More New York Stories

So of course the Spanish sodomy supper was not the only point of interest in my NYC weekend; it is New York, after all. Further highlights included:

* On the bus trip home the young, blue-do-ragged driver Rogue (yes that is his name) pulled the bus over at one point and headed for the potty. A young guy in a nearby seat turned to his friend and said "Dude gotta drop a deuce. You know how it is." When we arrived at our destination, Rogue stood up, turned around, and said "If no one else tells you they love you today, I love you. If anyone asks, you can tell 'em Rogue loves you."

* While walking from Union Square to Battery Park with L and her Dutch friend R the street we were on dead-ended at the World Trade Center site. It was old hat for my companions but I'd never been there before. It's just this massive open space amongst a thicket of tall buildings; One World Financial Center, which was damaged in the attacks and has since been repaired, overlooks it. The oldest church in Manhattan, with a graveyard full of the very-long-dead, faces it. The sun was shining.

* Took the Staten Island ferry out and back. It's free and while we missed most of the sunset, we got to see the city, the Statue of Liberty, and the Brooklyn Bridge all lit up. Being on a boat in winter looking out at New York is awesome. At one point only the three of us were outside and I was leaning on the rail in the center of the deck breathing and watching and getting verklempt.

* Passed by a church whose bells were ringing like when church bells ring in a movie. Saw the door were open and there were white bows on the gates and a limo outside. Read about the wedding in the paper the next morning.

Hombres

Wondering what my Saturday night out with the Spaniards was like? I have one word for you: sodomy.

L and I arrived a bit late to the restaurant because one of the trains we needed to take wasn't running. There was a 40-minute wait and no Spaniards. Turns out they'd been there and left and from the looks of things, they'd ditched us. After a phone call we figured out they were at a pizza place up the street and that they'd brought another friend so now we were up to three Spaniards. Let's call them Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria.

Nina is the guy L met on the train. He meets us on the street. We crowd into the tiny restaurant where Pinta and Santa Maria are waiting. Pinta is Nina's roommate; Santa Maria is their friend. A waiter rudely tells us to wait outside so Nina, L and I move to the breezeway while Pinta and Santa Maria stay inside.

Eventually we are seated where we find the restaurant serves three kinds of pizza which serve one person and cost 21 bucks each. L aptly notes this is the Soup Nazi of pizza joints. The Spaniards start yelling and acting like a bunch of wriggly puppies, which is fine. Pizza and wine is ordered; pizza for all, and wine for the Spaniards. I am seated against the wall and Santa Maria is across from me. L is across from Pinta and Nina is at the head of the table.

I spend most of my evening being talked to by Santa Maria, who is lovely-looking, with pale skin and fine features. Unfortunately for everyone he is a pig. He starts out the evening by refusing to say what he really does for work, although he does get one small point for telling me he's going to be a virtual dentist. I try hard, really, really, really hard to get into the vibe of his conversation style and tell myself it is because he is Spanish that he is acting that way and hey, you're in New York! But then he starts talking about how impossible it is for men to be monogamous and how in Spain men have no rights and then...

And THEN he rolls into his main conversation topic for the evening: Sodomizing women. Delightful! Also he cannot seem to understand what an alcoholic is and keeps trying to get me to drink wine. All I could think was, just how stupid does he think I am? Is he meeting a lot of stupid women? Does this work on any of them?

I didn't talk as much to the other Spaniards, although Pinta told me he was working with bankers on the bailout and that they were "humble." Uh-huh. Luckily for L it seemed like Nina was a good guy, and Pinta, too. But when we split the bill at the end of the evening I wondered if Santa Maria was trying to get me to drink wine so I would have to pay for that, too.

Which isn't to say that it was a horrible evening; it wasn't. It was an experience.

En Espanol

Well holy mother. I just agreed to go on a double date in NYC tomorrow night with L and two Spanish guys that work at McKinsey. She met one of them on the train. And girlfriend is pushing the limits. First it was "Do you have something sexy to wear?" Then it was "Do you want to go out on a double date with two Spaniards?" I said OK but that I couldn't stay out really late because I have to be in line for the bus at 7:30 and have to go home and work most fo the day.

Then L said "Would you be up for some making out?"

Jeebus, lady.

It's going to be a great trip!

I Heart New York

I really do. It's better than Boston. Well, I couldn't afford to live there and I don't know that I could handle all that stimulation but when it comes to things to see, do, and eat -- and the city's overall friendliness -- New York just wins out. I continue to be surprised by this because I fear the city more than a little bit. My image of it is as big and cold and mean and the only thing it is of those three is big. I just love the energy there, the people, the activity, the fact that so much happens there, all the time.

