There's a curious thing about walking in the rain in New York City. Unlike in London, where you'd likely be mocked for using an umbrella (er, bumbershoot) during a light rain, in New York, everyone carries umbreshoots and wields them rather unmercifully. And, if I may be frank, rather clumsily.
Perhaps it's not so much "clumsily" as "self-centered-ly." Eyes poked. Faces gouged. That kinda thing.
Once upon a time, I loved the Umbrella Dance, but having done it for years (and, mind you, I don't exempt myself from that whole "clumsily" thing; I just give myself credit for being aware and at least trying to avoid the whole eye-poking thing), I find that I really don't have a lot of patience for it.
So when I found myself dancing down the street, being whacked and poked by more umbrella tines than you can shake a stick at, I had a really distinct thought on the corner of 58th Street & 7th Avenue:
"I can't wait to get back to Brooklyn, where I don't have this problem."
Which is why, at times, even if I can conceive of having the money to do so, I can't really conceive of living in Manhattan.
Perhaps it's not so much "clumsily" as "self-centered-ly." Eyes poked. Faces gouged. That kinda thing.
Once upon a time, I loved the Umbrella Dance, but having done it for years (and, mind you, I don't exempt myself from that whole "clumsily" thing; I just give myself credit for being aware and at least trying to avoid the whole eye-poking thing), I find that I really don't have a lot of patience for it.
So when I found myself dancing down the street, being whacked and poked by more umbrella tines than you can shake a stick at, I had a really distinct thought on the corner of 58th Street & 7th Avenue:
"I can't wait to get back to Brooklyn, where I don't have this problem."
Which is why, at times, even if I can conceive of having the money to do so, I can't really conceive of living in Manhattan.
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