Today, Sue and I are going to The Strand bookstore. It’s a pilgrimage I make every time I’m in the city. I’m fortunate when Sue is here at the same time; she and I can spend a couple hours browsing there, but no one else has the stamina for that.
Mark is going to Ming’s to watch some of the OSU v. Michigan game and will join us down in the Village later. We’re hoping to hit Fish’s Eddy and a store that makes furniture from reclaimed vintage industrial parts.
Tonight, Mark, Rodney, and Carl are going to Evita while I join Michael Meager at Golden Boy.
Stay tuned.
…
So, it’s now Wednesday. “Where I have I been?” you ask? If not in the loo at JFK, then in bed. On the morning of our return flight, I was attacked—ATTACKED, I say—by intestinal flu. But I get ahead of myself.
The plan for Saturday was that Sue and I would shop at The Strand, then Mark would join us in the village, and we’d hit a funky furniture store (for which I had a coupon!). Sue, not being particularly inclined, would then join Diane and co. to do some other shopping of her own. That was the plan.
Sue and I spent a lovely 90 minutes or so browsing the books. When I picked up a basket to hold the fourteen volumes I’d picked up, I knew it was time to call it a job well done. Many of my choices were culled from one of the lists of “100 books to read before you die.” For those of you who might be interested, I bought:
- Animal Farm by George Orwell. Surprisingly I didn’t already have a copy!
- Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler
- Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott. Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory mentions it, and it sounds like an interesting read.
- Of Love and Other Demons by Gabriel García Márquez
- Palace Walk by Naguib Mahfouz. I stupidly read part two of this three-part series; this is the first part.
- Sugar Street by Naguib Mahfouz. This is the third part. Now that I’ve typeset a book on Mahfouz’s work, I’m more interested in him.
- Small World by David Lodge. A favorite among academics.
- The Book of Imaginary Beings by Jorge Luis Borges. Borges is a challenge I can rarely rise to, but I love him nonetheless.
- The Duel by Joseph Conrad
- The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers
- The Night Before Christmas by Nikolai Gogol
- Three Guineas by Virginia Woolf
- Three Sea Stories by Joseph Conrad. You have to love Conrad, and as sea stories go, he’s the depth against which all others are measured.
The 14th book is a gift for my nephew, so I won’t list it. (It’s probably a little too advanced for him, though, so I’ll give it to him in a year or two instead.) Sue bought three books. How sad.
We made a pitstop at what must have been the slowest Starbuck’s in the city. This sculpture was in Bryant Park outside the cafe.
I called Mark, and he decided to stay at Ming’s through the end of the OSU-Michigan game (apparently, it was close). Sue had just contacted Diane and arranged to meet her, but when I got dumped, she decided to hang with me even though it meant a stroll through furniture made from discarded industrial products. She’s a trooper that Sue. Her willingness to sacrifice, however, must have earned her some quick karma; the shop was closed for the holiday weekend. Goodbye 25% off.
Instead, Sue and I walked from Lexington and 32nd up 5th Avenue to Central Park at 59th Street then across 59th to 7th and back to the hotel. We shopped and made fun of people and had a really really nice afternoon. We saw these candy shoes and purses in a store window.
We spent about 45 minutes in Tiffany’s. I couldn’t believe that she knew what was on each floor. (As a matter of fact, I didn’t know that the store had six floors!) She was so funny. She kept saying, “They have men’s jewelry, too,” and I kept reassuring her that I didn’t mind browsing with her and wasn’t bored.
Mark and I returned to the Edison at nearly the same time—about 4:00—and just hung out for a bit in the room. He had made plans to join his theater mates for French food at 5. I, however, knew that there was no way that I’d be able to find anything edible in a French restaurant in New York. (I ;believe my exact words were, “If they don’t have French toast, I won’t be eating there.”) Instead, Sue and I decided to get pizza. I haven’t had a slice in NYC for years, but alas, it wasn’t to be this year, either. Diane, Tony, and Tom grabbed us for a quick bite in the Café Edison. (Goodness, what a lot of changes of plans on Saturday!) None of my dinner companions had a show that night, but I hustled off to meet Michael for Golden Boy. Of course, I left the hotel in the wrong direction and didn’t realize it until I was literally three blocks on in exactly the opposite direction.
Despite my geographic challenges, though, I managed to arrive on time at the theater to find that Michael is similarly challenged. He took a subway line that didn’t stop at 49th as he thought it would and ended up several blocks north of the theater—indeed, several blocks north of where I turned back after realizing my mistake.
We had a few minutes to catch up before the show, during which he told me that he’s getting married next month! I was aware that nuptials were pending, but he and Naomi moved the date up because her mother is very ill—likely terminally ill—and they wanted her to be there. I have yet to meet Naomi, but if she loves Michael, she’s got to be a sweetheart (and patient!).
I have to admit that I was kind of dreading this show. I had looked at it online when trying to decide what to see in New York, and I had quickly ruled it out because it’s a boxing play. Despite starring Tony Shalhoub, I couldn’t get excited about it. It was, however, easily the best show I saw during the entire trip and one of the best I’ve seen on Broadway. The cast was flawless, and I couldn’t have been more pleased, which pleased Michael immensely, too.
Michael accompanied me back to the hotel to visit a bit with Mark and the rest of our friends—he knows some of the gang. We capped off our last night in New York laughing and, I’m sure, keeping the people in adjacent rooms awake.
Sunday, I awoke to the drama of severe gastrointestinal distress, so there’s not a lot to say about the trip home except that I am glad (and surprised) I made it. Those of you who know my aversion to public restrooms can get some sense of how sick I was in knowing that I spent more than a hour indisposed at JFK. Thank heaven it was a quiet bog. Although it was somewhat interesting to notice the usage pattern. The place would be empty for 15 or 20 minutes, then it would fill up for a few, then empty out for another interval of private distress.
I spent the next two days recovering (I didn’t get out of bed until 2:30 yesterday), but I’m just about back to normal now. On to planning the next trip!