The Day of Exhaustion and Almost SNL

Ah, the glorious hour of 6am. Having gone to bed at close to 3am, the alarm sounded like the four horses of the apocalypse. We shuffled around the apartment to get dressed and headed out with the hope of securing standby tickets for SNL. As fans of the show, it’s really the only live taping that would get us out of bed 5 hours earlier than our average time of rising. The city is so quiet that it’s a little unnerving.

I realize how far we’ve progressed toward becoming New Yorkers when the perky people in line in front of us – the ones carrying the Olympics 2002 back bag with matching jackets and sneakers – become our entertainment while waiting in line for tickets. After receiving numbers 46 and 47 for the live taping (you can either choose to be standby for the live taping or for dress rehearsal), we head to Dean and Deluca for coffee and more tourist watching. We decide to forgo the Empire State building because of the disgust at being caught doing too many touristy things in a row, and head to “casually” gawk at Grand Central Station without being caught doing so.

You’d have to be pretty jaded not to be impressed by this place. The main terminal is truly beautiful, and we stop at one end to take pictures (no longer caring about being caught as tourists because we’re the only ones here at this hour). We head back out onto the streets and walk past the (I think) main branch of the New York Library to Bryant Park. This place is also really lovely – flowers in bloom, a large open grass lawn, and even a small carousel. The park offers free wireless Internet, so we decide to come back during the week and work here.

As we wander farther downtown, we pass store upon store of wholesale shops. These are the places that sell the junk that the guys sell in Times Square and down on Canal Street. It’s sort of strange to think of the progression of crap through the city, but it’s an interesting citing and we’re glad to have come this way. We remember that there’s an antique market every Saturday and Sunday somewhere near here, and end up accidentally entering for free (we didn’t know you were supposed to pay) and enjoying the booths of chotchkes (sp?). J finds a sweet leather jacket, but decides against it, and we headed west to the Empire Diner for breakfast before heading home and collapsing from the lack of sleep and long walk to this point.

The diner is on the very west end of Chelsea, and we enjoy a bacon/sausage, eggs, and potato breakfast at the counter with fresh orange juice squeezed right in front of us. All of the healthy happy gay men look like they just came from working out and remind me of how exhausted I am from waking at dawn and walking home from midtown. We quickly fall asleep after an exciting morning, and nap until 3.

As we didn’t have to be back to NBC studios until 10:15ish, we decide to head to the Boat Basin Grill at 79th and the Hudson River. This recommendation was excellent, as the place is extremely low key – serving burgers and chips and margs and beer – in an amazing location. We enjoyed our food overlooking the river as the sun set over NJ, and we both felt very lucky to be here. This feeling held until we walked through Riverside Park on our way to see the Lincoln Center, as we had missed it on our previous UWS side tour. As we meandered through the park, I felt a weird pinch in my calf, and looked down to see a rock bounce off the path. I thought “That’s strange, I didn’t think I kicked up a rock,” just as I saw another bounce near my foot. It was then I realized that the punk kids sitting on the hill above us were actually throwing rocks at us. They must know when they spot sissies who won’t say anything, because we simply walked on cursing them under our breath. Oh well, maybe I’ll use my jiu jitsu choke another day…

The Lincoln Center was hopping with people going to the opera and other performances, and we added it to the list of places we’d like to go before we leave. However, the long day and all the walking were starting to have an effect, and we felt relief to get on the subway at 59th.

After a short nap, it’s time to get up and wait in line for open spots at the taping. We head uptown again, with a gross interlude along the way: on the subway ride up, a guy approaches everyone on the train asking for money. He appears to have a mouth full of something as well as decaying teeth, and when he approaches J for money, a piece of muck flies out of his mouth and lands smack on J's new pants. This disgusting weird matter is enough to give us both a weak stomach, and he promptly cleans it off with a piece of trash once we reach our stop. These pants are going straight into the wash... Once we reach NBC studios, we are told to get ourselves in numerical order for the open spots in the audience. The way this works: we received standby tickets this morning that the lady wrote numbers on (46 and 47). We get back into numerical order in line tonight – hoping that some of the others who have standby tickets don’t show up – and wait to see how many places are open in the audience. Actual ticket holders get their tickets by mail in August, so the number of standby ticket holders who are let in simply depends on how many of those people don’t show up. As we’re waiting in line with two hilarious girls we meet from Minnesota, we all glare resentfully at the VIPs, who get to take seats without being ticket holders. We watch as Senator John McCain heads up without having to wait in line with us shmucks. Slowly the line we’re in gets pushed through security, and we are the last two people to make it through (there are at least 40 or 50 standby ticket holders who don’t go through security). As we stand waiting for them to give us the thumbs up to take the elevator up to the taping, we make friends with the security guy, who has seen the dress rehearsal. He doesn’t seem all that enthusiastic about Tom Brady’s abilities as a comedian, so we’re slightly less bummed when they tell us that they don’t have seats for the 10 or so of us who made it through the security cut, but didn’t make it into the show. Oh well, at least it was an interesting experience up to this point.

