Posts by Jonah

We got a later start on Friday than we’d intended, but we’d been up so late the night before. After everyone got a shower, Sydney, her roommate, Todd, Berck, and I walked to Tom’s Restaurant south of Syd’s brownstone in Brooklyn. Famous Fat Dave had not steered us wrong; the waffles and home fries were exceptional. I had a Belgian waffle with ice cream, whip cream, syrup, and cinnamon butter. Tom’s is strange because they hand out orange slices and cookies before taking your order. Then there were post-breakfast cookies and lollipops.

Todd had forgotten his wallet and MetroPass, so we had to walk back to the apartment to get it. Then we hopped on a train to the Lower East Side to visit the Tenement Museum. Unfortunately, we had to wait an hour to take a tour, so we made our way to Pommes Frites, a tiny restaurant that only makes fries and dozens of sauces to go with them. Sydney gave us a quick walk around NYU and then took Berck to buy a Koti roll, some nan enclosing Indian potato goodness. Berck spent the rest of our trip begging to go back, which makes me suspicious that they include cocaine.

By then we had 15 minutes to get to the Tenement Museum, and we just barely made it, being only about a minute late; they were just starting the tour, and we weren’t the latest ones–a group arrived just as we had entered the building, and a redheaded guy apologized for making them late. The guide told him they’d have to take a quiz at the end for their punishment. The museum was possible because in 1935 the landlord couldn’t afford to shell out the cash to install a metal fire escape in the back, so he just evicted all the tenants except for the shops downstairs, and the rest of the building stayed pretty much untouched until the museum bought it. It’s hard to imagine a family of 12 living in three tiny rooms with one window and running a sewing business out of the apartment at the same time. It’s no wonder the child mortality rate was greater than 50%.

By the end of the tour, it was too late to go to any other museums, so we took the subway down to Battery Park and hopped on the ferry to Staten Island. The port facilities are massive and modern and seem more expensive than necessary. Berck didn’t believe us that the ferry was free, and it’s amusing to me that the loudspeakers keep thanking you for riding it. As we rode the escalators up, men in suits up above stared intently at everyone coming up, profiling, I guess. We got some seats at the very back, but Berck spent the whole time happily leaning over the rail and taking pictures. The weather was nice that day, dry and cooler, and it felt good to be out in the breeze.

At the other end, we wandered around the opposite port facilities, trying to figure out which bus we could take to get to the pizza place for mozzarella sticks. Todd figured it out, and we waited a couple minutes for a bus to take us there. We missed our stop but only had to walk back a few blocks. Staten Island is very suburban with actual houses with little yards and cars. Everyone still talks funny, though. Denino’s Pizza was packed, it being a Friday night, but we managed to get some sticks for takeout and sit at the bar and drink some beers. The sticks were good but not exceptional. I wondered if we should have gotten a little pizza, but Berck didn’t want supper right then (I’m guessing because of his Koti roll).

Across the street waiting for our return bus, we tried Ralph’s Ices that just happened to be right there. Their cream ice was AMAZING; if only they were on the subway line. We missed a bus buying ice cream, so we had to wait extra long to get back. That put our return trip on the ferry at sunset, though, and that was not at all a bad thing.

The bus returned us to the ferry terminal, where Berck and Sydney ran to use the bathrooms. I spotted the water fountains and told Todd I was going to refill my water bottle. He said something about a bird being in the fountain, and I thought he was making a literary allusion I wasn’t getting until I saw a pigeon actually sitting in one of the drinking fountains.

We watched the sunset behind the Statue of Liberty on the way back, amused by a crazy guy who wanted to talk to us about the Sex Pistols CD he was listening to. We’d originally planned to attend a free Neko Case concert in Central Park at 7:30, but by then it was 8:30 and would have taken us another half hour to get there. So we headed back to the Lower East Side to The Living Room, which has free music and $6 beers and a one drink minimum per set. We headed upstairs and heard an excellent folk trio called Barnaby Bright, but they only played two more songs in the way too hot gallery. So we headed downstairs to the overcrowded main room. I was too tired to stand around listening, so I sat out in the bar area on a comfy couch and planned the next day’s activities.

