Obamaclypse

I don’t understand the fuss. Driving through New York City may be difficult or frustrating if you are a girly man who still nurses at his mother’s teat and won’t go outside without his trusty pooch to protect him from the big, bad world. Jami had to move and had only one day in which to accomplish this task due to some thing called, work, so I took to the streets of Gotham in a U-Haul. It was not that bad. All you have to do is talk in a New York accent, honk a few times, and cuss public officials. Freakin’ Guiliani! Honk! Freakin’ Bloomberg! Honk!

It took all day but we moved her into a pre-war (WWII) art deco building, formerly a hotel. She and her roommate, Nicole, are sharing a studio apartment conveniently situated between the U.N. and Grand Central Station. Only U.N. diplomats may park on her street. It’s very New York.

Driving a U-Haul through the City was a piece of cake compared to road tripping across Europe. It is just like driving anywhere else in America except (as Jami so eloquently put it) in New York you are only responsible for what is ahead of you. It actually makes a lot of sense. You are responsible for what is in front of you. If someone hits you from behind, it is their fault and you are allowed to punch them in the face, man or woman, day or night. There are no lanes, and just that one rule. Red lights don’t matter. It gives hope to post Obamaclypse America. Yes we can live without rules.