"We were here first."

I glimpsed a version of hell this weekend: West 34th street and Broadway in December. Every starry eyed tourist from Hoboken to Omaha packed the half mile radius around the Empire State Building and Macy's to gawk at the skyscrapers and shop at stores that they could have easily found at home. But as I went into New Yorker Mode and pushed my way through the crush of shoppers and errant taxis, I knew that I had only myself to blame.

All this for a pair of black trousers and a new handbag.

The point of this whole excursion was so that Nils, Beth, and I would have something to wear for dinner and drinks later that night. So after some modicum of success was achieved, we ventured back to Brooklyn to change and to have a quick drink. Then it was back to the L to go to Florent in the Meat Packing district and then onto drinks at someplace decorated like an igloo.

Urban coolness was obtained. Perhaps.