Only the Looney: Maxwell St. Market at Dawn
Sometimes -- maybe you’ve had this experience – you find yourself wondering just what is wrong with you. For instance, what kind of obsessive-compulsive moonbat blows down to Maxwell St. Market on the coldest morning of this holiday season?
Last Sunday, instead of looking in the mirror to answer that question, I went to Canal Street as dawn clawed her way out of the permafrost with rosy fingers I now believe were likely raw with frostbite. I was there early enough that there were still cars dropping off stuff and moving up and down the street. Parking was excellent -- got a spot just north of Taylor.
It was really very cold.
I think this vendor was way optimistic about the number of folks who might be interested in picnic seating on a day like it was:
Anyway, I live indoors most of the time, so it was interesting, in a macabre way, to experience the excruciating discomfort of having my extremities go numb.
Honestly, I don’t know how these guys manage to make it into the stands - you know, set up, make food for almost no one -- and as it turned out, many of my favs (Oaxaca Tamal, Greenhouse and others) simply didn’t show.
Re: shopping, I made a really stupid f*cking mistake that I'll relate to you. I needed gloves -- that was actually the main reason I made the trip. I stopped at the first stand I came to, and the nice man had exactly the kind I wanted (black leather, Thinsulite). Mistake #1: I told the guy they were exactly the kind I wanted. The guy said ten bucks. Mistake #2: I said, through blue lips, that the price was right. Mistake #3: I bought them. 100 yards further south, I saw the same pair of gloves for five bucks. A Maxwell St. Market morality tale. Thus endeth the lesson.
"Don't you ever underestimate the power of a female." Bootsy Collins