The Day of Feeling Thankful

Ahhh, our final day. It is with mixed feelings that we begin packing up our month-long haven. The feelings then quickly turn to full-on panic as I realize that we are not going to be able to fit everything into the giant bags that we arrived with. J, in an effort to keep me calm, volunteered to brave the rain to find another suitcase at one of the shops along 14th. By the time he got back, with new bag in tow (he had managed to get it for $35 even though the price tag said $70), I had cleaned the upstairs and was calming down. We stuffed what was left in the new bag and headed out for a final quick boy bad coffee at our favorite place, called ‘snice.

As we wandered in the rain toward the coffee shop, I was just trying to take it all in – the smell, the stuff I was stepping over on the sidewalk, the buildings, the people. To add to the magic of the day, we enjoyed another celebrity sighting in the coffee shop – Julianne Moore likes ‘snice too! We downed – but still savored – our coffees and then headed back to say goodbye to our apartment. As I stepped over a dead rat in the street, I realized that I will never forget this experience and will always hold a special place in my heart for this town. Back at “home,” it was bittersweet to close the door for the final time, which was shortly followed by pain at having to get our 400-lb bags down the five flights of stairs.

NYC seemed to be laughing at us, as it started to really rain as we dragged our giant bags down the block to 8th to catch a cab. J did a great job of flagging one down, a skill we hadn’t really worked on while being here (the subway was just too easy). As we rode through the streets of the city for the last time (for this trip), I felt like I was saying goodbye to a slightly quirky but gracious host who I would miss but think of fondly upon returning home.

Reaching La Guardia brought an eye-opening discovery. When we had arrived on April 1st, we had thought this place was a good warm up to the muck to come. Having been out and about in the city for the whole month, we noticed how clean the airport really is. It gave us a clear sense of how far our standards had shifted. The airport was thankfully uneventful, and we were pleasantly surprised to discover that our plane was practically empty. We enjoyed stretching out in the huge space of the exit row, but couldn’t really manage to sleep despite the exhaustion of the trip and the hangover brought on by the Wells Pub Crawl of the night before. The real shock came when we landed – the ground was covered with snow and it was 34 degrees outside!!!

As we enjoyed deep breaths of clean (?, this is Denver after all) air, we shared an embarrassed snicker as we realized that we had positioned ourselves aggressively to get on the airport train first – that subway training stays with you! Prepared to brave the bus and perhaps spend an hour in the airport waiting for it to arrive, we slogged onto the escalator to reach the main terminal. “WELCOME HOME COUNTRY MICE CITY RATS!” I can’t even express how excited I was to see Doug and Lesley waiting there with a giant sign --their smiles and the fact that they had surprised us was enough to choke up even this hardened traveler. My sappy factor continued to increase as we arrived home to find that Dan had made an amazing dinner, stocked the fridge (the fridge must have been shocked, having rarely been stocked before), and cleaned the whole house. As friends arrived to welcome us home, I just felt really lucky to know such wonderful people. If the point of traveling is to expand your experiences, broaden your mind, and help you to truly appreciate where you live and all your friends and family, then this month of crazy and wonderful times has been a huge success!

Thank you to everyone for their suggestions, comments, and support -- we are so very lucky to have you all in our lives! And with two McSorley's darks clinking in my mind, I say Cheers to NYC!

Queens, Shop, and a Pub Crawl on Top

Our last full day. Trying not to make too big a deal out of things and not wanting to further annihilate ourselves we made a pact to take it easy. Our main debate was to either go to the Metropolitan Museum or to Queens. The Met is purportedly one of the best museums in the entire world and a major hole in our sightseeing resume. Regardless, we decided to try to get a little more city life experience and made plans to go on the "international tour" in Queens.

First, I really wanted to find this magic shop. I've always had this image of myself pulling off really impressive tricks and have the crowd gasp in amazement. Alas, it was not to be as the magic shop was long gone. We seemed to mixed luck with the guidebooks -- quite a few highly-touted places have been closed. There does seem to be an incredible amount of turnover for both retail and restaurants. I suppose I place gets hot, ramps up on staff, and simply can't maintain it once things level off. Since we were up that way we decided to give Lohmann's (a discount clothing store) one more shot. Laurie and I both had some luck and we're surely not going to have enough room in our bags for everything.

Unfortunately, our Lohmann's adventure took a little too much time and we were going to have to cut our Queens tour short. The area of Queens we were heading for has several distinct neighborhoods with very different ethnic groups. Starting in Flushing and working back West to Manhattan there are Chinese, then South American, then Indian, then Irish, and finally Italian neighborhoods. Instead of going all the way out to Flushing and walking back, we decided to head straight for a curry shop in Little India. The subway ride out was surprisingly simple and quick and we emerged from the train into a different world.

Leaving the subway station we were immediately surrounded by sights, smells, people, and businesses unlike any other I've seen. The immediate area around the train is largely Hispanic (or whatever the proper terminology for South American immigrants is), but quickly turns to Indian. Walking down the street was very odd -- sort of packed like Chinatown, but with an entirely different feel. Instead of the average teenage kids handing out flyers on every street corner there were older men in elaborate dress wearing turbans. We were astounded by the jewlery shops on the way to the restaurant and planned to check them out once we took care of our hunger.

The restaurant was buffet-style and reminded me a lot of an Indian place near our house in Boulder. However, things seemed more authentic as not only were the waitstaff Indian, but also all of the customers. The food was wonderful, but I have no idea what I was eating. I've had many of these items before, but not with the intensity of flavor or unusual ingredients (I stayed away from what looked like pig's feet). Halfway through I had a frightening memory of all the bad Indian food jokes and recalled Laurie's earlier bad experience, but we made it through without any problems.

After eating we wandered Little India a bit. The jewlery was truely incredible -- the most detailed and intricate gold work you've ever seen forming large elaborate necklaces. I'm not sure, but I think the necklaces are for weddings and are supposed to be melted down immediately afterwards. Hard to imagine destroying this work (especially after shelling out thousands of dollars).

