woof

yesterday i caught a dog food commercial that centered around a delightful little pup, a shiny black lab, bounding through waving grass and sensual sun rays to fetch the ball his fetching master had thrown him.  what i'd like to know is where exactly one finds the man of said commercial: strong jaw, matching profile, crinkly smily happy eyes, good hair, right amount of stubble, broad shoulders, good preppy casual clothes, seemingly stable in his 40's but evidently uncoupled...probably because he loves his dog so much.  i know i've touched on this before, but where - WHERE - on WHAT planet do these men live?  not that i find present company unpleasing, but JUST wondering, and i'll tell you where they don't live: they do not live in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

today, i listened to a piece on NPR about the changing landscape of Williamsburg blah blah blah.  the host literally promised it would be the last time they discussed it, but as all things related to this place, i'm sure irony will follow.  she mentioned that a year ago, she herself felt too old to live in Williamsburg, but that now, she just feels too poor.  well, seriously - what the fuck, but i am so so very glad to know that i am not the only one.

on the way back to the city yesterday, i stopped to fill my gas tank at a Mobil in Westchester.  on the gas pump itself, there was a compact little television to informationally-satiate the 2.57 minutes i spent spewing 87proof into my borrowed Honda.  i actually found myself enthralled, i HAD to know local weather, i HAD to know what was coming up next, i HAD to i had to i had to.  my tank ranneth over.

peep

the other day, i practically pranced out of my place on the way to work.  great music on your ipod obviously helps, but in general as of late, i've been pretty excited about throwing open the door each day.  

so there i am, truly skipping along, and as i cross the street, something horrific catches my eye: a _flattened_ pigeon.  

now, this particular type of road kill is not entirely uncommon in New York, and having grown up in the country, it's not exactly that you haven't seen these kinds of things before, but indeed, there it was: grey feathers, perfectly splayed in flat pigeon blood and guts 2D, smack dab on the street in front of the little Italian cafe i get deliciously fat French croissants at.    

i tried to quell the peasant superstitions that immediately arose from within my own healthy bowels, but the day did prove to be healthily jarring, nonetheless, and i've tried to stay away from that particular patch of street since, or at least until the movement of the masses, or the street cleaner, i guess, can whisk that poor thing away.

the next day, i set out for a Pilates class at 1:30.  the studio i belong to has three separate locations in the neighborhood, and while they're not exactly distant from each other, you should probably know where you're going if you want to get there.  

as i scooted along, looking forward to how amazing my core will be this summer, i passed yet another passed pigeon - it seemed as if the poor babe, just having had enough, marched right up to the pleasant brick wall of a popular restaurant, tucked his head down and under, crouched on his little feet, hunkered down against the cold, and simply retired.  it was kind of devastating.  come on, pigeons; i like you.  it kills me when i see people kicking pigeons around, their beady little eyes all confused, like come on asshole, this street belongs to me, too, or the worst, a pigeon who's lost a little leg...hopping around, all sad looking, or maybe i imagine that, but i do love them so although honestly, pigeons can be just as annoying as people, which obviously grants them special status of endearment, as well.

i walked into the studio for my 1:30 class and realized that the class started in three minutes, 10 blocks away.

to quote 30 rock: where ARE all the baby pigeons????