A day by myself and then Frank

Laurie's fully out of commission. Her choice in take-out eateries caught up with her and today she's paying the price. If you saw the actual place, which we did beforehand, any sane person would have moved on. The name "Baby Budda" however was too cute for Laurie and she dove right in.

My new nursing responsibilities were still light enough for me to make a few forays out into the city. I finally got myself out for my promised jog -- this time up the Hudson River trail. The trail is still nice this way, but it's under construction and doesn't have the polish of the portion around the lower side. The trail (for me) begins at Chelsea Piers, a major sports complex. They have everything here from a rock wall to a driving range to an ice rink to souvenir shops. Running by it was interesting to see how each entrance brought entirely different types of people loaded down with their requisite gear. From here, the trail winds up past the Intrepid museum (an aircraft carrier) and continues into a tight trail running directly under the highway. Not that it was bad, but I decided this was a good place to turn around.

My run made me hungry (go figure), so after a quick check on Laurie I made my way to the latest in ultra-chic eateries -- the unsigned hamburger shop. The only reason I knew where to go is because I had the address, but nothing else identifies it as any type of anything. Walking in, you're immediately surrounded by the pulsing sounds of techno, brushed steel, and bright lights. I'm not sure how you're supposed to order as there are no posted menus. I actually (gasp!) asked for one, and the guy reluctantly pulled one out from below the counter. The food actually was really good and the experience itself was totally worthwhile.

So . . . what's up with the lack of signage everywhere? I'm not saying that it's necessary to have neon idiot signs everywhere, but New York has an obsession with keeping people not in the know in the dark. It's a miracle that we found our seats at Yankee stadium (not a sign in sight), clubs are only identified by giant men with little Secret Service earbuds standing by velvet ropes, and even a flippin' hamburger shop is too cool to have a sign. New York is much too big for everyone to be in the know about everything, so I don't understand this obsession. I guess if you were an ultra-hip hamburger shop kiddie you'd know about these things, but without writing down the address of a place I would never be able to find anything. The herd mentality rules no matter where you go, I suppose, so once the word gets out on a place everyone is in a mad panic to track it down. I guess the missing sign is the glaring advertisement that isn't -- if it doesn't have a sign it's gotta be a cool place.

The rest of my day was very relaxing as I worked for a few hours while Laurie slept off the remainder of her Ebola hangover. I have to say, it was a really good thing that we were forced to slow a bit. It certainly made me feel much more like a resident instead of a tourist on a month-long binge. I'm hoping that our activities will be a little more under control from now on. At least the brief pause gave me an opportunity to back off on my panic to see "everything".

Our friend Frank from Boulder was coming to town for a visit so we were trying to rest up a bit. He finally made it to our place about midnight. We sat around and talked for awhile as Frank regained his land legs, but decided to take advantage of the remainder of the evening and go out for a beer or two. Since Laurie was still recovering, Frank and I had a free night to ourselves. Our destination was Hogs and Heifers, a supposedly "rough and tumble" place where dancing on the bar is encouraged. I was very skeptical of this description as the meat packing district is one of the trendiest in town. At one time I'm sure this place lived up to it's moniker, but now it's the haven of those either seeking refuge from the club scene or those unable to get in anywhere else. Needless to say there was a long line and Frank and I decided to move on.

We shot down to the West Village and settled on trying to find a hidden place called Chumley's. Now I just spent a paragraph or two ago ranting about the lack of signage defining "cool" places, but Chumley's deserves it -- it was a former Prohibition-era speakeasy. There are no signs or even numbers on the building, we found it by counting the numbers on the opposite side of the street. As we neared the small archway door (it looks like the back entrance to someone's house) I was still skeptical, but noticed light from inside and a simple paper sign out near the door with "Now Open for Sunday Brunch". Opening the door you can kind of see in, but you have to first go up a set of stairs and then back down. The room immediately opens up and you're surrounded by a warm light and rows of inviting wooden tables. I was excited to be here, but unfortunately we missed last call and had to move on.

