And/or how I tried to pee in the Whole Foods Bathroom on a Saturday, and subsequently failed.
I will stick to my guns forever when I say New York is the best city in the world. Best meaning, most diverse, most interesting, loveliest and grossest city in the history of ever. Infuriating and fascinating; disgusting and beautiful; extremely cold and extremely warm. That being said, let me tell you a story about Union Square.
The weekends, a mecca of art, and "art," as well as the Farmer's Market, and a collective, yet uninterestingly diverse group of break-dancers. Today was no exception. A supposed autistic man tries to sell me beautiful postcards, Bill Peaks is out with his Dancer Girl t-shirts, the smell of fresh cheese and compost wafts down from 17th street into the subway station. I have decided that this, among other days, is probably the best day ever.
...Until I hear Michael Jackson. Resisting the urge to shout "Too soon!" I wander over to a gathering crowd, passing a man wearing a "FREE ROMAN POLANSKI" sandwich board. (I stopped to give him kudos.) Three kids and a sketchy man are standing in front of a small stereo. "SHOWTIME!" Oh, fuck. Breakdancers. Once they loop you in, it's hard to leave. Pressed up against a bunch of sweaty tourists capturing the memory with their pro-sumer video cameras and DSLR's, it's impossible to make a clean getaway.
I beat feet as soon as I realized the only thing these kids could do was windmill. (Typical of the breakdancing ensemble. It gets old faster than the Mariachi bands on the Subway.)
I sat for awhile and mused in front of Polanski-sandwich-board-man, and listened to him argue about the takeover of modern politics being prevented due to neo-Jews. "They get Letterman, they get Polanski, the leftists are finished. Sarah Palin can't run for president as long as Dave is making fun of her...."
Sure buddy, if that's what you want to think......
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