...everyone has their own utopia, I suppose...this one is just mine.
22 October 2009
Broadway, Baby
I used to perform...on the STAGE. Shocking, I know. When I was in high school and early on in college I performed in plays and musicals. It was something to do...and at the time it was a fun sort of release from the mundane.
What? You want to know what musicals? Well, ok...Me and My Girl, Anything Goes, Imaginary Invalid, Servant of Two Masters, and Washington Square. More plays than musicals, turns out I'm a much better actress than I am a DANCER (which, I am not at all).
Anyway, for a brief period of time I dreamed of seeing a show on Broadway...I knew it was expensive, but it was just something I wanted to have done once in my life. But then I grew up. I became even more practical and let that dream go. I had better ways to spend the money and the time.
So when Chris' co-worker asked him if we wanted tickets to see Jersey Boys I said that it wasn't a big deal to me, and that I thought he would enjoy just walking around a people-watching more than sitting in a dark theater. So we said no.
And that night, after the fancy dinner, we did just that. We walked around, we people watched, we considered going for a night-bus tour of the city but lo, it was RIDICULOUSLY expensive so we did not.
The next day I got a text message from Chris saying something along the lines of, "MS (another colleague of his) got us tickets to see Chicago tonight. I don't think we can say no." So I thought, "Um. Ok. I guess we're going to go see a show."
We got all dolled up again. Went to a fancy steakhouse (ate at the bar, just appetizers, natch), and headed over to the theater.
First, let me say this, the theaters are a lot smaller than I had originally thought they would be. The show was amazing, of course, the sound was a bit too loud (the singers were sometimes incoherent because of it), but all in all it was GREAT.
That said, and at the risk of sounding prudish or self-righteous (two things I try to avoid) can I just say, I don't get it? Not anymore apparently. I don't get why 10 men and women prancing about a stage in what is effectively lingerie and singing about alcohol, illicit sex, and murder is ART. And I like to think that I have good, discerning, aesthetic taste, but I don't see how that's art. They had beautiful voices, and AMAZINGLY toned bodies, but I still don't see the ART in that...to me, that's Hollywood, not really ART.
But I could be mistaken. It's happened before.
Anyway, I'm grateful to have had the experience, it was certainly something that I'll never forget.
Chris' friend Jefe has been raving about soup dumplings for quite some time, and so it was that we went to Chinatown in the company of Chris' other friend Dave for soup dumplings and knock-offs.
(I have admitted that I was more than a bit nervous about the knock-off expedition. I had heard it was a sometimes scary affair and I honestly don't want or need a handbag badly enough to get in trouble for it. But...I can see we're getting ahead of ourselves.)
We took the subway to Chinatown, Canal Street to be exact. We wandered for a while and I wondered why I hadn't been asked to show a passport. I heard a cacophony of languages (seldom English), we saw fruit and vegetable stands with unrecognizable produce, were solicited for "massages" that I'm pretty sure weren't really massages, and we finally came to the soup dumplings.
We were seated at a table and were joined by 3 other hipster looking fellows. Dave immediately began ordering a TON of food for us, only to inform us that he thinks he may have picked something up in Peru while he was there and wasn't feeling great, so we were going to have eat ALL of this. I immediately started to feel bad that we had dragged poor Dave away from his bed and his own bathroom to tote us around Chinatown, but he waved off my sympathetic overtures and well...then the food started to arrive.
He had ordered us a scallion cake and "vegetarian duck" of which I was IMMEDIATELY skeptical. It was thinly shaved tofu, marinated and then roasted, and then wrapped around marinated mushrooms and then the whole dish is served cold. It was good, but I think it would have been better hot. The scallion cake was awesome.
I had ordered Pan Fried Rice Noodles, expecting them to be similar to Thai noodles (Thai food being the one food I could eat every day for the rest of my life and be perfectly happy), and lo, they were NOT. They were totally DIFFERENT from Thai noodles. They seemed to have been boiled first, and then laid out flat and then fried crispy. They were topped with some really yummy veggies. Chris had ordered Pan Fried Rice Cakes (with chicken I think) and oh dear, they were delightful. They were disks of thick rice noodle that had been stir fried until they were soft and ever so slightly gooey. This, he had in addition to the soup dumplings, of which there isn't a vegetarian option.
