as a general blog rule, 3 things i want to avoid are:

1. too earnestly reflecting on city life

2. weather metaphors

3. a combination of the two, otherwise known as "the reverse chekhov"

With that said, a bit of earnest urban self reflection as it relates to the weather.

I just got caught in one of those tropical nyc summer downpours.  you know the kind- drops down out of no where, stranding otherwise ballsy nyers under drooling awnings, clinging together as if they'll die of rainy-ness.  The occasional kamakazee garbage bag clad delivery boy running madly down the abandoned sidewalk - he has the Bandaid approach to rain.  Do it quickly.  

I take the slow cinematic approach.  Rain is sexy.  Walking slowly in it, borderline erotic.  A clingy dress is just that much more Faye Wray when wet.  Hair slicked back feels so Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue somehow.  Besides, mascara smudges just perfectly with raindrops. But I perpetually sexually digress...

But more than playing the role of enigmatic vixen in a downpour, what I truly love is watching the city grind to an almost halt.  Like a mini adult snow day.  When the weather forces me to see a city that I'm usually too busy trying to conquer. 

Thank you for indulging me.  I promise to return to my native tongue of Sardonia.