, a 1998 Honda Civic and an advanced case of male pattern baldness underneath my new hat. And for a moment I was all too self-aware of my little life, taking the train every morning to 23rd street to begin my toiling for another day and another paycheck. I had my lunch in my back pack along with a second hand Q Magazine, and I was wondering what was it all for, and how long can I take this, and do I really have to go deal with all those assholes at work…but then the easy, breezy vaguely French girl gave me a little half smile. I had been starring at her without seeing her as I drifted off into my reverie. Her smile brought me back to myself. The better self of mine that allows me to keep things in perspective, and doesn’t allow self-doubt and monotony to rule the day. And that, mixed with the sweet synth pop percolating in my head made the day seem wide open.

The pattern continued as we were disengourged at 23rd street. I had lost half-Japan at West 4th with a pleasant look over the shoulder before she boarded her connection. Easy Breezy and the Ballerina each headed in opposite directions and were swallowed by the crowd. As I topped the steps out into the daylight, a tall model-ly looking girl with really long legs in very white pants gave me a look as I was looking at her. Nobody minds being checked out by someone else as long as we like the look of whomever it is doing the checking. We only really get upset or put out when we are being perused by someone we don’t like the look of, and then we can invent all manner of probable problems in our vain little heads - all that amounts to is a little less than our morning commute. Most days you don’t even remember it, but occasionally with the help of a pretty girl and kind smile we can cast off our excessive Monday morning baggage and see the world for what it really is: kind of wonderful here in NYC, Spring 2010.