Look how happy he is!
From there we just wandered. We wandered the side streets and the alley ways, the main thoroughfares and pedestrian only by-ways. We wandered into shops and browsed. I guess I thought that the knock-offs would be sort of in plain sight, but they weren't. I guess I was also expecting that the...um...STAFF...would be a bit more assertive than they were. Dave finally suggested that we just start asking them if they have "anything else". And I say we, because while I was looking for a knock-off bag, Chris was looking for a knock-off watch. A Faux-lex to be exact. So, getting into the spirit of things, I started to ask.
We saw cops walk by pretty frequently which spooked me and I was ready to let it go and head back to civilization but Chris was insistent (he was having FUN. Thought it was an ADVENTURE. Yes, this is the crazy man I married).
We entered this odd little shop. Narrow at the front, with just a small counter for watches and a large wall of perfumes and then it opened up at the back with handbags in various shapes and sizes hanging from the walls. Stacks of luggage rested against all of the walls...all but one. And if you looked up the wall you could see the cut out of a Super Secret Door. when I asked the woman if this was all she had, she tugged on my arm and said, "What you want?" And I said, "Um, I don't know, something red maybe?"
(Now I know why she looked at me funny because as we were waiting, women would come in chanting designer names: GUCCI-COACH-PRADA-LOUISVITTON-FENDI. And the woman would nod her head and take them back. Who knew? I guess you have to know what designer you want and then go looking for that...I don't know designers, 8 times out of 10 I still carry a diaper bag! And the handbags I have and carry are...you know...JC Pennys cheapo on sale-o.)
Anyway, she looked at me weird and went through the Super Secret Door and brought out a BIG red bag with Gucci stamped on the front. I said, "Hmmmm. Ok." I was nervous and just wanted to be out of there. But Chris was looking at the bag and looking at me and said, "No. What else do you have?" And they started listing colors, at which point I came alive again and said, "I would probably use black more..." So she brought it out. The perfect black handbag. Well, it's perfect for me right now. I don't usually abide by large handbags, I like something just big enough for my wallet, my keys and my phone. Maybe a chapstick if it's more than just one errand. But now that the Boy is bigger, I really need something that will hold a snack up and a sippy cup and maybe something to distract him if necessary, so a bigger handbag was very much in order. And it's perfect. Soft black leather (it's probably pleather, but oh well), two big pockets with a zipper pocket dividing them. A small pouch for my cell and a bigger pouch for my keys. Big enough for a book and my other essentials in addition to the Boy's essentials. It's lovely. I care not a whit for what is written on the front. And I got it at a good price, she wanted more but I told her, I'm not paying more than $ __ and I meant it. She could tell. She said, "Ok." Bagged it up, took the cash and Chris asked about watches.
Here is where our luck ran out. They had to call someone else to bring them over. They took FOREVER. And when they got there (arriving in a beat-up Gap bag), Chris tried on a couple, they were big and flashy and not really what I'm accustomed to seeing on the arm of my beloved. But he selected one that he liked, bargained the guy down, watched the guy set the time and the (incorrect) date and off we walked.
Chris started fiddling with it on the next block. He realized the date was incorrect and was trying to correct it. Only to realize that he COULDN'T. Nothing he did would change the date or time. He fiddled with and fiddled with it and fiddled with it. All the way back out to Canal Street. All the way back to Times Square on the subway. All the way back to the hotel room. Once back in the hotel room, the watch finally STOPPED. DEAD. As a doornail.
Can I just say for a moment how hard it was NOT to laugh? I know I shouldn't. And I didn't laugh in front of him...but I just thought, "We deserve this! For trying to get something for next to nothing!" Anyway, Chris is still smarting at the rip off. He messed with the watch the rest of the weekend, but finally concluded that he's just going to have his plain watch repaired (the band is broken and the battery is dead) and someday when our finances are GREENER, he'll get a fancy watch.
That night was the fancy pants work dinner. We got dolled up and headed down to meet up with the rest of his colleagues. We went to this restaurant called Remi. It was a lovely Italian restaurant. I ordered Parpadelle with wild mushrooms in truffle oil and it was so good I could have BATHED in it. Once over, we walked with everyone to the theater (they were all going to see Jersey Boys, but Chris and I had opted out of it) and then we headed back to Times Square.