We wound up at the Blind Tiger (where Laurie and I went for happy hour earlier in the week) and Frank introduced me to Boddingtons. I can't remember if I had one ever before, but I'll remember from now on -- dang tasty. We both were quickly wearing down from the long day, but still managed to find the energy to enjoy a slice of pizza before making our way home. Halfway home we were treated to a movie-like scene of a couple in a major fight. Well, more of a one-sided screaming match, but extraordinarily entertaining. The calls of "You've walked away from me for the last time, Michael!!! Do you hear me?!! Michael, the last time!!" were humerously repeated in my mind as I fell into a well-deserved slumber.

The Day of the Chinese Delivery

So today marked our one-week anniversary in NYC. Fittingly, we slept in after our exciting night out on the town and wandered to get coffee. We headed for Chelsea market, which turned out to be an amazing building filled with gourmet food shops – you should’ve seen the size of those steaks. However, we were unable to find a coffee shop with an espresso machine with a sufficient patina (apparently regular coffee drinkers are in the majority in this town, although there are Starbucks every 3 feet), so we wandered back toward home.

Things are starting to feel homey -- we went to a place right by our house that serves good coffee and all-organic vegetable meals. As we sat and drank our pint-sized espressos and read the Onion, I realized that we were somehow reverting to our Boulder life here. If it ain’t broke…

We returned home to work for awhile, then headed up north to attend free night at MoMA, which, judging by the block-long line out front, was not an original idea. Midtown is so different from our neighborhood – many more tourists and fewer “real” people (as J likes to call them). The museum was absolutely incredible. We were mesmerized by the collection, which includes Monet, Picasso, Gauguin, Chagall, Pollock, Klee, Matisse, and many, many, many more. Although it was crazy busy, the art was enough to distract you from the hordes of pushy tourists (I love saying that like we’re not included). Just as we started walking through the many exhibits, we spotted a photo taken from Flagstaff looking out onto Boulder. It felt like the universe was smiling at us. In fact, as we leaned in close, we could see the Gier household with Doug sitting tying flies in the back shed.

After feeling completely overwhelmed at the art and the pushy people, we decided to try our hand at finding a happy hour drink in Midtown. We headed for Tao, but determined that we were sadly underdressed, so it was off to find a dive bar on 45th and ninth. As we sat drinking our $6.75 pitcher of Miller Lite, I again noted how we had reverted back to what was comfortable. Somehow, uptown just doesn’t fit, but we’re going to try to work on that. Fancy martinis, here we come…
We walked the more-than 30 blocks home only to realize that we still hadn’t eaten and everywhere was packed. It was then that I made the fateful mistake of suggesting Chinese delivery…oh, if only I could take it back. It arrived so quickly and we were so hungry – it was a little after 10 by now – that I didn’t think twice before snarfing it down. At about 2, my stomach had something to say about it. The night we decided to stay in and rest up to be ready for the weekend, I ended up staying up contemplating the meaning of life while sitting on the cold bathroom floor, my thoughts interrupted only by the occasional need to rid myself of noodles and broccoli…perhaps tomorrow we’ll head uptown for dinner.

East Village

I'm slowly eating, and drinking, my earlier comments about prices here. Its definitely possible to stay on the inexpensive end of things (especially if you live here), but it's not at hard to drain the contents of your wallet. Last night we enjoyed $7 Corona bottles -- and I hate Corona.

Yesterday was supposed to be a big work day for me as I keep failing further behind. I try to work, but if I haven't seen something new by early afternoon I start to get ancy (and a little grumpy). The day started off at a neat little coffee shop just around the corner from our apartment. I have no idea how old the building is, but it seems quite old and interesting as the interior bricks have taken on a sagging look, the businesses are all quite narrow, and it's easy to identify the retrofitted plumbing. Coffee is again becoming a necessity as we've been running around during the day and staying up late.

