June 15, 2013

I'm standing at the edge of the park in Grand Army Plaza, reading through my list of options for a coffee from the hip NYC Love truck. The bearded man inside looks out and makes a comment about the endless loop of "Happy Birthday" the frozen yogurt truck across the street is playing.

"I don't know about you man, but that song is driving me nuts!"

I just smile, thinking to myself of my childhood best friend--whose birthday happens to be today--and of my own birthday, which I'll be spending in Syracuse next week. While I'm lost in these thoughts, an elderly woman with bright pink hair and an equally eclectic outfit comes between myself and the hippie coffee man.

"Actually!" She starts yelling. "That song is copyrighted! And NOBODY is allowed to play it. I'm serious!" 

She frantically looks at coffee hippie, at me, then back at coffee hippie, making sure she got her point across.

"Did you hear me? You don't care?! They're breaking laws and you don't care!"

She runs off in pursuit of justice as I order a tall black iced and share a smile with the coffee hippie that says we're both thinking the same thing: wouldn't it be great if today's biggest problems in the world were what songs the ice cream man was playing?

I'm sorry...the frozen yogurt man. This is Brooklyn after all.