Chris' boss, we'll call him GRC, had a small fit that we weren't joining them for the show. Such a fit that he started machinations for us for the following night. But that is a tale for tomorrow.
When I got back to NC, my mom asked me what my favorite thing was that I had done while in New York.
I thought for a minute and replied with the Public Library and St. Patrick's Cathedral.
Which surprised even me because I hadn't planned to see either of them.
Thursday morning came. Chris got up too early, headed down and was the first one at early registration. He registered and came back up stairs to hang out with me while I pondered and planned. We watched the news and chatted sleepily--something we never get to do and therefore a novelty. He finally headed back downstairs for breakfast and his first class and I headed for a hot shower and my Search for Bagels.
My plan was just to wander until I found bagels and then to head in the general direction of the Public Library. I had been told, when we joined the group for drinks the night before (we were the only ones drinking water), that the Public Library was indeed impressive as was St. Patrick's Cathedral and they were relatively close and FREE so I thought I would check them out.
I found the Bagel Bar. And a choir of angels started to sing. Their bagels were full and soft and chewy and once toasted they achieved a perfectly crunchy crust. I ordered 2 whole wheat ones, both toasted but only one with cream cheese. I picked up a diet coke, double-checked the map and off I walked. I knew that Bryant Park was adjacent to the library so I had intended to settle myself there in order to fully appreciate my bagels.
I found Bryant Park with no problem at all. I found a quiet seat with a table on a tree-lined walk and a view of 2 men playing chess and a couple of cops eating donuts. I pulled out my Isaac Babel and my bagels and settled down for breakfast. The story I just happened to be on was "Public Library" which I thought fitting. I read and I ate and I people-watched and I listened to the sounds of the city and the people around me.
I sent Chris a text message that said, "Do two bagels and a diet coke consumed in Bryant Park make for a perfect breakfast? Why yes, I think they do." He got a chuckle out of that, but I'm pretty sure he was jealous.
The Library didn't open until 10am and while I was waiting a woman (a NATIVE) walked up and asked me for directions. I hesitated for a minute, not sure if she was serious but then shrugged and gave her directions and then laughed after she was gone.
Once the library opened, I headed in. There was the habitual security line with the obligatory bag search and then up up up the long staircase and along the hallway and then...then...
The main reading room.
There's a reason the light is golden and the ceiling is painted with clouds like the heavens.
Because this is what Heaven looks like. Books line the walls, long and wide tables with soft lighting. Plenty of space to spread out. The chair wrap around your back so you can sit up or slouch comfortably. I settled down and read two more stories before getting up to wander.
The New York Public Library is a library like European libraries where the public doesn't actually have ACCESS to the Books. But they do have an ample staff of qualified librarians who will obtain the books you want and bring them to you at your request. I didn't request anything, I had hoped to wander the Slavic section, but instead contented myself with the reading room and in my wanderings, who did I happen to find?
Jane Austen.
And?
Charles Dickens.
I swear. It's like I have some kind of programming that leads me to them where e'er I may wander.
I found another hall that had some lovely paintings of authors, but then realized that I was starting to run short on time, so I headed down to St. Patrick's Cathedral.
Now. I'm not Catholic. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But I am someone who can appreciate a wide variety of sacred spaces. I actually find it quite thought provoking to visit the sacred spaces of other religions and cultures...it says A LOT about the people who build them and worship there.
I've visited a variety of cathedrals before, but not for quite some time. It was awe-inspiring to be in one again.
The space itself is amazing. It's HUGE. With stained-glass windows all around. They were getting ready for 12 o'clock mass so the organist was playing and there were Catholics praying in various languages all around me. I sat down in the middle and said a quiet prayer for my Boy, my Husband, my family.