Leaving Little India, we hopped on the subway for a short distance to go to an ethnic Irish neighborhood. Though we saw a smattering of pubs and shops, the Gaelic-named streets were largely filled with a mix of people like we've seen throughout most of the city. Still, fun to walk around and see things and get a first-hand idea of what it used to be like to live here (not sure I would now, especially considering the deafening elevated subway racing by every few minutes). With a nice introduction to Queens behind us, we hopped back on the subway and enjoyed the nice views on the way back to Manhattan.

We raced around trying to make connections on the subway in an effort to catch the end of jewlery sample sale back downtown. Our overconfidence got the best of us and we hopped on a express train that shot several miles past where we needed to be. Thouroughly checking the map and finding the correct train, we finally got to our destination. The jewlery sale wasn't all it was cracked up to be and we left emptyhanded. We decided to go out to the Hudson river and enjoy the sunset. We sat out along the river for awhile and wandered up to a bar serving tasty watermelon margaritas.

The daily hassle of trying to figure out what to do began. Settling on an activity is next to impossible. There is simply too much to do with countless options regardless of the obscurity of the activity. Looking through Time Out isn't always helpful since the listings for each day go on for pages and the reviews tend to be written in cool-kid speak which makes finding something good even harder. There were a few neat-sounding African music events, but not interesting enough to stop considering other options. Then Laurie came up with an outstanding idea -- go on a pub crawl of our favorite neighborhood places. We decided to go in the reverse order of our first visit to each of the places and planned a few possible side activities and food stops along the way. Our route would take us on a good looping tour of familiar, and our favorite, streets. We left out a few down in Tribeca/Soho (disapointingly not including Toad Hall and d.b.a.), but even so our plan seemed like it was still going to be a lot of work. We raced home for a nap before heading out to The Half-King, White Horse, Chumleys, McSorely's, the Corner Bistro, and finally the Blind Tiger. We hoped that the low elevation, walking distance, and the 6 hours we had available would keep us upright and happy.

So, leaving out all the details, we had a really good time and revisiting all the neat places provided a wonderful backdrop for Laurie and I to reminse about our experiences. Can't believe we're leaving tomorrow . . .

The Day or Too Much Excitement

We have really begun to experience the bittersweet feelings of leaving. This place is so full of energy and has so much to see and do that it is a bit sad leaving, but we are all the way absolutely flippin exhausted and we miss everyone back home, so there’s some excitement at the thought of Saturday’s homecoming.

The day started very early for our NYC standards, and I was up and working at 7. I’ve been trying to fit work in whenever I can, as things have started to pick up and will be very busy in the coming weeks. J was less than enthusiastic when I woke him two and half hours later to get up and go see stuff. It was supposed to be the only day of the week that there wasn’t rain, so I wanted to check out either Queens or Staten Island.

Desperately needing coffee first and craving breakfast (we hadn’t really been up early enough to eat breakfast before this), we headed to the closest EJ’s Luncheonette. This diner serves great food – fresh-squeezed OJ, egg-white omelettes, and crunchy french toast that’s coated in pecans. All with Diana Ross tunes playing in the background! Full and energized, we headed to the nearby Strand Bookstore for one more search for Catch22 (J’s been looking for a hard-copy version). I know J mentioned it before, but this place is truly incredible – the number of books is staggering – they are stacked floor to ceiling for three floors. Thus, it is better to go in wanting a book without really having a specific book in mind because it can take hours of scanning to find the one you want (or, in our case, not finding a copy at all).

Disappointed but not defeated, we headed back into the sunshine and truly soaked up the beautiful streets of the Village. Everything is blooming and it is a very calming and pretty place to walk. We meandered through a few of the tiny stores selling knickknacks and whatnots on the way back to the apartment, and decided that we’d head down to the Staten Island ferry to visit our last unconquered borough.

As is usually the case when a large group of people is trying to funnel through small doors to get somewhere, there was full herd mentality to get on the ferry. Having learned from Dan’s wait-til-the-last-possible-minute-to-get-on-the-plane wisdom, we sat and read until most of the crowd had made it onto the huge boat (there was so much empty space J and I could have sat 20 feet apart without anyone within 10 feet of either of us). We decided instead to stand in the crowd at the front of the boat and enjoy the view of the harbor and the Statue of Liberty. She truly is an amazing sight, and though it is cheesy, it makes my chest a little heavy when I think of what she meant to so many people. The experience is all the more real being packed onto the front of the boat surrounded by so many different languages, most of which I can’t identify.

As we approach Staten Island, things start to take a turn for the intense, as all the people on the boat again crowd into the front, literally pushing as they jockey for position to get off. I have to giggle as J gets bullied by a thousand-year-old, 90-pound, 4-foot tall woman who I don’t think had any teeth left. Things get downright absurd as we have to practically jog to keep from being trampled on the way to the buses that go in all directions from the ferry station. As people divide and get on the different busses, we discover that the swarm has lead us to the wrong bus area, and we have to go back in and out again to wait for the next bus to take us deep into the heart of the island. Our guidebooks have few offerings for things to do here – apparently, most people ride the ferry out and ride it back again without ever visiting (I see why, but that comes later in the story) – so we have chosen to check out a Tibetan art museum.

Once we get on the right bus and begin our journey, we start to gain a better understanding of the lack of popularity of this borough. It is a lot like going way out of your way to take a trip to Arvada. Not to mention that our bus driver has a death wish – we literally hit a stop sign going 45 mph, and he doesn’t even flinch. To add to the experience, J is sitting next to a 15-year-old kid who spends the entire 25 minutes that we were on the bus bouncing from phone call to text messaging to phone call on his cell while making sure that we all knew how popular he was. As I glance at J, I realize that I want to get off this island as soon as possible.

