Giving in to the weakness is not entirely my fault - if Emily hadn't invited me to a dance performance just a few blocks away, I promise I wouldn't have made a special trip uptown to see the fake that is David Blaine. BUT, since we were SO close, I just couldn't resist! Plus, it was the finale night of his ridiculous "Dive of Death" stunt, so any rationally thinking person like myself would conclude that the chance of getting on TV was worth the hour wasted while watching him hang upside down.
As I approached Wollman Rink and walked unnoticed into the VIP area, it was me who flipped upside down with excitement when I realized Donald Trump stood a few steps away - unmobbed by fans (oh yes, we are supposed to be VIPs, we don't act that way!) and unprotected by a bodyguard (of course, because we are all civilized VIPs). After my internal yelping subsided, I debated the appropriateness of asking him for a job, or flat out asking him to sponsor a poor southern girl in the city.
It was soon apparent The Donald thought he was the only true VIP in the area, and a noticeable halo enveloped him, making contact with the surly Donald off-limits. But his standoffishness couldn't keep me from snapping pictures of the flop of hair on his head - hey, it's not like he owns the place! Well...it's not like I care that he owns the place!
The Donald and his flop of hair as he watches David Blaine with what appears to be disdain and disgust...or is that just his normal face?
The second flop of the night - David Blaine hangs upside down before performing his Dive of Death...aka his feet-first jump while secured in a harness and attached to pulleys.
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