With a little work behind us we headed for the East Village. We'd been over that way before, but hadn't really taken the time to explore and get a handle on things. We started off at the 2nd Ave Deli, which was one of the first recommendations that we received -- from the guy working the counter at the Boulder Bookstore when we bought our guidebooks. One of the neatest things about this experience is that almost everyone has a good story about New York to tell and a few favorites to share. Surprisingly there's very little overlap. I guess there's just so much to do in New York that no matter where your interests lie there's something for you.

Anyways, the 2nd Ave Deli was really good and I can't say that I've eaten at a place like that before (without a large Jewish population out West places like this don't really exist). I have to admit the place was intimidating with all the activity and foods I hadn't seen before. As soon as we sat we were served a giant plate of pickles (probably 10-12), slices of bread, and a cabbage mixture. I tried the kreplech (also recommended by the Boulder Bookstore guy), which is a fried dumpling mixture. Though there were plenty of tongue and liver dishes on the menu and I'm hopeful that this wasn't part of the kreplech, but whatever I had was tasty enough that I wouldn't complain.

From there we wandered over towards Tomkins Square Park. Apparently this used to be a pretty rough place and used to sport a full-time shantytown. Today the park is really nice and filled with all sorts of activity. We meandered across the park and through the neighborhood. I got a good feeling from the place -- it seems to retain the feeling of a genuine neighborhood. I can't imagine what it was like before and I don't imagine it's going to stay the way I saw it for long. Although each street East of 1st brings an incremental drop in activity, it's easy to see change is coming. Next to the graffitti-strewn walls are all sorts of new businesses, pricey new restaurants, and trendy clothing boutiques. Like much of the rest of Manhattan, long-term businesses and residents will be pushed out, rents will rise, and the place will clean up. Though I'd like to feel sad about the changes, given the choice between a crack-house and a snooty bistro I would guess most people would choose the bistro every time.

There are quite a few cool vintage clothing stores in this neighborhood and Laurie and I took the opportunity to explore a few. Though I'm on a mission to replace my dated frat-boy waredrobe, I wasn't able to find anything that fit. I either need to lose the midwestern gut or grow a few inches. Needless to say, I'll be going for a jog today.

We left Alphabet City and wandered over to 7th Street to check out Brewsters, the Burp Castle, and McSorleys for happy hour. The bartender for Brewsters was sitting out front reading, the Burp Castle was all closed up (and who wants a $10 pint anyway), so we headed for McSorleys. Walking into the place you're overwhelmed -- it's like taking a step back in time. Though I wanted to leave Laurie at the door and enjoy a few with the fellas, the Supreme Court said I had to take her in so I did. We found a cozy table in the corner and got our 2 darks each -- I'm so glad that we were forewarned about the ordering style. The floor is covered in sawdust, the walls in pictures, and the bar with barflies, but the coolest thing is the tables. I'm not sure when these were built, but they look like they've been around for a long long time. I imagine they used to be 2-3 inches think, but they've worn down unevenly over time and are now probably closer to one inch. It's incredible to think how many sliding pints, knicks from plates, and nervous scratching it would take to do this. The waiter had an unusual style that added to the ambience and hearing him call orders to the bartender as we glanced out though the dusty air into the fading evening light is not an experience I'll soon forget.

We slowly made our way across the West Village in search of chocolate. Laurie was determined to find a cool bakery she read about (Magnolias) and I can definitively say it was worth the effort. I can't remember the last time I had a cupcake this good. It's what a cupcake should be. I don't even remember where we ate them or how long it took.

We took it easy for a few hours, but made plans to hit our first real club later in the evening. Unfortunately, the skies decided to again open up and we were treated to another deluge. Undeterred, we made our way the few blocks to the Meat Packing district. Though very few places are signed it's easy to tell the entrance from the hordes of people and velvet ropes. The deluge I mentioned before definitely gave us a leg up and our expected bouncer hassle was non-existent. The place we went (Ciello) was small, cozy, and decorated well. The bartender was not the friendliest fellow, but we suffered through it to get a drink or two for dancing courage. This was the final night of a week of Scottish DJ's and I have to say their take on house music wasn't my favorite. Regardless, L and I finally got out there and worked up a healthy sweat before going home.

