Spring Break 2010, Days 2-4: Let the Sun Shine In...

Day Two was kind of awesome, albeit wet.

I discovered that my boots are not, in fact, waterproof.

The younger guffawed her way to vacation camp as her little umbrella kept going inside out.

African drumming was so groovy when we came to pick her up, I could finally see the draw of the drum circle. Now, I'm going to have to stop making fun of them. I may even form a FIPS drum circle. 

Kid one was promised a trip to the movies in exchange for a trip to the DMV Express Station next door so I could get a new license speedily. The old one was last seen at the Mobil station on 96th and WEA, perhaps on top of the car with the rest of the wallet.

We arrived at Bounty Hunter just as the previews were ending, ate copious milk duds and overly salty popcorn (really, why can't anybody make it right?). A fun time was had by all, despite the D+ the movie had gotten on yahoo movies. 

The cultural indoctrination could wait another day. Or so I thought.

And, by the way, I have never seen a NYC government agency run remotely as expeditiously as that DMV. The place is a wonder. 

Further down 34th, we were asphyxiated by all the cigarettes and stinky men's cologne in and around Macy's before escaping to a sushi joint downtown. Note to men who want to get laid: LAY OFF THE PERFUME!

Frankly, I should have just gone to Costa Rica because at the rate I'm spending this week, I will be filing for Chapter 11 anyway before this break is over. Last night, I shelled out for the family MOMA membership so we could recommence kid one and my culture war and skip that mammoth Tim Burton-inspired line.

Day Three would be the day. Not just MOMA. I was even thinking we could do a trifecta: Whitney, the Met, AND Modern Art.

Alas, just as the stars and clouds were aligning in my favor, the younger woke up. Sick. Desperately ill. Possibly dying. Fine, she has a cold and slight fever but judging from the oscar-worthy whining and moaning, she will be dead before noon. I'm typing this in front of Wow Wow Wubbzy. 

PHHHHHHUCK ME.

And fuck you too because need I remind you ungrateful BALLERS: all for you, dudes, all for you.

Later that day: okay, naps all round. Life is good again.

Day Four

The soundtrack to Hair played euphorically in my head all day long. Especially as I basked in the sun while my boy companions frolicked on a giant slab of rock in Central Park.

The MOMA membership? Worth every dime just to be able to waft by that long, long line.  Tim Burton IS a genius. Likewise, Picasso. Marina Abramovic? Not so much although the look on the boys' faces when they caught their first gander of the naked broad posted on the wall, hairy armpits and all, was priceless.

What a difference a day makes.