Ground control to Major Tom

I think I'm gonna go in on some kind of cross posting spree between here and my Livejournal. My Livejournal is, as per its name, more of a personal journal with myriad articles of fan-related activities that I think most hardcore blogger types would get the vapours and need a nap about, I'm gonna keep this place a little more uncluttered: anecdotes, ailments, musings and celebratory drunkness about my new home, New York City.

So here's a little something. I happen to be lucky enough to work in the Flatiron District (okay, one of those phrases desperately aches for ironic quotation marks but I demur), mere steps from Manhattan's first 7-11. Now that means nothing to the vast majority of you, and indeed it doesn't me, but apparently New Yorkers are hog wild for Slurpees--and ought to be in this type of weather.

It was very briefly closed down because, as I found one night as I strolled in for a nacho soujourn, the open fridge broke down, followed quickly by its long time love, the air conditioner. I strode briskly out, and the next day, closure for repairs.

I was more than a little tickled to see on the Great Blogs of the Manhattanverse (to my mind, Gawker, Curbed and Gothamist) wild speculation and mourning. I guess not only are Manhattanites greatly attached to their Slurpees, they are thrown by the mildest hint of construction, begging for cell phone released photographs as to the status of a place that, frankly, isn't all that hard to get to. Take the 6, people, the 6.

Right, I guess that defeats the titular "convinience" aspect to the store.

But it's open again, never fear, right on the corner, just waiting for me to walk in and demolish their faux cheese resources. Blessed Velveeta, calcium enriched pap for the poor.