Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

I can’t remember when, but years ago—or long ago as the literary vein would muse—I found the ideas of Sunday’s in the park to be romantic and the dream. As for the park, I’m not going to lie ... Central Park it is.  Leisurely strolls, bike rides, and perhaps runs always struck me as the ideal, epitome to a weekend’s end. Of course, to be blunt and a snob, scores of other New Yorkers find it the same. Today, I—with those New Yorkers and tourists from the four corners of the globe—found my source of vitamin D and sensory delights within the former pig boiling grounds and Native Lands. Perhaps Frederick Law Olmsted’s crown jewel of his parks, the rush of the city, the pace of life, and endless streams of people typically find a kinder, more peaceful balance within the bricked interior. Of course, not all people know how to—oh I don’t know—look both ways and cross the paths properly, but overall it’s pretty hard to remain beaten and angr...

I'm back in NYC these days, and while the weather slowly changes (or refuses to) I tread on . . . remembering the long, seemingly lazy days of last summer.  Days I want to make come alive again, in spirit and reality.   Newport.  Newport, Oregon for your pleasure.  When traveling I often rent a bike, as its cheap transportation and typically fun.   In this case, spending a month in Corvallis, Oregon I certainly needed a mode to shuttle me about town. Granted, my own two feet would have sufficed, but the little Lime-colored Townie I rented (for a flat rate of 55 bucks a week, lock included) has certainly paid for itself in spades.   I’m told it had—at max—thirty miles on her when I picked her up.   I am certain I have logged more than thirty on old Limey (for the record, when I turned her in the 24th of August, I cried a little tear of goodbye knowing her and I had seen more than a hundred miles of road together).   Aside from getting lost aro...