To ease our woes, we decide to walk to a bar in midtown that is supposed to be fun and serve good drinks. Making our way through Times Square – a place that has become my personal nemesis – we witness our first act of public urination, and I’m thrilled to cross that off my list of things to see while we’re here. Passing what appears to be a Jewish rally of some sort in the middle of Times Square, which is drawing even more gawkers than the usual crowds, I’m again relieved that our apartment is so far from here. In the quiet and darkness of the garment district, we finally reach the bar we had read about. The scene inside is just that – a scene. It is a strange crowd that is definitely only into hooking up, and we enjoy our fancy drinks while watching all the prowling and grinding with 80s hits blaring in the background. Exhausted but amused, we make our way back to 14th and stop for a “we survived a long flippin’ day and it's 1am” piece of pizza at Fat Sal’s, which is just across from our building. As the grease dripped down my arm, I felt a strange sense of calm at having reached “our neighborhood,” and back at home, fell asleep quickly amid the familiar sirens and street noise that have become our nightly lullaby. Ah home…

The Crazy Lady Downstairs

Continuing our pattern of waking up at 11:00 am is impossible to break. Today was no different. Finally rolling out of bed, we decided to head out to find some food and coffee, of course. Downstairs is an interesting little vintage clothing shop that we've talked about looking around in and today was the day. Can I say it was worth it? You betcha -- the $46 I spent on shirts and pants was definitely worth the accompanying side-show.

As we walk in the door, we immediately take notice of the owner. She's an interesting-looking lady and our first impression is only a taste of what's to come. She's wearing cowboy boots, white long underwear-looking pants, a denim skirt over that, a bright cowboy shirt, and I believe a vest. Her hair was classic: a Mr. T looking mohawk hairdo, but created with contrasting bleached and black hair. This lady's speech and volume make my client Jay look like a wallflower (read: strikingly loud).

As I'm looking through the jacket selection I'm completely distracted by her conversation with what seems to be a couple old friends. She's explaining that she wants to be known worldwide for vintage clothing, a noble business aim I suppose, and intends to do this through Podcasting (Podcasting is where people can create virtual radio stations over the Internet). I sort of lose the conversation from here, I'm trying to be polite and not completely eavesdrop.

I'm finding some cool stuff, but literally on the last aisle we turn and the owner is standing at the end. She walks up to us and asks friendfully, "What are your guys signs?" As we tell her, she begins nodding her head vigorously and tells us "Yep, a very good match". Then proceeds, for the next 10 or so minutes, to go into great details about our respective signs, how they relate to each other, us, and her past relationships. Actually she was pretty interesting, but our one-sided conversation breaks up as a new customer steps in the door -- a handsome young man. I didn't get the details of what she said, but she had explained her plans for the evening and convinced the guy to accompany her.

We were trapped by her at the end of our row and her new conversation, so we politely browsed some more. Ready to get on with the rest of our day, we finally walked towards the door with our finds (I found a few nice things I was unwilling to part with). She immediately changes gears to acknowledge us, but instead of actually ringing up my items begins to tell us about the impending visit of her friend, who happens to be a "upper-eschelon avant-garde pornstar".

So, we proceed to get waaay too much information about her friend. Apparently she's coming into town for a couple reasons, to "entertain" a local politician and make a quick movie. The owner is quite excited about this and goes into great detail about both events. Her friend is a vegan, which plays many roles and provides many details to the story -- all of which I'll leave for another time. I'm basically doing everything I can to, alternately, keep my chin off the floor and not fall down in a fit of laughter. Laurie notices the owners' "date" down the row chuckling at each high point. Our story is finally interrupted (honestly, another 15 crazy minutes) by a young girl coming to pick up a few bags of clothes. The clothes are props for a movie being shot down in SoHo -- you guessed it, another porno. This prompts our storyteller to again shift gears, ring up our clothes, and finally release us. As we're leaving, she's already deep in conversation with the girl and we both smile as she has no idea what she's in for.

