So when you got up this morning, I bet the first thing you said to yourself, after you cursed the alarm clock and stepped on your kids' McDonaldland toys in your bare feet, was "I sure could use another Daily Affirmations post about another Chris Reeder trip. Cause there just aren't enough of them to satisfy my interest." True that. Sixteen or 150 posts about every castle and hilltop in Ireland and Scotland barely scratches the surface. "And then, I drove to see another castle. It was really old. It was also really tall, and old. Then I saw a beautiful sunset while I ran 20 miles. Then I saw a guy in a tree on my way to dinner." Why Travel and Leisure hasn't snapped me up is kind of baffling. But maybe this morning, you just went to the bathroom instead. I don't know your morning routine. Well, at least, for most of you. I know for some of you it involves Pop Tarts and a Shop Vac. Whatever. Don't foist your beliefs on me man.
But if you did wake up all a jittery, jonesing for another Daily Affirmations travel post, boy is it your lucky day. Two days, actually, because I have so many "can't miss" pithy observations about my August New York trip (hey, I know its been awhile, but I've been planning my Southern Living party and looking for a good hair implant guy, so I've been busy, OK), I decided to split this into two posts. But I promise to make it worth your while. Or your money back.
Believe it or not, I do have a job, and I spend most of my time working there. Ha, ha, very funny all of you smart people who posted comments wondering whether I'm still employed. You're all sooo hilarious. I haven't figured out how to turn traveling and taking vacations into a vocation. You're all conveniently forgetting the two or three years that I ran around like a crazy person, not having enough time to get all my work done and basically not having a life. That's back when I would forget that I had driven to the airport, and would take a cab home even though my car was in the parking lot. A real low patch, lifestyle-wise. Well, thanks to the economy and my feeble attorney skills, I've got LOTS of time to traipse around and skip out of work. Wonder whether it means anything that they don't mention this at my office. Huh.
Well, anyway, enough rambling. On with the post. Before embarking on my tour of 2/3 of the British Isles, I spent a long weekend in New York City, and wanted to tell you all about it. At some point. Because that's exactly what you need to get over that early morning "just stepped on my kids' toys" pain in your foot.
The fact that I'd just worked like a dog for a few weeks on a particular project, convinced me that I deserved to treat myself. Some people treat themselves by going to Galveston, while I go to New York. Uh, its called "class" people...step your game up.
To get there, I had to endure the obligatory Jet Blue three hour delay, which was just about as long as the actual flight, as well as the Taxi of Death ride from JFK (New York taxis are sort of like Rollerball in a car, only with slightly less carnage). Having suffered through the usual travel humiliations, I finally arrived at my home for the next few days, the awesome Gramercy Park Hotel. Its near Union Square and 14th Street, as well as the Flatiron District, but removed from the Midtown tourist craziness. This hotel screams "artsy" without going overboard. Its got two really cool bars, one located on the roof with incredible mid-city views. Sadly, some hipsters frequent these bars, but not enough to ruin the aesthetic. A very helpful and friendly staff serve hotel guests, and they strangely never seem too busy to answer questions. This distinguishes it from other New York hotels, where the staff seems put out that I was bother them with questions. Like, "where's a good place to eat?" Or, "where are all the hot Albanian women?" (that's just a joke...of course I know where to find hot Albanian women, who do you think you're dealing with here?). I also had the biggest room I've ever had in New York. It featured dark hardwood floors, two huge beds, lots of floor to ceiling windows, a big desk, and an air conditioning system that kept the temperature just above the meat locker setting. I never could figure out that one.
Park Avenue runs one block away from the hotel. Past midnight my first night there it was still bustling with cars and pedestrians, each fighting for the same space in many instances. I had a late night "breakfast dinner" at Big Daddy's Diner, just around the corner from the hotel. This place wasn't entirely retro, but 60s and 70s kitsch dominated. It featured the requisite diner fixtures (long bar, formica with metal trim tables, booths, soda fountain). Old album covers, old sports team pennants, and cereal boxes (Quisp!) adorned the walls. Several TVs showed baseball games, and the PA played cool 1970s music. The Diner features a great late night menu. I had a really good omelet, with the usual spinach and tomatoes. (what, doesn't everyone have spinach and tomatoes in their omelet...has the world gone crazy?). The place was packed with people that looked like they were either out for the night or just finishing their night. You know, party people. Greenwich Village isn't far from here, so that made some sense.
