I stayed at a hotel called The Time on 49th Street last night. A very desperately hip place -- but not bad. I considered making a clever Morris Day comment to the well-dressed dude at The Time's reception desk, but Purple Rain was probably released before he was born. "Jerome, bring me my mirror!"
Had a room on the third floor, so I heard a lot of garbage trucks throughout the night (and a whole bunch of screaming coming from the parking lot adjacent to the Ambassador theater). Opened the room door this morning and found the New York Times, complimentary. Twenty-something years ago I used to read that paper cover to cover, but not so much any more. So as I ate my breakfast I flipped through the NYT for the first time in years. To call it a shell of its former self is almost too kind. I skimmed the agit-prop and settled on the crossword puzzle, only to find that it too has been dumbed-down over the years.Eh, I guess entropy is a force of nature.
At lunchtime I ventured out to find NY Giants gear -- preferably with a snide NY-is-in-your-face message on it, as was Alane's request. But I couldn't find a street-vendor anywhere in mid-town (usually they're obstructing pedestrian traffic on every other corner -- maybe the police did a sweep; maybe they all headed downtown to catch the parade crowds). I made it all the way to Modell's by Grand Central. They had official gear -- and a mob of people fighting to get to the inventory. The cashier line was long -- I would've missed my afternoon meetings. So I kept moving.
Tonight's flight back was exceptional. Got the the airport early and was able to get onto an earlier flight -- that never happens! Back home in time to get da chimpz to bed and sit here now with some chips and beer before hitting the sack. I plan on sleeping well tonight, without the garbage trucks. Or the screaming.