We spend the day at a nice sandwich/coffee shop who's normally interesting events cannot possibly compare to what had just happened. Laurie did have an exciting time at the Betsy Johnson sample sale, which she can explain much better than I.

We made plans to meet our friend Ann for dinner down in SoHo and are, like usual, running down to the last minute. Ann is a floormate from Laurie's dorm and one of my friends from High School. Without Ann, Laurie and I would have likely never met, as I was long past dorm-cruising for girlfriends and Laurie's wide-eyed first year of college would have certainly led her in other directions. Getting off the subway in SoHo, we were now quite late and I called Ann to let her know. After stomping around way too much of the neighborhood we find the bar and head in. Ann is nowhere to be found, but in a half and hour she walks in, greets us, and introduces her boyfriend Chris. Turns out she was wrongly waiting next door and figured it out when she saw her boyfriend walking into the "wrong" place.

The restaurant we're at isn't all that interesting, but the conversation was lively and it was nice to catch up with Ann. We headed from there to an Argentinian place just up the street. Being a half hour late, our table is long gone and Chris does his best to get us another -- in obviously fluent spanish. He looks nothing like a fluent Spanish speaker, but turns out to have had an interesting upbringing in Puerto Rico. We talk and wait for an hour, but wind up with the best table in the house -- a cozy table near the window.

Through dinner, which is an awesome mix of steak, french fries, and empanadas, we get the low-down on possible things to do in New York. It's interesting to hear their take on things, but I quickly notice, like Jay and Alex a day before, that it's easy to fall into a routine and not really enjoy and make use of the place in which they live. That's true of any place (and certainly true of my life in Boulder), but it's hard for me to comprehend why anyone would put up with the noise, hassle, and costs of living in NYC and spend most of their time in a simple routine that seems to include lots and lots of take-out.

We leave dinner and decide to have an after-dinner drink at another neat place just up the street. It's a turkish place and I'm disappointed to see the band putting their stuff away as we enter. We decide on drinks and, luckily, Chris is adventurous and asks our waiter for something Turkish. Hearing "ouzo-like" I decide on something boring, but as the waiter walks away I stop him and ask if there are any other culturally-specific drinks. Nope. Instead, he waits to bring me my drink until I can have a taste of Chris'. I immediately wince at the smell of black licorice, but decide I can get over it for a little taste of Turkey. As the waiter comes back, he explains the drink (Riki) and the traditions surrounding it. I wind up enjoying it a lot, probably more for the accompanying story and the ambience of the place.

We say our goodbyes to Ann and Chris and make impossible plans for a local tour of the Upper East side later in the week. Laurie and I decide to take advantage of the warm evening and walk the 20 blocks home. It's a nice stroll, peppered with clusters of activity and good people-watching. We're thirsty by the time we get to the highly recommended White Horse Tavern (thanks Greg!) and decide to go in as we've talked about stopping several other times, but hadn't taken the opportunity. It's a neat place, but I'm always struck by how I feel most comfortable in these types of places -- places that remind me of home.

We make our way the few remaining blocks, and set our alarms for the impossible hour of 6:00 am in hopes of getting Saturday Night Live standby tickets. Not going to get much sleep tonight . . .

The Day of Heavenly Cheesecake and Sore Feet

Ah, this morning was fairly uneventful. Just working and pacing trying to get J to leave his frenzy of work to go out for some fresh air and exploring. We did manage to finish the laundry, so it’s been productive even though we stayed in. I spend the ancy time writing up the Brooklyn walking tour from one of our guide books so that we won’t look like pathetic tourists while wandering aimlessly (which cannot be avoided, but for some reason, having a little piece of paper absolutely covered with street names and numbers seems better than whipping out the guide book).

We decide to take the subway to Brooklyn, explore, then walk back over the bridge so that we can enjoy the Manhattan skyline on the way home. We start off in Brooklyn Heights, wandering past the brownstone of Truman Capote, and out to the promenade, which overlooks the East River and big city skyline across the way. We always take note of the clean sidewalks in upscale areas – and we can tell that this neighborhood is very nice even without looking up at the beautiful homes. We are again surrounded by ladies pushing around babies who are obviously not there own, but this neighborhood feels much warmer than the UWS nannyland. After wandering a bit, we start to notice the growling in our stomachs and end up digging out the guidebook for a recommendation for lunch. We walk down under the bridge to Grimaldi’s Pizzeria and eat a huge pizza that perhaps was meant for a large family but just satiates us enough to keep us going. This is thin-crust NY-style pie that is covered in real mozzarella, then a little sauce, then the toppings. Although I think J still prefers Dominoes, I thought this stuff was pretty good.