On the way, we were treated to a good argument in the middle of the pouring rain. I have no idea what happened, but neither the cabbie or the girl in the Mercedes SUV were backing down. Even by the time we made it around the corner, I was wondering how long this was going to go on and how many things you can realistically say when someone cuts you off. Everywhere out here people are pushing the limits of the possible.

The Day the Yankees Lost

It's kinda strange...I'm writing about our big day yesterday, and it has already become a bit of a blur. I guess that's why we're keeping a record of events -- my mind has become a bit mushlike from all the intake. I do remember rolling out of bed around 10:30am ready for the game. I'm not sure what's in the air, but we've been exhausted since we got here. We stayed in on Tuesday night so that J could catch up on work and to recover from the emotional day we'd had. I fell asleep on the couch at 9:30 and slept for 13 hours! But all that energy was saved up for our first Yankees game. We donned our brand-spankin new Yanks hats and headed out the door to find coffee and the right train.

Since we've mostly wandered around our neighborhood and those closely surrounding us, we've had most of our experiences in Chelsea. I was curious before we left how this area would affect J -- he does love to dance and regularly, albeit privately, rehearses for the boy band that he's sure will someday materialize and send him to stardom. At around 3am on Wednesday morning, he missed his chance. We awoke to the sound of performance on the street below and couldn't resist getting up to check it out (a sure sign that we're not true New Yorkers, who most definitely would not have wasted energy getting out of bed). It was like the mothership calling Jason home -- we made it to the window just in time to see one of the five gentlemen below pull his shirt back to reveal his nipples while sashaying to the tunes blaring from the open sunroof and doors of a shiny red beemer. Apparently the music had overtaken them while driving home from the bars and they just had to get out and dance.

This sight was fresh in his mind as J and I made our way up 8th to one of the local coffee shops -- the one with t-shirts that advertise to "Put Something Hot in You" -- on our way to the game. The cute fellow behind the counter was obviously in a festive mood, as illustrated by his urban cowboy hat, and immediately asked J what he needed. I thought for sure J would request an application for the singing group we'd seen that night, but instead he lowered his voice beyond what I have previously heard and ordered a huge mocha -- the manliest of drinks -- to go. Is there a more fitting send off to the Bronx for a baseball game?

Ah, the game. After arriving and wading through the crowds, we spent the National Anthem trying like mad to find our seats -- which was a flippin impossible feat and we came close to turning on each other a couple of times. The tickets weren't helpful in determining where we were supposed to be, and we finally gave up and sat down with some fellas who obviously attend as many games as possible. After we were booted from these seats by a nice guy who offered to switch tickets with us, we discovered an usher who finally lead us to what turned out to be good seats. What can I say -- how can you top two beers and two hot dogs, sitting in 65 degree weather, watching the Yanks play the Sox, surrounded by guys that sound like Joe Pesci in My Cousin Vinny -- two utes? I think J figured it out -- the city doesn't offer many opportunities to see green, so the beautiful field was like a paradise. We sat back and enjoyed the show, which was only partly made up by the actual game. The fights in the upper stands, the "F--- You Damon" screams every now and again, and the pure energy of those around us made it an incredible game. We were truly enjoying ourselves until Jeter got beaned in the 8th, when the crowd turned ugly, and we spent the rest of the game on our feet only partially participating in the boos and screams that the situation required.

