Wednesday, February 22, 2006
"I go for an egg-type dish"
It's over. For the third glorious time, over.
Big surprise--this last trip was a hit. In accordance w/ tradition, there's far too much to report, yet also in accordance w/ tradition, I'll make a valiant attempt.
Thursday: She touches down, woozy and disoriented after a half-sleepless night on the plane. She's taxied to xxx E. x St., where she digs out her freshly copied key and lets herself in. She gets her bearings, maybe brushes her teeth, and zips north. We talk on the phone and she saves me from mild work-related embarrassment, then she goes about her day solo, taking in the Frick Collection and Fifth Avenue shopping (overheard repeatedly, gist: oh darling, this would look just fabulous w/ that, w/ that other ludicrously expensive thing you bought me the other day), other/other/other. We meet up over Swedish meatballs, poached cod, and fruity Aquavit. We take our musical theatre w/ a PMS-brand chocolate chip sandwich cookie and a pair of Diet Cokes, two selections we decide cancel each other out completely. The play isn't so good (plot, where you at?), but the writing's witty and occasionally funny, so we laugh and wave it off. And move on. To bed. Early. For the next day...
Friday: Atlantic City here we come! In full possession of chattermouths and energy reserves, we fuel ourselves w/ Russian breakfast--okay, w/ poppyseed loaf & corn muffin, but we do sit at Veselka--and slide into the uncomfortable position of 'just left of a nose-wrinklingly uriney bathroom' on the AC-bound Greyhound. Fast forward a few hours: We're on the boardwalk, ocean due east, psychics and $ stores and fake collegiate t-shirts and more saltwater taffy venues than there are casinos (truly) to our left. We mosey for an hour or two, that is, if one can effectively 'mosey' while shrinking beneath mounds of luggage. The casinos are as expected, although we we're surprised at the age range. Plenty of white hairs atop heads--some such heads appearing petrified, eyes fixed unflinchingly on pet-slot machines, skin pale from lack of sunlight--but a fair number of younger folks, too. We eventually make our way back to the Econo Lodge, where we lack a working heater and towels that promise nothing save a thorough exfoliating (youch!), but hell, we don't require much.
Okay, too much detail,* I know, so here starts the abbreviated take.
The night is a hoot. We dine like the Irish & drink like UES'ers; I win $40 at the roulette table; and we try to groove normal, but fast find ourselves bored by weird & annoying mixes. We leave the strange and cavernous club in favor of midnight gelato. Mm. Moving on.
Saturday: West Village wanderings, little but. Dinner at Westville, never disappoints. Later on, The Slipper Room, where, this time, comedy wins out.
Sunday: Following a mediocre brunch at EV's 7A, we trip up to Harlem for a foot tour of a lot. We walk across the tippytop of Central Park--so quiet this day, so bright and blue... We drop by
So after Harlem, back west for a surprise unfolding of consumerism at its hands-down worst (read: the annual Barneys warehouse sale). Uglymessydeplorable, really, although someone somehow someway manages to tuck her disgust in her pocket long enough to purchase a pair of jeans. (But, an amazing deal I tell you!) Tranquility, thank you, is just around the corner, washing over us once inside the coziest shop ever--Bonnie's Vintage Cookbooks. My guest is wowed speechless, rubbing her hands together at the sight of shelves stacked w/ such titles as 67 New & Appetizing Ways to Serve Sausage and Easy Triumphs with the New Minute Tapioca. I stop just short of forking over twenty bucks for a guide to San Francisco dining, c. 1942. The pictures are priceless, done in that pencil crosshatching style of my coveted Nancy Drew originals. But where, I reason w/ myself, would be the sense? I set it back down. E: I'm holding you to it--cook like a good Lutheran housewife, already! Your excuses are few, now that you own that.
Oh god, I'm getting all crazy again. In short: Food follows, it tastes great.
Monday: Brunch in/stroll through Tribeca, a new 'hood to my guest. Again, the skies are sparkly-clear, the winds icy, streets calm. Blinding sun streams through the windows of Bubby's Diner, keeping us toasty while we inhale omelettes and perfect, butter-drenched grits. Next up, Wall Street and all that comes w/ it. We wander down dark and narrow streets, stopping in at breathtaking Trinity Church and scaring ourselves straight out of the adjacent cemetery. Federal Hall, the Stock Exchange, the Federal Reserve Building... E notes all in her now-infamous spiralbound logbook. We squeeze in South Street Seaport, too, w/ its unobscured view of Brooklyn and Queens. Oh pretty day.
This next bit, pardon, deserves its own paragraph: I find the alley! Edens Alley--Robert Sullivan's observation deck (rat book) that alluded me several times previously. But here it is, and it's w/ mild trepidation that I/we (what a sport, you!) move forward. Every few inches we stop and my eyes dart around, hoping to spy just one. We eventually do--we spot two, in fact. They are dead. Oh so dead. And judging by their respective conditions, they were offed in entirely different manners. I can't say I prefer either one.
A few hours later and poof, she's gone.
Not for long, though. Never for long...
*I realize that at times my accounts approach the written equivalent of my seventh grade block teacher's favorite expression: diarrhea of the mouth. Eh, so be it.
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What a fun trip! Loved reading your account. MM
What an amazing trip it was! Thanks for your great hosting and tour guiding. You really are the best!!! See you in summer, for once there will be pictures where I don't look like I belong at a ski resort!
Sounds like you did a ton of stuff while I was sitting around the apartment. By the way, why does Stan get to join you all the time and I am stuck listening to the dog next door go in out all day long? I need to get out too you know!
Oh Petey, you've just got such heft to ya is all. (But hey, at least credit us w/ that last zoo trip. Can't say we never haul you anywhere.)
At any rate, I/we promise to make more of an effort. Perhaps this weekend even. (D.C. sound any good to you? Just think: You might run into that man on the television that you swore was a first cousin of yours! How would that be??)
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