The salty pizza gets us in the mood for something sweet, which is perfect, because next on my agenda is Junior’s cheesecake (voted best cheesecake in NY and highly recommended by the guidebooks). Without realizing that I’ve messed up our directions, we walk for a couple of miles in the wrong direction through downtown Brooklyn and the Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens neighborhoods. There are all types of people here, and it is bustling without the manic feeling of Manhattan. When we finally realize that we are way off track, we cut back to the Fulton Street Mall toward Flatbush Ave and our reward of cheesecake. Walking down this pedestrian mall is an incredible experience, as we are truly the only white people that I either of us can see. Although a very different feeling, it felt in no way threatening or even like we stood out. Everyone was doing their own thing and couldn’t have cared less about what anyone else, including two wide-eyed and lost white folk, were doing.

We finally find Juniors and get a three-fruit cheesecake to go, as we were still full from the giant pizza. J did have the forethought to grab two forks in case we got hungry on the trek across the bridge. Good thing – after walking all the way back to the bridge and halfway across, we determined that there was no better spot to sit and eat dessert. With tourists gawking at us and commuting bicyclists yelling at them, we sat and enjoyed what can only be described as pure heaven. I must say that no one should go their entire lives without trying this cheesecake – there just are no words for how good it is.

While walking home, we contemplated what felt so different between our lack of comfort in Morningside Heights and the feeling of complete comfort in downtown Brooklyn. The only thing that we came up with is that the current encroachment of yuppies into their neighborhood somehow results in tension between the Morningside Heights residents and those who are not from their neighborhood. We’ll have to see how we feel in Harlem and the other boroughs…

We enjoyed the view from -- and J contemplated trying to climb up the handrails to the top of the towers of -- the Brooklyn Bridge, and reached the Manhattan side still relaxed, so we decided to walk the rest of the way home. Although it was a pleasant walk up the calm Hudson Street, we realized too close to home that we probably had bit off more than we could chew and should have taken the subway from the bridge. With aching feet and legs, we arrived home only to realize that we had 5 minutes to change and race uptown if we wanted to catch a Broadway show (which had been our plan for the night’s event). Having barely made the walk up the stairs to our apt, it seemed unlikely that we were going to make it, and decided instead to sleep for a half-hour, then head to a local comedy club.

Getting up after sleeping for 20 minutes is incredibly difficult, but not as hard as it is to put on heels after walking for more than 10 miles…but we’re only here for a little while, so we sucked it up and raced to catch the 9 o’clock show. Of the six comics, 3 were really funny, 2 were kinda funny, and only one bombed. It was entertaining and relaxing to just sit and laugh and drink our requisite two drinks each.
We decided to cap off the night with a pint at the speakeasy that J found with Frank over the weekend. I was truly amazed at the place, as J and I walked up to an unmarked door on a sidestreet, then waltzed right in. You have to go upstairs, through a curtain, then downstairs to get in, and the place feels like it hasn’t changed since prohibition. I love places like this and I’m so excited that my enthusiasm is undeterred by our not-not-nice waitress and a stout that tasted a little like feet (J’s bitter was good, so I just made a poor selection). We’ve decided that there are three categories of waitstaff in this city: nice, which are rare and can do you harm with too much wine (see earlier entry about Little Italy dinner); not nice, which are considerably less rare and are inexplicably rude considering that they’re supposed to be serving you (isn’t that their job?); and not-not-nice, as in aloof but not really in-your-face unkind. Anyway, back at the pub, it was an early last call, and although J was fired up to drink many pints, we decided to call it good and collapse at home. Now if sleep will just heal these aching toes…

A Glimpse into Local Life

The high wine content of my system got me up way too early, but at least it allowed me to get a bunch of work done -- probably one of my most productive days. Dispite getting up before the sun I still made plans to have lunch with one of my clients. "Building the business" is one of the main reasons we're here in the city, at least in terms of the IRS, so I'll probably be running around a bit trying to meet with people over the next few weeks.

This client's office is relatively close, but with the lack of sleep I decided to take the subway. I really enjoy the subway. It's safe, fast, and there's always something interesting to see. In a short few minutes I arrived at the building and began the search for the office. The building they're in is really neat -- not sure how old it was, but there are 12 foot ceilings and everything that's not a window has neat oldish ornamentation. I finally found the office I was looking for and it seemed to be straight out of the dot-com era. Lots of light, open spaces, new equipment, and young enthusiastic workers.

