mardi, mai 29
posted by Gina at 22:32

So we flew to NYC last week for four days of nonstop Americana. There were $2 hot dogs in Central Park. Kandinsky at the Guggenheim. We got have drinks with Jenne. We missed Kirna Zabête and Scoop, but I did my homework beforehand and found a Hollywould sample sale not far from our hotel. A search for all things un-Parisian led us to Lucky Cheng's. My husband had his first brown bagged beer at a would-be speakeasy. I kept an eye out for endearingly bizarre things you'd find in a place like NYC, like the Venezuelan restaurant that turns into a gay salsa bar after midnight. Or the crazily cheery man who yelled "Yes!" and gave high-fives to all who would accept.

In school, I once had an ill-fated poetry assignment which kept me away from all writing instruments for weeks. But that doesn't mean I won't put my photos to poetry for you now. Ahem...

Whose chopper this is I do not know
It's feeling pretty shaky though
To think I'm here on my own will
And now I'm going to be ill
And now I'm going to be ill

Or hey, how about a limerick?

The drag queens were bitchy and rude
And totally obvious dudes
But the show was ok
and the waitress did say
No one comes here for the food

If you can take it, here's a haiku:

Rubber street dancers

Flipping for dollars and change

I see your undies

How can you not heart New York?