So. My New Year's in the Big Apple was quite swell. Though to tell the truth I was pretty blue for most of it, and at the GB show I stood by myself waiting for the band to start for nearly two hours. I wanted to be closer to the stage but couldn't do the mosh pit and I'd had it with doing what other people wanted. I've had a real bee in my bonnet lately about selfish people and this has been working itself out through me realizing that on some level it's that people are taking care of their needs, and I think, F them, I'm taking care of mine, and on another level it is of course about me not liking the selfishness I see in myself. I want to be a giving person but being a giving person doesn't mean the world is going to give you anything back; expecting that is folly. I want to stop being so disappointed in other people.

Anyhoo there were, as per usual, lots of interesting folks in the big city, from the chain smoking Brothers McMullen types behind us in line for the show to the guy on the train on the ride home who was taking care of his passed out hunchbacked friend Neil and calling his friends every five minutes and loudly proclaiming "I had the WORST FUCKING NIGHT OF MY LIFE!" or "Neil got us KICKED OFF THE FUCKING TRAIN!" or "I need some PUSSY." or my personal favorite, "I'M GOING TO GO FUCK SHEILA." He was even singing at one point. But the greatest moment happened at the end of the ride when, as he was exiting the train, having spent the last two hours preventing me from any kind of real sleep with his loudly professed tales of woe, he turned to an old lady seated near the door and said, very politely, "Ma'am, would you like any help getting off the train?"

Resolved

I'm off to Albany and then tomorrow to Poughkeepsie for the train to NYC. We (JoyceFrances, her husband Mike, and I) are taking the train in and out that same night. I don't think I can do the mosh pit at Gogol Bordello as you need a man in there, a strong one, and I ain't got nobody. However that does not mean I can't DANCE!

In case I don't get to a computer before it, Happy New Year, everyone! My resolutions are to meditate more, feel more joy, and furiously make out with the man I'm going to spend the rest of my or his life with, depending on who kicks the bucket first. Also to be in fantastic shape, write essays and maybe a book, and give back to the world.

Tale from the city

So the above is a clip from Saturday's show...although by this point I was standing in the second balcony, having left the mosh pit after it semi kicked my ass.

What happened was this: I, McPolack, being of sound mind and body, tarted up in my "Somerville is for lovers" t-shirt, a sweater I got for 5 bucks at Goodwill, a turtle belt I got for 2 bucks at a Unitarian thrift shop, a jean skirt, tights, my favorite sneakers, and twin blonde braids, made my way to the floor while the first band was playing. There were some dummies in front of us who clearly had no idea what was going to happen when GB started to play -- they had full cups of beer and were wearing fleeces and hats -- and when L tried to warn them they scoffed at her. It was a real treat to see how shocked they were when, en masse, people began screaming at the top of their lungs and jumping up and down. They were shoved out of the way by the force of the crowd.

I myself felt a bit like a wee fluffy lamb in that crowd of New Yorkers and I only lasted three songs in the pit. Despite having my arms up in front of me, I got the breath squeezed out of me several times, and the big-bellied man behind me who I hoped would cushion any blows disappeared. Then a bunch of people fell over all at once, and as I was bending over to pick a girl up by her armpits, my glasses fell off...

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKK! I thought to myself.

But here's the thing. That group of frenzied sweaty moshers cleared a circle for me and helped me find my glasses. Another guy found my smashed glasses case on the floor and handed it to me. Only when I said I was OK did they go back to the crazy dancing. It was actually really wonderful. I left the mosh pit and went out front and got some masking tape for my glasses, then stood on the balcony doing some reserved bouncing for the rest of the show. The next day, I super-glued my my glasses back together. It feels SO GOOD to have experienced something like that -- being in an immense crowd of people at a punk show in NYC -- and good to know when it was time for me to get out. I took care of myself and I really lived, you know? It's been that kind of fall for me. I still feel happy and it's Monday afternoon.

It's good to be me.

On Being a Groupie, Tra-la-la

Well, dear readers, I have just agreed to travel to NYC with Joyce Frances in a couple of weekends, to see Gogol Bordello play for a second time. I VERY much enjoyed Boston's show but it was apparently very tame compared to what you see in NYC. JF told me when they started playing at the show she saw there, the floor started shaking, and as she didn't have the energy to keep up with the crowd in the mosh pit, she was squirted safely out the side. Without taking a step, mind you.