I quickly identified the person I work with (Jay), by his beaming voice. It was coming from around a corner, but we've spent so much time on the phone together I probably could have tracked it down from across the city. Jay looked nothing like I expected. I sort of anticipated a short rotundish sales guy in a grey suit, but Jay is tall and skinny with dark hair and a general East-coast look about him. He's also very loud and animated. Contrasting that with Laurie and I scooting around in the shadows and I started to become a little concerned about lunch.

We made our way towards Union Square. Jay walked slow and frequently stopped in the middle of moving crowds to wave his arms wildly as he got to a critical point in a story. Though I heard a huff or two it was comforting to see how far you could push behaviour without getting pummelled.

We decided on a restaurant called the Republic (as in chinese). Walking in immediately overwhelmed me with a sterotypical New York restaurant. Lots of well-thought out lighting, a bright long transparent bar, and flurries of activity. We were shuttled between hostesses (it's a big place) and finally settled at a long wooden table. The Republic theme was taken as far as possible with peasant food (with a fusion twist of course), simply dressed waitstaff, and the communal tables. I had no problem with this and actually it reminded me of hanging out at the Southern Sun. New Yorkers were a different story -- as I watched people get seated they would pause and ask the hostess for a new table, she'd explain the communal seating, and they'd hesitantly sit down. Though you're constantly packed into large crowds, there's generally something that forms an imaginary dividing line and that was completely missing here. Jay wasn't too pleased about this as the hostess asked him several times to remove his jacket sitting next to him and he'd just stare back. Quite entertaining.

Through lunch I peppered Jay about things to do in New York. He explained his lifestyle -- basically get up, get online, go to work, get online, go home, order in, and go to a late movie. Jay's not an introvert or shut-in by any means, but it was interesting to see how you could live here and easily get into a rut that keeps you from exploring all the things the city has to offer.

We left lunch and he paused in front of a nearby Starbucks and headed in without explanation. He immediately shouted "Does anyone in here know Hackle?". "What's Hackle?", I thought to myself. A guy sitting at a laptop in the corner facing the door turned his head, looked up, and smiled. This was apparently one of Jay's friends and they immediately shot into a conversation that was hard for me to follow. The guys name was Alex, and he made his fortune by registering domain names back in the mid-nineties and now spends his time working at Starbucks on whatever projects he finds interesting. One of the most relaxed people I've ever met. I expected him to nod off at any moment. His and Jay's coversation was very entertaining, culminating in an explanation of his choice of work locations. "Elite Models is just up the street." Almost on cue a 6' girl wearing hot pink pants on roller skates got up and left with her cup of coffee. With that, we said our goodbyes and I headed back home.

Laurie and I set out to find a true New York bagel and were pleasantly surprised by a little shop a few blocks from our apartment. The bagel was everything I expected and I have to say it's probably the best bagel I've ever had. We decided to wash this down with a little Boy Band coffee and quickly found a cool place just around the corner. We're slowly figuring out all of the good shops and every place is neat and unique enough to be recommended. We also checked a major item off our list and went to the original Strand bookstore. Strand really is an amazing place and I would believe their claims about having 8 miles of used books. The store is large, yet cavernous, and the floor to ceiling shelves form a near tunnel that seems ready to collapse at at time. You can find almost anything here, though I tested the limits and was not able to locate a book on Bambara -- a West-African language spoken by my drum teachers.

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful and Laurie and I made plans to find something interesting to do for the evening. We decided to go see Loudon Wainwright (a very entertaining musician that recently made it on to my iPod with Dan's help), but quickly backed-off after realizing how expensive and short it was. Instead, we just headed out for dinner and found a nice little mexican place a few blocks into Chelsea. Chelsea is honestly the gayest place on the planet. I grew up with your standard jock homophobia and though I realized it's sillyness quite some time ago, hanging out in Chelsea is still overwhelming. It's like being on a different planet where couples of all ages and styles come together and are completely free and open about their sexuality. It's not at all in your face, but it's just weird to see two old grey-haired hunched-over men holding hands as they walk down the street. Considering the difficultly of being gay in any other part of the country (even liberal Boulder) it's nice that people can come to a place and be whoever they want without even registering a glance from passerby. Our dinner was fairly decent and we enjoyed it with the mix of couples. Still warn out from the night before, we decided against pushing it just for the sake of doing "something" and headed home for the night.