Relief comes as we are dropped off in what appears to be the middle of an upscale neighborhood. We are told to walk a few blocks up the hill, and the museum resides at the top. As we pass the very well-kept huge houses (we even passed one built by Frank Lloyd Wright, according to our book) with manicured yards, we begin to suspect that this “museum” is going to be some misplaced hippy’s living room. Not too far off, but pleasantly surprised, the place turns out to be a lovely Tibetan temple that is connected to a house. The temple holds many lovely pieces of Tibetan art and has even been visited and blessed by the Dalai Lama. We have a bit of suspicion that our tour guide, a lovely gentlemen that I think is from the island, was making up answers to our questions, but that didn’t take away from the serenity of the experience.

Serenity that was definitely tested on the bus ride back…We are picked up by a gruff overweight fellow who also appears to care very little for his own safety and the rest of ours. At one point on the bus ride back to the ferry, I am sure that we are going to tip and roll, as we go 90mph around an uphill corner. The driver even reaches out to brace himself for the turns, but continues to drive like a nut.

As if this were not scary enough, J nudges me to look at a woman sitting a few feet away. She is an older blond woman sitting with a middle-aged gay man and holding what appears to be a large amount of her own hair in a knotted wad that is not in any way connected with her head (perhaps it has been taken from a drain, but it’s too big). The sight is enough to make my stomach turn, and I have to force myself to look forward at the oncoming traffic that the bus is barely dodging.

To improve matters, a teenage kid gets on but doesn’t have the $2.00 fare (it was a vacation day, so student passes weren’t accepted). The bus driver and kid argue and the kid tells the driver to call the cops cause he’s staying on the bus. In an impressively immature response, the driver tells him that we’ll all just sit there on the bus – without moving – until the kid gets off. Mostly because we want to get the heck off this bus and the entire island as soon as possible, J gives the kid two bucks, and we’re off and rolling at breakneck speed again. Not far down the route, we stop to pick up two gentlemen who appear to have just gotten off a shift of some job that involves grease. SIDE NOTE: I have failed to mention in any of my previous posts that I was a bit shocked to realize that in NYC, if you want to drink in public, it is generally acceptable behavior as long as you loosely cover your beverage with a paper bag. This policy is not applied to just the homeless, as we pass people sitting on benches in the Village drinking away from paper bags. Anyway, one of the gentlemen has decided to partake on the bus ride home, and enjoys a beer while staring at me for the entire time. This experience would be lovely enough as it was, but I have yet to mention that he didn’t appear to have eyelids. I am not making this up – his eyes stayed locked in this weird wide-open state and there were no eyelids on either side of either of his eyes. J finds this entire situation utterly amusing.

The ferry ride home was fairly uneventful comparatively, and we enjoyed the views of the statue and the Manhattan skyline. The only excitement came at the end, when our driver came into the dock waaay too fast and hit the side hard enough to give everyone a jolt. Absolutely giddy to be back “home,” we head in search of a much-needed drink. After getting off the subway to discover both that it had begun to rain and our guidebook-recommended pub was closed down permanently, we headed into Soho by foot to find a beer-serving haven. We stopped at a pub next to the place we had met our friend Ann and were pleasantly surprised at the friendly bar tender, tasty bowls of snack mix, and even more delicious Boddingtons. To add to the décor, we were greeted by a lovely man who was missing teeth here and there and was rather, how to say this kindly, a little rough around the edges. Turns out, he had been born and raised in Soho (long before it was a nice place to be) and has worked on the subway trains for 30 years. His shtick had been repeated many times, but he was an enjoyable diversion and I truly liked listening to him. The bartender must have felt sorry for us because he kindly, and unnecessarily, bought us a round.

Grinning again, we set off to DBA, another brewpub – this one on the Lower East Side. This place was hopping and had a lovely dark but friendly interior that helped us relax even more. Their beer list is formidable and I was only convinced to forgo a Sammy Smith’s Oatmeal Stout because the house stout was on sale for happy hour (it turned out to be delicious). I must add that J and I were having a wonderful time and I feel so very lucky to get to spend so much time with someone who shares my sense of humor and love of beer J. Although we were getting full from the beer and all the snack mix we had eaten at the other bar, I was determine to try a Ukrainian restaurant in the East Village that had gotten rave reviews. It was supposed to be a sort of upscale diner that served all the food I grew up on (pierogi, stuffed cabbage, stuffed crepes, borscht, and all). Although it was fun to eat this comforting stuff in the middle of NYC, I was disappointed in the food and have decided that I really like my mom’s cooking a lot.

Full and exhausted, we decided to head home and figure out what to do for the night. Unable to find anything worthwhile, we made a list of “low-key” places near us, and headed out – groggy and grumpy, but determined to go. As we wandered past velvet-roped entrances, we got a small thrill from watching the guardians glare at us (we were dressed in jeans and J was even wearing a, gulp, cap), then look away when they realized we weren’t going to beg to come in. We made it all the way up to The Half King, a lovely pub near the Hudson River that had been recommended. It was perfect for the night, and we enjoyed two more Boddingtons surrounded by guys who had just come from playing hockey at Chelsea Piers and girls who stared dreamily at the bartender with the Irish accent.

The pleasant walk home became less than lovely when J realized that he had misjudged the call of nature that he should have heeded back at the bar. He became a true New Yorker as he stepped behind a large shrubbery in a dark corner and partook in the rite of passage known as Public Urination. Thoroughly amused, I laughed as the night was capped off by first an argument between two cab drivers, followed by an attempted hit-and-run cab accident. I will truly miss this place…

On ballet

Mostly a relaxing day today. Lots of work, no coffee, and a nap. We did run out for a quick lunch at Chelsea Piers. It was standard brewpub fare and it was mostly forgetable, save for the great view out to the Hudson River. On a Wednesday afternoon it's not a hopping place -- only a few other quiet tourists which only made the place seem larger and more empty. This is one of the least New York-feeling places we've been, but I could see the attraction if you wanted to take a break from the city and briefly return to your home of Dallas, or Denver, or Wichita, or wherever. I still like brewpubs, but for whatever reason they seem to be turning into the latest Starbucks -- unimaginitive carbon-copies slowly wringing all the life out of a good idea.

