It’s that time when the sun shines brightly and penetrates every dark corner of New York City and the breeze flows lazily like the breezes that I remember in Hawaii.

Women wearing long dresses, short dresses, short shorts, cargo pants, jeans and whatever else with their trusty scarves and zip-ups. These are the kisses of fall as the months creep closer to autumn. I love these times in the city, I feel like I am in a black and white film all the noises fade out and I am walking in slow motion. Men and women alike changing wardrobes with the season, stylish and sophisticated, sexy and not too revealing. Just right.

I walked by the Lincoln Center the other day and was simply captivated by the people rushing to their shows and the others walking to restaurants weaving through the throng of people simply loitering. My mind takes snaps to store away in my mind as I am again taken to certain movies where New York is pictured in the 40s women holding firmly onto their feathered hats while gripping the arms of their partners.

Everyday in New York is truly amazing, even at the library, I was observing the people coming in to browse and spend their time, and I noticed the mixture of individuals. A homeless man walking into the library glancing at the novels and then picking out a book sits at a corner table to read. No rush, no pressure.

I am bombarded by a group of young kids trying to squeeze their way ahead of me up the stairs to God knows what but still the feeling is the same. We are all happy to be among this treasure trove of written words. No matter what the purpose for being there everyone enjoyed a book or two before heading back out into the streets. A sense of fulfillment indeed.

New York, oh what a magnificent city, a live movie playing with all of us as actors and actresses thrown into one script. Playing out our roles in the most subtle ways on an endless film reel.

I must say that walking anywhere in New York city if you are very observant of where you are you may just see things that you might find interesting to your psyche. You may find that whatever mood you are in there are signs that are screaming for your attention so that you may better understand what you may be feeling.

Forgive me for possibly sounding superstitious but just the other day I was sitting on a bench at Central Park West, feeling quite anxious and glum, confused and slightly sad, when I noticed a flyer on the ground. I been sitting there for half an hour already and realized that as people walked by no one stepped on this particular flyer, one woman actually stepped into a small puddle trying not to step on it. So for the sake of my own curiousity I went to investigate.

The flyer simply said “What S.H.A.P.E. are you in?” Now there were other text on this flyer explaining what the word SHAPE meant but I was too mesmerized by that simple question. Almost like, who the hell is watching? So I did the next best thing and took a photo of it as I feel like sharing this somehow weird and strange phenomena. I know I may be exaggerating it a little by calling it a phenomenon but seriously I was a bit freaked!

And since that moment I have been walking around with my eyes wide open, noticing certain aspects of the city that I never really took time to see…for example, by the fountain near the AOL building, there was a man taking a thorough bath, shower, whatever you want to call it. He had a bag full of clothes and towels, soap and even a scrubber that he had laid out while he generously bathed in the free and public showers of the fountains. What that all meant? That despite what he may be going through he still found time to remain clean. That as people we all want the basic needs that keep us together and whole, despite how minor they might be and how most of us take for granted, this man looked like he had been waiting all day to wash.

Now again forgive me for being strange but to notice these amazing moments are quite captivating, as we all search for mountains, oceans, unicorns and fairy godmothers to put us in a euphoric state of mind, we need only look closely.

Another simple example, I have been to a very few concerts in my life and now I find myself at one performance or another. In the subway! Two days after running into the bathing man, I was at the 42nd train stop, I was changing trains and as I was running to catch the yellow line I was stopped by these amazing group that was singing songs from Marvin Gaye, Al Green and most of the legends. A pair of twins were singing in their brightest yellow tight outfits, from a distance you would never guess they were older than 20, but upon closer look they were about in their late 40s and still jamming like the best of them. I found this amazing, gutsy and strangely motivating. I forgot about my train and just stood there watching them in utter silence my feet moving as though with a mind of their own.

When I finally got to my train I was smiling like an idiot as I couldn’t shake this feeling of gratitude for being alive to be a part of these unique moments and I mean unique, because I would never have seen anything like this had I been somewhere else. Geez! I love this city. Signs are everywhere my friends, and we are in the city that has a pulsing heart, if we take the time to listen and really see we are blessed to be here in the “right now”.

Life throws us curve balls, I don’t like that expression because I don’t really know what a curve ball is so I would rather say that Life moves faster than a film reel and we either let it reach the end without us really watching all the happenings going on in our lives or we can slow that reel down and use a magnifying glass to see what exactly is happening…the only words that I can use to explain what I have found is gratitude and appreciation.

Enjoy this life, it is extremely too short, and welcome to your own crystal ball, New York city.

Being the new New Yorker that I am when I would hear the name Harlem I am immediately thrown into a 70s flick where gangsters are running up and down the street looking for reasons to blast off their automatics. In fact I watched these movies with such awe and wonder, dreaming of the day that I may walk those very streets and once and for all judge for myself just how much of the hype was Hollywood.

Seven years ago upon arriving to New York I was immediately taken in by the simple smells of it. It wasn’t much of the sights as it was the noise and the smells, I felt like I was floating in the different countries while standing still on Gold Street in downtown Manhattan. Like a dog in its new surroundings, I walked around sniffing the air, trying to see where it might take me, with the occasional “public urinal” smell I was all good.