And I thought about that wonderful story from Elijah:
He's hiding, fearing for his life, and he begins to despair and as he prays he says, "I, even I only, am left; they seek my life, to take it away. And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still, small voice." (1 Kings 19: 11-12)
I was thinking of how we build the grand, spacious, beautiful, intimidating spaces in which to worship God. And yet. He's not in those Grand, Expansive, Elaborate spaces. He is in the still, small voice. He's in our Homes. He's in our families. He's in the quiet (well, mostly quiet), comfortable, cozy, simple spaces where we live our daily lives. If we let Him in.
The Not-so-Fun Friday: Getting Lost, Getting Found
So, I've mentioned before that Friday was the only day I got lost. I shall now commence the Tale of the Friday.
This was the only day I felt indecisive while plotting my day. I had originally planned to see the Ukrainian museum and Little Odessa (out in QUEENS), but then I double-checked the hours and discovered that it wouldn't be possible. I had wanted to see the Jewish Heritage Museum, but it was WAY far away and I didn't relish the idea of taking the subway by myself.
So I laid in bed and stewed and stewed and stewed.
I carefully planned out another itinerary which was all within walking distance, but comprised of sights that I was indifferent about.
So I laid in bed and stewed and stewed and stewed.
The problem was that I could hear my sister's voice in my head. Rolling her eyes and saying, "Oh, M, don't be DUMB. You can take the Subway! Don't be DUMB and you'll be FINE! Just GO. And don't be DUMB. GO." I hated the thought of having to face her and tell her that I hadn't seen the museum because I was too scared to ride the subway by myself.
So I screwed up my courage and got out of bed.
I showered and dressed and headed out with the intention of stopping at the same bagel place I had stopped at the day before, loading up with my bagels and my diet coke and then marching myself to the subway and down to the Jewish Heritage museum. I remembered that I had headed out 46th street the day before so that's the way I headed. But I couldn't remember if the bagel shop was on 9th or 8th and the subway station I needed was on 7th, so I figured I would just walk and keep my eyes open and I would find it.
HAAAAAAAAAA.
Yeah. I never did find it. I walked and I walked and I walked and I thought SURE I should have found that bagel shop and if not THAT one, then I should have found ANOTHER bagel shop because, dude, this is NEW YORK, Land of the Hallowed Bagel! But no. I found no other bagel shop. I counted 6 (SIX) Starbucks and 2 diners and 4 pizza joints but NO bagel shops. So in a Low Blood Sugar desperation, I stopped at one of the SIX Starbucks, bought a scone and a big glass of milk and marched myself to the Subway and admitted Bagel Defeat.
I picked up the subway with no trouble, other than being in a car full of Italian students. I drank my milk and people watched and scowled at the Italians with their skinny jeans and high heels.
I got off the subway and walked right down to the museum. I bought my ticket and headed in. And it was absolutely amazing. The first floor was Jewish heritage up to 1930. The second floor was the Holocaust and World War II. The third floor was the Jewish resurgency. It was all amazing...full of life and tradition and hope. I cried three times...well, I'll just show you.
There were ELEVEN (11) of these wall displays. They were 6 feet tall and probably 3 feet wide and filled with tiled photographs of Jews and Jewish families killed in the Holocaust. Attached to each display was a notebook inscribed with the words, "They had homes and families and names." and the notebooks were filled with identifying information of the people in the photographs. It was amazing, you were walking through this maze of faces and the curators had carefully named every one of them.
There was a separate section on each floor for the experience of Jewish children and I have to admit that I cried every time. It was hard to transition from the joy and affection of the children in the pre-1930 section to the absolute horrors of the Holocaust for the children affected by it. Aside from the pictures of the children starving and horrifically abused, there were interviews of adults who had been sent away by their parents before the war began in earnest and how all those years later they still wept for the childhood they had lost, the parents they had lost, the innocence they had lost. It was marvelous and so SO sad.
And then to get up to the third floor and to see the happy faces of Jewish children around the world, in spite of the current violence in Israel. It was lovely.
Chris called just as I was finishing up so we arranged to meet in a cemetery near Ground Zero and to view the sight together. I walked and walked and walked right past Ground Zero and peered into the MASS that the site is now. I expected to feel slightly sick, scared, small, torn. But...I don't know. It's a big construction zone now. It doesn't feel empty or frightening. It feels like a beehive.
We headed up to Central Park for a long meander and then on to the Museum of Modern Art.