Sydney came out later to tell me they’d snagged a table. We heard a really good acoustic solo guy calling himself Birdwire, who invited a red headed friend of his to play something I’d never heard of. The guy came up and sat on a wooden box and started slapping it with his hands. In the middle it sounded a nice bass, and up in the corners it sounded like a snare. Sydney said, “Is that the guy at the Tenement Museum today?” but I didn’t think it was; Berck thought it was too, but he is notoriously bad with faces. Then the singer invited another guy up with a harmonica, and the three played a wonderfully rousing song about a train. The soloist told everyone he was giving away free CD’s, so Todd went over to get one. “Hey,” said the red head, “Weren’t you at the Tenement Museum today?” Blue hair is kinda hard to miss.

At midnight I was exhausted and ready to go home, but everyone else was ready to keep going for the next set that a huge band was setting up for. At least I was sitting down, though in the very front I figured it would be pretty darn loud. La Strada has a lead singer/accordion/guitar/piano player, guitarist/backup, bassist/backup, drummer, and string trio. They have a huge sound, often interesting lyrics, and a lead singer that sounds like the guy from Decemberists… in fact, they sound very much like the Decemberists. I loved them.

All of the bands these days don’t have websites; they have MySpace pages.

We stayed until the end, then came out to find the street that had been moderately busy at 10 was now hopping at 1 am. We made our way down the block to Katz’s Deli. $14 is a lot to pay for a pastrami sandwich, but it and the plate of pickles that came with it fed me and Berck, so I guess it’s not that bad. Besides, where else are you going to find a quality pastrami sandwich at 1 in the morning? At Katz, they hand you a ticket when you walk in. Whenever you order something at the counter, they write on your ticket and hand it back to you. When you leave, you hand your ticket to the cashier and pay for whatever it says on it. If you lose your ticket, they won’t let you leave unless you pay them $50 cash. No one in New York takes credit cards; it’s an all cash economy, like any European city. There’s a bouncer and often a cop at the door… and an ATM.

We finally got to the subway around 2 and, of course, had to wait half an hour for a train, even though the station was packed with party goers heading home. We finally got home around 2:30. The next day was going to be a packed day of museum seeing, so Berck and I set our alarms for 8:30. Sydney said not to bother to wake her up.

The Ani DiFranco concert on Wednesday night was fun. Deciding to cut through the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens and Prospect Park, we navigated according to my compass along paths that kept winding the wrong way. Little directional signs at intersections weren’t a whole lot of help; one pointed the direction we were going, while the next pointed the opposite. We finally realized that if we just followed the short-haired girls with lots of piercings, they’d take us directly to the band shell. Then we relaxed out on the grass while the two opening acts played (both of them Ani wannabes), drank beer out of plastic cups, and watched the group of lesbians in front of us pass a joint around. Berck was one of the few males in attendance. On the way home, Sydney got us lost because she hadn’t thought to bring her glasses or her map, much to Berck’s dismay because he urgently had to visit a bathroom.

We found out about the steam pipe blast in Manhattan when we got home and checked e-mail and the news online, just like we would have if we were home. So much for being in New York when a big story hits.

In the morning, I was awoken by Sydney’s cat Killer, who was playing with his jingle-ball hanging from the wall. I got up and push-pinned it to the bulletin board above it, but this only seemed to tick him off. He started leaping up against the wall trying to reach it, so instead of a gentle jingling, there was a loud thump of a roundish Manx hitting drywall, followed by a little jingle. Berck sat up and laughed at him. “Killer?” he said, getting the cat’s attention. Killer turned his head and uttered the most ticked off meow I’ve ever heard.

Sydney’s alarm kept going off in the living room where she was sleeping on the couch. I went in and asked her what time she had to be at work. “Nine-thirty, why?” she said putting her alarm on snooze again. When it went off 9 minutes later, I gave up on sleeping any longer and got up and walked around the corner to get a couple of Cokes.

