Another day, another adventure. This time George and I waltzed our way to the Met and ended up fully saturating ourselves with culture before we could even make it off the first floor. Intelligently (in our opinion), we've become associates of the museum so we have an unlimited free reign there. Considering how large it is (and ever changing) we both thought it would be a good investment.
Outside the museum, Georgie talked me into a hot dog (twist my rubber arm, I know). It was the first of the trip and most excellent.
I can't speak for my partner-in-crime, but I think I'm starting to understand the Subway system here. The lines are easy enough -- that's not what I mean. What I'm referring to are the constant performers who will hop into your car at one stop, whip out a tune, and drop their hat. A good trick is to keep your headphones on, but turn off your MP3 player. This way you can enjoy their noise, but avoid awkwardly avoiding them when they walk by with your hat, and you have no change. It's also quite tricky to figure out where you are, when you not only can't understand a damned word the conductor is saying over the loudspeaker, but you also can't see through the wall of people in order to read what stop you're at. Every ride is a transitorial "Hail Mary."
Home sickness still comes in waves, but it's a less common assault. I'm not sure if the video calls on Skype with the folks help, or just make the pain worse. Soon though, we'll be able to call New York our home.
Until then, please send care packages. We really need dishcloths.
Oh, and Balsamic Vinegar. Plain old spinach and olive oil kind of suck.