Pomp/ Circumstance

Although I became a bit self-conscious when I realized recently that most of my writing had been falling into the "NYC is wacky!" wheelhouse, no one can deny that New York consistently rewards even the most casual people-watchers with insane visual stimuli.  In Washington, I know simply based on geography whom I will encounter.  Without fail, I will see middle-aged women wearing natural fibers and MOMA jewelry in Cleveland Park, and I will compete for a table at Commissary with one million gay men in Logan Circle.  In Gallery Place, every person will want to see the same movie as me, and I will always meet people carrying NPR tote bags who will grumpily remind me that drinking soda is verboten on the Metro.  But the streets of New York present a thoroughly mixed bag, people-wise, which is beyond entertaining.  Indeed, N and I have taken to playing a fun guessing game called "Professional Dog Walker, or Just Crazy?" whenever we come across someone walking more than four dogs.  Because you never know.

Except sometimes, the assumption that everyone in my path is a big weirdo backfires on me in a slightly embarrassing way.  This happened this morning, when I saw a bunch of people in violet robes and immediately started trying to determine which fringe religion they had embraced.  I was hoping they were Moonies, although I certainly wouldn't be able to pick a Moonie out of a line-up, unless he were getting married en masse in a football stadium somewhere.  But then I snapped out of my reverie and realized that these people were certainly not Moonies.  They weren't even run-of-the-mill Buddhists.  They were your basic college kids, excitedly chattering and snapping pictures of each other on the morning of their NYU graduation ceremony.