The Day of Too Much Wine

Since we arrived we have struggled to get up before 11am, but for some reason, I popped out of bed early to catch up on work and enjoy the street show from our window seat. The night before had provided quite the performance, as we watched an NYPD tow truck attempt to rid the street of a shiny black Jeep Cherokee. For some reason, the back wheels kept locking as soon as the truck would begin to pull away, so the officer would step out of the truck, open the door to adjust the gears in the Jeep (setting off the car alarm for another 5 minutes), then try without success to drive away again. After the fourth or fifth time, the whole scenario became ridiculously humorous to those of us standing around enjoying the show. The cop then waved down two more NYPD tow trucks, who attempted to help him figure out the best solution. I have failed to mention that the tow truck is blocking traffic in one direction, but don’t worry, those resourceful NYC drivers are simply dodging in and out of oncoming traffic at 75mph to get by. The determined best solution turns out to be that one truck driver assists the other in positioning the Jeep as if it were again parked on the street and leaving it there. This scenario has almost entirely played out until an actual NYPD car pulls up across the street. Apparently, the tow guys don’t want to explain why they are towing a car to the other side of the street and leaving it, so they quickly dump off the Jeep, return to their separate tow trucks, and speed into traffic, leaving a blaring Jeep Cherokee and a rather confused looking cop. We left the window open in hopes of hearing the person whose car had been moved down the block discover that their car was now parked in the other direction on the opposite side of the block. Unfortunately, we didn’t hear any yelling and missed the departure of the lucky owner.

Back to the beautiful morning…we both had work to do and so stayed in for the morning. We attempted to do laundry in the machines downstairs, but someone had left their clothes in the washer, so we’ll go another day without clean undies – this way people give you a little more space on the subway. Since I was sick and we have slowed down, it has felt more and more like a home here. I guess once you’ve bonded intimately with the toilet, the rest of the house just feels more homey.

Despite our cozy dwelling, by afternoon we were ready to meander a bit and decided to head out for coffee at Caffe Reggio, a famous coffeehouse on the southern edge of the village. We sat in comfy velvet chairs with big dragon head armrests and enjoyed the view out the window as well as in the shop. We are both still trying to figure out what it was about the UWS that seemed less inviting to us, and we spend the time here talking it out. Maybe it feels less like a community because these people don’t have to be out walking around sharing the neighborhood like less affluent people do. They have big apartments that don’t push you out into the world for fresh air like these little ones do, and they take the elevator out to the waiting car, then get out of the car and into their destination without even opening a door for themselves. It makes for much less interaction on the street this way. I know both ways of living offer benefits and drawbacks, but it’s interesting to think about the differences and ponder why we’re drawn more toward one than the other.

After delicious Italian pastries and cappuccino, we decided to head for the big discount store Century 21, which sells designer clothes that are overstock or out of season from the fancy chains uptown. However, I had read that Bluefly.com had opened a temporary store in SoHo, so I forced J to wander to find it because I hadn’t written down the address. We decided to divide and conquer, so I headed down one block and he another. As I turned the corner, there were beautiful people in over-the-top outfits chatting away in the sun, which distracted me from the people halfway down the block who started to yell at me in Italian. After I realized that I had stepped into a photoshoot, all I could get out was a meek “Scuzi” before jumping into traffic to get out of the shot. I figured getting hit was better than being yelled at.

This experience made me ready to leave SoHo and shop with the regular joe’s down at Century 21. This store is literally across the street from Ground Zero and opened just months after 9/11, becoming a sort of icon for the enduring resilience of the city. Leave it to discount shoppers to keep the city alive!!!

Saying this place is a zoo is such an understatement, I’m embarrassed at my inability to paint an accurate picture. There are racks and racks of clothes with a hand-written sign on top that announces the designer’s name. If you want to try something on, you go into a line of open-lockers, where you change in a community room of semi-clad women ignoring each other. I got trapped in the designer handbag section with a very scared looking businessman who seemed to have wandered into the wrong area. We survived, but it was hairy getting out of there. The whole place was more than J could handle, and we left feeling slightly light-headed and dizzy. J still had his very nice Abercrombie gift card from those Ohioans, so we headed a few blocks over to the Abercrombie store in the South Street Seaport. With blaring Cher in the background, we managed to find some swell jeans, but determined that the people who work in these places must be rich kids who don’t really need the money. The whole scene left us thirsty for a drink, so we headed to the South Street Seaport mall thingy and enjoyed a very peaceful beer out on the top level overlooking the East River and Brooklyn Bridge. We are obviously drawn out to the water, as it is the only place that affords a view past the next building, and it felt really nice to sit out there and relax.