I got within four feet of the stage on Thursday and while I wasn't such a big fan of having white girl dreads scratch my face or smelling someone's obnoxious farts, I was surprisingly OK with sweating copiously, and being pressed against other people, some of them shirtless, who were doing the same. When people fell over, they were picked up, and everyone was jolly. At the end, one of the band members leapt into the crowd and we passed him around on our outstretched hands. Someone in the audience said "OK, send him back up front," and "Great job, team!" And I honestly have to say I felt proud for my contribution. It was cute, and dorky.

The only thing missing for me was someone else to dance with, but alas, one cannot have everything.

I'm Alive!!!!!!!!

Yes, I have returned from my ski trip with all my parts intact. As it turns out, at least according to my friend L, I am a "natural" at the downhill skiing, doing particularly well at turning.

Well, I beg to differ. But let's begin at the beginning: The Lesson. After trading in my boots for a bigger pair to accomodate my ginormous man-calves ("Look at them!" I said to the attendant, hoisting one into view.) I strapped on my helmet and headed outside with the Indian man, R, who works with my German friend's boyfriend, who they convinced to come skiing because he could take lessons with me, fun-in-the-sun McPolack. We joined the beginner's group which was made up of 8 or so 10 year old girls. And me and R. Oh, and I was the only student wearing a helmet.

We were eventually (phew!) joined by some other grown-ups but were all barked at like children by our slightly grumpy instructor. At one point he congratulated the children, while chastising us, for our circle-forming abilities. I shouted "Grown-ups rule!" and pumped my fist into the air.

After a solid hour spent doing various maneuvers in our boots alone (Yes, I kept my helmet on the whole time. Sometimes I keep my seatbelt on when I'm sitting a parking lot. You never know.), we walked sideways up the hill in the lesson area and each skiied down. By this time, I'd made some friends with both the grown-ups and the kids in class, one of whom (a kid) kept insisting that she didn't need no stinking lessons, cause she'd been skiing since she was five. "Make sure you watch me go down! I can turn and stop" said the wee whippersnapper. I watched. She crashed. I gave her some kid-appropriate shit. Later she sang "Back it up! Back it up!" to the class when the instructor said we were standing too close together. I heard another little girl, a particularly lippy one in a purple leopard print hat, shout "Jesus Christ!" at someone, sounding every inch like a world-weary 25 year old. Jesus Christ, indeed.

Actually, she was kind of a riot, a pint-sized self-assured mouthy broad. I saw her a couple of other times throughout the day and we greeted each other with a nod and a "How's it going?"

So after an hour and a half we made our way to the bunniest of bunny slopes where we made a pathetic attempt to follow the instructor's directions to meet a third of a way up the slope, which involved stepping off the T-bar (no rope tows in sight, thank God) awkwardly, and then skiing one by one down the mountain. The girl who'd been "skiing since she was five" crashed rather spectacularly into a fence (that's hubris for you) but came out unscathed and poor R crashed right into me as I was waiting in line to go back up the hill.

But I didn't crash at all. Turns out my man-legs were made for this sport. I had a couple of runs that made me feel particularly confident and almost in love with skiing, but I also had a couple where I was going so fast my stomach dropped out from under me and I felt genuine fright.

Would I go again? I don't know. Perhaps if I lived a life of leisure, or had a bit more money, or lived a bit closer. I could see myself doing well at this sport if I took my time. It was kind of zen, figuring out each of the bunny slopes I went down (3 total) -- it's just you and the mountain. But I really don't like going fast, not at all. I hate roller coasters and that's what it felt like I was on a couple of times, only I wasn't strapped into anything but a pair of short, shaped skis.

But I've slayed the demon that was born when I was twelve. The thought of skiing no longer makes me feel like a chubby little unloved kid. And there's already another to take my place, a sweet girl named Molly with pink cheeks, blond hair, and freckles, who just looked so alone in the group of girls, and sad, even as we all rallied around her and tried to give her confidence, yelling "Go Molly!" as she tried to make her way down the hill. Hopefully it won't take her twenty years to find herself there.

NYC: The Highlight Reel

I just now feel like I am recovering from my NYC trip, after dining on a nice big salad last night and taking a swell half-nap this afternoon. I present to you, sweet readers, the highlight reel:

• Digs: We stayed 2 doors down from the theater that's playing Hairspray and could see the Winter Garden sign (where Cats played) from the windows of the teeny (think 280 square feet) but very Zen 22nd-floor studio. It was really cool to be up that high, and great for peering into other peoples' windows.
  
