i'm in a new york state of mind... (03.20.2009 - 03.23.2009)

[blimpcaptain]

FRIDAY (3/20)
Split the DC scene for grayer pastures with shavemywrists & cityofspheres at around 9pm, owing to some last-minute preparations, fiddling about, and general disorganization. Once we were on the road, though, we were speedin' like Hunter S. toward the Big Apple. We hit only two snags along the way -- full-to-bursting bladders in the neighborhood of Chesapeake House and a near empty tank of gas somewhere around Cranbury Township. The latter was arguably more nerve-splitting as we were literally within 3/10 gallon of an empty vessel by the time we finally found salvation at an all-night Sunoco along the Jersey Turnpike.

Refueled and made for our destination with serious haste, lighting up the last few exits along the highway like so many bumpers on a pinball wizard's table. By the time we'd shot through the Lincoln Tunnel, 'round the southern tip of Manhattan & over its namesake bridge, it was only a handful of departure points along the BQE before we thrust boldly into the guts of Brooklyn and found ourselves staring at the gleaming grease-mecca known as White Castle. $20 or so in their coffers bought us a veritable feast -- 10 sliders, 2 orders of fries, and a couple of canyon-sized containers of high-fructose corn syrup teeming with unnatural flavoring agents. Spectacular!

We managed to tear voraciously through about half of the vile victuals during the 3-mile drive to the artist collective in which entropicalia & muzikmaker21 reside with a number of other bohemian Brooklynites. Nathen greeted us upon our arrival. His father and a few of his roomies were also on hand and we enjoyed meeting them. They were only too happy to share our leftovers and help us make short work of some cookies that had been gifted to us by Svetlana's roommates when we'd picked her up in College Park earlier in the evening. Lolo was out at Mehenata, so Nathen gave us the grand tour, which took us through a labyrinthine series of corridors, stairways, nooks & crannies that felt like a cross between an MC Escher painting and a Thomas' English Muffin. Amid all of the chaos were a large performance space, a rope swing, and more rooms & sub-rooms than one could possibly keep track of. By the time we'd poked around a good bit, it was after 2am, so we bid our hosts adieu and headed in the direction of Svetlana's place on Coney Island Avenue.

We made a stopover at Madina near Svetlana's walkup about a quarter before 3am. Wolfed down an array of curried veggies before finding a killer parking spot near la casa de Svet and retiring for the evening. We quickly broke out a couple of mattresses and a makeshift curtain to cordon off our sleeping area in the kitchen. I had Svetlana check an address for me on her computer and we were all unconscious by 3:30am or thereabouts.

SATURDAY (3/21)
Blasted out of a restless haze by my watch alarm at 7:00am, I spent a few wonderful minutes savoring the warmth of the rickety radiator lining the floor next to the mattress before extricating myself from said pseudo-paradise & slipping stealthily into my running gear. Within 20 minutes, I was on the street having left whispered promises to my girlfriend and my hostess to call them if my adventure was going to have me out on the tiles beyond 10am.

I hit the street a little before 7:30 and began jogging the approximately 2.5 miles from Svetlana's apartment to the Willink Entrance of Prospect Park at the intersection of Flatbush Avenue & Empire Boulevard. It was a brisk, beautiful morning and I was treated to a lovely view of the park as I ran along its southern side and up the eastern stretch along Flatbush. I made it there a little before 8am and was registered and ready to go shortly thereafter. The race was terrific -- finished 2nd overall & chronicled it here. After the race, I jogged the two and a half miles back to Svetlana's place and crawled back into bed to sleep for another three hours or so before we all finally rejoined the living.

The first order of business was sustenance. We tried for it at Vox Pop, but they'd lost their license to serve food & drink and were little more than a hangout for readers & writers of manifestos & other such earth-shakers. Interesting art lined the walls, but we needed food and drink to line the walls of our tummies, so we shuffled across the street and into a nice little cafe where we were able to obtain coffee and pastries. Lauren and I split some yummy thing with yellow frosting on it.

