a recent symposium on leadership proved to educate, validate and raise my own fallow unibrow. i do not heart NYC. crowds, traffic, and terrorist targets are for the less abstract complaining xenophobes, and since most NYC-ers can barely deign to acknowledge your presence, let alone open their mouths to inform you to get the hell out of their foxtrotting way, the accent issue, isn't even worthy of one.
seriously, who has that much black in their wardrobe? the urban-scape is replete with osteoperetic candidates teetering across chelsea in search of a designer hearse to go with their patent jimmy choos. the only white disruption to the silhouette being that of the omnipresent ipod cords. panty lines are optional.