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!

November 23, 2012

Despite my best intentions not to overdo it at the Waldorf Astoria yesterday, I ate too much. I haven’t had indigestion like this for ages. I’m blaming the Mexican hot chocolate for most of it, though to be honest, the blueberry muffin I had at 8 last night couldn’t have helped the way I feel this morning. I ate a bagel so I could take my vitamins and then went to Eddie’s deli next door to get a roll of Tums. I’m telling myself that I’ll feel better by the time I meet Jenny for lunch.

Mark and I met Sue for breakfast at the cafe this morning. Our waitress, with her “Cafe Edison” baseball cap [available for $8 each at the register] perched high atop her bun, in the best Russian [?] accent, punctuated each of our orders with “Thank you, baby.” Today will be a good day.

More chat and bad camera-phone pics to come. (I should explain; my good camera was stolen from my car about a month ago, so I’m having to make due with my iPhone 4 camera.)

…

Jenny and I ended up having burgers and fries at the Brindle Room, a nice little place in the East Village/Alphabet City area. I haven’t seen her since the last time I was in the city, so it was really good to catch up. I’m glad to hear that she’s doing well, moving closer to tenure, and finishing a book and that she and her partner, Bill survived hurricane Sandy relatively intact. When I was here last, they were living in Brooklyn, but they have since moved into Manhattan, and their apartment building is adjacent to the mandatory evacuation zone. The basement and first floor flooded during the storm, and they lost power for a week or two, but they’re mostly back to normal now with only spotty outages to their Internet and phone and hot water.

After lunch, we walked around the East Village for a bit, then stopped for ice cream at Big Gay Ice Cream. We both got a cone called “The Salty Pimp,” which is soft-served vanilla ice cream injected—literally injected—with salty caramel and then dipped into chocolate, which hardens into a shell. It was really really good.

While Jenny and I were visiting, Mark picked up a ticket to Grace, a play starring Paul Rudd and with Ed Asner in a small but important role. We both got back to the room around 3:30 or 4:00 and ended up napping until it was time to gather in Diane and Sue’s room for cocktails.

Diane had suggested going to a nearby Italian place called Pietrasanta, but having had Italian two nights before, I wanted to do something else. I was planning to just meet them after dinner, but because they weren’t married to the idea of Italian, they decided to do something else, too. We schlepped over to a steak house called Broadway Joe’s, but they couldn’t accommodate a party of seven without a reservation. Instead, we went to B. Smith’s across the street. B. Smith’s serves what I would describe as nuovo Southern cuisine. There wasn’t much for me to choose from, but I was thinking it was about time I had a salad, anyway.

Unfortunately, this restaurant turned out to be our “story” restaurant for the trip. The waiter was very nice, and everyone else’s food was excellent (mine was fine, but what can you say about a grilled chicken Caesar’s salad with no dressing from which the kitchen accidentally omitted the croutons and cheese?), but for whatever reason, it came very late. We had arrived at 6:10, and we did tell the waiter that we had an 8 o’clock show, but we didn’t’ receive our entrees until 7:25. Those of us that ordered prix fixe dinners had to forego their desserts entirely. At least the manager gave us our drinks gratis. We all wolfed down our meals and were out the door by 7:45 and hustling to the theatre.

Our show last night was The Heiress, a play based on the Henry James novel, Washington Square. I had selected it to balance out the musical that everyone had already agreed to see. As I expected, I didn’t love it, but I enjoyed the experience of seeing a drama with no musical numbers. Diane and Tom really liked it, as, I think, did Mark and Tony, so it was a success, and I’m pleased by that.

After the show, we walked to the Carnegie Deli for dessert, and then Mark and I—our dogs barking—called it a night.

November 22, 2012

Shades of Bangkok—no free wi-fi to be found. I bought the bullet and paid $25 for three days of unlimited access from my iPad so that I could continue to blog. I’ll also use it to find and map things I want to see and to read the NPR site, so I guess it’s okay to splurge.

It’s another lovely day here in the city. The sun is shining, and the noise of the night has died down some. Mark and I had breakfast at the cafe alone. We called Tony and Tom to see if they wanted to go with, but they were still sleeping at 8:30. Mark is watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV while I get caught up on my blog and listen to a Train album. I haven’t listened to any music since Tuesday night, so it’s a necessary, calming half hour. After I get cleaned up, I think I’m going to roam a bit. I’m planning to take some pics of the parade, and if that comes to pass, I’ll upload them. [I made it down for a short time, so here are a couple camera phone pics.]

Our big plans for the day—like just about every other Americans’—center around Thanksgiving dinner. Historically, we’ve dined at the Carlyle Hotel. They’ve always had a very nice buffet in the café, which is a beautiful but also homey room wrapped in a mural by Erté. A number of years ago, a large chain bought the hotel, and the Thanksgiving buffet has been on the decline ever since. (The price, however, continues to rise to unwarranted levels.)