On the way home, we decided to stop off to see Little Italy and maybe grab something to eat. We were both shocked at the lack of real community left – Mulberry Street (all that is left of the old neighborhood) looks like a theme ride in Disneyland. But, we were hungry and decided to stop and try the food in an effort to support what is left of Little Italy. One of the comedic developments of the area is that guys stand outside the restaurant and attempt to charm/pressure you into eating at their establishment. This idea seems to go against all that we have been taught about good places to eat in NYC and makes us nervous, but we pick one much to the delight of the “host” standing out front. As we sat at a little table outside, it felt like that scene from Lady and the Tramp when they share a spaghetti noodle, and we were surprised to discover that our waiter was overwhelmingly friendly. The food was good and the wine was flowing, and flowing, and flowing. Our waiter, who, by the way, is not Italian but Hispanic, shows his affection for us by giving us free wine, and more free wine. We already have shared a full carafe, so the additional glasses are like nails in the coffin. As we wander home, I begin to feel less and less that I am going to be okay in the morning, but by the time we reach our place, I no longer care. Oh well, at least it’s not Chinese food this time…

Nannyland

After a relaxing night we felt recharged to go out and explore. I'm doing better at getting some work done during the day and I was hoping to continue this by finding a coffee shop to work from wherever we went. Since neither of us had been up that way, we started out for the Upper West Side -- the neighborhood between Central Park and the Hudson River. The neighborhood history is very interesting as it hosted the largest slums in the city until an extensive urban renewal project revitalized things in the '60s.

We hopped a train and took it to Columbus Circle, the area of town that we stayed in on my first trip here. There was plenty of activity around as people set out for the day. We wandered up the street next to Central Park and enjoyed the emerging blooms and greenery. Since we've been here it's getting slightly warmer every day and everywhere we go I get the sense that people are starting to awaken from, what I would guess, is a long miserable winter. After ten or so blocks we passed the American History Museum. Which looks like an incredible place that definitely deserves a closer visit.

From there, we shot into the neighborhood proper. It's a mix of gigantic apartment buildings mixed with occasional groups of brownstones. This is apparently a very desirable neighborhood to live as it's exceptionally clean and quiet. We immediately noticed the care that was taken on the sidewalks -- we saw several workers cleaning them with brushes, brooms, and even saw them jackhammering and replacing a sidewalk with only a simple crack in it. This is in sharp contrast to our area, where a layered collage of discarded gum decorates the pathways.

There is essentially no street activity in this area -- just the occasional nanny pushing around stroller. We only saw a few mothers actually doing this, which we found quite odd. Couple that with the absolute absence of any riff-raff and you feel like you've stepped into another world: Nannyland. Nannyland is basically free of any character whatsoever and seems to extend for miles in any direction. Broadway continues to have a spattering of shops, but if it weren't for that oasis I wouldn't have had any indication that I was in New York. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure it's a wonderful place to live, but there is not much here for the tourist to see. I found walking among the cold light grey buildings towering overhead mildly unenjoyable. Nannyland is also completely free of coffee shops -- I'm sure I could have tracked down a Starbucks on Broadway, but I've been trying like crazy to avoid it.

We did find a quaint cafe tucked into a little break in the apartment buildings. In back there was a really nice little garden, which allowed for wonderful views of the backsides of buildings -- which were curiously absent the whitewashed exterior seen from the street. No wireless access here, but probably the best coffee I've had so far.

After a relaxing lunch we continued through the neighborhood to the Hudson river which is lined by a beautiful park. Riverside Park was designed by the same folks as Central Park and provides the opportunity for a classic stroll. There are breaks along the park for different monuments, finally ending at Grant's Tomb around 125th Street. I wound up getting pulled into a two-hour conference call, which I took in the shadow of the Soldiers and Sailors memorial -- a beautiful rotundra of marbled columns. Other than having to listen and pipe up occasionally on my call, it was very nice to sit and enjoy the warm sunshine and the excitement of the occasional passing child (with nanny in tow).

After my call we followed the park to Grant's tomb and decided to get a closer look at Columbia. My first impression was like much of the day so far -- imposing characterless buildings. We looped around a bit and found the entrance to the historical part of campus, which opened magnificantly into a large inviting quad. This part was spectacular and reversed much of my earlier dislike of the area. Columbia itself is relatively quite and reserved, but I did notice that every professor-type had a beaming smile on their face and this is one of the few areas of the city where I noticed consistent eye-contact. Regardless, I'd probably choose to spend my $40,000+ a year down at the grittiness of NYU.