Please understand, I am a walker. I prefer to get around on my two feet as God intended. I've walked all over, in Seattle, in Athens, in Germany and Ireland, in Boston and Savannah. But by Friday, I had walked myself into the GROUND. I was exhausted and my feet were killing me. But I had never been to Central Park and I wanted to see it and spend time with Chris. So off we went.
We got off somewhere in the middle on the West side of Central Park and just wandered. And it's GORGEOUS. Right there in the middle of this enormous city is this great swath of green and almost fresh air. It's not quiet, but it's quieter than the city bits. We walked and chatted and laughed. We pointed out New York Hair for the Blog Post that Was Not to Be. We stopped and bought frozen custard cones and they were DELICIOUS.
mmmmm...frozen custard.
We were looking for an Alice in Wonderland sculpture because Chris really wanted to see it. He said he felt like Alice the whole time, lost in Wonderland and not sure of how to get out again. Unfortunately we weren't sure of where we were at this point, nor of how to get to the Alice and Wonderland sculpture, so we just kept on wandering.
We found this awesome bridge with an amazing view...
You'll just have to take our word for it that the view was great. What? Chris NEVER smooches me in public, I was enjoying my fleeting moment of Public Affection.
We actually DID find the Alice in Wonderland statue but some film students were filming some scene for some amateur film that will very probably suck, so we didn't get a picture.
We were trying to kill time because the Museum of Modern Art is free of charge from 4-8 on Fridays and we were trying to see Monet's Waterlilies. It was painted in 3 panels and they're almost never displayed together, but the MoMA had them all three hung together and we really wanted to see it, but my husband is CHEAP, so we were trying to time it just right so as to not have to PAY to see it.
So in our rambles through Central Park we saw these crazy street performers. They were pretty funny and moderately talented.
After walking and walking and walking (until I could no longer feel my weary feet) we ended up on 5th avenue and headed towards the museum.
We walked through the doors and oh, my...someone catch me I am going to FAINT for it was literally body to body PACKED. LOADED. AT CAPACITY. FULL of PEOPLE. We got two of the last tickets available and headed up to see the Waterlilies.
You have to understand, at this point, I was at maximum saturation, overstimulation, need-to-hide in order to absorb everything. But Chris? Chris had been stuck in a boring conference all morning! This was an ADVENTURE! FUN! C'mon! Let's GO! So up up up the stairs we went. We joined the throngs there to see the paintings. I have to admit, it was impressive. But I was relieved to be out of there.
We headed back to the hotel because Chris finally realized that I had had ENOUGH. I ran a warm bath and soaked for a while before we had to head out to dinner.
The last time I was in New York I was much younger. Still an adult (in my early 20s) but not quite an adult...you know. Still reliant on my sister to get us around, content to go where she decided and to see what she deemed necessary. Before that I had been when I was 17 and I was with my parents and my older sister and her family. So I have never really been to New York in a situation where I had to make the decisions and get myself around town.
It was weird.
The other element to this comparative exercise is that both of those earlier visits were pre-9/11. The are glossed over with a golden light. In truth, I remember very little. I know that on the first visit the World Cup was being held there and the hockey team...not the Knicks, or the Jets or the Yankees or the Mets the other ones...the RANGERS! (and yes, I had to ask Chris what their name was...) had just won the Stanely Cup. I remember this because there was a ticker-take parade and I had never seen anything like it. I remember Jeff got us all sandwiches from Carnegie Deli that were so big they wouldn't fit in your mouth...I remember the statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. But that's it. I think maybe we took the subway. I can't remember if we walked all over, I don't remember shopping or anything specific. After that, in my 20s I remember the Natural History museum. They were having an exhibit on Native North Americans and it was very good. But again, I don't really remember anything else, other than being with my sister. I never felt indecisive, I never looked at a map, I never felt unsure or nervous about anything.
Now? Well, it's just different when you're the grown-up. And well, we live in a different world now.
