Check out this bird (look closely). See anything peculiar?
This was the only pigeon I saw in all of New York with a funky Rod Stewart-styled feather-do.

That peculiarity makes for a good segway because I've witnessed many funky-strange things in New York (during this week-long adventure). For starters? Many crazy people carry on conversations with themselves. I saw one guy talking to the city posters that move on a rotation basis; as though such primitive animation could make them look human. I've also stood next to a man on a sreet corner who kept muttering: "Where's God?"
Today was the first day I heard any cat-calls, however. Amazingly, such was repeatedly directed at me-e-e-e-e and it took me a while to figure out why. When I'd pass some dude who called out "Hey baby" I'd ignore him; even after he'd begin describing the clothes I was wearing (green denim shorts and a black tank top).
Then one somewhat attractive man, dressed in a business suit, ran up from behind and readily admitted that he'd been trying to catch up to me for a while: "You walk very fast." {{I started thinking: What! Is he some sort of stalker or something?}} Then he asked where I was from, etc., "No. Just let me guess. You're from Montana and you ride horses!" {A big loud buzzar sound was going of in my head over that idea.} Then he wanted to take me out on his boat and readily admitted "I'm not a sex addict or anything." {{Yes. he just volunteered that out of the blue, as though NORMAL men could possibly obsess over such an idea.}}
Jiminy Crickets it took me a long time to get that particular nut-job to go away . . . but then it dawned on me (as I passed yet another man who was sitting on the filthy street who yelled: "Work it!" at me) that my SORE HEELS were making me walk funny. Usually I step on the ground heel-to-toe but the pedicure I purchased yesterday and the constantly walking long distances in the drying heat meant my feet were totally killing me. I was walking toe-down-first, then heel.
How strange and pathetic to realize that some men think a woman who walks like she's crippled is sexy! I went back to the hostel and put therapeutic ointment, bandages, socks and tennis shoes on after that-- and all the catcalls completely stopped. [Meanwhile, I'm totally gonna try that walk out on Doug when I get home: see if he even notices.]
SWITCHING GEARS JUST A BIT: I blogged earlier that New Yorkers honk their car horns all the frigging time. didn't I! {It's totally irritating.} Today, while I walked through a high-end neighborhood in UPtown, I saw numerous anti-honking signs (such as the one below).

Here's something even much MORE exciting!
I looked all over New York for a tattoo parlor that could fit me in for artwork before I leave town tomorrow. Emotionally? I'm finally feeling pretty alright about leaving town (now that I feel like I've seen and experienced everything there is to taste or consume in this city).
Meanwhile: getting a tattoo from an unfamiliar location can feel a little overwhelming. Especially when you first walk into the parlor and the artist looks more than just a little scary. (See his picture below). Good thing I don't judge a book by its cover (my tattoo artist does high quality work and came very highly recommended).

Okay. So I'm just kidding. My tattoo artist REALLY looked like this (see below): she was located on the second floor in West Manhattan and her name is Wendi Koontz. (Isn't she a doll?)

So now you're probably wanting to see what sort of totally awesome work she did for me. It took me forever to pick out the design (see finished product, below).

O.K. Actually? That's not really my-y-y-y tattoo you are looking at (I was just fooling around again). Click on it if you want to see its original context.The NEXT picture is actually of my right arm displaying the purple butterfly, which is totally new. Eventually I'll have green ivy added to tie it in with the previous artwork I've had done. For now tho . . . this will just have to do! (To me, the butterfly means: "Change." I feel strongly that coming to New York has changed me, on many levels. I don't think I'll ever be the same). I know I'm going to move about the world differently when I get back home.
MY RIGHT SHOULDER:

This next photo is just a random sculpture of someone's head. It's sitting in someone's upper Manhattan entryway. Because it looked really bizarre and out of place I photographed it, naturally.

Taste buds alive! This next image makes me hungry, even now, just looking at the picture. This was truly the very best tasting food I've been able to enjoy in all of New York. The picture simply does NOT look like anything special -- but this truly makes my mouth salivate even now; many hours later. I bought this lunch at "5 Napkin Burger" (630 9th Avenue) and after paying the waiter his tip it cost me a total of $20. (I took half of it "home" w/me and I'm seriously thinking of going downstairs to raid the refrigerator right now.) It was just THAT GOOD. Meanwhile, the Rosemary sauce (for dipping) was to DIE for! Truly. I might have a coronary with the way this fatty food was cooked but it is worth any fat or health risk. WOWZA!

This next photo is just a random image of a Psychic shop. I liked the way the entrance looked (as I said earlier, there are MANY such tarot reader, crystal divination and psychic shops here in New York -- more psychic readers than tattoo artists. That's for sure!).

Mmmkay. Before you look at this next photo, put your New York earmuffs on because you're gonna hear swearing inside your head. I bought the following T-shirt as a present for Doug (I shipped home the first shirt I bought for him already). While that shirt is not quite as rough as this one, pictured, they both amount to me bringing a little bit of New York home with me.)

Hope that gave you a laugh.