Unable to get motivated to do much during the day today (probably from exhaustion) we made firm plans to go see a ballet at the Lincoln Center. I've never been to the ballet (I haven't even see the Nutcracker!) so this was going to be a new experience for me. The Lincoln Center is a spectacular place -- a large square with a fountain in the center of three massive, but elegant, concert halls. The centerpiece is the opera house, which we got to tour last week. On either side are similarly magnificent spaces, one for dance and the other is reserved for concerts. Each space has giant windows that stretch from the street all the way to the upper levels so all the inside activity is viewable from the fountain. As night falls and the halls illuminate from within, it is truely a sight to see.

We arrived early and enjoyed the scene of well-dressed people scurrying to the various performances. It was finally time for our performance so we wandered inside and casually enjoyed the decorations on the long hike to the cheap seats. I was hoping for another hook-up from the ticket guy, but I knew that our chances were shot once we arrived and he never looked up from the computer. We sat on the 4th level on the side, but the space inside is relatively cozy and there's likely not a bad seat in the house.

Not knowing what I was in for, I anxiously waited for the curtain to rise . . . and my worst fears suddenly seemed to be coming true. The stage was filled with oddly dressed people moving around in very aggressive and rigid ways. I immediately thought that I was seeing the movie Stargate (which is *not* a very good movie) as intrepreted through dance. I fidgeted in my seat for the next 25 minutes, but luckily we'd selected a grouping of ballet shorts. I knew if I made it through this I would likely be rewarded. And I was.

The next performance was really neat, sort of a spanish-pirate theme with incredibly athletic movements. Unlike the first performance (which was an ensemble), this was simply two dancers moving about the stage in perfect harmony with the music. I'm still having a hard time comprehending the jumps as each one had to cover at least 15 feet (in rapid succesion and perfectly timed). The third performance was my favorite and what I'd imagine is a classical ballet performance. This was set to a solo violin, which always creates an intense mood for me. I found my hands and shoulders aching from sharing my sincere appreciation at the end of the performance.

This brings up something I've been wondering about . . . what's up with all the clapping at these things? I thought the Broadway-style three curtain calls was the epitome of over-the-top performer indulgence, but both the opera and ballet put this to shame. At the end of a number there is a lot of clapping (and shouts of "Bravo" at the opera), followed by a general curtain call, followed by a slick little pull back out of the closed curtain so each performer can step out in turn, followed by the group, followed by the conductor, followed again by the group, and finally the lead performers again. If you're lucky (which we usually are) you get the whole group again. Keep in mind some numbers are only about 10 minutes long, followed by what seems 15 minutes of clapping. I really need to find a profession with similar accolades.

The last performance was probably my least favorite, which is hard to believe given the Stargate opening. It was all set to Gershwin-type music, which I can usually grit my teeth through at a Broadway performance because I know it's going to end soon. No respite here. This was the longest number and I felt myself watching the crowd, deeply studying the decorations, and accidentally breaking my shoelace during one of the most elaborate retying rituals I've ever gone through. You could dismiss this as my uncultured jadedness, but Laurie admitted after the show she caught a good glimpse of the trumpet player snoozing before he was poked back into conciousness by the laughing trombonist.

So, we were 2 for 4 at the ballet and overall I had a good time. I'd certainly go back, but I would definitely do a little research into the style of performance that I was going to see. Avant-garde and "musical fusion" ballet can keep to itself as far as my underdeveloped appreciation is concerned, but elegant and delicate movement set to impassioned music is a powerful and moving experience well-worth seeking out.

We left the Lincoln Center with plans to get a drink at Tao -- home of the famous (well sort-of famous) big Budda. The walk wound up being quite an excursion across town and by the time we reached Tao we were both winding down. Regardless we headed in for a look. Tao is neatly decorated place and doesn't miss a beat on covering its theme (except for the techno music). All of the waitstaff is dressed in elaborate silk asian patterns and the walls are adorned with paper lamps and the occasional fountain. The place was packed and the bar was comparatively small in relation to the large restaurant. Unwilling to fight the crowd to get to the bar we looked around for a few minutes and decided to head back out. There aren't a lot of choices of obvious things to do in Midtown (even at 11:00 pm) so we decided to come back downtown to where the riff-raff hang out.

Coming out of the Subway we were rewarded with the familar stench, trash, and occasional cheerful bum of what has become home. Recharged, we had big plans to have a nightcap in the neighborhood. Returning to our apartment to search for a new place proved to be a bad idea as we found a few interesting suggestions, but the comfort of our apartment and much needed sleep quickly overtook us.

The Day of Shoot the Freak on the Beach

Oh the joys of processed meat on the beach! After working for the morning at what is becoming our regular coffee shop, we took the subway out to Brighton Beach and Coney Island for a little break from the closed-in city. As the trains are above ground for most of the way, we were able to see actual neighborhoods with trees and yards and kids riding bikes. Some of the streets were really pretty and it was nice to see how people live in the Burbs.

The train let us off at Brighton Beach, and we immediately whipped out the camera to document the Russian and English signs. As we wandered the streets, it was like a different country. This area is now known as Little Odessa because of the large population of Russian émigrés, and it was amazing to hear and read the language everywhere. There were many old ladies with their heads wrapped in scarves and stores selling Russian CDs and t-shirts. We meandered through what appeared to be a discount store (79 cent undies for the ladies!), and it was a bit surreal to see older, roundish women rifling through piles of animal-print sweaters and spandex pants (J wanted to buy a pair for himself, but I told him it didn’t go with his image).

We left the street to walk out to the boardwalk and felt immediately at ease in the wide-open space of the beach. Despite the sandstorm caused by the high winds and undeterred by the pieces of broken glass and who knows what on the beach, we took off our shoes to enjoy the sand in our toes. J realized that he has never been swimming in the Atlantic, but a brief toe-dipping in freezing water left the joy of a full-body dip for another day. It was really nice to be on the beach and enjoy the beachy smell and the pushy seagulls.