Now there are mandatory bag checks in almost all public places. There are metal detectors almost everywhere. There are police and mean looking security gaurds everywhere. And no one, NO ONE questions any of this. No one feels like it's an imposition, people wait patiently in the long security lines, people happily strip off shoes, belts, scarves, hats, bags, headphones, and empty pockets every where you go. It's this extraordinary apathy, this acceptance that this is simply the world in which we live now. What is depressing is that no one seems to remember that other time. That time before when we could just walk in to a building, when security gaurds smiled and a woman could carry tampons in her bag without everyone else visiting a building knowing about it.
The planning part was puzzling but also fun. Chris would get up and get dressed for the conference and I lounged in bed with my guidebook and my map and plotted my day based on the sights I wanted to see and the routes I would take to get there. Up and dressed. Game face on. Long strides and a quick pace. Act like you know what you're doing and no one will question you.
Except to ask you for directions, which I got on my second day there. I smiled and told the woman exactly how to get to where she was headed.
The difficulty factor was raised by trying to mesh my agenda with Chris' and our determination to spend time together. And then there are the limitations of certain museums or sights. The Ukrainian museum was only open 1-5pm Wednesday through Saturday, and since Chris wasn't interested in seeing it, it was quickly axed. Ground Zero and the Jewish Heritage museum were sort of in the same area so I saw the museum and Chris met me at Ground Zero. Ellis Island would take the most time so we went the first day before the conference started. And then there was the pull of the group and the need to network...which, when it wasn't actively complicating things, it was making us feel twinges of guilt for NOT being with the group.
Friday, the only day I got lost, I was bemoaning the loss of my youth and the blessing of having a wonderful and smart older sister to tell me where to go and what to do and how to get there and don't be DUMB. But once I found my feet again, I realized that while it has it's own difficulty, it's still better to be the adult and be free to go and to do and to decide than otherwise.
I wish I could say the same for the world in which we live. I wish I could say that I think we're in a better place, a safer place now than we once were, but...I can't help feeling that something good has gone.
I feel a bit like Bilbo at the start of the Red Book, I have such a tale to tell but where to begin?
I suppose I begin with leaving...
I think that the Boy's entrance into our lives was difficult because he changed me. Fundamentally. From the version of me that I had been into a new (and probably better) version of myself. The old M is still there, it's the elements, the building blocks that make me who I am, but in thought and actions, I'm different from what I have been. That was really circular, even for me.
When I was packing, I brought out the clothes from my Before I Became a Mom days. Lovely button down shirts, thick cotton sweater vests, belts, scarves, funky socks and clogs. It was so nice to be able to wear the same clothes all day, so nice not to be drooled on, wiped on, snotted on. But oh, then I would feel awful for taking such delight in such a little thing...but that is a whole different ball of guilt.
So, while I was there I felt very much like my old self, I wore the lovely clothes and jewelry. I went where I wanted when I wanted without thinking about someone else's nap schedule or eating habits. I ordered whatever I wanted to eat rather than thinking about what someone else would eat. I had intelligent conversations without singing anything at all. I went to the bathroom by myself.
But at the end of the day, I was missing something, or rather someone. I had a ton of fun, I would do it again in a heartbeat. And believe me, when these opportunities arise, we'll be taking advantage of them. But I still felt like I was missing something. Maybe it was the Boy, but maybe it was ME. The version of myself that I am now, every day.
Elizabeth Gaskell wrote about this conflict in a letter once. She and her family had just moved into a nice, new house and she was writing about her preoccupation with it when she said, "is it right to spend so much ourselves on so purely selfish a thing as a house is, while so many are wanting--thats the haunting thought to me; at least to one of my Mes, for I have a great number, and that's the plague. One of my Mes is, I do believe, a true Christian--(only people call her socialist and communist), another of my Mes is a wife and mother...that's my social self I suppose. Then again, I've another self with a full taste for beauty and convenience which is pleased on its own account. How am I to reconcile all these warring members?"
My experience of the last few days is that maybe it's a choice like most everything else. Maybe we choose which version of ourselves we live...maybe we choose not to be selfish and vain and preoccupied, and instead choose to be patient and kind and generous. I don't know. Maybe this is old news and I'm just behind. I had fun. But it felt a bit like dress-up, where I wasn't quite the most truthful version of myself. And now that we're home and I'm back in my plain, ordinary life, I feel like I'm ME again.