Thusly bolstered, we made for Coney Island to meet up with Lolo, Nathen & Nathen's dad at the Cyclone. Made a quick drop-in at Best Buy Liquors to obtain some White Horse for Lauren and a bit of vodka for Svetlana. I sauntered through the door with a woman flanking me and linking arms on either side -- pimpin'! Five steps into the place, we were shaken from our revelry by a kind dude peddling whiskey & some serious knowledge. Svetlana trotted off to check out the vodka selection but Lauren and I stuck around to hear the guy's pitch. Turns out that in addition to his selection of tasty blends (which I don't usually like, but these were pretty tasty), he had a lot of information to share. We didn't end up buying any of his wares, but we really enjoyed the wisdom and the free samples! Minutes later, we were making our purchases. I made a grave tactical error assuming there was an inside pocket in the hoodie I was wearing, and a split second after I slid Lauren's bottle of White Horse into what I thought was a pocket, it exploded into shrapnel on the ground at my feet. The owner of the store made some nasty comment in Russian about us "horsing around" but he was quickly & thoroughly rebuffed by Svetlana in his native tongue. I laid down ducats to replace the shattered spirits and we were on our merry way.

Minutes later, we docked the land speeder near the deserted Cyclone.



Here, we were greeted by the aforementioned trio of friends. After shoving a fistful of quarters into the hungry parking meter, we wandered off to check out the Coney Island Museum. There were more wonders to behold inside that place than in the Candy Mountain Cave! Here are some highlights...



Lauren, hovering suggestively above the crappiest Venus de Milo knockoff I've ever seen.



Svetlana, cozying up to a former carousel horse that has been put out to stud in the Coney Island Museum.

After chuckling at some of the antiquated exhibits and watching a short film on the history of the museum, we hit the street and spent a few minutes pondering our next move. Lolo, Nathen & Nate-Dadd (not to be confused with Nate Dogg) had already hit (one another with) the bumper cars & had no interest in the freak show. Some passers-by inquired as to the whereabouts of this latter attraction after they overheard us mention it & Lauren wasted no time in informing them that the one in her pants was well worth the price of admission. LMAO'd our way back to the car & bid adieu to our buddies.

Next stop was nearby Brighton Beach. Neil Simon's "memoirs" be damned -- mine involve a debate with Lauren over how to say "pay attention" in Spanish (we were informed by a local that "pon atención" [more like pwn atención!] is correct, which wasn't what either of us had suggested), and a Russian feast at a massive, two-story delicatessen.



We were tempted to order one of everything, but settled for a foot-high stack of containers filled with various goodies -- some sort of veal cutlet inside of a fried egg casing, matzoh ball soup, a delicious mushroom casserole, and about a half-dozen other epicurean treats. Some were good, some were so-so, and some were straight-up taste-tacular. We killed the remainder of our Coney Island contraband (booze) and finished up our food just as the deli was shuttering for the afternoon.

A little bit of head-crashing on the way back to the car led to a consensus that Saturday evening would be a fine time to romp around in the Village. We hit Manhattan just as the city swapped sunlight for streetlights & delighted in the majesty of the glittering skyline as we crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. Ten minutes later, I was snaking a primo parking spot on Bleecker Street. We had no sooner covered a block than we chanced upon the Peculier Pub and decided it'd make an excellent place to continue our carousing. After a quick visit to the loo, we ordered a round of beers (good) and a plate of rosemary fries (bad). Just as we'd finished round one, Svetlana received a call from a friend of hers inviting us to join him and some other friends for beers in Park Slope. We paid our tab and cut out of the joint putting a quick end to our "peculiarly" short visit to the Village.