The train ride home seemed to take forever, as we were exhausted from enjoying all the creative cursing, and we didn't even warm up the leftovers from the night before scarfing them down and collapsing. J worked and I read Time Out New York until 9:30, when we had to leave the comfort of home to hear the Bantu teacher we had met on the subway on Saturday play with his band at a not-far club. Despite the $24 cover and $45 for four drinks, we really enjoyed the band. They had dancers, drummers, two guitars, a few horns, and Chris (the teacher) singing and playing the mbira. The message of the music was really positive and even an older couple in the balcony couldn't resist getting up to dance. The band was called Panjea and will be performing there every Wed, so maybe we'll wander up again next week. After walking home happy but pooped, we poured into bed and slept through the night without a single performance from our friends the Chelsea players...maybe they'll be back tonight :).

WTC

So, I knew this day was coming for a long time and I wasn't really looking forward to it. Though we didn't go until late afternoon, the event was the largest of the day and I don't feel like I can dive into other trivialities without sharing this first. My first, and only, trip to New York was early September 2001. I remember looking up in wonder at the World Trade Center towers as we rode by in our open-air tour bus. At the time we decided not to go in because of all of the crowds, which I don't necessarily regret, but it still feels odd to have developed even a remote relationship with the place so close to the attacks.

The "Events of September 11" have reached near cliche status and I have to admit that was in the back of my mind as we approached the site. I felt very uneasy and confused, both skeptical and sad, and like I was walking towards something that I didn't really want to see. As we neared, the scene was not at all like I expected. I thought I would be walking up to a gaping hole surrounded by chain-link peppered with flowers. Instead, there seems to be quite a separation between the actual site and the fences defining the end of general public access. The area itself has very much taken on the look of any normal construction site. The only difference is the general somber attitude of the crowds and brief placards describing both the history of the WTC and memorials of the big day.

I felt heartened to share the experience with many different types of people from all over the world and felt inspired that so many others were simply taking time to slowly wander and contemplate the area without the need to speak. I tried to put aside my feelings of skepticism and distrust, instead trying to remember how I felt that day, the countless personal stories I'd read, and searching for faint glimpses of what it might have felt like to have been there that day. Laurie and I circled the site taking the time to read the occasional sign and simply stopping to look. As I glanced around I saw the occasional tear, but mostly people were just slowly walking along the fence. Regardless of background, nationality, or ethnicity I felt a sense of emotional solidarity with those around me. Not really knowing what to do, I'd stop and try to repeat and remember one of the names etched in the memorial signs.

Near the center of the site, there is a major subway stop that I found a welcome break. It was nice to feel the injection of energy and the casual emotion of the people that pass by every day. I don't know much about what life here was like before, but I imagine things are much like they are today. Stressed-out financial types rushing to the evening train, hordes of tourists, and even the occasional knick-knack stand. It's nice to see the rebirth of the area, though it's weird to witness the normal trivial stresses of those so close to such a powerful site. I would imagine that living and working next to such a place is quite a burden and I can't really fault those pushing to catch their train and shouting about the next big sale into their phones. I do worry that the "what's really important to me?" changes that individuals made in their lives is slowly fading away. On the other hand, it is comforting to realize that life and time move on and in the end even the largest events of our day will simply be a footnote in history. Regardless, make the time in your life to do the things that you enjoy, challenge yourself, and remember that your time here is short and fragile.

Whew! That's a lot to get off my chest and I know I can't really put into words the intense feelings I had today.

So . . . the peanut butter place. Ever since I read about this I'd been wanting to go and today was finally a good opportunity. My expectations were quite high and I didn't feel that any place could do one of my favorite (and daily) foods justice. Unfortunately my skepticism was correct. Though the sandwiches were good there wasn't anything served on a tortilla and the menu was really centered among a few items. Maybe I needed to ask for the "addicts" menu, but I was not impressed. The service was fine, but it took quite awhile to create a peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwich on two slices of toast (Laurie got the PBLT). My tortilla and peanut butter (with honey in the morning, jam in the afternoon) concoctions take little more than a couple minutes to make and I usually throw them together as I'm running out the door. I know with a little time and elbow grease I could revolutionize the New York peanut butter culinary experience.

NYU seems like a pretty cool place. I can imagine it would be quite easy to get caught up in the energy of the area.

