An open letter to the random men walking the streets of New York
1. I am not your sweetheart, so please just get the hell out of my way.

2. My name is not "Gorgeous" or "He, he, he, B-u-ti-ful," especially when
a) I'm really sweaty from walking so many blocks in this heat
and
b) haven't washed my hair yet today.

3. Creepy old man in the subway station, you are the reason I am so strongly opposed to the use of the word "cream" as a verb.

In conclusion, please just keep your thoughts to yourself.

Tour of Churches: Part II
St. Monica's
The walk: 4 blocks, 1.5 avenues
The church: Absolutely gorgeous with lots of stained glass, a beautiful old marble altar and one of those lecturns with a spiral staircase
The crowd: More diverse than last week. Not crowded, but it didn't feel empty.
The priest: A short, balding Indian man
The support staff: The cantors and "altar boys" were all adult women in white robes. I think they were nuns.
The music: Lovely but not intimidating to sing along with
The sermon: Very good. Tied several ideas together and kept it relevant. Even worked in a story about a Welsh sheep farmer
Communion: The wine tasted like whiskey again. Maybe it's just standard-issue for the Diocese of NYC
The smell: They used incense at least five or six different times during Mass. If felt a bit like being fumigated.
Overall: I liked it. I could see myself going back.

Weekend highlights:
- I went to see Bend It Like Beckham by myself. I splurged on Baskin Robbins and spent two of the dollars I saved by walking instead of taking the subway.
- I went to the Irish sports bar around the corner from my apartment for a Guinness. The place wasn't very lively or inviting. Mostly there were middle-aged bald men watching the NBA playoffs.
- I got my first piece of mail. Mmm ... Piper's fruit slices. Thanks, Amber!