Saturday, January 26, 2019
It is COLD in New York today. 27 degrees. I can imagine some Northerners scoffing but I’m from the South. 27 degrees is the North Pole to Southerners. On a day like this I would normally be wearing my Men’s Heritage Shearling Hat from Cabela’s, but I remind myself that George Washington’s soldiers at Valley Forge were near starvation during the terrible winter of 1778, and some of those unimaginably stalwart men did not even have shoes. The least I can do is tough it out and wear my warm-weather MAGA hat when it’s cold outside.
By the way, if anyone is desperate to get away from the New York City Lunatic Asylum, I would suggest a weekend trip to the land of Bitter Clingers. The Cabela’s where I bought my shearling hat is a gargantuan (250,000 sq. ft.!) megastore in Hamburg, Pennsylvania, just a two-hour drive from New York (longer, of course, if you take the scenic and vastly more interesting back roads). Valley Forge is a little over an hour from Cabela’s and a mere two hours from New York. Throw in a spa stopover somewhere along the way and you’ve got yourself a perfect temporary antidote to the totalitarian “progressive” insanity of New York. You’ll see what I mean when you gaze in wonder at the miles of firearms for sale at Cabela’s. Puts everything into perspective.
Am heading out today to run some errands, mainly to search for an inconspicuous body cam. Stopped along the way for a quick foray into my favorite flea market in New York (the one on 25th Street; old timers will correct me by saying “what’s left of the one on 25th Street”). One person there remarked upon my hat and asked if it was an “ironic” statement. I’m not even sure what he meant, but I casually shook my head “no,” shrugged, and continued my inspection of an amazingly well-preserved metal hobby horse from the 1940s. More synapses misfiring, another bubble burst.
Then headed down Sixth Avenue to check out the hodgepodge of junque being sold by the sidewalk vendors between 25th and 23rd Streets. You never know; sometimes treasures are found amidst the chaff. While I was perusing an amusing jumble, the vendor at the table said, “I didn’t know they came in blue.” My reaction: hunh? Then I realized he was referring to my hat, so I told him that there are cornucopias of MAGA hats for sale at Trump Tower. He gave me the thumbs up, and I continued my slo-mo junque crawl down Sixth.
Stopped in at the Union Square Petco to visit the homeless kitty cats waiting to be adopted. I want all of them. Then meandered into the huge Barnes & Noble around the corner. Picked up some amazingly patriotic and blatantly Christian Christmas (not “holiday”) cards for 75% off. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a prissy clerk giving me the evil eye (am getting quite adept at seeing out of the corners of my eyes).
Popped into Trader Joe’s wine shop on 14th Street (which I highly recommend: excellent selection and excellent prices) and noticed a young woman freaking out when she saw my hat. I pretended she didn’t exist. New Yorkers know this is the best way to respond to insane people.
On the subway to the ferry, I happened to notice a 60-ish sort of hippie-ish guy (he had unkempt long hair and was badly dressed, so I assume he was a hippie) trying to shame me with an exasperated stare. I ignored him, of course. On the ferry, nothing happened, as usual. I sure do love those ferry policemen (and they are men, by the way).
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