The scene: as I’m leaving my BFF’s apartment, I see a just-barely-toddler aged kid playing on the railing of the ramp next to the entrance stairs. Two 20-something dudes were exiting behind me. Dude #1: Whoa, bro. Look at that little guy. Dude #2: You go, baby. The whole world’s your junglegym. Dude #1: That kid’s like a baby parkour champion. Dude #2: Baby Parkour should be our new tumblr.
I was on a crosstown bus, fiddling with my iPod, when I looked up and saw someone reading the Daily News and noticed the back cover. Giant text: EXIT SANDMAN. And a photo of Mariano Rivera on the ground, clutching his leg. A few hours later, I checked twitter and saw several tweets in a row, all saying, “Did Adam Yauch really just die?” My sister gave me my first Beastie Boys’ album when I was in ninth grade. For awhile, the tagline I had on this blog was “Fifty cups of coffee and you know it’s on.” Yesterday was
It’s been awhile since I’ve shared a subway anecdote, so here’s a bit of holiday hilarious from my errand-running today: on the train home, two sisters (maybe ages seven and eight) were sharing a candy cane — sort of. It was clearly the little sister’s, and she was working hard to suck it into a perfect point. She kept holding it up for her sister and then pulling it away before her sister could actually lick it. Her sister was clearly growing increasingly grumpy about this, but the younger girl found it too hilarious to stop. Finally, the little sister
Today, I’m pretty sure, was the first day of New York’s Deathsport season. Like baseball, Deathsport has a fairly long season, though less predictable: it starts when the weather begins to consistently hit the upper 70s and above, and lasts until the weather no longer does that. The rules are simple: catch a subway in Manhattan during rush hour. Don’t die. If you make it to your destination alive, you win. This is not as easy as it sounds. First, while you might think that what with the giant tunnels and all, subway platforms would get pretty good air circulation,