Another bridge crossing, some dodge-em on the BQE, a zig & a zag, and we were once again deboarding in B-R-double-O-K-LYN, The Planet. We met Svetlana's friends at Beer Table, an obscenely upscale beer boutique in Park Slope that featured a nicely-fonted, well-appointed menu of haughty, designer brews ranging in price from $10-$120/bottle, with most of the selections falling in the $30-$40 range. Svetlana's friends, a trio of seemingly nice guys, were pretty well into their cups by the time we showed up. Lauren had smuggled in a couple of Svetlana's leftover airplane bottles of vodka & she used these to spike her water. My first call was for one of the beers from the "specials" board that was a modest $15 or so. It was good but nothing to write home about (which is why I'm writing to you fine folk, instead). I perused the menu and doubled over with laughter as I read the incredibly pretentious descriptions next to several of the offerings. One of them was said to taste like a cross between rubber and popcorn. I bided my time and waited for one of the friendly loons with whom we were sitting to bite on the $33 price tag, and howled when the ominously odoriferous potion arrived, smelling of psoriasis-riddled feet & (used) rubber(s). Absurd! Another selection that made the rounds at our table boasted a "strong charcoal nose with hints of honey and pear." Another $30-ish bottle that tasted to me like a rookie home-brewer's epic failure. My second and final beer was a nice bumper of Brooklyn Brewery Local 2, which was a comparative steal at $11, and remarkably superior to the bourgeois beers others had ordered. We met another nice couple who came in and sat next to us at some point during the evening.



Lauren whipped up a special piece of artwork with which our new friend was only too happy to amuse herself while waiting for a round to arrive.

At some point in the evening, probably eleven-thirtyish, the two friends of Svetlana's buddy (whose names I can't recall) headed home. Shortly thereafter, Svetlana and her pal hit the road to check out some other bar, leaving Lauren & I to explore Park Slope. We didn't linger too long on the street as it was pretty breezy and chilly outside. After detouring in and out of a seemingly stuffy speak-uneasy, we found ourselves staggering into a place called Bar 4, discovering a Tornado foosball table just inside the door. Decent tunes were pouring forth from the speakers, so we decided to stick around for a spell. Lauren fetched us a couple of beers & we sipped & shot the shit near the bar for a bit. Within fifteen minutes or so, I convinced her to partner up with me in a rousing game of foosball. She did an admirable job, blocking several shots while I toyed with our opponents and "eked" out a 5-4 victory. Nice enough cats, they thanked us for the game and vanished. After a brief scare during which Lauren's coat had temporarily disappeared, we cozied up on one of the couches and had a blast singing along with king-sized chunks of the DJ's fairly admirable set.

Around 1:15am or so, a couple of rowdies accosted us and challenged us to a game of foosball. We were both fairly tore up from the floor up and it took less convincing to get Lauren ready for the next rude awakening. These cads were clearly very into the idea that they were going to beat us. Like a kid about to receive his weekly allowance -- these guys were simply burning to spend the ego capital they'd rack up by putting the screws to such easy looking prey as they'd chanced upon. Big mistake.

I'll spare you all, my loyal readers, a play-by-play of all that transpired, but the long & the short of it is that these guys had big mouths & were none too happy when I shot back at them with some bullish banter of my own. I'd warned them from the get-go that they were about to suffer a 5-3 loss -- the most demoralizing score one can lose by on a Tornado table -- but they didn't believe me. I scored at will on each occasion I actually took the time to line up a fast pull. Waiting for them to muster the promised three goals on their end of the table (mostly on 5-man hacks), turned out to be a bit of a chore. Once they'd finally hit that plateau, I wasted no time in putting away the final two goals and snapping a cell-phone picture of their goal counter (below, showing three goals) to send to Mike Barkett, as I knew it would amuse him to no end.



Who was NOT amused was the guy playing forward on the opposing side of the table. Somewhere in the back of his Budweiser bufuddled brain, a tiny tingle was telling him that fun was being made at his expense. Obscenities of all sorts shot out of this guy's mouth, like the misguided rounds fired ineptly into the wall behind Vincent Vega & Jules Winnfield by the wannabe gangster kids in Pulp Fiction. Red-faced and recalcitrant, the dude (who was being very un-Dude) spat out all sorts of ugly exhortations for me to play out the last ball and finish the game. I finally granted his wish and sent him into further hysterics by quickly stealing the ball from his 5-man and burying an ear-splitting fast-pull in the back of his goal. PENG!