• Ride: Took the sweet, sweet MetroNorth from Poughkeepsie. It was a wee bit slow but on the way back as we were riding along the choppy green Hudson and eating sandwiches made from crusty French bread, fresh mozzerella cheese, and really good salami, I sort of felt like we were in Italy, even though I've never been there.
  
• Eats: Had a delicious, filling-yet-light GIANT bowl of ramen noodles at a little place near the apartment that was filled almost entirely with Asian people. Lots of nibbly bits of deliciousness were floating in the broth.
• Had a delightful post-Frick salad at a basement tea shop. Tried the French vervain tea. Was like sipping at lemony springtime.
• Dined Saturday evening at one of PBS chef Lydia Bastianich's restaurants. JoyceFrances had the pasta special -- all you can eat of three homemade ones, including mushroom ravioli, while I had frutti di mare, with some white polenta. It hit the spot. But what really made my mouth sing was dessert, a sampler of some sort of divine chocolate mousse-y pie thing, some custard, and the best g-d ricotta cheesecake that I have ever eaten.
  
• Celebrity sightings: Apparently Bobby Flay was behind the open kitchen counter at his Bar Americain, where JoyceFrances had a drink and I had some chamomile tea and some pretty awesome creme brulee, but I think I need new glasses because all I could make out was a Bobby-Flay-shaped blob with Bobby-Flay-esqe hair.
• Culcha: Saw the Goya exhibit at the Frick (and toured the Frick, too). I preferred Goya's doodles to his portraits, whilst the main museum had some lovely John Singer Sargents and Vermeers and some huge, beautiful windows with brass hardware. If only living in such a place didn't require being anorexically thin and accepting that your husband will start f-ing the maid three years into your marriage.
  
• Non-food-related-yet-still-tasty nibbly bit 1: Went to dinner Saturday night in my four-inch heels, circle skirt, breasteses-flattering top, with leather jacket, fuzzy blue hat, and stripey scarf to keep warm. Was super windy and skirt kept blowing up. Elicited grins from several people on street and one woman in restaurant. Thought "Yes! I have achieved wry, sweet, sexy-wacky SITC look. Got back to apartment after dinner, looked into wall of mirrors in front of elevator, and realized I just looked crazy.
• NB 2: Was rapped at on the street by some boy holding up a wall. Don't remember rap exactly but it involved "I need to get myself a mamma in a green hat."
• NB 3: Was approached and subsequently hugged by stranger who was on a scavenger hunt. Am hoping that she really did need a picture of her "Hugging a stranger" as opposed to a picture of her "Hugging one of the wack jobs in Washington Square Park."
• NB 4: Also in WSP, visited two doggie runs, one for large doggies, which smelled horribly of pee, and one for small doggies, which didn't. Some of the small doggies came over to visit me and most were wearing swell outfits.
• NB 5: Overheard this snatch of cell-phone convo in WSP, where JoyceFrances and I sat for quite some time, just people-watching: "I bought two ape heads from a Hollywood studio, one for me and one for Ian."

All-in-all it was a great trip, although quite exhausting. There's a lot of stimulation in NYC, and we were staying in the stimulating-est part of it. There's no way I could live there as I was beyond pooped after being there only from about 6 on Friday night until 1 on Sunday after noon. But I would go back to visit again.

Big City

So to calm my anxieties over working I started packing for my weekend trip. I leave Friday to drive to Rotter-DAMN! to meet JoyceFrances, then we drive together to Poughkeepsie to get the train to NEW YORK SIT-EH! I have only ever been there twice in my life, which is a wee bit embarrassing.

And let me tell you, I am excited to put together outfits, and also a little anxious. I loved all the wacky stuff SJP wore on SITC and I am thrilled to go to the C and wear wacky outfits on my own. I have packed my tan and green embroidered circle skirt with tight black puckered-shoulder top, my tube top with the sparkly banding, my best jeans, and some four-inch spike heels. Also my orange leather jacket because even though it's going to be in the thirties, I don't know that I can be seen in my winter coat. It's just not cool enough.

As JoyceFrances and I are both low on funds, we intend to do a lot of people watching. We're also staying in Manhattan proper, which thrills me to no end. God, I am such a dork. And God, I am going to have such a fabulous frickin' time.

The busy McPolack social calendar

After a weekend visit to hang with OSB and her baby (24 hours in new momma land and my main observation is: OSB's wee girly likes to eat!) and JoyceFrances I've got next weekend free, then it's off to NH, NYC, and VT, respectively, which takes me to mid-March.

Oh, I'm so popular I just (almost) can't stand it.