The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed, which was not unlike prying a rusty nail out of the 2x4 where its been lodged for the last 50 years. My heroic effort to wake up was all to try to run in temperatures below the "steam" setting prevailing back home. I wasn't looking forward to the subway ride to the Park just to get in a run, and particularly wasn't looking forward to taking my grossed out with sweat body back into the subway after. When I made it over to Park Avenue to find the subway station, I was shocked to find the cops had blocked off all auto traffic. Apparently the city blocks off Park Avenue between the Brooklyn Bridge and 72nd streets for three Saturday mornings during August, in a program called Summer Streets. By some bizarre chance, I timed it perfectly. For once. So rather than the usual hordes of taxis and pedestrians darting in and out like squirrels, hordes of people were running, walking, riding bikes and walking dogs up and down one of America's main thoroughfares. Subway ride cancelled. I just had to get in on this once in a lifetime chance to run toward, around, and past Grand Central Station, the Waldorf Astoria, all the way up to Central Park on Park Avenue. Despite being totally out of shape and having an injured foot, I ran for about an hour as the sun cleared the buildings and began to warm the city (cause, you know, I'm such a stud and all). Its not often that you get the chance to see the old Pan Am building (now "Met Life") in front of you as you run, or to go in the tunnels circling Grand Central Station. So even though I was hoofing it most of the way, it was one of my greatest runs ever. Oh, and when I went into the Park briefly (because they had East 72nd blocked off between Park and Central Park East too), I saw that the Parks Department was sponsoring a summer movie series, with films showed in the park. Tonight's movie was Coal Miner's Daughter. That's awesome. Had I not made plans to go to the theatre later, you know that's where I'd have been.
Smugly self-satisfied from having run so much further than expected, but still dogging it from the unexpected heat, I did the unthinkable and took a cold shower. Good for staving off inflammation and soreness, but bad for everything else. Then I ventured back out into the streets. Like Spiderman, only less gay. First stop-lunch. I had crab soup and a mushroom, spinach and crab meat omelet at City Crab, appropriately enough, located right on Park Avenue. I mean, its not like you're going to order the crab meat omelet at Denny's, at least, not if you're trying to survive the meal. Anyway, the place had really fresh seafood, and was doing a brisk business. I enjoyed sitting at the bar near the window, quietly eating my crab soup, and watch the remaining runners, walkers and bikers roll by on Park Avenue.
On my way there, I picked up a New York Times, or as I refer to it, Pravda. I haven't turned socialist or anything, I just wanted to check the city listings to see what was going on this weekend. One thing that really stood out was how the nation's Paper of Record, with "All the News Fit To Print," has apparently contracted anorexia. I've seen thicker Daily Texans (a/k/a "Daily Pravda"). Maybe 2011 just doesn't have as much news to print as, say, 2009. I know all newspapers are shrinking, but this shocked me. I'd assumed that the NYT local edition would be larger than the one they sell in other cities, but apparently not. Even the next day's Sunday NYT was considerably smaller than I remember it. Welcome to the future. Everything's on line.
After lunch, I started exploring the neighborhoods below Union Square. I must have spent the balance of the afternoon walking through Tribeca, the Village and Washington Square Park (which I know isn't a neighborhood, its just cool). The latter was hosting a pretty big farmer's market, which apparently has become all the rage in the Village. Along with clubbing. I enjoyed Tribeca's bricks streets and buildings, and the eclectic Village. SoHo, on the other hand, should be awesome and kind of is, but chain boutiques and trendy, trendy looking shoppers have nearly consumed it whole. It features some amazing turn of the century industrial style cast-iron architecture, and indeed has been designated a national landmark. But, how to put it...the Kardashians' New York store ("Dash," which, although its a retail store, strangely does not have a web site, puff, puff) is located in SoHo. People (women, to be precise) lined up down the block waiting to enter, and experience the Kardashian magic. By "magic," I mean "scene whores." 'Nuff said. How profoundly backward has years of public education politicization and underinvestment left the American public? A bunch of people held a candlelight vigil outside of the New York Dash upon hearing of Kim Kardashian's divorce. This chick became famous for starring in a sex tape with a rapper that himself wasn't famous either. How did this happen? Jesus wept.