Leaving Columbia, we entered the Morningside Heights neighborhood. The guidebooks raved about the area, calling it one of the last remaining "genuine" neighborhoods on the Upper West Side. It did seem like everyone knew each other and there was very little tourist activity. I tried my best not to feel uneazy, but it was very hard to get over the feeling that we were trespassing. We had no incidents, but Laurie and I both felt uneasy -- we definitely picked up on an edge that we hadn't experienced in other parts of the city. I suppose it's our countrymiceness showing through and I'm sure I'll have much more to say after we tour Spanish Harlem. Even though it's uncomfortable I need to continue to explore -- especially where my background and skin color puts me in the extreme minority.

This reminds me of an appalling story where people were harrassed simply because of their contrasting appearance -- in Cortez, CO near my hometown. I guarantee if any of the jackasses waving Confederate flags and doing donuts in their trucks around a small group of travelling students had spent any time exploring Harlem they wouldn't have acted that way. It's important for us to step into others shoes whenever the opportunity presents itself. Only through these experiences can we gain insight into the lives of others and develop genuine kindness for each other.

At the bottom edge of this neighborhood Laurie found a great macrobiotic restaurant and we enjoyed one of the best meals of our trip. Wiped out from over 100 blocks of walking, even the inticing activities listed in Time Out could not pull us off the couch once we returned home.

The Day of Sunshine and Frank

Oh the joys of not laying prostrate on the bathroom floor begging the universe to let me go…

After suffering through most of Saturday – a special thanks to my nurse who lovingly supplied me with ginger ale and potato chips -- I woke up feeling hungry and ready to go. Frank seemed to have slept okay on the cement-like futon under the window, but still didn’t seem in the mood to take the hour train ride to Coney Island in celebration of my making it 12 hours without throwing up. As it was almost 11am, we only had a few hours until he had to catch the 4:11 train to Jersey, so we decided to get outside and enjoy the sunshine while we headed for brunch.

We found a great spot in the W. Village that I had read about in Time Out NY. We weren’t sure if we would be able to find it or afford it, but it turned out to be really good. Of course, I was just excited to be eating at all.

After a great meal, we headed out to wander the streets and stumbled upon a street market. Although the smell of meat cooking in the street was a bit of a daunting test for my stomach, we managed to shop for t-shirts, jewelry, and art undeterred. Although J wasn’t able to find yet another wedding band – despite Frank and my suggestions to go for one of the cool skull rings, we did find some cute shirts and these really cool Star Wars sculptures made out of recycled metal. I might go back to get one of those next weekend…

We continued to meander, enjoying Frank’s stories of growing up in Jersey and visiting the city – it was so nice to have company -- and headed for some cool architecture in SoHo that J had read about. As we wandered through the famous designer names, most of which were lost on the fellas (except the Sharper Image, which I’m not sure I count as a designer label), we decided to head out to see some water. The Hudson provided a nice breeze that was a relief from the heat (I can’t imagine being here any later in the summer) and we walked back home enjoying the openness of the river park. Side note: That’s definitely something I miss about home – being able to see further than a block or two.

On the way home, we decided to make a quick stop for some cupcakes from the Magnolia. J and I had talked up the cupcakes quite a bit, so we were nervous that they wouldn’t live up to the expectations we had set for Frank. Happily, he seemed to put them on the same pedestal we had built up, and we very much appreciated that he left two here for our happy consumption later in the evening!

The real excitement of the day came when we took Frank to Penn station to catch his train. It reminded us so much of the train stations in France – all the excitement and energy. We made it with just a few minutes to spare, said our quick goodbyes, and soon it was just J and I again. We both enjoyed having Frank here and hope to see him again before he heads back home – we still need so much training in the proper East Coast phraseology.

After a nap for me and some work for J, we decided to try something mellow for the night and took the harbor lights boat cruise around the south end of Manhattan. With Coors Lights and popcorn, we enjoyed every freezing minute of the Statue of Liberty and the NY and NJ skyline. It was a peaceful night and we got off the boat feeling relaxed and happy…until we reached Time Square.

I wonder if many people come to this city and only see the circus of Times Square. It is a fun place that is full of energy, but tonight, the pushing crowds and the obnoxious tourists put us both in a panic, and we didn’t say much on the subway ride home. J decided to take refuge in the apartment while I grabbed a few things at the store for dinner. After a quiet meal, I nodded off feeling so very lucky to get to enjoy this experience…and relieved that we didn’t pick a place an inch closer to Times Square.