Honestly, if it weren't for (a) the reek in the summer, (b) the frigid winters, and (c) the incredible expense, New York would be the perfect city. I love it here when the weather is perfect and I'm not having to scramble for my daily bread. Infinite numbers of places to eat, random things to overhear ("I am the tai chi paper hander-outer, whoooosh!"), and stores to visit. I still can't figure out how exactly I found my way to the only all-Irish bar in Koreatown, but at least now I am up on the British position in the rankings of the rugby world championships. My next stop was a comic books store encountered a few storefronts down: I walked in, nearly keeled over from the boy energy, and grabbed a staffer to guide me to the Whedon section, after which it was easier to get my bearings. The hard part, as always, is getting out without deciding that you must have the Terry and the Pirates book or the 15 editions of Stardust ("Look, this one has Neil and Maddy in!") or a stack of Bunny Suicides postcards. I managed.
Seesterperson's bout last night drew a huge crowd, most of them noisy Bridge and Pummel supporters. The score was against them, so I hope that they were consoled somewhat by the WOWHOT New York Shock Exchange demo bout. Tall athletic lanky guys smacking into one another at high speeds, oh for teh win. We had a great time even before we spent 45 minutes in the Newark-Penn Station's tiny dark bar.
Off to hunt the wily dim sum brunch. Did I mention loving New York?
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