Sydney’s neighborhood is made up of West Indians and Arabic speakers, primarily, almost all of them black. I only saw three other white people the whole time we were there: her roommate, a guy who lives upstairs who let us in last night after the landlords inexplicably changed the front lock, and one of her other cotenents. The landlords are apparently very racist, which is why Syd got such a great apartment for “cheap.” She greets all her neighbors whenever she leaves the house, and they all smile and greet her back, including the older lady next door, who always says, “Hey, baby!” Sydney said she heard her yelling on her cell phone outside recently, “No! I ain’t no f***ing crack addict! I’m an alcoholic!”

Sydney eventually got up that morning, complaining that she couldn’t hear her alarm and that she was going to be late for work. Berck got dressed, and we started our adventure for the day by fortifying ourselves at Yonah Schimmel Knishery. I had a sweet cheese, and Berck had a potato. Both were amazing.

Berck’s college roommate Todd was arriving on the Boston Chinatown bus around noon, and we didn’t have enough time to hit any of the museums properly before we met up with him. So we visited the Institute of Photography’s exhibit. There was an exhibit of Stephen Shore who is well known for traveling around North America in the ’70’s, taking pictures of landscapes, towns, motel rooms, or whatever. A lot of them looked like photos Berck has taken, and it amazed me that so much of the country still looks exactly the same. He would make postcards of shots and deposit them in card racks in stores in every town he went.

We walked the short distance to Times Square, looked around, and then jumped on the subway to Chinatown. Todd had dyed his hair blue, which clashed with his grey-green eyes. I told him purple would probably go better, but he likes blue. It was always easy to find him, though. We made our way to the cross streets where a Chinese/Cuban place was supposed to be, but instead of a restaurant there was a poultry shop. Berck went in and asked, but they had never heard of the name of our restaurant. Todd still had his bags with him, so he started up his MacBook, found an open wireless network, and checked Google. Google said we were right where we should be, but there was another address for the same name in Chelsea.

We gave up and continued down to the federal building where Sydney is working for the summer. We had to be searched to get in, but the view from her little corner office was incredible. She works near the top of the northernmost, tall building in Lower Manhattan, so she has an unparalleled view of Midtown. Then she took us to a yuppie Cuban place near her office that was quite tasty.

Berck had spotted the Intrepid Sea & Air museum on my map, so I looked it up in my guidebook and realized it was the aircraft carrier. We only had a couple of hours before it closed, so we thought we’d go directly to the ship without dropping Todd’s bags off. It seemed like an eternal walk as we took turns carrying his luggage, but we finally made it to the water. We passed by the Carnival cruise ships that came before the ship and then spotted a disturbing sign that said, “INTREPID,” U-turn arrow, “RETURNING FALL 2008” next to an empty spot on the wharf.

“Oh, yeah!” said Todd. “I read about them moving it to be refurbished. It got stuck on a sandbar.”

“Oh, yeah!” I said, “I remember reading about that too.”

“Well, why didn’t anybody say anything!” demanded Berck in exasperation.

Tired of carrying the bags so long, we hailed a $12 cab to take us to the Frick Collection, which I’d heard was free, or used to be. Berck paid the exorbitant price of $15 while I was checking my backpack; otherwise, I would have suggested we skip it. It’s a good small collection, just way too expensive, especially with Berck complaining about it the whole time. At least we could check Todd’s bags.

Back at the apartment, we added Todd’s laptop to the collection of four already there and relaxed a bit while waiting for Sydney to get home from work. I had the evening all planned out when Sydney arrived and informed us it would take an hour to get down to the southern end of Brooklyn. The subway map isn’t exactly to scale. We decided to do as much of it as we could and took a train down to Avenue U to Famous Fat Dave’s favorite place for Sicilian pizza, L&B Spumoni Gardens. The restaurant wasn’t exactly at the end of the F Line, so I had to call to get directions from there. But we found it and ate a Sicilian rice ball and discovered that it was indeed an amazing pizza, and we couldn’t possibly eat it all. I finally asked for the check after we’d been sitting there for hours; Sydney informed us later that you have to ask for it in New York (like any other European country). We had just enough room for spumoni, yummy stuff with chunks of pistachios in it that we ate on our way back to the subway station.

