And That's The Last I'll Say About It.

Dad! You'll be so relieved to know-- the humidity is GONE! It just left overnight without an apology or an explanation and the rest of the population immediately transitioned to sweaters and scarves. I thought there'd be an official announcement or a parade or something, but no. Or maybe the parade is just that everyone can now walk around without sweat dripping down their face. It relented just in time. I was about to start wearing a towel around my neck like Rocky.

Here's a lesson I learned this weekend- you shouldn't leave the house in outfits that don't transition from day to evening. You simply don't know who you'll run into or what might happen in this town. I'd leave my apartment in the morning thinking, "Oh, I'm just going to pick up a few things." Cut to me at midnight in a rock club wearing sweats and an oversized t-shirt that says 'Real People' on the front of it. That's a gross exaggeration, of course, but an emotionally accurate one.

None of the following is going to be in chronological order. This is more of a free-form post. It may remind you of the poetry you used to enjoy at that hippie bagel shop in the 60's. In fact, if you want to change into your black turtleneck and put on your beret, that would be far out.

So, at one point I saw this:

No means go.

That's actually a very realistic New York crossing signal. It says, "Do not cross, except for you people who are going to cross anyway. You guys should totally go for it. And really use your arms for momentum." I've never noticed how the walking guy has such swimmy arms. That part is unrealistic, seeing as there's always someone at least half a foot behind you everywhere you go. If you threw your elbow back like that you could clock some businessman in the chin. That settles it, I'm swimming to work today.

I like this picture:

Reminds me of my time in Paris before the war.

It's from our walk through Washington Square Park after we had that fancy dinner I told you about. They light this thing up so nicely at night, I guess for the bums and stoners who sit around it, panhandling. And why not? After a long day of heroin and chess, looking at some historical public art can really help you wind down.

I took a short movie of our fancy dinner:

Why didn't I put this before the picture of the arch? Because that's what The Man would want me to do. (snap snap snap snap- that's me applauding for myself.)
This place had a side dish they called Crispy Goosefat Potatoes. That's when you know you're in a high-class joint; when they brag about the fat in their food. We also ate mac and cheese with truffle oil and creamed corn. There's a good chance I developed gout there. I'm fine with it.

I saw this last night as I left my apartment to go eat dinner with NYU professor and former Gap pacesetter Dawn Fraser:

Even the sky is glad the humidity's over. 

Pretty pretty pretty.