Sydney is off the Fleetwood Mac and way into the harmonies of Gospel/bluegrass. She has a fine ear for harmony, my little neice. It has taken her a couple of hours to get used to us, but now she is staring at me with some sort of recognition. And she still seems pissed off about the ornamental boobies, judging by her dubious glances in their direction. Right now she is being fed in her high chair while growling like a baby monster for more mushy carrots.
Stopped at a bagel shop for breakfast where men from the DSNY (dep't sanitation) were reading the New York post and commenting: "i can't believe they are gonna kill that girl" (I think they mean schiavo). I love the bluster of New Yorkers. I forget about it when I am not here. Tonight I will be going for a beer with Mr. and Mrs. Robot in Brooklyn towne. Would you like to join us?