"That girl is poison!"

Two strange stories to recount. One, my cat Theo spent a good twenty minutes fellating himself yesterday. I was unsure if I should stop him or applaud him for his safe sex practices. In any case, the boys will be getting neutered perhaps sooner rather than later.

Two, as I crossed Bleecker Street at Carmine on my way to meet Nan at the Cubbyhole, I was magically transported back to the year 1990. I was 11-years-old again and someone was playing "Poison" by Bell Biv DeVoe very loudly on a boombox. A BOOMBOX. In the age of the iPod, who the hell has a boombox these days? The answer was before me. About five or so young black gentlemen crossed the street from the other side. One had the boombox and all were dressed circa 1990 -- Hammer pants, acid washed jeans, oldskool gold chains that would make Run DMC proud, lines buzzed into their Kid 'n Play-esque 'fros. I even think one did the "Running Man" as he tried to cross a street in front of a bemused Towncar driver. And as they walked down Carmine, the sound of Bel Biv Devoe fading in the background, the world shifted back to 2006 and the rift in the space-time continuum sealed itself up.