Make Way
I’m blogging standing up because I’m waiting for my sunless tan to dry, so I can go to bed without turning my sheets orange. Which is silly, because this time tomorrow I’ll be in New York City, and there’s no way I can sleep tonight. I’m all packed, having distilled my wardrobe down to the most flattering and sophisticated and appropriate pieces. I’ll try to post daily, but there may not be time. There may not even be wireless on our floor, anyhow, but my Sony Vaio’s going with me so I can unload the Olympus every day. At the highest resolution, I can fit 275 pictures on the 256MB XD card in my camera; bets, anyone, on how many times I’ll fill it up? My family’s betting that will happen daily. Oh Lord, I hope I don’t forget anything important. But then, you can probably procure anything in the world in New York City. I’ve been secretly dying to go ever since I fell in love with the Pierce Brosnan/Rene Russo remake of The Thomas Crown Affair. Or at least the soundtrack. I’m tired tonight. Tomorrow I’ll be watching for Tim Curry on the street. I should have summarized my itinerary on here just so you could see how much we’re trying to jam into a week. It’s crazy. ‘Little A’ in the Big Apple. Madness. Wonderful. I may even go by Adriane just for the occasion.
posted by A at
11:31 PM
2 Comments:
I'm insanely jealous. You won't be able to get Gershwin out of your head for days.
I must ask a rather unusual favor — for sociological purposes or what-have-you: Please make particular note of your favorite New York smell, then report back upon your return. (Briefly: the streets of New York had this way of waking up my olfactory, which is easily the least acute of my senses, and now I'm inexplicably curious about how others respond to this question — maybe because we Angelenos spend all our time in cars.)
Have an incredible time. Sleep as little as possible. It is, in fact, a hell of a town.
OMG Brent, the SMELL. New York City is a divinely filthy place. It's almost dirtier than Guadalajara, which is dirtier than L.A. could ever hope to be, which is dirtier than San Diego ever was. NYC stinks worse than Paris (the reeking Seine!) and Bussalengo (Italy, just supremely gross) and Venice (totally rotten-fishy) COMBINED... baked in the record heat of a European AUGUST and spiced with industrial pollution. It was 90 degrees all week in the Big Apple, which only emphasized the stench. I have never experienced anything like it.
And I absolutely ADORED every glorious, unreal minute of it.
Standby for months of NYC-related blog fodder.
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