Rants. My Ruined Barbour Jacket.

Last week I donned my favorite jacket which loving wife gave to me for my birthday, the Barbour Sapper, and I left the house for work. The morning routine. I strolled to the Carroll Street stop, as I always do, and proceeded to the exact spot on the underground platform that will deposit me nearest the exit at my destination. Repetition breeds efficiency. I turned my Kindle on, and proceed to dig into the Lincoln autobiography I’ve been slogging through for the past 2 months, and in so doing, I leaned against the platform girder pole. The same girder pole I always lean against. I’m a leaner. Always leaning. When I got to the city and took my jacket off, my hands touched something wet and sticky. This is unequivocally a bad tactile sensation to have after a subway ride. It can never bode well.barbourAnd sure enough, horror of horrors, I had a massive stripe of girder-colored oil-based paint along my shoulder. Seems that my leaning pole had been freshly painted, though no one labeled it as such. Or perhaps someone thought it amusing to remove the sign? Ha ha. Staring at my ruined jacket, I had the kind of unique fury that is utterly impotent, for there is no proper recipient and nowhere to direct it. I walked it over to the Barbour store on Wooster, and the dude was like, “Well, we can send it off to the factory and maybe they’ll be able to improve it.” That’s not the verb I was hoping to hear. Anyway, now it’s in Barbour’s hands. A ruthless and vengeful New York City decided that it was going to take my jacket and kill it. You cannot fight this town when it spontaneously decides a sacrifice is necessary; that there will be blood. I guess that sense of surprise and fear helps keep our relationship fresh.

About the Author |
We earn our living selling New York City. The next day is never like the last. The last is never ordinary. We witness all sorts. We listen to the City’s noise. We devour its phenomenal food. On the Real is our documentary. It is your pack of unfiltered New York 100s.

Art. The New York Earth Room.

It’s closed for the summer, so now’s a great time to go take a breather and check out some dirt. A big giant room full of dirt. About two feet deep.

     
In 1977, artist Walter Da Maria loaded 250 cubic yards of dark and fertile looking soil into a 3,600 square foot loft in Soho and called it The New York Earth Room. It’s on view Wednesday through Sunday from 12 to 6 at 141 Wooster. Buzz the 2nd floor and walk up a flight.

About the Author |
We earn our living selling New York City. The next day is never like the last. The last is never ordinary. We witness all sorts. We listen to the City’s noise. We devour its phenomenal food. On the Real is our documentary. It is your pack of unfiltered New York 100s.