Randomly going through notes I’d written on my iPod from ages ago and I found some gems I’d written and forgotten on the crafty device a long time ago. Between seventeen different ‘Things To Do’ lists and notes on random gossip my sister and I had indulged in at church (at church, I use the bible on my iPod), were some notes that made me smile, side-eye myself and/or pause to think. One of these pretty hard rocks was a note I wrote while taking lessons for an exam when I was still doing my LL.M. I read it and I had to smile at myself, I’ve made some really interesting memories in my lifetime.

“Another bar preparation class and we are rounding up on Torts. Tort teacher is a bloody joker which makes the entire process much easier, thank God. Today, he says something that made me laugh AND think (this is huge because such mutually exclusive factors; laughing and thinking rarely ever simultaneously exist in a law lecture, so gold star for you, Mr. Torts Teacher). He was talking about the Tort of Outrageous Conduct…..Bet you didn’t think that existed, right? Well it does, so stop terrorising old ladies as they attempt to frustrate drivers by slouching snail-paced across the busy city streets! (Random side-note, American Torts law almost works like what I understand of a Civil law system- which is not much- but it seems they really try to cover every potential eventuality. It seems impossible but they have gone surprisingly far in addressing almost every possible situation that I can think about! So cool! iNerd). As usual, I digress.

I was talking about my Torts Bar-prep class. So the teacher is this Al-Pacino, actually I’m not sure who Al-Pacino is and I’m too lazy to Google, but he sounds like a Brooklyn-born-Italian-raised-The-Sopranos-main-character-looking-guy, which is exactly what my torts teacher is. Anyhooooooo, as a true New Yorker and a Brooklyn native, my teacher says he thinks The Tort of Outrageous Conduct is rather daft. Why? Because, nothing really qualifies as ‘Outrageous Conduct’ to a New Yorker. This made me smile because I think that shameless, slightly misplaced pride resonates with almost everyone that lives/lived in a big city. According to him, the unofficial official motto for New Yorkers is “Forget About It!”

He said a typical New Yorker (synonymous in my mind with a Londoner/Lagosian/Parisian etc.) might be mid-commute, sitting on the subway and opposite him, calm as a baby whose milk has been spiked with rum by her tired mother, a fellow commuter sits sipping his Pepsi…..from a severed human head. At this point a lesser mortal may jump and burst into dramatics but our City Commuter sees pseudo voodoo king calmly sipping and possibly contemplating whose head is next, a true city warrior calmly flips his newspaper/book/changes the song on his iPod perhaps to something more appropriate like Ad Mortem by some Franz Ferdinand type.
Nothing fazes a big-city dweller, After witnessing all sorts of barbarism the likes of which is reserved for display on public transportation, you get off the tube or subway or metro, or Danfo, and with a shake of your neatly coiffed hair and a slightly irritated mutter of “Crazy Lagosians/Bloody stupid Londoners/ Mental New Yorkers!” , you exit at your stop, traipsing off to compare tales with your friends on the madness of city dwellers….and getting ready to board the very same train/bus tomorrow because seriously, it’s not that serious! *Le Sigh*. I miss living in London…..true talk, my friend almost sat on a syringe on the tube today!!! *Shakes neatly coiffed hair.*

I love cities, I’m allergic to nature so concrete over trees any day baybay. Not sure what I’m doing in leafy Cali just yet. The randomness of big cities especially what I love, it never fails to tickle my soul. Quick story, 2 weeks ago I was in NY. Strolling down the street in my glorified glory, Diva Dust billowing at my feet as birds stopped mid-chirp to bask in the ambience of my fabulosity, a friend was by my side when we got approached by this ragamuffin looking young man. You know the type; that one that stands on the sidelines all over American streets trying to “Holler right quick”, the one who refers to his friends as “My Catz”, the one who calls his group of equally Scrublike friends as, “Mah Dawgs”. The kind that LOVES to “Conversate”.

Yes.

So this dog-cat (when grown men begin to refer to each other as domestic pets then you know the apocalypse is upon us), asks us for our names as we’re walking. Taking the piss because I figure the universe must be having a laugh at my expense I might as well play along, I say my friend is Gonorrhea and I’m Syphilis. He asks, “Tiffany??” causing me to shout “SY-PHEEEEE-LLLIS”…on the crowded street. He looks upset and spends the next 2 minutes telling us to stop playing as we insist those were the very names we were christened with. After about 5 minutes of ‘conversating’ with noxious oxygen on the New York sidewalk, for we strolled past him on our merry way, he stopped in frustration and screamed down the busy Manhattan street “OK THEN, SEE YOU LATER GONORREAH AND SYPHILIS”…to much laughter and sly smiles from people around.

Slightly embarrassed but determined to have the last word, I scream back “ Goodbye AIDS!!”

Ah, good times, I love NYC.