I know it's been a while. Don't judge.

For reasons most people cannot understand, come outrageous rush hour traffic or potholes the size of Texas, I must drive my car to all of my appointments and obligations in Manhattan.

It sure ain't the ample parking situations abound on that miserable stretch of concrete jungle. And it isn't the pure joy of givin' my shocks a little jolt. I refuse to explain myself. It would take too long. Just suffice it to say I've figured out six ways to get to downtown Manhattan without having to pay a single toll. Sure beats taking the overpriced commuter rail.

So I drove down from my newest abode in comfy Westchester, to my most recent audition this evening. Since it was a national holiday, I didn't run into the usual amounts of traffic on the Deegan, the Saw Mill and the H Hudson. I sped down the West Side Highway listening first to the soulful gargling of the Stereophonics, and later to the epic tune of Placebo. The choice of music in my car often reflects the state of the road, the scenery and how impatient I am to get where I'm going...which in these parts, is definitely always in the red.

And while we're on that subject, my vehicular vocabulary--I think I'd like to coin that term--has expanded significantly during my many jaunts into the Big Apple. Words of the dirtiest, most vile nature have sprang from my lips. Words I didn't even know I could utter without blushing, let alone without thought! Like straight out of a "Deadwood" script. Those of you who have known me, I have a dirty enough mouth as it is. I worked in radio, for cryin' out loud. Most of the more colorful expletives came out during the two weeks earlier this month I had to travel all the way down FDR Drive for rehearsals. If FDR could see the state of the pathetic road that bears his name, he would be turning in his grave. (Of course, I think he may have many other reasons to be spinning like a top down there.)

Anyway, back to my adventure today. I squeezed down West 18th Street, cruising across five avenues. I found a sweet ass spot between 6th and 7th, about 50 feet from the most recent exhibition site of Moda Manhattan. Looked like something was going on there. People were spewing out of the building onto the streets, dashing in front of my car with no regard for the fact that they could have gotten hit if I wasn't as vigilant a driver. Typical f-ing New Yorkers. I parked my car in sludge leftover from last week's storm--which by the way gave cause for the mayor to recind thousands of tickets for misunderstandings with alternate parking. Knowing that a kick-ass parking spot like that always has a catch (15-min standing for commercial vehicles only or some crap like that), I asked on of the bouncers at Moda if I could park there.

Well, I didn't get much of an answer from any of them. They were busy shouting at pedestrians and roping off half the block with yellow caution tape. Then I heard gunshots--which apparently weren't gunshots, but the sound of something exploding from exposure to fire. Then I saw smoke from the building across the street. By the time I overcame my rubbernecking moment, four or five FDNY trucks had pulled up, blocking my car in with maybe a half an inch to spare.

Now, a normal, well-adjusted car owner would freak the heck out. But I said, screw it, and went to my audition. Came back an hour later. Things had calmed down, there was only one fire truck left, and my car was intact.

Funny thing about the big city. Crazy, off-putting shit happens there all the time and no one bats an eye any more.