New York, Not New York

Sometimes it strikes me how very odd it is that I can just get on a train and suddenly be in New York, and a few hours later I get off another train and I’m back in Rensselaer, which is so very Not New York. Had to spend a couple of days in the city, and I can’t tell you how hot it was. Had to wear a suit, and I was just dripping. No wonder there are so many dry cleaners. I stayed across from Madison Square Garden, very convenient to the train station but a pain in the neck when there’s an event at the Garden — it gets very noisy. Plus, there’s a fire station on one side of the hotel and a police station on the other. Madonna, who apparently didn’t understand that people were busting on Prince over that whole name change thing, was playing at the Garden, and it was odd to see a whole bunch of people decked out as if it were 1984 — not in Madonna chic of the time, but punk clothes: studded belts, lots of chains, torn shirts, spiked hair. Right costume, wrong party. The leftover punks of the early ’80s would not have been going to Madonna shows, kids. Struck me as very odd.

This afternoon’s family event? The Fleshtones, live and absolutely free, up in Troy. In all this time, I’ve never gotten to see them live, so I’m totally jonesing for this….