Mistakes were made

New York City meets Munich

Smoke on the asphalt

November 22nd, 2002 · No Comments · Uncategorized

How a brick-sized mass of dry ice came to be on the side of West 46th Street is open to speculation. But there it was.

Of the cool cold-thing family, dry ice is pretty tame. It’s not as nifty as liquid nitrogen, for instance. But a puddle of liquid nitrogen doesn’t hold the same potential as a slab of dry ice. For one thing, you can pick up a slab of dry ice and take it home.

That is the first thing that occurred to me when I realized what the smoking white brick was: what can I pick it up with? Not that I can do anything useful with it. It would just be cool to mess with, until it all melted away into gas.

Here I am, on my way to meet my wife for a drink. Can I walk into the bar clutching a steaming chunk of dry ice?

How come this opportunity didn’t present itself when I was a sixteen-year old geek? That would have been when I truly could have taken advantage of it. But now I’m an old, married geek. The kind of old married geek who leaves the dry ice alone, melting slowly on the street on an early Autumn night, and hurries along on his way.

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