dispatch from the big bad city

I've lived in the big bad city (NY, the original big bad city) for over a year and haven't written nary a blurb on it. Perhaps as a native NY-er I tend not to feel a need to remark on the weird that has become the everyday. Or perhaps the big bad city isn't as weird as outsiders think....no. that can't be it.

This weekend was an umbrella killer. Facing the rain and some terrific gusts of wind my umbrella promptly turned inside out and I decided that I had had enough. I disposed of it and bought a new one for $3 at the corner store; umbrella #2 bit the dust pretty much immediately. Screw it, I headed back to the apartment to nap and watch reruns of Gilmore Girls...more appropriate rainy day activities.

But Saturday nights are flamenco nights! So that evening, against better judgement, I grabbed umbrella #3 and headed out to Chelsea. According to the New York Times' neighborhood profiles (a thinking girls' bible) Chelsea is "charming in some places, and less so in others, including some pockets of high crime." I was likely in one of those areas where the two meet.

Because after the wind had destroyed yet another umbrella and the rain had soaked me through I realized I didn't have any cash. No, I wasn't pickpocketed just cash-less. The flamenco lady recommended that I go to the bar across the street to use their ATM but unfortunately she wasn't quite accurate. The ATM was in the store next to the bar, where surrounded by fake lady parts I withdrew some cash. I was in a porn store. But it was warm and dry and the staff was friendly, although a bit sad that I didn't make any purchases. Perhaps for Christmas. Sensual love toys for all my friends!

On the way home the subway was closed due to "smoke conditions," I saw a rat as big as a bobcat and a man in a dress called me beautiful.

Oh and the flamenco show was sublime.