From there we headed back to the South Street Seaport to try to get Yankees tickets for the final opening series game against the Red Sox tomorrow. We sucked it up and bought some expensive tickets, but our general low-level of enthusiasm seemed to slightly annoy the ticket girl. It'll be interesting to see where we wind up as I wouldn't be surprised if she put us directly behind a column.

While downtown we decided to take a walking tour of the area. There was a lot to see and the depth of the man-made canyons is astounding. I really enjoyed the history of the area, which Laurie and I would occasionally pause to read in our guidebooks -- fully meeting the tourist stereotype with open guidebooks and Yankee hats. My favorite was the Customs House and Bowling green. Bowling Green is the site of many famous events, the best being the sale of Manhattan to the Dutch by Indians that didn't really own the place. The guidebook wittily states "no doubt both parties went home smiling". The statues on the Customs house itself are really cool with differing images of a female "America" taking over the land and her time in history. The top of the building is lined with large detailed figures dressed in the fashion of the day representing various important financial centers in history.

We made our way to Battery Park (which we briefly ran through yesterday though I only vaguely remember the place from the out-of-shape haze I was in) and a few more cool sites. I really enjoyed the Merchant Marine memorial -- a full-size boat sculpture with several sailors reaching down to pull someone out of the actual New York harbor. There's also a memorial to September 11th here -- a large broken sphere that was pulled from the wreakage of the towers. The original sculpture was meant to symbolize world peace and it's final placement, in its damaged state, to symbolize our country's enduring strength -- multiple levels of irony that were not lost on me or hopefully the countless people throughout the world that will come to see it. Another highlight of Battery Park was watching a kid break his skateboard trying to pull a double kickflip off a four-stair -- pretty cool stuff, ask around.

The problem with a touristy area is that I instantly get my guard up. I assume that anyone local looking and willing to talk to me is trying to con me into something. The first guy simply came up to us sitting on a bench, made a little small talk, and asked me if I knew where the #4 train was. My lack of knowledge immediately identified me as an outsider and he asked if we were going to the Statue of Liberty . . . and when. "I don't know, maybe tomorrow." "Really, when?". "Next week." "Oh well, if you get out there I work in the food court. Stop by and say 'hi'." He was genuinely being a nice guy and despite my hesitation was looking for nothing more than friendly conversation. The next experience was a short 5 minutes later when an older gentleman on a bench looked up and told me to have a nice day. This caused me to quicken my stride and veer wildly away from him. I tried to save face and offered him a tight close-lipped (you know, elevator-style) smile. He smiled back and said "Where are you from?". My short reply of "Colorado" brought an even wider smile accompanied with "Oh cool, I just love Denver." What's up with these people? Don't they know the code? I've been spending the past four days learning to avert my eyes and under absolutely no circumstances make conversation. I'm staying uptown where it's safe.

We found a cool Mexican restaurant right under the Brooklyn Bridge for dinner. Two bowls of chips too many and we decided to make the long walk home instead of hopping back on the subway. Walking up Broadway was quite interesting -- each section has it's own style of shops and shoppers. It's really hard to fathom how many people live here and how active and involved they are in the daily goings-on of their city. Each time I venture out I find myself returning with a deep ache in my legs . . . and a sheepish grin.

Rap Battle Day

My feet are killing me. I've been wearing tennis everywhere, but all this walking is more than they can take. It's weird because we consider ourselves regular excercisers, but being here makes you realize how much you truly rely on your car. Not that we can walk everywhere in Boulder -- the middle-of-the-night trek from Pearl to our house can be a bit much -- but it's kinda strange that we even drive to go workout in Boulder.

To add to the pain in my feet, we decided to finally leave the apt at about noon to go for a jog along the Hudson. It was beautiful, but I felt sort of embarrassed to be sucking wind so bad in front of the statue of liberty. I think she actually turned away. The path from our place down the river to battery park is really nice and had many joggers and people out meandering, only a few of which seemed to be in an argument with themselves. (There appears to be many people around here whose inner voices spill out so that the rest of us can hear). Jason enjoyed watching me try to get out of the way of passersby -- arms flailing and apology spouting on my part just added to the show for him.