With shoes in hand, we made our way toward Coney Island, just a stroll from Brighton Beach. As we walked, we started to notice that everyone around us was either wearing a yarmulke with the side curls or a dark skirt. We figured maybe it was a Jewish neighborhood, and slipped back into our shoes to check out the amusement parks. As we neared the rides, we realized that everyone was a Hasidic Jew, which made the strange place even more interesting. There were literally hundreds of people, dressed for Passover, riding on aging rides or playing miniature golf or riding in go karts. It was fascinating.

The next strange development was the sound of a loud speaker calling out “Shoot the Freak! Shoot the Freak!” As we neared the source, we realized that it was some poor kid’s job to stand in front of paint guns as a target. The guy with the loud speaker just collected the money and encouraged you to “Shoot the Freak! Shoot him in the head! Shoot the Freak!” I felt so bad for the poor guy, but I guess it’s all in the name of commerce.

A requisite part of any visit to Coney Island is a Coney Dog bought at Nathan’s, so we got two chili cheese dogs and split a fry. The hot dog was more than I could handle – you couldn’t quite bite through the thick skin and there was a little knob at the end – so I enjoyed the fries, which were very good. As we weren’t really interested in waiting in line for a long time to play skeeball, we decided to head home.

On the train ride back, we both fell sound asleep, but woke up just as we approached the stop that would lead us to the Magnolia Bakery. As I already know that it will take months for my system to recover from this trip and get back in shape, I figured that one more cupcake couldn’t do that much more damage. This time, there was no line and J was able to experience the magic of picking out a freshly-made cupcake, then enjoying it in the park across the street. So many people do this that the park’s trash cans are overflowing with boxes and tissue paper from the bakery. Oh I will miss these when we’re gone…

The sugar propelled us home, and we collapsed into a nap (we didn’t go to bed until 3:30 or so the night before). J woke in a panic at around 8 because he was worried we would miss out on something, only to discover that there wasn’t much going on. We decided to head to another film at the festival – hoping to get into a French comedy called Aaltara about two guys who get in an accident and end up in wheelchairs. Sounds funny, eh? It turned out to be one of the most hilarious movies that I’ve ever seen. I should have known because as we walked in this wild haired man was shaking our hands and telling us in a thick French accent “You have made the right choice. Good choice. Very good choice.” He turned out to be the director as well as one of the stars, and after the movie, his Q&A session was as comedic as the movie had been. He struck me as a crazy drunk who is incredibly smart and talented. I’m not a huge fan of buying movies, but I’m going to hunt down a copy of this movie to own because it is so funny.

With throbbing cheeks, we headed home, stopping on our block to buy a $10 six pack. After a few beers and a few episodes of Cribs, we were nodding off and decided to officially call it a very good day.

View from the Top

Today was supposed to be relaxing. We're hitting our stride with activities and going to movies seems to renew our enthusiasm. We only have a few things (that we can reasonably do) left on our list and I've been dreading one -- going to the top of the Empire State Building. Not that I didn't want to see the view, I just new it was going to be a complete nightmare of crowds. Since it was cold and windy I was hopeful everyone else decided to stay home.

Unfortunately that was not the case, though by the half-filled maze of velvet ropes I could at least tell we came at an unbusy time. The wait wasn't too bad and Laurie figured out that getting me to read while in line is distracting enough to keep me from getting grumpy. Past the ticket booth things were much smoother and we skipped giant holding rooms. Racing through was actually quite humorous as the entire place is designed to extract the maximum amount from your wallet while in line. The line snakes back and forth through the same set of rooms and each tchotchke station was fully staffed. Without many other tourists, we got to see each station 2-3 times in a matter of seconds and I had to laugh at each passing. We wound up right back where this whole maze began and I guess they weren't willing to pull the initial rope in hopes that a little crystal Empire State Building would catch someone's eye.

From there you ride up to the 80th floor to get to another set of ropes, also mainly empty. The elevators slow things down a bit and the repetition of the sales pitch for each new station got a little annoying. It was like watching a robot and regardless of how long you stared (even with direct eye contact) they never broke stride or volume. I think a gentler, more personal pitch would have been more effective than the unenthusiastic infomercial-like approach given at maximum volume to 15 helpless people.

We reached the top and I have to admit I was really impressed. The view is incredible and the tremendous height makes you feel really out there. I've been to the top of numerous tall cliffs of similar height, but something about this being man-made and much more slender is a little unnerving. Regardess, the views off of each side were breathtaking and, dispite the raging wind and rain, we did multiple laps around the top. Fully satisfied, and freezing, we made our way *back* through the tchotchkes and were more than happy to reach the safety and normalcy of the street.

From there we shot back down to Tribeca to catch a film. The film center is adjacent to the WTC site and we're passing its length on almost a daily basis. Though I'm not as overwhelmed as the first few times, I still feel very solemn when passing and it's hard not to get caught up in the emotion of the place. Progress seems to be moving quickly and they've set up cones to define the tower footprints -- I'm guessing for the landscaping to come. This was done in the past few days and was a little weird to suddenly see appear.

Anyways, the movie we decided to see was quite intense. It was a fictional story about the crystal meth problem in Iowa. It was extremely well-done and had it not completely blown the ending would have been nightmare-inducing for several weeks. It was hard to feel much against it as we were literally sitting a few feet from a (very excited) portion of the cast and crew that created it. I guess the personal connection helps you overlook, or at least remain quiet about, major shortcomings. Dispite the bad ending, it still put us in a weird emotional state that left us wanting to get away from it all. The movies up until now left us ready to get back out into the city, but this one was messed up enough that all I wanted to do was find a quiet hole to crawl into. Certainly not a hole in the city and most definitely not one in Iowa.

We rested up for a few hours and watched some bad TV to get us back into a normal emotional state. Laurie's been talking about going to this party for weeks as it's name (Couscous and Apple Juice) peaked her interest. We've been disappointed with the Time Out build-up of events before so we left our house with low (probably just more reasonable) expectations. The club holding the party is right by our apartment in the Meat Packing District. Like I've mentioned before this area is swanky and filled with well-dressed and trying-to-be-seen crowds. We knew our intended venue was unmarked, but I'd thought that we'd be able to find it by the velvet ropes and crowds.

