new york was…
Glorious Weather every day.
A rather nice little Hotel right in the middle of everything, with smiling staff, and some hot bell boys, but pretty shoddy room service (What? You really can’t make a slice of toast at 6:30 for a sick woman? Oh? You only do toast during the breakfast service and the toaster is now packed away? You’re a chef. You have open gas rings. You can’t hold a piece of bread over one of them for thirty seconds?). Still, nice, clean rooms, smiley staff, hot bellboys. Did I say that already?
Lehman Brothers, the Hi Def Screens still blazing defiantly away two days after the world had stopped turning.
A Downtown / Brooklyn tour with a free river cruise thrown in.
The Waterfalls – fifteen million dollars worth of art that left me going “And…?”
The discovery that we’d live in Brooklyn if we move west. I guess I’m doomed – even in my fantasises – to be a suburbanite for life now.
The German Day celebrations that had the Edison Hotel awash with men and women dragged up like the Prussian Chorus of a musical version of Die Hosen des Herrn von Bredow.
Young Frankenstein and [title of show]. Two very different, but wonderful displays of what I love about Broadway Theatre (although the audience at [tos] were a better display of what I love about B’way audiences)
The Broadway cares / Equity Fights Aids Flea market and charity auction on Sunday Morning. The ‘rents and I spent two hours – and I could happily have spent two more – surrounded by Musical theatre stars, crew, geeks and paraphernalia. Heaven, and cd’s were bought, posters were purchased, t-shirts were paid for, a one-of-a-kind Christmas bauble was gifted to me by my mam, and, all-in-all a wonderful time was had, Highlights: Getting to gawp at the team from [tos] without paying for tickets. Discovering my love for Hunter bell was only growing stronger. Debating whether to bid for Cheyenne Jackson’s signed jockstrap. Watching my parents getting such a kick out of the campery of the boys on the Broadway bares stall.
A rather lacklustre NY Is Book Country Fair. Last one stretched down several blocks of Fifth Avenue and was filled with everything from Esoterica to Best Selling Authors. This one, after a five year layoff, was about 25 stalls, and ran the gamut; if the gamut is “From Esoterica, via self-publishing, to Lots and Lots of Childrens Books.”
Discovering that sitting on a bench in Central Park and people watching whilst listening to the absolutely magnificent selection of classic disco tunes from the Roller Rink, is the best – and absolutely cheapest* – way to enjoy a Sunny Sunday Afternoon in New York. (*Cost: four bottles of water, and three ice creams. You can’t go wrong, really, can you?)
Ordering out from Ollie’s and a local Fish Restaurant for dinner on the rooftop terrace of a multi million dollar mansion in the West 70’s where you chat, drink diet coke whilst dreaming of the glamorous parties that have taken place in the same spot over the years (it looks down on what was Plato’s Retreat / The Everhard baths; look ‘em up kiddies), and watching the sun go down and the lights come on in my favourite city.
Book shopping with my dad at Barnes & Noble in Rockefeller centre till almost midnight on Sunday, and making up (big time) for his disappointment at the book fair that afternoon. Having the lady at the register say “The manager of the Crime section would weep with joy at your purchases if he were here,” as we lug three huge bags of books out of the store and drag our tired but happy asses into a taxi.
Matzoh Ball Soup and Cheesecake (Oy! The Cheescake!) At Juniors.
Kenneth Cole Shoes and Dark stretchy pants (or trousers as we call them on this side of the pond) as well as my new Banana Republic Trench Coat, Polo Ralph Lauren Rugby Shirts and Calvin Klein Dress Shirts – all in sizes designed to show off the body I’m working on.
The Pulled Pork Sandwich at Virgil’s barbecue – smoky and sweet and soooooo good – working so hard to pull my body in the opposite direction.
Laughing with my parents. And D. And barely a cross word spoken (well, one or two at the very end in the airport, when everyone was getting tired and stressed, but, by and large, barely a cross word spoken).