Once we made it back home, we took it easy for a few hours, actually getting some work done and dozing off and on. Jason took comfort in a PB tortilla, and we were off wandering again. Following the advice of the cheap guide, we headed east to a free open-mike night at a comedy club. Turns out that it's kindof a support group -- you pay $5 and you can try standup in front of other comics. As both of us chickened out, we decided to go back on a night when we paid to watch someone else try to make us laugh.

After stopping to purchase my first pair of from-New-York shoes, we headed to the village for a cowgirl-themed restaurant which turned out to be a little too close to home for J's liking. We could have been in the 'Trose -- the only thing that made it NY-like was the terrible service and the prices. For $30, we had two thimble-sized margaritas and a cool dinner of fritos with chili on top served from the bag. At least we enjoyed the sweet sounds of Willie and Kenny Rogers while complaining about the place.

Just across the street was a pub that gives out free hot dogs during happy hour on Mondays, so we enjoyed a few beers among 20-something up-and-comers, then headed to a really cool corner bistro that served great beer for $2 a pint. All of these places are only a few blocks away from our place, but the west village definitely has a different feel than our street (which is referred to as the west village but definitely has a different feel, perhaps because it is a subway hub). Our street is a little more "real" as J likes to call it.

All of this actitity was to keep us up and awake long enough to actually go out, and the night's destination was a live hip hop show and rap battle across town. Yes, I said rap battle. Leave it to platinum fubu J to find 8 mile in Manhattan. After wandering in the wrong direction after getting off the subway, we found some kids who helped us find the place. Even the high school kids are nice, and we felt safe knowing that people seem to be gruff on the outside, but are really nice when you need it. The actual battleground was a little bar that had a pretty diverse crowd. There were hip hop guys, literary poet-type dudes, and many hangin' on the arm girlfriends.

No matter where we go, we're so amazed by how integrated the diversity is. It highlights the sad situation back home that people here don't even seem to notice how different everyone is. Maybe it's just that everyone is so different and speaks another language and has a completely different history that it truly equalizes things. It is so ridiculous that I don't speak Spanish...

Anyway, back to the battle. J and I stayed up against a side wall to enjoy the whole situation as much as the show. They had a wheel that picked the topic, and each guy got 30 seconds. It seemed to always go from the topic back to tearing up the other guy, but it was pretty entertaining. We stayed til the end when some guy whose name I still can't figure out killed the other guy after four additional rounds of competition. It appears that the ability to creatively insult your opponent's mother, hair, and sexual prowess is the winning ticket. We'll have to try this with the Giers' karaoke machine at home. Exhausted, we followed a sprightly little rat up the stairs at our subway stop and were quickly lulled to sleep by the firetrucks and cop cars down below...

BTW, thanks for all the comments and hellos -- it's comforting to see you guys are laughing at us all the way from Colorado.

Day 3

Really digging the pizza. I could eat it 15 times a day.

So . . . I'd like to go on the record as saving Laurie from getting booted from a bar. She wasn't even in whirlwind mode, but was getting a little too crazy for the bouncers' comfort. Well, actually she just picked the wrong guy to stand next to and both he and his "girlfriend" got kicked out. I slowly walked behind them (chuckling of course) and as soon as they reached the door stepped in and saved her from certain explusion.

We barely made it out of the house last night. We decided to take a late afternoon nap and had to literally drag ourselves out of bed. We decided we wanted to have a relaxing night and try to find a cool jazz club. Did a little research and found a couple good possibilities. Our first try took us to the East Village (a 5 minute subway ride). We arrived at the place and soon realized it was filled with the gentle sounds of a really bad improvizational lounge singer -- well, I don't know if he was actually bad or not, but that style is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. Made it about 3 minutes.