We passed the first place (which I knew wasn't where we needed to be) and got in line for the second. There really wasn't much of a line, just a guy ahead of us getting some 'tude from the doormen. He left in a huff and we were next. I did my best to look uninterested and cool, though I was quite nervous when the clipboard lady asked us who's list we were on. Although I thought about throwing out Dylan McDermott's name as he was standing right there and would've definitely vouched for us, we sheepishly replied "nobody's list, just us". It turns out that tonight was a hopping private party, which immediately deflated our evening plans. Laurie disappointingly asked, "Isn't the last Monday usually the 'Couscous and Apple Juice' party?" "Huh? What's 'Couscous and Apple Juice'?"
To which Laurie responded, "Your party."
"What place are you looking for . . . APT?"
"Yep"
Chuckling the lady finished, "Just down the street."

Shoot. There goes all the cool points I'd scored by brooding for the past few minutes. We left the door lady laughing (as was she) and headed down the street. The street sure looked deserted to me. Where the heck was this place? We found the right address and opened a large black nondescript door. We entered a small foyer only to be presented with three more large black nondescript doors. Which one? Trying my best to listen for sounds, but having no luck we tried the middle one. Bingo! We unconfidently stepped inside and I didn't really hear if the girl actually let us in or not, I just stepped through. The place is really nice and has feel of someone's well-done living room. We immediately shot through and went outside to the small garden. Slowly regaining confidence we went back inside for a beer.

Now I know this place has two floors and the party was on the lower. We were on the upper floor and getting downstairs seemed impossible. Laurie was questioning my information and I was hawkishly stalking people trying to figure out where the flippin' stairwell was. Finally fed up, and blowing any remaining coolness, I asked the waitress how to get downstairs. Out by the door girl. Shoot. Didn't seem that friendly and I had done such a poor job of getting through the first time I wasn't looking forward to being out there again. It was, not surprisingly, not a big deal and we quickly descended into our intended destination.

The place is really neat. It has a long bar completely surrounding the perimeter and the dj booth is at the end with a tight dance floor in the middle. It's well lit and the crowd is well-dressed and pumped up to have a good time. Quite discerning, the crowd respondes when the DJ does well, but immediately calms down in the slower spots. A little intimidated, Laurie and I enjoy the scene from our wallflower perches. Finally wearing down after a long day we head for home and after an exhausting day of emotional ups and downs I'm definitely ready to hit the hay.

The Glorious Day of More Cupcakes

What a really nice day…I think we’re finally recovering from our brief grumpy stage and are truly enjoying being here. Knowing that this is our last Sunday here (you will notice this theme for the rest of the week, I’m sure), we got up and headed out for brunch. As we again meandered through our neighborhood, I felt relaxed and happy that we were here. The weather has cooled off again (enough that Jason can wear the jaunty scarf we bought at a street fair yesterday…he looks really cute and will soon get another cat call, I’m sure), and the downpour last night has left the spring blooms shining.

We scouted out a few places that were reviewed in Time Out New York, but stumble upon a place that I had read about before coming to town. The breakfast (a term used loosely, as we were eating at noon) was really good, and I felt ready to find the street fair that we had wandered with Frank a few weeks ago (I have a few touristy things I’d like to pick up before heading home on Saturday). The fair isn’t in the same place, and we head home feeling unfulfilled. The only thing that will make me feel better is a Magnolia Bakery cupcake. I realize that I’m developing a serious cupcake dependency problem when I’m embarrassed to admit to Lesley on the phone that I’m waiting in a line that goes halfway round the block for a box of four cupcakes. And my fears are reinforced when I finally reach the cashier and I have exact change – he gives me the sheepish grin of someone who recognizes an addict. It’s all worth it when I enjoy my treat back at home.

The sugar is enough to get us going again, and we head out to the film festival. As we are too early to get door sales tickets, we wander toward the Hudson River and discover the Irish Hunger Memorial. It is an incredible little structure – it is an angled modern cement structure on one side, but once you walk through, you end up on a path that takes you up a small grass and stone-covered hill that overlooks the river. It is amazing to me how much pride is taken in each little project in this city– this tiny development is incredible.

We returned to the door sales line, only to be pleasantly surprised when a rather flustered but kind-looking man gives a group of us free tickets to the show. Once we reach the theater, the man who gave us the tickets is introduced as the writer, producer, and director of the movie we are about to see, which just makes the experience that much more powerful. The movie is a documentary about John Dobson – the developer of the Dobsonian telescope – an easy-to-build telescope that gives the everyday Joe that chance to view the galaxy -- and the Sidewalk Astronomer movement. He’s in his 90s and is obviously a brilliant, interesting, and very funny guy. The movie is filled with his ideas about physics and astronomy, and J and I leave with our head full of “noodlers” as J calls them. We decide to walk home along the Hudson, and spend the whole walk discussing the universe and matter and energy and space and time. It’s enough to send me out on a wine and food run just after we reach home.

We had planned to attend a free event at the Julliard Theater at the Lincoln Center – dance students were giving a final production before graduation. With utmost disappointment, I discover that we needed to be there an hour ahead to get tickets (which seems odd considering that the event is free), and we settle into our usual roles of J working and me eating.

Unable to accept that we will spend our Last Sunday Night (caps will be used to reinforce the tone of voice that J uses when saying this term) in the apartment, we head out to the film fest to catch another movie. This time, we are lucky enough to get seats in a packed sold out show called “Brooklyn Connection.” This documentary shows a man from Kosovo who is outfitting the Kosovo Liberation Army by working in and buying supplies from within the United States. The footage is both fascinating and unnerving, and I am again slapped in the face by the very small window I look through to the world. Throughout the movie, I become a little nervous about the explosiveness of this material – I find myself wondering how likely it is that someone in the audience is Serbian or is simply offended by the content. I am surprised at myself for beginning to feel uncomfortable that there is no security at the theater. At the end of the film, the director and crew answer questions, and the discussion quickly becomes heated. There are many Albanians in the audience who don’t feel that the movie fairly explored the moderate perspective and others who are obviously involved in the efforts to fund the independence of Kosovo through military means if necessary. Without going into any more detail, suffice it to say that the passion of the people on both sides quickly became apparent.

