First chunk of the trip in dry detail
Apparently I informed no one in Milwaukee that I would be leaving for a 2-week, easterly jaunt. I left last Monday, and am in Atlanta and the midst of said jaunt.
Carrot Top: I saw him in the Atlanta airport during my layover en route to NY. He's totally ripped, which was a surprise. Almost as exciting as the time I saw the late, disgraced Enron chief Kenneth Lay about to board a flight to Houston.
New York:
Day One:
LaGuardia seemed ridiculously narrow in terms of terminal width. I boarded a bus for Harlem, took a train down to Tribeca, and met Justin. He and his girlfriend live in a new building several blocks from Ground Zero where they are still renovating, and the doorman has white gloves. We met up with Shira and ate at a Vegan restaurant. My tofu sandwich was delightful! Megan arrived just as we were leaving, and the group, minus Jess, wandered around and eventually wound up in a McDonalds. Megan and I peeled off and had a beer at a bar in the Village. I paid 4.50 for a PABST, which I thought was hilarious, coming from a place where Pabst flows like water. Cheap water. The bar played dance music, interupted at one point by a TV on the Radio song. After we parted, I walked back to the train station through a light rain. I found a dollar bill on the ground, but it was so soaked that I just plastered it to an iron railing. I got back to Justin's and we talked until 3 or so.
Day Two: I took a train uptown and met Justin at the Met. We decided to get lunch first, and walked to a restaurant that specialized in cheap hotdogs and fruit smoothies. The hotdog was excellent, but I ordered no smoothie-determined as I was to avoid being bled dry by the city. As we returned to fifth avenue, I spotted a man walking three lavishly-groomed poodles, each wearing a PINK RAINCOAT. As we walked behind a woman and her two toddlers, Justin said "Fuck" loudly enough to cause the woman to turn and shoot him the look that one might give a man who has just exposed himself to a group of children. He apologized.
We saw the photograph section first. I wanted to see musical instruments; the search for which took us into the American section. Many grandfather clocks, and lush oil paintings of sun-dappled valleys and IMPORTANT AMERICANS wearing constipated expressions. We also decided to go through the European section after spotting a thumbnail of "The Death of Socrates" in the guide.
The painting is totally sweet. Socrates is sitting on some sort of bed surrounded by weeping disciples who are torn up about his death sentence. One fellow has his head buried in one hand as he hands Socrates the beaker of poison. Socrates is having NONE of it. He points upwards with one hand, and grabs the beaker with the other, his face radiating an aggressive, "No one can drink Hemlock like THIS guy. Let's have it, champ." panache. The musical instrument section, while interesting, could not live up to Socrates' expression.
For dinner we met up with Justin's friend David and ended up at a Vietnamese Restaurant. Afterwards, we headed back and watched some clips of Brass Eye and listened to R. Kelly. David crashed at the apartment, and wanted to go to sleep at 10:30 because he had gotten three hours of sleep. He didn't mind us sitting directly over him on the couch and watching television as he slept, and so Justin and I watched 1.5 hours of Next. I felt sorry for David, having his dreams tinged with a show that surely represents all that the world hates about American culture. On the other hand, perhaps his dreams were highly entertaining, as is the show.
Carrot Top: I saw him in the Atlanta airport during my layover en route to NY. He's totally ripped, which was a surprise. Almost as exciting as the time I saw the late, disgraced Enron chief Kenneth Lay about to board a flight to Houston.
New York:
Day One:
LaGuardia seemed ridiculously narrow in terms of terminal width. I boarded a bus for Harlem, took a train down to Tribeca, and met Justin. He and his girlfriend live in a new building several blocks from Ground Zero where they are still renovating, and the doorman has white gloves. We met up with Shira and ate at a Vegan restaurant. My tofu sandwich was delightful! Megan arrived just as we were leaving, and the group, minus Jess, wandered around and eventually wound up in a McDonalds. Megan and I peeled off and had a beer at a bar in the Village. I paid 4.50 for a PABST, which I thought was hilarious, coming from a place where Pabst flows like water. Cheap water. The bar played dance music, interupted at one point by a TV on the Radio song. After we parted, I walked back to the train station through a light rain. I found a dollar bill on the ground, but it was so soaked that I just plastered it to an iron railing. I got back to Justin's and we talked until 3 or so.
Day Two: I took a train uptown and met Justin at the Met. We decided to get lunch first, and walked to a restaurant that specialized in cheap hotdogs and fruit smoothies. The hotdog was excellent, but I ordered no smoothie-determined as I was to avoid being bled dry by the city. As we returned to fifth avenue, I spotted a man walking three lavishly-groomed poodles, each wearing a PINK RAINCOAT. As we walked behind a woman and her two toddlers, Justin said "Fuck" loudly enough to cause the woman to turn and shoot him the look that one might give a man who has just exposed himself to a group of children. He apologized.
We saw the photograph section first. I wanted to see musical instruments; the search for which took us into the American section. Many grandfather clocks, and lush oil paintings of sun-dappled valleys and IMPORTANT AMERICANS wearing constipated expressions. We also decided to go through the European section after spotting a thumbnail of "The Death of Socrates" in the guide.
The painting is totally sweet. Socrates is sitting on some sort of bed surrounded by weeping disciples who are torn up about his death sentence. One fellow has his head buried in one hand as he hands Socrates the beaker of poison. Socrates is having NONE of it. He points upwards with one hand, and grabs the beaker with the other, his face radiating an aggressive, "No one can drink Hemlock like THIS guy. Let's have it, champ." panache. The musical instrument section, while interesting, could not live up to Socrates' expression.
For dinner we met up with Justin's friend David and ended up at a Vietnamese Restaurant. Afterwards, we headed back and watched some clips of Brass Eye and listened to R. Kelly. David crashed at the apartment, and wanted to go to sleep at 10:30 because he had gotten three hours of sleep. He didn't mind us sitting directly over him on the couch and watching television as he slept, and so Justin and I watched 1.5 hours of Next. I felt sorry for David, having his dreams tinged with a show that surely represents all that the world hates about American culture. On the other hand, perhaps his dreams were highly entertaining, as is the show.