But I didn't let that spoil my day. No sir. After returning to the hotel and cleaning up, I headed over to Old Broadway to the Al Hirschfeld Theatre. There I attended the Broadway revival of How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying, starring Daniel Radcliffe and John Larroquette. Robert Morse and Rudy Vallee starred in the early 1960s original, as well as the mid-60s movie version. I loved the movie, so inevitably I drew comparisons. No doubt the producers hoped to cash in on the Mad Men 1960s martinis and poofy hairdos lifestyle craze, and this production faithfully reproduced early 1960s interiors, fashions, hairstyles and the like. Now, I'm no drama critic, but I've never let a little thing like lack of qualifications stop me from expressing an opinion. Happily, I can say that I really enjoyed the show. It contained all the songs that the movie omitted, making it more of a true musical than the movie. Radcliffe was quite convincing as the borderline seamy Finch, singing and dancing well enough to elicit several show-stopping ovations. Robert Morse was a little better, but maybe that's only because he introduced the role and set the standard. He was also slightly less Harry Potter-like, which is a plus for that role. Radcliffe appears extremely short on stage, although to some extent that merely accentuates Finch's fundamental sliminess. Or maybe they just cast a bunch of Lurches to play alongside him. Larroquette, who won a Tony for this role, seemed to ham it up through much of the show, not unlike his Night Court shtick. But he still gave an entertaining performance. Even though the Times panned it (New York Times bastards! see above), the full house loved it.
I spent the whole next day exploring the city. After a typical late start, I tried to explore areas I hadn't visited, and to visit as many iconic areas as possible. First up was the nearby Flatiron District and Madison Square Park, where I visited the Shake Shack and saw a huge sculpture of a big flat face. Check out the photos on my flickr site; I can't really do it justice. People everywhere were enjoying the beautiful Sunday ("Sunday in New York"), filling the park. Somewhere near the Flatiron Building, I saw a woman walking the streets of Manhattan...in clogs. I recall my friend Tracy's story about twisting her ankle, because she was wearing clogs while walking too quickly along Manhattan streets. I bet that chick held a candlelight vigil outside Dash. Anyway, an "India Festival" was also taking place in the park, so I hung out there for awhile with my new Indian friends, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells. I saw a display advertising an Indian computer dating service. For some reason, that struck me as kind of funny. No I didn't sign up. I also enjoyed discovering "Eataly." Now this is something to behold. Its several shops in one. Its a massive Italian grocery store, featuring all kinds of fresh pastas, sausages, fruits, cheeses, wines, meats, and produce used in Italian cooking. It also houses several restaurants, each devoted to a certain food type (a fish place, meat place, pizza place, etc.). It has a huge cappuccino/coffee bar, a gelato bar, a wine tasting (with cheese tray) bar, an extensive wine cellar and even a home furnishings section. They also run a cooking school. You could easily spend two days there just looking around and eating. Though tempted, I stayed just for a bit and moved on.
From there I went on to the Chelsea, which appears to be a quiet, gay residential area with some interesting late 1800s preserved architecture. OK, its above 14th Street, so sue me. I didn't see many people walking around with guidebooks, a sure sign that I'd escaped the tourists. I did, however, see a lot of strollers, so the "American Family" does keep evolving, doesn't it? After walking around for a bit, I was excited to finally make it to the High Line Trail. My good friend Kathleen tipped me off to this. The High Line Trail consists of an old inner city railroad line, elevated about 10 stories, that originally ran alongside several west side industrial buildings, between West 34th and Gansevoort Street in the Meatpacking District (listen to me...I'm such a New Yorker after two days). The railroad abandoned the line, and the city in partnership with a charitable foundation renovated the track into a 15 city block or so urban trail, with native plants, offering incredible Midtown skyline views. Its pretty narrow but not overly confining. They don't allow bikes, so you don't have to worry about some crazed mountain biker/Wall Street weekend thrill seeker riding up your backside. Lots of people were out walking, though around noon it wasn't terribly crowded. Nonetheless, I overheard people speaking all kinds of languages, a proverbial Trail of Babel.
