Hi all. I am back. From the best trip EVER.
I’ve missed you guys. SOB. But I won’t leave you EVER AGAIN.
Until my next vacation. Then I’ll totally be all “see ya later!” and will probably forget to bring you a souvenir because I’m careless and souvenirs usually suck with gimmicky cheapness anyway. Except for the spiky souvenirs that attack you with tiny rusted nails, like the one my sister brought back from Castle Bran in Romania. A souvenir from Dracula’s castle that inflicts bodily harm represents the best of everything right and awesome in this world.
I took a million pictures on this trip, almost literally. “Almost literally,” when used in this context, means 407. Please relax with a hot beverage while I commence with the slideshow…
Just kidding! Haha, I crack myself up sometimes.
I took 407 pictures for my own memories, because I’m the kind of person that wants to remember such details as the herms holding up the buttresses on Trinity Church, what Alexander Hamilton’s tombstone reads, the Dutch writing on the monument at Battery Park (which I cannot read because I’m a lame Dutch person who has studied every language except Dutch), and the woman in the clown costume on stilts handing out fliers in front of the Duane Reade. It helps round out my memories a bit. I have a terrible memory.
What was I writing about?
Oh yeah. You knew that was coming.
So I took just enough photos that it will take forever to upload and edit all those bad boys, especially seeing as I am computer-
illiterate challenged. I know this because I have spent about five hours getting them from camera to my ancient computer with a few choice ones uploaded to Facebook. This being the case, today’s post will just be a little flavor of the epic-ness that was this trip. It includes a few of the ways in which I thought of you, dear reader, as a bribe for your love after having neglected you so thoughtlessly.
Okay, so the best thing about New York (besides the food) (and besides the awe-inspiring sights at every turn) (and besides the public transportation) is the opportunity for wackiness at every turn.
Behold, example #1.
See, I thought of you guys when I encountered this lion on one of our ramblings. That is true love.
Also, just so you know, this was right about this time during our walk through the West Village that my feet started bleeding, my blisters started popping, and my gait began resembling that of an elderly Turkish widow. Remember, I haven’t worn shoes in three months, so my feet howled in protest over the constriction. Lazy ne’er-do-wells.
Subway drummers playing the most horrifying rendition of Just Wait till I Kill You (I made that name up, but that’s what it sounded like) while a man in head-to-toe spandex carries around plastic lawn ornaments chanting extemporaneous free-verse. It was so ridiculous and creepy my immediate reaction was to take a photo to share with you guys.
Also at the Met:
Don’t ask me why, but I knew you’d want to see this painting. And yes, of course I took a million (which means 12) pictures of the Impressionists like every other tourist, too. I am not strictly a Dungeons and Dragons nerd, despite how things may look right now.
I also saw a work by the artist after which my tattoo is modeled, hence this picture:
Yes, I photo-bombed the sculpture in Battery Park. How could I not when encountered with such theatrical poses? It was practically begging for it, and I have little self-control/shame.
The Irish Hunger Memorial floats above ground as if aliens lasered off a section of Galway turf and transported it to New York, where it hovers eerily above ground for all eternity. It also makes you feel like an asshole for eating too many pretzels from the street vendors when there are so many starving people in the world. So the memorial is doing its job, I suppose.
The pièce de résistance, Example #7:
Seeing my picture on one of the Ellis Island photographic renderings of emigration history really made the trip complete. I felt very zen having made such a success in America after enduring such strife to get here in a past life.
So see, I WAS thinking of you often. I think my husband would’ve cracked my skull if he heard the phrase, “I need a picture of this for the blog!” just one more time…
…I know I would have threatened violence were our positions reversed.
UPDATED: Mike pointed out to me that I forgot to mention the bra on the scary-drummer’s head. He’s right – that totally needs mentioning. Bra on the spandex wearing/lawn ornament tormenting dude’s head. It’s so crazy it almost makes sense…