He continued his tirade while being dragged away by his ineffective defenseman and Lauren & I returned to the couch, chuckling over the buffonery of the clowns to whom we'd just taught some foos. Minutes later, they were back with another friend in tow -- this guy was supposed to be their ringer, I suppose. We were only too happy to oblige them in a rematch, and I pulled a total Joe Namath-cum-Babe Ruth by calling a repeat 5-3 victory before the first ball was dropped. Again, no need for a description of the entire series, other than to say that the trash talking reached a fever pitch when I inadvertently banked a shot off of the wall and back into our own goal. They started criticizing my play as Lauren began egging them on, saying "shoot it in my hole" & "c'mon, stuff it in me," and distracting them with all sorts of other lewd suggestions. They'd barely batted an eye before I had made good on my promise, wrapping up a second consecutive 5-3 win. We rapidly walked away from the table, leaving the final ball still sitting inside. The hothead who'd nearly burst a blood vessel during the previous match was just beside himself. He shouted at me that I was taking the game too seriously. I chortled back, "what game? The one we just won? That game's over...there's still a ball in there if you'd like to practice, though." This time, it took a pretty serious effort on the part of his friend to restrain him. Too much comedy!

Lauren and I returned to the couches and were having a grand old time there for a bit when she felt something land in her hair. Apparently, the foos-losers were so bent out of shape over their thrashing that they'd decided to indulge in some passive-aggressive anger mismanagement. We stalked them outside and proceeded to berate them in front of their girlfriends. They denied having thrown anything and tried to play it off like they didn't know what we were talking about. Lauren broke the ringleader down in pretty grand fashion, slapping some stupid comment he'd made about her ability to stare daggers back at him like a Venus Williams return volley. She continued to berate the guy, hissing "when I stare, you leave!" He couldn't really come up with a response to her verbal assault & I could still see the wheels spinning in his head as he was being whisked away by his very plastic girlfriend.

We went back inside for a few more songs before heading back to Svetlana's place. I tried to ask a couple folks for directions back to Coney Island Avenue, but Lauren tugged at my sleeve and had me out in the windy cold again before I could get anything more solid than a finger point in the general direction of Prospect Park. It turns out that was all I needed. After driving down 7th apiece, I ran into Flatbush Ave., which I recognized from my run earlier in the morning, and I simply followed the park around until I hit Park Circle, from which Coney Island Ave. extends to the south. We broke out the mattress and were in bed in short order, finally dropping off sometime around 3:30am.

SUNDAY (3/21)
Slept in nice and late. Finally arose, showered, and rejoined society a tad after noon. Bolted into Manhattan with guts all a-rumble and made a beeline for Zabar's -- a foodie's dream on the Upper West Side (Broadway & 80th). Lauren was so hungry she could barely see straight so I deposited her and Svetlana on 80th near the entrance & summoned my incredible parking karma in hopes of finding a nearby spot. I'd rounded the block a couple of times with no luck, so I decided to take a gander east of B'way. Lo & behold, while cruising easterly on 80th I saw a spot open up about 250 meters behind me, so I slammed it into reverse & pulled a Bond-like feat of backward driving to beat an angry local to the punch on the coveted spot. We exchanged middle fingers and "va fan culos" and a few other chilly salutations before I hot-footed it across the street to join the ladies in tracking down some grub. We were very disappointed to find that Zabar's was not in the business of making jagels (bagel, lox, capers, cream cheese, onion, tomato) -- so we grabbed some assorted cheeses and a bottle of fresh-squeezed orange juice. This latter, we split on the street before trying for jagels at H&H Bagels just across 80th. They also did not have what we were looking for (they only sell undoctored bagels), so we went into the deli arm of Zabar's where Svetlana ordered some matzoh ball soup and Lauren & I split a croque monsieur that was pre-made but still tasty. We used a couple of black cherry sodas as thirst-quenchers & hit the street.

