January Breezes

I made another funny! ~Splinter, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze Every now and then, I think I’ll post about the little things about New York. Consider this the first of a series. Growing up, I, like every other young boy, loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Even in college, those blindfold-clad reptiles helped me keep all the great artists in order. (Yes, they were color-coded.) I was a huge fan of the cartoon, in line for all three movie openings, and personally affronted when the live-action show and cartoon reincarnation bastardized what was one (well, four) of the biggest influences on my life (Five, if you count Splinter). I had the waterbottle, the action figures, the pajamas, I would doodle their faces constantly in class and at home. They were amazing. The first thing you see in the original movie is one of those sewer lids with smoke coming out of it, and Michelangelo pops out to accept a pizza that had been delivered to that particular man hole from the bewildered Asian delivery guy. (I just realized I don’t like the term ‘man hole’ at all) Anyway, those steaming man holes (It’s getting worse) are seen all around New York City, especially in the winter, even when it’s not that cold out. I guess I always assumed that they would smell like pizza. I didn’t assume they were cooking it down there or anything, but I assumed it would smell appropriate to the only food my beloved turtles consumed. Last night I hung out with Lindsay at her apartment. We rented “Eulogy.” I recommend it. On the way back from Blockbuster, we were crossing an intersection with a particularly ostentatiously misty man hole. I wasn’t paying attention just before we walked through it, but if I had I would have been thinking of a refreshing warm breeze and possibly pizza. When the fog hit my face I was breathing normally, particularly on an inhale. It was more than just a smell, it was an all-consuming physical sensation. To describe the experience will require a little imagination on everyone’s part. Imagine a homeless person (this may be easier for me because they’re constantly bombarding me on the subway, but I’m sure you can muster an image). He’s sitting on the ground next to a building, asking for change. Out of compassion, you grab a few dimes out of your pocket and bend down to throw them in his little hat. At that moment, he moves with ninja-like speed and latches onto your face, sealing his lips around your nose and covering your mouth with his tattered-fingerless-glove-clad hand. Just as you gasp in surprise, he belches. If you ever come visit me, avoid the foggy man holes. They are what finally disillusioned me to the possibility of giant surfer crime-fighting turtles living beneath us, happily gorging themselves on pizza.