Once I made it all the way to the Meatpacking District and the end of the trail, I discovered that on Sunday, "lunch" does not exist in Manhattan. Nope. Its all about brunch. I did, however, find some lunch-like dishes right under the Trail at the Standard Grill, a French establishment with a big outdoor seating area and lots of space (despite being very full, which is kind of like the pylons in Land of the Lost, you know, bigger on the inside than the outside). And they served iced tea, which can sometimes be an elusive drink up here in Yankee-land. I had a really good chicken paillard with arugula. Even though after lunch a young, well-dressed man came up to me on the street and asked me if he could give me directions as he saw me looking at my map. He must have heard I ordered the arugula. Hey, who said I can't attract someone younger? Unfortunately for him I acted like a big bitch and hurriedly said "no thank you."
The Meatpacking District kind of reminded me of Chelsea, only a little grittier. And gayer. It featured several brick streets (how do you like those clogs down here, lady?), large brick buildings with iron railings (which I gather were once industrial operations that have been converted to retail/office/residential). The whole area appears to consist exclusively of boutiques, restaurants, bars, coffee shops, galleries, and architecture firms. Not a lot of lawyers. From there Hell's Kitchen was just a hop, skip and a jump. It struck me as being like the Meatpacking District, only less gay. By the way, if it seems like all these gay references betray some sort of prejudice (or perhaps anxiety), guess again. Its just that the gay-o-meter seems to be one of the only reliable ways to distinguish some of these neighborhoods.
Something I noticed walking around the city today. The men around here leave something to be desired. Man wise. I'm not talking about gay men. I'm talking about the men walking around with their wives, often pushing strollers or holding hands in a way that makes it obvious they're not gay. Well, possibly. Anyway, here's where I drop some knowledge on you. These guys...are [cough] pussies [cough]. New York...what the hell! Where are all the Jets fans, freezing to death in the Meadowlands swilling bourbon? Its August! Have they abandoned Manhattan to guys wearing pink Brooks Brothers shorts and cotton sweaters draped strategically over their matching polo shirts? Nine out of 10 women here look tougher than the average Manhattan guy, and that's saying a lot because this city is full of incredibly attractive women. The men look like primped, coiffed poodles. Oh, and yes, to answer the question you're probably asking, it is great to be so superior to everyone.
Late in the afternoon, I finally headed over to the USS Intrepid museum. I'd hoped to spend a lot of time here, but the late start and the time required to walk over cut down the available time. I still got to spend enough time to enjoy it fully. This is the preserved USS Intrepid, veteran of World War II and the Korean and Vietnam Wars, as well as 1960s spacecraft recovery operations. The Intrepid Museum complex also features an extensive and extraordinary naval aircraft collection, a Concorde, and a Cold War-era nuclear submarine. Visitors can tour three restored decks of the Intrepid. Several naval veterans who had served on the Intrepid volunteered as guides, and reminisced with visitors about their service as they explained various ship features. The Intrepid patrolled mainly the Pacific during World War II, and supported operations against Japan. Highlights included the Admiral's Bridge, from which Fredericksburg's own Chester Nimitz, and other fleet commanders, directed operations, as well as the Captain's Bridge. I noticed a huge sign on the hangar deck, filled with small squares. Each square was a Rising Sun symbol, signifying a downed enemy aircraft or ship. I thought about all the hardships and sacrifices these men endured, all to protect American lives, and was glad that we continue to remember their courage.
Oh, and that thing about the hair implants guy was just a joke. My hair? Still magnificent.
NEXT-New York, Part II. Spending the day with Tracy and Jack. But first, the Perfect Way to Dance.