Our next stop was Macy's Herald Square -- we were scheduled to meet Svetlana's friends at a Russian spa at 6pm and we all needed bathing suits in order to enjoy the facilities. Traffic was moderate & I was very pleasantly surprised to find a terrific parking spot just northeast of the Empire State Building. We trotted the three blocks to the behemoth boutique and scaled the eight escalators separating us from the women's swimwear department on the 8th floor. Svetlana tried on bikinis while I accompanied Lauren to the 5th floor so that she could use the bathroom while I fortified myself with a mocha with a triple-shot of espresso at the nearby Starbucks. Lauren returned to the 8th floor to try on suits & I descended into the dungeon to seek out one of my own in the men's swimwear section. I thought the clerk I'd asked for directions had been kidding me but it was literally tucked away in the basement! I wasted no time in picking out a slightly less than snazzy green & black suit that fit me really nicely and showed off my, uh...legs. As I was pulling on my jeans in the dressing room, I made a realization that froze the lymph in my nodes -- MY KEYS WERE MISSING!

I checked and re-checked the dressing room & checked at Starbucks -- no dice. Headed up to lay the disconcerting news on Lauren & Svetlana, but gave them a bit of reassurance, telling them I felt there was a good chance I'd left the keys in the ignition of my car. This didn't make any of us feel much better. Somehow, we all remained calm in spite of the prospect of having to potentially hunt down my car and/or have it towed somewhere to be stored until such time as a spare key could be produced. The ten minute walk back to 35th St. seemed to take forever, but we were all incredibly relieved to find that I had indeed left the keys in the ignition AND that I'd left the car running with the door unlocked AND that it was incredibly still sitting there. I shouted exultantly to the heavens like some overwrought Mel Gibson character, but my feeling of gratitude at that moment was truly immeasurable.

We were all in good spirits as I swung us around the block and headed east toward the FDR. Within minutes, we were cruising south toward the financial district and we made great time, easily finding Spa 88 on Fulton & a nearby spot to ditch the car. Made damn sure I had the keys with me this time! We entered the spa, turned over our valuables to be placed in a safe-deposit box, and, armed with keys, headed for the locker rooms to don our suits.

Five minutes later, we re-convened in the lower lobby, grabbed some towels, and headed off to check out the various saunas, baths, and salons scattered around the spa. We were disappointed to discover that there was only one jacuzzi, but it was rather large and quite relaxing. It was situated next to a "junior olympic pool" -- a fancy name for one of those small, shallow numbers in which one can't really even swim laps. It was nice & cool, though, and provided a refreshing escape from the heat of the jacuzzi. There were also a trio of incredibly hot saunas on the main level, including a huge Russian sauna, an old American Shvitz (a slightly hotter sauna with cold water taps and buckets to allow users to cool down without leaving the room), and a Turkish steam bath, which featured strong eucalyptus vapors. A cafe on the main level served tea & snacks, of which we availed ourselves during the early part of the visit. Later, we had a meal at the restaurant on the upstairs level, which looked a bit better than it tasted. Lauren's stroganoff-like mushroom casserole was a good deal better than my lamb kabob & mashed potatos. We skipped the cigar bar afterward & re-visited the pool and jacuzzi for awhile before chillaxin' in a very comfortable lounge area and idly peeking at the Rangers game on the television. They kicked us out at around 11pm after we'd enjoyed a full run of the place for about 4 hours.