So, I sent Whimsy this text on the first day in New York about the blog posts that I wanted to write (so badly!) but knew that I could not. I simply could not. So for your amusement, on this Tuesday morning, I provide you with an explanatory list of the Blog Posts that should have been (if I were a meaner girl).
A Photo Essay of New York HAIR. I can't tell you how many bizarre, unkempt or just ugly heads of hair I saw while I was there. There was the long and shaggy 70s man-do, there were mullets to bring a swell of pride to any redneck heart, there were long chunky spikes, bad dye-jobs, mohawks and afros that should NOT have been. There were comb-overs and helmet hair and people who obviously thought they looked fabulous when they left their apartment that morning. When asked why I do not have photographic evidence of this Tour de Force, the reason is simple. I cannot bring myself to surrepitiously take a picture of someone's hair in order to mock them. I just could not do it. I wanted to do it. Chris and I continued to point out examples of horrific hair to one another throughout the visit, but I just couldn't do it. You'll have to take my word for it. It was something else.
A Photo Essay of How all New York Women Look the SAME. I was surprised by this one, but it's true. They all wear the same scarves, they have the same spikey shoes--how they walk in those, I have no idea--they carry the same handbags, they use the same phones and ipods, wear the same style jeans (it's all skinny jeans all the time and really, is there anyone who looks good in those?). It was moderately discomforting to look around and see how homogenous the world is.
A Scratch and Sniff Essay on the following places: the Subway, Hell's Kitchen, Times Square and Ellis Island. Really, people, this is what the internet is MISSING. SMELL. WHEN is Bill Gates going to work this one out? Anyway, I wish you could imagine the variety of these smells. The Subway...oh how it stinks. It's this weird mix of stale air, exhaust fumes, body odor, and bad breath...really bad breath. And what made it even stranger was how you'd find a perfectly tolerable pocket of air and then woosh! you'd get this breeze of stench that would make your face wrinkle up and leave you gasping. Then there was Hell's Kitchen--a neighborhood not far from Times Square. There are TONS of restaurants there, it's eatery after eatery after eatery, a foodie paradise! And you can literally find any ethnicity of food you can imagine, Afghan, Thai, Barbeque, Mexican, Vietnamese, pastries, fresh food markets, delis, diners and Starbucks! Starbucks on every corner imaginable. But the smells! It was AMAZING! You'd be walking down the street and smell something spicey and aromatic and then walk 6 feet and it would be pungent or floral, or sweet or sour or limey. It was extraordinary. I could have spent the day just walking up and down and smelling. Times Square was a bit more exotic than the Subway. Still smelly, but with greater variety...more colognes, more tabacco, more alcohol. Ellis Island? Ellis Island is a treat! You get all of those human smells, soap, sweat, whatever, but then you also have random food smells, and then there's this aromatic patina that's leftover from the years and years that Ellis Island was in operation. It's amazing and indescribable, which is why we need Bill Gates to get on that internet-scratch-and-sniff.
I have many stories to tell regarding New York, and they'll be told in good time. But, by way of a preamble to a whole New York Series, I thought you'd enjoy some statistics.
New York in Numbers:
Plane rides survived: 2
taxi rides survived: 1
Days spent in the city: 3
bagels consumed: 4
subway rides: 6
times Chris got us lost: 3
times I got lost: 1
knock-off bags acquired: 1
metro cards bought: 3
metro cards LOST (on the FIRST DAY!): 1
museums visited: 3
population: more than 8 million
languages spoken there: 170
languages I heard while there: Russian, French, Yiddish, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Thai, Chinese (no, I don't know which dialect...), Vietnamese, oh, and English.
blocks walked: 4 million
What we Did:
Ellis Island
Times Square
the NY Public Library
St. Patrick's Cathedral
Chinatown
Museum of Jewish Heritage
Ground Zero
Museum of Modern Art
Broadway
Rockefeller Center
Central Park
the Subway
Katz's Deli
TWO fancy dinners (I was only expecting ONE...but that's a whole other story)
I could say that I'm a Jane of All Trades and Mistress of none. But the truth is that I'm a Wife to my One and a Mother to the greatest babies on Earth. In my past life I was a scholar, a writer, an editor, a teacher. In my current life I'm combining all of them into something better.