As we walked from the theater to the subway, we were again spinning as we tried to wrap our heads around both the movie and the very strong reaction to it. To add to the feeling of tension, we noticed –for the first time in three weeks of riding – that the NYPD had sent representatives into the subway (I’m assuming for the filmgoers’ safety). It was strange, but somehow having them there just made it feel like there was something to be worried about. I’m sure it was just the timing of the movie and the tension in the theater combined with their presence, but J and I were both on edge as we made our way back home. Finally back here, I know that despite my exhaustion I will have a hard time falling asleep as my brain tries to deal with a day filled with the creation of the cosmos and the fact that you can buy a gun from your local ammo store that will shoot down a helicopter…then again, how incredible to be able to see such amazing movies that cause my eyes to open. I’m definitely going to need a few more cupcakes to figure this all out…

Club O'Flannery

We woke up today to an unusual amount of noise this morning. Our street is very loud all the time, so the peak in activity (especially the bump needed to wake us up) was worth getting up for. There was a street fair in Chelsea that blocked off 9 blocks so everyone was trying to use our street. This, of course, resulted in an ungodly bumper to bumper traffic jam. I've seen a lot of slow traffic, but this was my first time experiencing total deadlock. The amount of forward motion seems directly proportional to the frequency of honking. The honking was accompanied by a siren directly beneath our window as an ambulance was trying to make it's way through. I'd say it probably took the ambulance 20 minutes to make it a full block with the siren blaring at full volume for everyone's enjoyment.

There's always a siren going and it's like nothing you've ever heard. I swear that each emergency vehicle has a full mixing board in the front as each driver seems to have their own distinct style and pick different parts of the siren spectrum to repeat, mix, or let run. Really, an amazing and underrated part of creativity that's unique to New York.

We walked the street festival, which is much like every other street festival in the country, which means largely uninteresting. We hopped into a restaurant along the way and enjoyed the kitschy cowboy outfits and pumping techno with our breakfast. Eating out all the time is hard on the gut, and the pocketbook. We've moved to two giant meals a day which doesn't ever really leave you feeling good -- either starving or stuffed. Today was no different and we decided to walk off our breakfast by touring the galleries in Chelsea.

Chelsea is home to probably 100 galleries and is the new fine art hotspot as high rents have pushed them out of Soho. We really want to find a cool piece of art to remember our stay here, but quickly realized a street vendor is more likely to have something in our price range (at one place a needlepoint-looking wall hanging was $12,500). The area strives to be very highbrow and the art is very interesting, but takes on more of a museum feel with the gangs of older heavy ladies browsing in their pastel best.

I haven't mentioned the celebrity sightings, simply because it would honestly fill each day's entry and I'm trying not to be wowed by it, but we had one today of note. As were heading home from the galleries on a remote street I saw a large man approach off the street and at the same time heard Laurie gasp excitedly and grab my arm. James Gandolfini immediately paused his step ready to combat the overanxious fan, but Laurie continued "Oh look, a puppy!" as she stared off down the street. With a smirk and again confident step Mr. Gandolfini continued past.

We decided to attend another show at the Tribeca Film Festival in the afternoon. Going the previous day was really relaxing to me and put quite a bit of wind back in my sails with regard to enjoying the city. There was quite a bit more activity here today as it was the weekend and the festival is now in full swing. Based on Laurie's earlier puppy excitement, we decided to go to a Japanese movie about the life of a golden retriever that was a trained companion for an elderly man. Not realizing the shared love for dogs in the city, we underestimated the attendance and it was sold out by the time we got there. Instead, we waited in a standby line for a film about two gymnasts in North Korea. It is one of only two western films ever made in modern North Korea and aimed to simply provide a glimpse into life there. Life's worries are much different than here, but people wind up being much the same. The film wasn't political or preachy at all, but did point out the extent in which Kim Jong is regarded and I found interesting parallels in how their institutions teach patriotism, self-reliant pride, and general distrust of other cultures much in the same way as ours. Anyways, it provided plenty of fodder for discussion in our 45 minute walk home.

We found a great soul food place as we neared home. We originally we going to go to a new French restaurant, but a quick glance at the menu reminded me of my growing acknowledgement of disliking French food. I don't know enough about the different French styles of cooking, but I like the sauce-based and casual foods much more than the elaborate concoctions that seem to rule here. Soul food was the perfect choice to end a cool and foggy day.

We were determined to go out dancing so decided to take a nap after dinner in order to try to make it out at a reasonably late time. Things don't pick up here until 1 am or so and we've been out on the early side of things (when it's not much fun) way too many times.

In Time Out a few weeks ago we read about these reggae battles between different groups and thought we'd found a opportunity to check this out. It was down in the East Village and the return of a total downpour complicated our plan. Undeterred, we set out and ran to the subway getting completely soaked in half a block dispite an umbrella and breakneck speed. We found the place, a tiny little hole-in-the-wall with barely enough space for a pool table and lots of goth and punk kids. The punk resurgance is going full-steam around here and the crazy outfits remind me of bad 80's movies which always brings me a chuckle. The punk kids are also very difficult to tell from the Aryan skinheads (which I don't have a particular affinity for), so my patience for this scene quickly left as did we.

Up and over a few blocks was our next destination, which was streaming with people and was much more pleasing. Laurie got cornered by a Jersey girl needing boyfriend advice which gave me an opportunity to check out the place. Lots of activity and lots of excitement, but not a whole lot of dancing going on. The DJ seemed to have a really hard time keeping things going and as soon as the crowd would start moving he'd blow it and play a lame song. Knowing that our dancing opportunities here were blown (the crowd was fed up too -- literally calls to "Kill the DJ!") and we decided to cut our losses and go home.

