I really do feel like “That Girl,” Ann Marie (as portrayed by Marlo Thomas in the 1960s–if y ou aren’t old enough, your style icons imprinted on in childhood will not be Marlo Thomas, Elizabeth Montgomery, and Barbara Feldon, but mine are–oh, and Nancy Sinatra), walking around this bustling anthill they call a city. Wow!!
The nice article-writing people at the Dallas News made me sound like I just fell off the turnip truck from Bent Fork, Tennessee, didn’t they? All the quotes they used were my funny redneck lines, not my witty urbane ones. That’s what I get for talkin’ to reporters **GRIN**. Just imagine I said something less hicky. I haven’t seen the photos or print version yet, which is probably a small mercy. *grin* I saw in the mirror a minute ago and it looks like one of those Keane painting children with the wide eyes and confused expression.
From the moment we stepped out of Penn Station, we wondered why everyone honks all the time. After all, if the guy in front of them COULD move, he or she WOULD . . . they’re ALL in a hurry. But they honk and HONK. Hubby has the answer. “I don’t think that’s it–they’re not trying to express anger. They’re signaling each other. You know, like when birds fly in formation and they caw and call to each other, they’re communicating so they can keep in formation.”
Sometimes that boy absolutely comes up with somethin’.
We walked into serendipitous finds today. We were wandering in NoHo (Washington Square Park area) and went south to find the Union Square Holiday Market. Also saw a SF/oddity store called Forbidden Planet, and the Strand Bookstore (“Miles of Books”). Pretty cool, even if there ARE no public bathrooms.
Seriously, there ain’t. Hubby kinda had a bathroom call there when we were in the middle of Midtown, and no one has a bathroom that they’ll let you use. We finally found one at the Union Station Circuit City. Bless them. Buy there if you can.
THE ALGONQUIN . . . we went there first this morning. When I stepped inside, I had a sort of meltdown. The guy standing there to let people in and out (I’m sure there is a term for this job, but my wits have deserted me–when I get back home, my brains need to come back, or I’ll have to become a $2 hooker, as I live by my wits and I can’t even think of words these days) patted my shoulder. “It’s tears of joy–we understand. Here, go back where that painting is and take a picture. That table is where the Algonquin Wits met every day at lunch!”
Then a lady who was a fellow tourist offered to take pix of me and hubster in front of that Christmas tree. I hope those came out! Can’t check now, as camera batteries are kaput on both digicameras. Have them chargin’ right now, in fact.
I’ve got to take a shower. It’s true about the grime in the air. . . .