take a walk with your russian relative day

fur-lined hoods and fabulous russian accents drifted through prospect park yesterday afternoon. my black coat, blue jeans, and blue hat blew my cover as i tried to immerse myself in the lilts and shhhs of canes and dialects while they slowly meandered up and down olmsted and vaux's baby slopes.

i had originially left the house in hopes of a nice stroll and a simple bench upon which to perch and to read a little hobbesian political theory. it was, after all, sunny. the wander did not exactly start off as planned. my ipod died. then a dog bit my leg. luckily, it didn't pierce the skin. "oh, my. she's usually a bit fiesty but rarely uses her teeth. so sorry. so very sorry." i lulled behind the dear dog's owner until the fork, at which point i chose the Other Path. as much as i don't appreciate being attacked by small creatures on leashes, i must thank the dog for sending me left instead of right. for just over the first crest past the fork, i found myself in the middle of russia. they must have come up from brighton beach for the day, for a walk, outside, arm in arm. i love this about this city: wherever you go, even if not more than a mile from home, you find diversity and culture of somewhere other than here.