Reasons to just ridiculously love New York City: Sidewalk doo wop.
Soho, NYC
Reasons to just ridiculously love New York City: Because even in the smallest places, there’s a green space.
Lower East Side, NYC.
Today’s daily cartoon by Benjamin Schwartz.
Few people embody the spirit of Ridiculous in the City more than Joan Rivers. Give em’ hell up there, Joan.
Between this and finding out that DJ Toilet Bowl is taken, I’m out of ideas.
Nolita, NYC.
“I know it’s a bit much, but this morning I just needed a little extra flair. Besides, it’s not like I’m wearing white pants after Labor Day, unlike some clueless mares I’ve seen… Ridiculous.”
Central Park, NYC.
Dirk thought of childhood summers, of girls in bikinis, cotton candy, the sweet smell of salt and suntan lotion. He hated his job, hated the corporate lackey he had become. Maybe he’d get off at the next stop, escape, find that free spirit he so desperately missed.
Or maybe he’d just sit there.
Soho, NYC.
A Charter Member of the Joan Collins Fan Club
Levon never liked is name. Being born to an Elton John enthusiast was not quite all it was seemingly cracked up to be. Still, he accepted his lot in life, occasionally self-medicating with reruns of Dynasty and coffee flavored Haagen-Dazs—his default brand of choice due to a childhood umlaut obsession.
Levon wondered what life might have been like as a Jeff or an Edgar, maybe a Mitch or a Brett. Okay, not a Brett. Would he have been a distinguished Richard or a charming Dashell? Perhaps he might have made a sexy Serge or an astutely intelligent Arthur, but Levon would never know.
What he did know was a life of being chastised for his name, endless taunts from other kids calling him “Left on” as if it was the funniest thing they’d ever said. So funny Levon forgot to laugh.
One absurdly sunny day in early July, Levon received a call from the office of Mr. James Pinkerton, Esq. Mr. Pinkerton was looking for someone by the name of Levon, someone who would be the beneficiary of a large estate from a distant relative in Topeka, Kansas.
“Yes, I’m Levon,” Levon said, recognizing the need for a direct answer.
“Levon, my boy, I can’t tell you how great it is to hear that,” Mr. Pinkerton replied.
And it was great to hear that. For once, Levon was happy to be a Levon. A Levon who was also a charter member of the Joan Collins fan club.
Finger Sandwich Friday: The Treasury, Petra. Because nothing says ridiculous like some camels watching you try to finger sandwich a UNESCO world heritage site.
Yeah archaeology.
Petra, Jordan.
Sheila meant business. In a town full of people who meant business, Sheila was one person not to be messed with. Should that fact have been in doubt, Sheila’s keychain was emblazoned with the phrase, “Don’t mess with me.”
It had not been a gift.
West Village, NYC.
This bronze is from the “See No Evil, Look Pretty Fucking Sketchy” series.
Midtown, NYC.
They say a rolling stone gathers no moss. Obviously, the same cannot be said for a rolling log in New York City.
Chelsea, NYC.
Never let anyone tell you there’s nothing cookie cutter in NYC.
Flatiron, NYC.
Just when you think you might not see anything ridiculous today, life reminds you that there’s always something ridiculous out there… In the loading zone no less.
Denver, CO.
After months of soul searching, Betty decided it was time to turn to hypnosis. If it worked out, she’d finally kick her late night Gouda binges and be fluent in German. If it didn’t, she’d only be out three installments of $19.95.
West Village, NYC.
Overheard and ridiculous: "You can get a masters degree in anything."
Dad:"He has a masters degree in poetry."
Sweaty teen son:"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Like, you can get a masters degree in anything."
Dad:"Well, almost"
Sweaty teen son:"I bet you could get a masters degree in penis examination."
Dad:"Yes, that would make you a urologist."
Sweaty teen son:"I guess."