I saw my head laughing

Two girls just stopped me as I was walking home. They wanted to know where the burrito place was, as there is only one in my neighborhood. I went ahead and told them exactly where they could find it and then regretted that, while I knew where it was and how to get there, I didn't really know the address. But girls asking me directions inspires a certain 'man of the city' in me. Just ask, I know!

This weekend brought sunshine onto New York to let us all enjoy, or at least see, Christo's piece in Central Park. Lot of praise all around with good criticism coming scarce. I took a picture of the gates before his helpers took down the curtains because I enjoyed the color of the poles without the curtains.

More sunshine came in the human form of my third oldest girl cousin. She came with her boyfriend to go to a party hosted in the name of defaming Valentine's Day. Naturally, I was invited along. In fact, in order to make this most un valentine weekend special, we all went to a charming italian restaurant first. Our company was mixed, several professionals, a British man working for the BBC, a high school student, and myself. We even had one woman, the mother of the high schooler, who allowed herself to get a little antagonistic in the polite company of me and my cousin. We had been talking about the way New Yorkers, or maybe all North Easterners, pronounce Oregon. They pronounce it like the spice, oregano. So, she makes her Superman leap of a segue to non New Yorkers who try out their fake New York accents on her. Oh, that just makes her mad, she told us while using bad words like fuck. Her excitement on this somewhat bland practice of non New Yorkers let us all know that her pride and, above that, her unailing snobbishness established her as a native of this city.

What she didn't touch on, and what I was wondering, was how she would feel if we made fun of her own particular New York accent. New York is too big to only have one accent, and the rich people, who must feel different from everyone in more ways than just money, have a particular accent that rings like crystal glass in blue blood company. Sadly for them, the hallmark example of this accent is none other than Robin Leach, the host of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, who takes the accent so far that some people might think he's an idiot. Indeed she had this accent, cultivated a bit south of here on Long Island. It was pretty low key, though, thanks to her setting up residence in Overland Park, Kansas many years ago. Maybe her special je ne sais quoi passes well with those sons of the soil who made it bigtime.

The party was an all black affair, like a funeral. People were drinking alot and looking for someone to kiss all over and maybe have sex with. Unlike a funeral, nobody was dead and people were wearing sex clothes.

I was completely scandalised by my cousin, former House of Representatives page to Newt Gingrich, as her skirt wasn't quite covering her knees. Mine wasn't either, we were both bad but there's no pictures, save for these few.

Today I chased off the Sunday blues by meeting someone through the grace of internet dating. We talked and had a good time of it by sitting at the fountain in the park, where people showed the world how they dress their dogs, their children, and themselves. I finally found someone who listened to my rant against fur, the end of innovation in fashion. It's the few obtrusive features of this city, like the copious fur worn by so many women, like the transportation system that runs like a broken clock, that I have to keep trying to accept in order to really like this place.

posted by Wellsmus @ 1:04 PM