We're here in NYC since Friday afternoon, settled into a little apt in the West Village, just three or four blocks from the Hudson River. It's a great way to see a city, living like a local. I guess we look OK; four times tourists have asked directions from us. Saturday we went to Katz's Deli and ate oversized and overpriced sandwiches. Katz's is the place they filmed that hilarious fake-orgasm scene in 'When Harry Met Sally.' Then we did a death march ending up at the waterfront tourist complex at the very south end of Manhattan. Sunday we went out to Aqueduct Race Track, but all to no avail. I had four place horses in a row, but unfortunately my bets were all to win. Neither of us cashed a single ticket.
Flying up here from Austin reminded me yet again of how bogus and obnoxious the airport security system is. They took away my Barbasol and Pepsodent. I would be willing to bet that never in modern history has a public attack been carried out by a 15th-generation American above the age of 60, but the morons of Homeland Security must keep fear kindled in American breasts with their scare announcements and pinheads armed with rulebooks. Stupid people with rulebooks are among the worst things in the world. Enough to keep a soul homebound.
Oh boy, today the Museum of American Folk Art and F.A.O. Schwartz to find stuff for new baby in the family. That's another story. Herself is trying on grandmother names: Nana, Mamaw, Grandma, like that. `i may settle for Pappy.