Last night, I went strolling in the East Village to check out the location of the Vig Bar, which is where I and others will be reading next Saturday for Newer York, a really cool new zine which happens to have print editions. A small place on the corner of Elizabeth St. (I think), nestled between Bowery and Lafyette, inside, some college aged East Village types (whatever that means, yes, very stereotyped) and some Suits. Anyway, I'm glad I found it. Lots of crazy pulsing life going on in the city last night (Thurs.)-- women dressed to kill, the thump and grind of music spilling onto the street, the humid air carrying laughter and the scents of rosewater and orchard, young girls walking arm in arm, claiming sidewalk space, and on every corner another variety of small dog, big dog, exotic dog. I'll be dogged! I walked from midtown to East Village (Bowery) and back. Not a bad exercise for an old man who needs exercise. And wearing an old pair of sneakers that should have been thrown out long ago. I stopped at McDonald's at 3:30 in the morning. New York City has a kind of eerie, surreal feel to it at that hour, almost like a ghost town. Needless to say, I spent the greater part of the day recooperating from a bad hangover. Was there a rock group with that name--Bad Hangover? Seems like there should be. Oh well.
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