Walks, Hair, and Spring Break

I'm a resident of Tribeca again.

Well, for a week at least.

One more room to re-arrange (I can hear your gasp from here, my dear employer), a haircut today...at triple what I paid in the land of Utes, although I didn't flinch... and long walks during the day, to the park to de-lint the pit, over to SoHo for my Crunchie, into the depths of that vast area that you can find by the sound of cash flowing into registers.

We walked Canal to get to our usual strolling area today.... bad move. I felt like salmon swimming upstream against a wall of grizzlies. "You buy DVD's?" "I got a Rolex, a real Rolex, here" Right, and I'm a short redhead from Iowa. "Look, Coach bags!" I almost stopped on that one... lured by the idea of leather... but, the terrier was pouncing on food that didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before, so, I yanked her and the pit into the street, and we scurried along, avoiding the wealth of high school students chaperoned by teachers who appeared to have aged ten years since they got off the 1 train on Canal and Broadway.

Standing next to a group of girls who had on sweatshirts with UCLA on the front, I asked how did they like New York compared to L.A.. As one, they looked at me in astonishment, and queried how I knew they were from the West Coast. Seeing a greek pin...I won't mention the letters... I asked if they liked Blah Blah Blah. Sweet Jesus, you'd have thought I was David Blaine. Voices went into a register heard only by dogs and people who did far too much acid in 1973.

I pointed them in the direction of Chinatown and watched as the gaggle of blonde heads bobbled along, still going on about how I knew all that stuff.

And these people will be handling my social security one day.... I'd be more depressed if not for the realisation social security will end long before they get their hands on that money.

Up West Broadway, the dogs playing tug of war with their leashes, back down to Canal, grab of the keys, off to the haircut...which is very nice, I have to say. Not as great as M in the land of Utes, but, you have to take second place when the only other option is to fly out, get your hair cut, and fly back. Even her amazing cut isn't worth $600.

Sorry, M.

Now, settled in, dogs at rest.... shuffling though the drawer full of menus.... yes, I'm going to call and say, "I will have that delivered."

Ahhhh...... it's a good life.