Oh dear oh dear. Whither goest thou, December?
I didn't start this month on the best note. I succumbed to some kind of horrible malady ... I'm not sure if it was the flu, the swine flu or some other wretched virus, but it was certainly unpleasant.
Once I felt better, I decided I needed some holiday cheer. The weather's been all over the place during this first two weeks of December — everything from a bitter 18 degrees to a balmy 65. No consistent cold weather + no snow + no car playing holiday tunes on the radio + no room for a tree in my apartment = I keep forgetting it's nearly Christmas.
I didn't start this month on the best note. I succumbed to some kind of horrible malady ... I'm not sure if it was the flu, the swine flu or some other wretched virus, but it was certainly unpleasant.
Once I felt better, I decided I needed some holiday cheer. The weather's been all over the place during this first two weeks of December — everything from a bitter 18 degrees to a balmy 65. No consistent cold weather + no snow + no car playing holiday tunes on the radio + no room for a tree in my apartment = I keep forgetting it's nearly Christmas.
So I went to 30 Rock.
Tree! Ice skaters! New York City landmark!
Such a lovely little winter picture.
Of course, Radio City Music Hall was right around the corner, looking terribly festive as well.
The night after my Rockefeller Center sojourn, I set out to do some errands in my neighborhood and got caught in a sudden rainstorm. I sought temporary shelter in one of my favorite bars, The Lucky Dog. I made small talk with the 10 or so other patrons and occasionally plugged the jukebox with quarters so I could have Of Montreal accompany my beer.
After "Gronlandic Edit" finished playing, the bar fell eerily silent. It was as if everyone's conversations had just concluded along with the song, and there was no money left in the jukebox. Suddenly, someone at the end of the bar yelled, "HEY! IT'S SNOWING!"
Everyone's head snapped up and we all turned in unison toward the door. Huge white flakes had indeed replaced the cold December rain. A murmur of excitement made its way down the bar and led to a few sincere whoops of pleasure. With a Cheshire grin on my face, I downed the rest of my drink, queued up the holiday playlist on my iPod, slipped on my headphones and set out in the snow for home.
The night after my Rockefeller Center sojourn, I set out to do some errands in my neighborhood and got caught in a sudden rainstorm. I sought temporary shelter in one of my favorite bars, The Lucky Dog. I made small talk with the 10 or so other patrons and occasionally plugged the jukebox with quarters so I could have Of Montreal accompany my beer.
After "Gronlandic Edit" finished playing, the bar fell eerily silent. It was as if everyone's conversations had just concluded along with the song, and there was no money left in the jukebox. Suddenly, someone at the end of the bar yelled, "HEY! IT'S SNOWING!"
Everyone's head snapped up and we all turned in unison toward the door. Huge white flakes had indeed replaced the cold December rain. A murmur of excitement made its way down the bar and led to a few sincere whoops of pleasure. With a Cheshire grin on my face, I downed the rest of my drink, queued up the holiday playlist on my iPod, slipped on my headphones and set out in the snow for home.
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1 comment:
Your pictures are of glory days of americana.
It must be incredibly humbling (and blinding) to stand below that beautiful tree!
PS, can you readjust your ass so I can officially "follow" your blog? I never know when new ones are up!
...I mean, if you want.
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