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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Gauguin who wrote (52607)	6/25/2000 1:47:00 PM
From: Jacques Chitte	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

Trip vignette. I went on business travel this past week. Leave the warm nest on Saturday morning. Arrive in Newark, armpit of the Eastern Seaboard, in the afternoon. Get rent-a-car, then seek to penetrate the defenses of the City. (The Lincoln Tunnel is, like, this permanent disaster. Fortunately I had this big-ass renter and could eventually wedge my way into a lane.) I got to the hotel (just south of Central Park) around dinnertime. Now travel is something my body decides is a BAD thing, so never mind about dinner. But the evening in midtown Manhattan was gorgeous. At solstice the setting sun lines up with the east-west streets. This time it shone under a deck of pink-orange post-thunderstorm clouds, the air was really clear, and the buildings were being lit up in this perfect peach aura. I had to walk in this. And the temperature, high Seventies ... who could ask for nicer. I was walking around, luxuriating in the humid cocoon of Atlantic air - down Broadway, back up Fifth - when I noticed too late that I was inside the Cone of Documentation of a pair of Nordic touristettes snapping a pic of one of the softly glowing skyscrapers. And I could tell from Camera Girl's body language that she was committed. The picture was GONNA happen. I determined this doing my sidescan thing. That involves walking brisky one way - with head turned completely ninety degrees sideways (something I learned from Egyptian tomb art), perhaps to look at a nice shop window or an unusually dazzling feminine presentation. So I was there, gonna be IN the picture, no way out. So no point in trying to hide - or look real dorky in the pic beginning an evasive maneuver. "Look at great picture of epileptic New Yorker." Time to go the other way and work with the situation. I improvised on the spot - mind you, half a second had passed - and allowed my sort of brain-dead "me jet lagged" expression to be commandeered by a big aerosol-cheezy Lather grin. Within one second I was back outside the Cone of Vision, but I did get to hear Camera Girl dissolve in giggles. She'll never know that I wasn't an actual New Yorker.