Naked Cowgirl and her fans
This is the 21st edition of Cajun Tomato’s NYC 100, a periodic glimpse into New York City seen through the eyes of a new New Yorker, yours truly. Click here for past installments.
New Yorkers will do anything, literally anything, to make a buck. Witness a Naked Cowgirl in a bikini on a 35-degree night last week near Times Square. I have no idea whether she is affiliated with the Naked Cowboy, but she looks a hell of a lot better in her patriotic outfit. Here’s hoping she doesn’t get sick standing out in the cold. Tourists to the city need a little Naked Cowgirl to thaw them out.
This is the 15th installment of Cajun Tomato’s NYC 100, a daily series chronicling my experiences and observations as a new New Yorker. I am using the term “daily” loosely, I admit.
A few minutes ago I toured the two blocks nearest mine to survey what the “Calm Before Frankenstorm” looked like in the Washington Heights neighborhood. I observed birds doing F-16 rolls, small trees playing aerial hopscotch, and New York drivers … well, being New York drivers. The gray skies advanced like flowing water across the sky. The chilled air bore a drizzle that promised stronger rain as the day progressed. My favorite corner sandwich shop on my block closed, but another one I frequent one block south stayed open.
This is the ninth installment of Cajun Tomato’s NYC 100, a daily series chronicling my experiences and observations as a new New Yorker. Today, I am writing two dispatches because Saturday I will be traveling. You can read the first here.
I leaned closer to the short, curious forty-something woman in the “poofy” coat so I could hear her question better. We were standing at a red light on a clear Friday afternoon in which the fall air had revealed its teeth. This last bit of information surprised exactly no one except me.
“Are you from Florida?” the stranger inquired a second time. I answered no, confused, thinking my pale skin could not have tricked her into this assumption.
“You look like you’re from Florida, wearing just a T-shirt,” she explained. The woman did not resemble my mother. However, it was as if my mother had traveled from balmy south Louisiana to Harlem to remind me what a doofus I had been for neglecting to wear a jacket on a 50-degree day.
This is the fifth installment of Cajun Tomato’s NYC 100, a daily series chronicling my experiences and observations as a new New Yorker. For previous dispatches click here.
On Thursday night I crossed the border into New Jersey in a way that felt both illegal and alien. Or, more accurately, reminded me of the perils an illegal alien might encounter trying to pass unnoticed into a southwest state.
This is the fourth installment of Cajun Tomato’s NYC 100, my daily series chronicling my experiences and observations as a new New Yorker.
Earlier this week I decided I would watch LSU’s football game against Florida at a bar with other Tigers fans. In New York City that means watching the game at Legend’s in Manhattan. I knew this prior to Saturday, and yet I chose a different location. Put in football terms: I picked up the ball and ran the wrong way.
Can't beat MJ's meat
This is the third installment of Cajun Tomato’s NYC 100, an ongoing daily series chronicling my experiences and observations as a new New Yorker.
While working a yogurt promo Friday outside Grand Central Terminal, I performed an unpaid, unscientific survey of Michael Jordan’s global icon status. I’ll get to my findings below.