We got to a little place in Park Slope to see Todd’s nephew Nate (who is a couple months younger than he is) play bass, but his band had just finished their set. But we got a couple beers while Todd and Nate caught up, finally walking back to the subway and getting home very late.

Pictures are up in the gallery. I’ll label them soon.

I think my clothes are half drenched in sweat. Part of it is the rain that’s gently falling here, which, according to the natives, has cooled things down tremendously. I’ll take their word for it.

This morning the rain wasn’t falling so gently. The radar showed a mass of red and PURPLE (for hail, the weatherman kept warning) was centered over New York City. I know this because our JetBlue flight, which left nearly an hour late from Denver at 1:40am, has TV, and I was flipping back and forth between the two local stations it carried.

Then I flipped to the map screen that shows where the airplane is in relation to the ground. We were flying in circles over New York and then continued to do so for some time. I thought, we can’t do this for long, and sure enough, the captain came on the intercom and said we were going to be landing in Atlantic City to refuel and wait until we could possibly land at JFK. Berck said he knew it was bad when an American Airlines jet was in a holding pattern directly below us. When they start stacking the planes, you know it’s going to take a while to land.

The captain managed to get us some bagels that the flight attendants handed out as we taxied. We finally arrived at JFK nearly 4 hours after we supposed to. Fortunately, we didn’t have to be anywhere anytime until the concert we’re attending tonight.

There was a loud, obnoxious Brit sitting behind Berck who was very upset, though, and he left everyone know it. “F***ing w***ers!” he shouted, then repeated it a few times for good measure. The captain interrupted his message on the intercom and asked if the gentleman had a question. “No! I have a comment. Sort it out!” As if anyone has control over the weather. When we got off the plane, the terminal was jammed with people waiting to take off, so I don’t think he missed his flight, because it was probably delayed too. As we threaded our way through the mass of people eager to board, Berck said, “Well, it could have been worse. We could have been stuck HERE.”

The JetBlue flight was not at all a bad place to be stuck, fortunately, since they didn’t have any gates open and wouldn’t let us off the plane. They give you plenty of legroom, 40 channels of TV, movies you can pay for, good snacks, and an overnight pack with earplugs, an eyeshade, and some little toiletries. Oh, and currently, a channel that only plays the Simpsons (only 4 episodes, unfortunately, before they repeat).

After finally getting off the plane, we followed the signs for the AirTrain through the maze that is JFK. We somehow figured out how to pay for it and buy some 7 day unlimited metro tickets. I love the freedom of being able to hop on the metro wherever I am, and even though we won’t be here a whole week, these passes make more sense economically than getting day-long passes. Then we navigated the metro system and got to Berck’s sister Sydney’s apartment, thanks to her excellent written directions.

Her roommate was fortunately there to let us in, having quit her waitressing job the day before. Sydney would have been there according to our original schedule, but she had long since gone to work. We found out Syd would be in a meeting until two, so we took a quick nap before heading to Lower Manhattan to met her for lunch.

One of our goals of this trip is to visit as many places recommended by Famous Fat Dave as possible, but he apparently isn’t crazy about Chinese. We tried to find a Chinese place I’d found a random recommendation for, but gave up when I couldn’t remember the correct cross street and settled for a place that looked promising. Indeed, we had fabulous fried dumplings, General Tso’s chicken, and Peaking duck. It made me want to never eat Chinese in Colorado Springs again. I don’t know if it was good Chinese food or mediocre Chinese food, but we found it absolutely delicious. Berck even devoured the broccoli surrounding the martial poultry, sopping up its savory sauce. And you know what else is weird? Chinese beer actually tastes really good with Chinese food.

By the end of our feast, Sydney was horribly late for work, so she ran out, and Berck and I wandered through Chinatown, into Little Italy, by NYU, then took a little rest in Washington Square Park until it started raining again. Then we took an A train back to Sydney’s house. Some of the subway cars are mercifully air conditioned, though approaching rush hour, they were pretty full. I stood at the very front of the train and watched us race down the track.

Wandering around a big city is great with a big, burly man at your side. People move out of the way.

Tonight a concert in a park in Brooklyn, then hopefully a very good night’s sleep. Maybe it won’t rain on us.