From there we wandered around a bit, but couldn't really find anything interesting in a few block radius so we headed for our second choice which was in our neighborhood. Our wise decisions and timing continued as we made it there just as the show was finishing. Quite a few other places to choose from in the area, but somehow we made it to the most Boulder-like fraternity scene you can imagine. We chuckled through our beers and decided to call it a night. On the walk home I can't even describe how much activity is going on. People eating dinner, going out, getting cabs, window shopping, etc. - and this is all at 2 in the morning. There is a cool looking club (if long lines and limos mean cool) next to our place that we're planning on checking out sometime soon.

Today was a nice relaxing day. L woke up with a mission for this morning: find a good Bloody Mary and Sunday brunch. The task of trying to narrow down the 4000 brunch restaurants proved too daunting (even with the Internet and 3 guidebooks) so we just set out on foot. In about 3 minutes we found a suitable place. Not too bad, reasonably priced, but no Bloody Marys. There are lots of tourists around, but they all seem in the know about the area -- I get the sense that even those that don't live here still come back frequently and turn their adopted haunts into their own. New York is big and diverse enough that each of the neighborhoods have their own style of tourist -- which was very apparent from our movements about the city this weekend.

We decided to catch a show today as both of us are still exhausted from fighting the rain yesterday. We're slowly becoming familiar with the subway and I know I'm going to really enjoy the freedom of movement it brings. Though we could spend the entire time in just our neighborhood we both really want to see as much of the city as we can, even though we realize that our exposure to everything will be really shallow. We headed uptown to Times Square and the very popular TKTS booth. On the way there we passed the theater were Spamalot was showing and it was extraordinarily tempting to get in the cancellation line. Something about seeing the fake horses and coconuts in person . . .

Instead we settled on The Producers, a show that both of us have been wanting to see since the last time we were here. A nice girl outside the booth offered to take our picture, spent a few minutes in casual conversation, and then wanted to know if she could "ask us a few questions" about New York and Times Square. Although inside I was groaning, we obliged, but after a few questions I noticed she stopped writing things down. I don't think she knew what she was in for as Laurie and I eased into our standard bit of indecisiveness, contradictions, back-tracking, and information overload.

With a couple hours to spare before the matinee, we were able to track down a good Bloody Mary at the Algonquin Hotel. The place was very nice and the wait staff was surprisingly relaxed and casual. It sure seems that you can get treated well regardless of where you are if you're simply yourself. Since it's very unlikely that I'll ever hit high-roller status (unless P-Diddy likes my demo tape!) my best bet is to keep smiling, lose all pretention, and learn a little spanish.

The Producers was very entertaining. Though it took me a while to get into the characters (it's hard when my expectations were so high) the writing was so good and the jokes so offensive that it was impossible not to enjoy it. It's been awhile since I'd been to the theater (Laurie's Ft. Collins Lincoln Center stories keep scaring me off), but I'm psyched up to go again soon. We left the theater in the midst of opening day Yankee fans and it was fun to watch all the hustle and bustle.

Instead of a big night (I was trying to find a "poetry slam" for this evening) we decided to hunt out a little Thai food. Again, a zillion choices and we settled on one near our house that was really, really good. On the way home we decided to pick up a few groceries at a market near our place. It's a nice small Whole-foods type of place and we wound up with the requisite olives, cheese, and salami. Every thing I've read and every person I've talked to mentions the outrageous prices in New York. Maybe I've just been fortunate, but things really don't seem any more expensive than Boulder. I'm sure if we hit the high-end places we could easily wipe ourselves out, but the average everyday things and activities are completely affordable.

Oh yeah, don't worry about my health -- we picked up a set of tortillas, peanut butter, and honey to keep me going. When that runs out we found an *entire* restaurant based on peanut butter -- described as "every peanut butter combo you can imagine and some that you can't". However, if they don't serve it on a tortilla I'm turning around and walking out.

Like I said, a relaxing day. Maybe I'll see if I can get Laurie in a fight tomorrow to spice things up.