All of that lying about had actually taken something out of us and we were all feeling pretty tired. As we were heading back toward Brooklyn, it became apparent that the three of us were under the influence of some no-bullshit cravings for cheesecake. Figuring an all-night diner would be easy to find, we wound our way around the streets near Svetlana's place, keeping our eyes peeled for a gleaming neon beacon. As it turned out, the search was a little tougher than we'd imagined, and it was after midnight when Lauren's eagle eye finally found the motherlode:



It was glorious! Not just *any* cheesecake joint, but *the* cheesecake joint! We pressed our noses to the window like little children, oohing & aahing over the tantalizing array of confections lustily beckoning to us from the other side of the glass. Closing time was not far off, so we wasted no time in securing ourselves a booth and poring over the vast tome of temptations. Lauren and Svetlana ended up ordering lemon meringue pie while I went for a nice thick slab of cheesecake with blueberries and chocolate sauce on the side. I think Svetlana also ordered some matzoh ball soup -- she was doing this every time I turned around, it seemed -- but I may be remembering wrong. We sipped our coffees while waiting for the delectable desserts to arrive. It wasn't long before the three of us were staring at bona fide mountains of sugary goodness. We dug in with gusto & savored each bite, sharing our treats with one another and having a high old time. We all made a valiant effort, but I don't think any of us were clean plate clubbers. Around 1am, they began to pack away the pies and cover up the cakes, so we finished up and after a quick trip to the crapper, we were on our way back to Svetlana's place to sink into the burnout of one of the greatest sugar highs of all time.

MONDAY (3/22)

Slept in until around elevenish -- probably a good eight or so hours of sleep. Lauren and I got up and quietly got ourselves ready to go, as Svetlana was still all liddy with sleep. By noon, we were all scrubbed and polished and on the road to Manhattan.

Our mission (and the true reason for our visit to NY) was to visit the headquarters of Pathways To Housing, a Harlem-based non-profit for whom Lauren was seeking to do some freelance work.

We made it to the north side of town a little ahead of schedule and decided that the first order of business was to procure some top-of-the-line soul food from one of the many famous eateries in the area. After extensive 'net research, we had narrowed down our choices to Amy Ruth's & Sylvia's. The latter got the nod based on its proximity to the site of Lauren's interview. Their smothered chicken was pretty damned good, and the greens and mac & cheese were above average, but nothing legendary. Still, it was neat to dine in such a famous spot.

Bellies full, we hit the bricks and headed for Pathways. After waiting in a line for about 15 minutes, we were issued visitor passes and ushered into the building in which their home office was housed. We hopped in the elevator and were soon meeting with Lauren's contact and being introduced to other key associates within the organization. I hung around and spoke to a couple of the folks who worked there while Lauren was interviewed. Once that was done, we got to meet a few more Pathways representatives, including the founder. They were all exceptionally friendly.

After saying our goodbyes, we headed back down to Greenwich Village. We made a quick stop in a Starbucks to use the restroom and, at Lauren's urging, I assumed the persona of Sir Peterlettermanforthensonson (an incredibly pompous British character from a prank phone call series called The Ball Busters) to order our drinks. The cashier was so good natured that he jotted down the name so that the barista would have to call it out when the order was ready. She had a bit of trouble with the name, but I managed to get her to say it which had Lauren looking for a pillar behind which to hide. After our respective potty visits, we headed for Other Music to rifle through the used CDs.

Within a few minutes, I got a call from entropicalia, who had taken the subway down to meet up for a bit. We met at Phebe's and chatted for a little over an hour. I had a bowl of soup and she had some kind of sandwich. After we finished the meal, we headed back to Other Music to poke around a bit more. Shortly thereafter, I got a call from Lauren who was having a drink at Phebe's. entropicalia & I walked back in that direction and I was going to drop her off at the subway but she ended up going into the bar, so the three of us had a drink.

Once we'd each thrown back a belt and said our goodbyes, Lolo hit the subway and Lauren & I cruised back to Svetlana's place. We were all hungry and decided it would be smart to grab a bite before leaving town. Svetlana recommended the nearby San Remo Pizza. We stopped off and grabbed some tasty slices, a few mozzarella sticks & black cherry soda.

It was around 10pm by the time we got on the road. It was a long, late ride home after crossing the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, but ultimately a piece of cake, coasting along on so many good memories. :-)