…and a frigging attitude. Look, I get it, you’ve got lovely features and photograph quite nicely. That doesn’t mean I’m hitting on you, or even being the slightest bit flirtatious when I grunt good morning at you. I do the same to the owner of any dog Moe plays with in the morning. Frankly if you didn’t have a dog you wouldn’t have gotten a second glance. You’ve got the body of a scarecrow and the personality to match.
— I love coming back to the East Village every time, even if the cat who panhandles outside Key Food still calls me fat.
Now that the power is on I can tell you all the tales of how awful the storm and it’s aftermath were for us. Things got so drastic that by day 4 the living envied the dead…
Nah, not really. It honestly wasn’t much of an imposition on us at all. While some people took it on the chin (and still are) it was pretty mellow in the East Village. It’s not like I had a job to go to anyway, and I’m generally a very prepared individual. In the run-up to Sandy the news was full of lists of things to stock up on. I already had all of it, so we basically checked the batteries, hunkered down and rode it out. On Halloween we impulsively jumped into a cab and ran up to The Palm for giant prime steaks and all that goes with them. If that aint Disaster Fantasy Camp I don’t know what is. If we could vote to turn the power off one week a month I’d probably be in favor of it.
Plenty of folks were much less fortunate than us, though, and I strongly encourage all of you to consider helping these folks out:
I think Maceo is a pretty cool name for a dog.
I think that the wannabe hipster kid in the park loudly explaining the origin of the name and that he planned to name all of his dogs after James Browns’ band members is the lamest thing ever.
Little things can be so uplifting. Took Moe out for a morning walk for the first time in months. So, so, so very good to be back in the East Village (albeit briefly). Paid a visit to our pal Angelo. He’s a semi-homeless neighborhood type that Moe absolutely loves, and Ang feels the same about the Momo. They cuddled for a while and Moe’s cries of happiness were music to my ears. Then we went to see his mexican pal Oscar, who gave him a nice piece of queso. On our way home we bumped into this cat who sings in some metal band and his little pomeranian. Moe and the pom took turns marking their way down the street. My boy’s tail never stopped wagging furiously. He has such a jaunty little swagger when we are out together, as do I.