When Diane tried to get us a reservation this year, she had an awful time getting someone to call her back. When she finally was able to speak to someone, she learned that that the hotel was no longer serving the buffet in the Café Carlyle; rather, we’d would be eating in the hotel dining room, which is just like any other boring dining room in any other hotel. Further, said was warned that our large party would have to be split into two or possibly among three tables. And, we would have to be put on a wait list because they were already booked. Those discouraging developments, added to Mark and Matt’s report that the food two years ago was a marked disappointment over previous years (though it rebounded somewhat last year), suggested pretty strongly that it was time to move on.

I did a little research and found that the Waldorf Astoria’s Peacock Alley also offers a Thanksgiving buffet (featuring more than 100 desserts!). The Waldorf’s buffet is less expensive than the Carlyle’s, and the hotel is nearer our hotel (meaning it will be easier to get there during the parade). We decided that the Waldorf couldn’t disappoint us more than the Carlyle has this year, so we decided to give them a try. Diane reported that the reservation hostess was thrilled to welcome us for Thanksgiving (especially since we were dumping the Carlyle), so this year, we hope to start a new tradition.

November 21, 2012

Well, after more than a year cooling my jets in Columbus and paying off my 2011 extravagant Asia trip, I’m sitting in the Columbus airport waiting to head to New York City for Thanksgiving. It’s the first trip Mark and I have been on together for more than two years.

As some of you know, a group of our friends travel to the city for Thanksgiving every year, and we join the group every third year. This year, the group is larger than normal; there are 17 of us with a few more who live in the city joining us for dinner on Thursday.

We are seeing The Book of Mormon tonight and The Heiress on Friday night. Mark goes to see Evita on Saturday night while I meet up with an old friend from OSU to see Golden Boy. Other than that, it’ll be drinking and dancing in the streets!

Just a update to say that we’ve arrived at the Hotel Edison (“the premiere Art Deco hotel in New York City”). Our room is the loveliest we’ve ever had here. We are on an outside corner and have views east and north.

Ahh the sounds of the city after dark. Sirens. Horns&mdashalways horns. Motorcycles. People talking. It’s hard to believe I can eavesdrop on street conversations 16 stories up. I just discovered that our room window was partially open; closing is has helped a little.

We sawThe Book of Mormon tonight at the Eugene O’Neill Theatre. I didn’t think it was that great, but everyone else seemed to be enjoying it. Just not my kind of humor, I suppose, and that’s fine. I’m glad to have seen it. Don’t ask me to sing any of the songs, though.

The best part of the experience for me, though, was the intermission arrival of Sue. Sue is our friend from Milwaukee who was flying in directly. She was supposed to arrive around 3, but Matt got a text from her at 11:30 saying that her flight was delayed and that she wasn’t expecting to land until 5. A combination of a work strike and fog in Chicago were messing up travel from the Midwest. If she had no further delays, she’d have just enough time to cab it to the hotel, drop her things, and go to the show with us. At 5:30, she called Diane “practically in tears” to say that she was stuck in the Lincoln tunnel and didn’t know when she would be here. Estimates for getting through the tunnel were as high as three hours.

We waited for Sue until 6:30 but then had to go if we were going to make curtain. We left her ticket with a note to join us during intermission and a couple Jolly Ranchers. Then we just fretted about her rotten luck.

At intermission, about half of our group went out to smoke, pee, or call Sue to see where she was. The rest of us milled around at our seats and stretched a bit. I had just turned away from Mark to look around at the crowd, and there was Sue at the aisle below our seats looking up at us and waiving. Of course, my phone service provider being AT&T, I couldn’t get a signal to call Diane to say that Sue was here, so we just waited for her surprise when she came back at the end of intermission. Tony caught Sue up on the plot (a narrative of which the couple in front of us approved. “That was great! I could’ve skipped the first half!” the fellow said appreciatively.” “Indeed,” I thought.

After we all wrapped Sue in the warm blanket of her friends “back east,” the show resumed. It was during the second half that I was, again, reminded how different I am from other Americans. For much of the rest of the show, the crowd, including my group, roared. Gil, seated to my left, rocked back and for in convulsive laughter occasionally stealing knowing looks at Terry, his wife, who was guffawing a few seats to my left. I could clearly hear Tony’s cackle (as, I suppose, could the rest of the theater). I could only smile politely and be bored by the purile humor. Oh well, purile humor is what the shows writers (who also write South Park) are known for.

After the show, the cast did their usual Thanksgiving-time appeal for donations to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS and hammed it up a bit. (I found those ten minutes to be much funnier.) On to the discussion of a late dinner. It was a short discussion. It was late, and no one felt like wandering around the city to find food, so we opted to go to Sophia’s—the restaurant at Hotel Edison (not to be confused with the cafe, which is their wonderfully dirty spoon)—for some Italian food and some good conversation. We called it a night around 11:30. Sue was in fine spirits; the travels of the day had fallen away from us all.

More tomorrow. Good night.