It was getting rather late, but we decided to finally check out our neighboring Irish pub that always seems to have an inordinate amount of energy for the tiny little place that it appears. We walked in and were immediately greeted by pumping sounds, a surprisingly large space, and a crowd that had been going strong since, I would guess, they left work the previous Friday afternoon. Laurie made her way to the bathroom and on the way a charming gentleman made a large drunken sweep for her bum, but he was harmless enough as was the rest of the crowd. I felt a little like we walked into the very end of our Halloween party, but it was fun to watch and provided the highpoint of our "big night out".

The Day of Dosas, Films, and the Guggenheim

We’re nearing the end. Now it’s gotten to the point where we’re thinking “This is our last chance to go to the Friday night Freedom party,” then we realize that we will in fact still be here for next week’s party, and we collapse in bed comforted by the fact that we still have a week rather than actually go to the party. It’s a strange feeling right now because I’m definitely ready to go home, but I still like the energy of being here and seeing new things.

We talk a lot about whether we could live here permanently – the answer is usually no, but we keep trying to figure out why. We love seeing different stuff and being around such a diverse collection of people, but I think it’s the ol’ Western need for space that keeps coming back as the reason. On our walk home last night, J came up with a solution: we’ll just move to Governor’s Island, which is an island that has served as a military base since forever and is now abandoned. The island was recently returned to the city by the US government, but the city isn’t sure what it will do with the place. We’ll just buy it and live there because then we could trail run and lay in the grass and be away from people, then take a short boat ride into the city to experience all the fun stuff.

In addition to feeling the end near, we’ve become rather overconfident about being New Yorkers. We figure that we’ve seen more of the city than most, so we have an unjustified feeling of complete knowledge about this place. This fact was evident as we wandered to find coffee at a café that we’d passed a few days ago. The café is on the corner of Waverly and Waverly, which seems counterintuitive, but we set out with gusto. After a few too many blocks and a brief “discussion” between J and I, we had to stop and look at the map again. At least this foray into the unknown lead to the discovery of a really cool corner of the village that we hadn’t seen. Very quiet crooked streets with beautiful brownstones and flowering trees.

After we had finally reached the coffee joint and were fully caffeinated, we set off to find food. After wandering past the second or third place recommended by our guidebook that no longer exists, we start to recognize how quickly things change around here. It’s always on to the next new thing…We were happy to discover that the recommendation in SoHo still existed, and though the wait was long and the place packed, we truly enjoyed the dosas and reveled in the fact that we could get this stuff as relatively fast food. These dosas were made of delicious ingredients wrapped in a pancake-type bread served with different flavors of chutney.

Ah, but the wonderful flavors kept returning as we speed-walked across town with full stomachs to make it to a screening at the Tribeca Film Festival. We went to a selection of shorts about the NYC experience, which were all amazing. There was a variety of topics – from Coney Island to a guy obsessed with the subway to bike gangs of New York to graffers (for all you squares, that’s street-talk for graffiti artists). After the showing, the filmmakers came up front, and we were psyched to see that one of the guys was just in line with us across town at the dosa place. Small town…

The films sparked a lot of discussion between J and I – always the sign of a good flick – and my head was still in the clouds as we got on the jam-packed subway ride home. Only J being yelled at by a homeless guy and a giant kid yelling to his friend pulled me back to earth.

After a quick stop at home, we headed north for free night at the Guggenheim. We’ve been feeling a little weary about museums, even though some of the best in the world are here. It’s hard to get yourself to go stare at paintings when there is such a lively show going on outside, but the Guggenheim did not disappoint. The collection was as amazing as the building, and I found myself thinking that Solomon and I have a lot in common (that’s Solomon Guggenheim, of course).

Hungry and thirsty for a cocktail, we decide to look around the Upper East Side. We have heard of a Beirut joint a few blocks from the museum, so we cut over to 2nd Ave and are amazed at how lively things are up here. The Beirut bar is empty (it is only 8:30), so we wander past restaurants packed with young up-and-comers enjoying a Friday night release. J has read that this area is popular with the just-graduated Frat crowd, which explains why he feels so comfortable. We notice a marked difference between our “downtown” clothes and the relaxed uptown clothes, then laugh at ourselves for being ridiculous. We decided that we’re in the mood for Mexican, which is hilarious considering that the best is at home, but tortilla chips, melted cheese, and margaritas just sounds good. After reading the menus at a couple of “Tex-Mex” restaurants, we determine that it means something different over here. Since when is blackened monk fish served over barley considered southwestern? We shamefully go to a local chain that we have already been to in Chelsea, but truly enjoy the margaritas and enchiladas…in fact, we enjoy them a bit too much. As we leave, we realize that we have both eaten waaay too much, so we’ll walk a bit before getting on the subway to head home.

Just as you’d expect, we end up walking all the way home, which, we’ve decided, is the best way to piece together parts of the city that you’ve only been to in separate visits. We’ve now walked both sides of the island from the upper neighborhoods to our house and are truly getting a sense of the neighborhoods and the layout of things. We stop along the way to buy a black-and-white cookie simply because we see it in the window – we’re both still really full – and a cookie monster t-shirt (that was a really nice gift for me from J). Walking this much is also a really good way to wipe out any desire to go dancing all night, so we stop for a six pack and enjoy our beer and cookies while picking out other film fest movies we want to see this weekend…no matter where you are, does it get any better than that?

On a side note, J left out a very funny occurrence the other night on the way to late-night rollerskating at Roxy…as we meandered through Chelsea, it was beginning to rain a bit, so people were trying to find cover and figure out where to go. As we passed a group of two gay couples, all in their mid-to-late twenties, one of the guys quipped in a mock-deep voice “How about we head to a sports bar and down some brewskies?” It reminded me of the scene in “Eddie Murphy Delirious” when he does the impression of the Chinese guy doing an impression of a white guy ordering a hamburger – we’re all providing comical material for each other.