Today, I live in Harlem or is it Harlem? I’ve notice the small quarrels between old neighbors and new neighbors about where we really are. You see, I’m above 125th Street and it is there that they say is the heart of Harlem, and so now I am at a strange and invisible border that only born and raised locals can better explain.

Ricardo, who lives on the fifth floor of my building, a gray haired old man, from the Dominican Republic, walks the hallways a self-appointed security guard. He walks around mumbling about this or that, but fully ready to shine his pearly white dentures as I make my way to the elevator every evening. I asked him once and I mean once. “Ricardo, are we in Harlem or Washington Heights?” At first I thought he wasn’t going to answer and then. “Como? Harlem!” and with that he walked towards his apartment.

Now…I am going to assume and interpret that as “Harlem” that I am in Harlem. The area is so family oriented I’m still in search of the gun toting streets that made those mobster and gangster movies so damn captivating.

The streets are lined with delis, up and down the street, left side or right side, an occasional American restaurant but majority are all in Spanish. No worries, they still mean the same thing “Deli”. And so in the exploration of my newfound home of Harlem, I’ve come to enjoy the aromas of the Dominican Republic, those fried plaintains boy! Someone told me that they call my area Uptown Times Square, it is a constant hustle and bustle here, with its sleek and sophisticated town cars ready to pick you up and take you where you need to go in style.

My most favorite attribute of the area is the park right around the corner from my building. I may be on Broadway but right down the corner is Riverside and right there is a long parkway, right by the water. You can walk the whole length of that park and see the city lights of Jersey right across the bridge. And again I think to myself…Wow! I don’t think that I’ve ever felt this way about any one state before in my life even though I came from Honolulu, Hawaii.

I am simply fascinated and giddy when I think about the fact that I am standing, living, breathing and smelling this great metropolis. I am always in the mode of being on camera somehow, not because I’m vain but because that’s how this city makes me feel, I love it here and I hope that whoever decides to move here, they feel the same overwhelming urge to stay awhile.

When I say I moved from Hawaii to live here, people guffaw and give me weird looks. I rather enjoy them, no one knows exactly why but really does it matter people? I’m in New York!

Curtain up, New York! Your cultural life just got a bailout. This marks my first entry in what is sure to soon become a legendary column. You’re welcome.

I promise to bring my full theatrical experience (which makes the artistic prowess of Sir Larry Olivier resemble that of, let’s say, Bob Saget) to the written endeavours herein. Further, I pledge to use my power solely for the enrichment of myself and my lifestyle. No, no. It’s the very least I can do.

But while my curtain rises, everyone else’s seems to be falling faster than Joan Collins’ last breast lift. Shows on the Great White Way, 16 of them precisely, are closing mere weeks from now. The list of the dead includes:

Grease: So it turns out shamelessly commercial, vapid revamps of stale shows cast from a series of reality television competitions isn’t artistic gold? The hell you say!

Young Frankenstein: Shock of shocks! Mel Brooks is not an invincible theatrical leviathan, but just another old Jewish guy who recycles old jokes and hums into a tape recorder. $400 a ticket? Such a deal. For those people who always wanted to see Young Frankenstein without that pesky Gene Wilder.

Hairspray: Even Harvey Fierstein, the Queen B flat, couldn’t resurrect this limping drag diva. Audiences apparently prefer mousse.

Equus: The only thing that seems to be shorter than star Daniel Radcliffe’s manhood is the show’s run. Presto-Change-O! Harry Potter’s wand disappears!

Spamalot: Mike Nichols’ Monty Python tuner brings out it’s dead in January. Which serves to prove what I’ve always maintained: shack up with Clay Aiken, live with the consequences. My particular Aiken Consequences include an addiction to shit-hideous music and something my doctor refers to as “herpes.” Talk about fire-crotch.

13: Apparently pedophiles, once thought to be a recession proof segment of the population, are tightening their Hello Kitty purse strings. How else to explain the lack of ticket sales for the charming adolescent tuner “13″? Perverted theatre fans (an oxymoron?) flocked to this Jason Robert Brown musical featuring jail-bait lolitas and lotharios singing about Clearasil and training bras. The lack of HSM-loving asses in the seats may be explained by the fact that, this year, the sex offfenders were in Broadway shows instead of watching them.

I am, of course referring to notorious pederast, registered offender and overall rich baritone James Barbour. Mr. Barbour, the star of this year’s Les Miz wannabe “A Tale of Two Cities,” achieved infamy a few years back when a 15 year old fan of his told the cops he wanted touch her tail and two titties. The dour musical, having all the charm and allure of a leper with bad breath, closed weeks ago thus allowing Mr. Barbour more time to frequent Gymboree.

Boeing Boeing: is going-going. It’s audiences? Small. I’ve been in orgies that are bigger.

Amidst the wreckage debuts a new mega-musical straight from Tinsel Town: Shrek.

What’s stupider than opening an over-budget, over-hyped, over-blown musical on Broadway? Doing it during a depression. How can you justify asking families to pony up 500 bills to see the ogre when Mommy is turning tricks to keep the heating on. The only way for it to be stronger box office poison would be if Mike Myers were actually in it.

Well, that should be enough to tide you over until my next dispatch. With grace and humility, I remain your infallible leader.

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