It's 92 degrees and humid in New York today, but it feels like a fucking picnic. They call the desert a dry heat, but I'll take this weather over 110 degrees in Vegas any day. That kind of weather makes me feel like my skin is cracking. Like I'll turn to ash like a vampire in the sun. Here, the summer breeze is actually cool.
Aside from the weather, I feel at home in Sin City. The Strip feels like one giant Times Square. It's big, loud, and not the most polite place in the world. And it smells bad, too. Like New York, the city comes to life at night. The familiar energy of people scuttling to and fro, going somewhere they just need to be. But where it has glitz and glamor, it lacks substance. It feels like nothing of consequence happens out there. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but does anyone really care? I don't.
Back to real life. Back to my city.
I've got a laundry list of things to do today (and a lot of laundry, too!):
[ ] Redistribute part of my $21k to my WSOP backers
[ ] Catch up on email and PMs
[ ] Practice guitar in my new rehearsal space
[ ] Record DTB video
[ ] Get back to the grind
[ ] Eat a falafel
[x] Write blog