the chrysler building was talkin' to the empire state

There were three birthdays in the office on Wednesday, which meant I shoveled too much cake (a moist, delicious, brownie-like cake that didn't make me gag!) and Mexican food into my esophagus for celebration's sake. Yesterday, I opted for a half day (because I can) and spent the afternoon in parks instead of slumped over a desk. After lunch with Brian in Battery Park City, I walked up Fulton Street just in time to see a middle-aged, beer-gutted man in a full pink tutu, with lacy garters and a frilly headpiece, just cruising down the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette and on his merry way somewhere. At Bryant Park, I indulged in overpriced ice cream and propped myself up with two park chairs about 10 feet from a sundried, thunderously snoring man with his shirt inched up past his mountainous belly. Just after settling into my book, a woman set up shop five feet ahead to prepare all of us naysayers for Christ's second coming, which is apparently soon. I stayed just long enough to hear about floods and fire, then witness a passer-by's failed plea for silence, closely followed by a police citation. When I exited the park, the policeman had gone and I could hear the woman's confident, steady voice start up again. Tonight, I'm attending an experimental show in a converted silo on the Gowanus Canal, tomorrow is a mystery, and Sunday I'll be picnicking and paddling a boat through Central Park. Sometimes life isn't so bad, you know?