In college I had this super dorky, nerdy by nerd standards, anthropology teacher. I was taking his class as a free elective, so I spent most of the time not paying attention and silently fabricating elaborate storylines about my unknown classmates.

One day my ears perked up when the professor was talking about a few years in the 70's he'd spent touring with and studying punk rockers. The image of this starkly lame dude, surrounded by black-clad, pierced misfits astounded me. How could he have possibly been accepted into such an image based, anti-establishment culture? He explained that, at first sight, most of the people were indeed, very wary of him. But, once the punks realized he was there without bias, and that he was simply trying to learn their story, he was graciously accepted in spite of his appearance.

Looking back now, I sort of realize how completely punk rock it was for this textbook looking anthropologist, whose colleagues were out observing indigenous tribes in Africa, to roadtrip with an obscure musical subculture that was deemed, simply, "problematic" by almost all other aspects of society.

Basically, I wish I was an anthropologist and/or could grow facial hair.

Every now and then I'll read something that creates a really clear image in my brain. The following is a great example of that. I'm going to start trying to get those images down on paper (read: computer screen) and share them. UR BLOGS AIN'T SAFE!

My illustration of this post by Matt Langer.

Jace and I just spent five minutes on our fourth floor fire escape watching two kids hurl snowballs at passing cars. They were taking cover behind a few trees separating Driggs Ave. from McCarren Park, pelting drivers as they rolled through the traffic light at N. 12th.

We laughed and we cheered as we watched these two mischievous little twelve-year-olds, probably unaware they had an audience. I tried to imagine the courage they must have summoned as they delivered each icy projectile, and the nervous backtracking that immediately followed, a readiness to retreat into McCarren at the first sign of trouble. We critiqued their technique, their hits and their misses; I grew concerned when brazenness got the best of them they started targeting cars stopped at the red light.

Someone finally hit the breaks, proffering that trademark sidelong stare of adult disapproval. The kids took off towards Lorimer.

Maybe I shouldn't have enjoyed their prank as much as I did, but something about it was just so youthful, so refreshingly irreverent. And seeing as I'm still reeling from finally living in this city again, something about it just seemed so wonderfully New York.