Back home (part 1)
So, I'm back from New York City. It was brilliant, of course. A few observations before I begin with my day by day rehash.
First of all, New York air is palpable. It has a FLAVOR. You can actually taste it in your mouth when you get off the plane. Second of all, it's huge. I mean, duh, of course it's huge. But what I mean to say is that it's so mind bogglingly huge as to incomprehensible to anyone who hasn't been there. Take San Franscisco and multiple it by six times. Maybe more. And then take the amount of people you'd have from San Francisco six times over and mutiple THAT by two. Then, just maybe, you might have an idea of how big New York City is. Third is traffic. We have absolutely NO RIGHT to complain about traffic. Sacramento? This is the boon docks. San Francisco? Maybe a bit tricky. If you thought Market Street is bad, don't ever try to drive in Manhattan. You'd slit your throat two Avenues in. The thing that really struck me about New York City drivers, is the COMPLETE AND TOTAL DISREGARD for lanes and turn signals and... well everything. It's pretty much a free for all. Anyone who gets home in one piece won, for the day. Even the pedestrians are agressive. They have what I have charmingly dubbed "The Manhattan Sidle" They will slowly inch their way into traffic untill you are literally mere inches from pasting them to the asphalt. As soon as there's a break in traffic they bolt out into the road. Whoooo. That's enough of that.
Okay. So I go to the airport and check my bags, get through security with no problems, and then I head straight for the bar to get me a good stiff drink to calm my nerves. As stated in my previous entry, my last expierence with flying is remembered less then fondly, so I was starting to panic, though I was doing well at not showing it. The guy I sat next to started flirting with me. Nothing unusual there. He bought me a drink. Also not unusual. Before I know it, I'm plowed and we've had our seats changed so that we can sit next to eachother on the way to Chicago. Bad news. He molested me while I was trying to sleep the whole way there. Geez. That ought to teach me to drink with strange, older men.
We arrive at O'Hare sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I get my bag and bolt partialy to avoid that guy (who's name I can't even remember- I'm not even sure if I'd remember what he looked like if I saw him again, honestly) but mostly because according to the departure screen, connecting flight is in a completely different terimnal, and my layover is only forty-five minutes. I got to sprint from one concourse to the other at three in the morning in a completely foreign city. Good fun, that. I made my connecting flight with no problems, other then that I really wanted to go have a cigarette and that I was slightly hungover. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time for a cigarette.
The flight to Lagardia was uneventful. By the time I got there I was ready to die. It had been over 24 hours since I slept- thanks to the guy on the first flight, I really didn't get any sleep. Sara picked me up, and I got my first view of the buildings of downtown Manhattan, from far away. All I could really formulate in my travel-exhastion marred brain was "WOW."' We stopped at a jewish bakery and got bagles. Why don't we have these out here? I want lox for my bagles dammit! They over like five different types of fish to be put on your bagle. It's brilliant.
We got back to Sara's house in Queens, and hauled the absurd amount of junk I brought with inside. I'm incapable of packing light. After a quick shower, I was out like a light, as Sara left to run some errands. I was completely unconscious for about three hours when she came and woke me up. I got dressed really quick, and then it was off to the East Villiage in Manhattan to pick up Angelica. We walked around, and I shopped- I must always shop. I own more clothes then many small families. It's disgusting. But in the Villiage that day I picked up a velvet jacket (Because just having one isn't enough), and the vinyl waist cincher (you know, the one with the buckles on?) that I'd been looking for. We picked up their other friend, Marrianne, and Angelica bailed out- she had to get early to be at work the next day. From there we went to Staten Island to see a few Con friends of theirs. By 10 PM, I was starting to feel pretty tired, and I was really uncomfortable because the friends were smoking pot even if my friends weren't. On the way back to Queens I picked up a second wind, and call another aquaintence of mine to ask for the address of a club he'd told me about. Address aquired Sara and I (Marrianne had stayed on Staten Island) changed clothes and headed back into Manhattan to go clubbing.
The club was called the Metro, and it was on Avenue A, between 6th and 7th. It was tiny, badly light, and had very expensive drinks. It played progessive and '80's music. There were people out front of that place that are a million times more hard core then me. Well, maybe not. I'm not counting. Anywho, it was so small, that there wasn't any room to dance, so we left by about 2:30. Oh. clubs in NYC close at 4 AM, and most places never stop serving alcohol. And yes, by gods, that was just ONE day!
It occurs to me that I haven't had any sleep in 48 hours. I will continue this story tomorrow. After 8 hours sleep. In the meantime, have some pictures. Please note, that this is NOT all of the pictures. I have this many more twice over, I beleive.
To be continued.
First of all, New York air is palpable. It has a FLAVOR. You can actually taste it in your mouth when you get off the plane. Second of all, it's huge. I mean, duh, of course it's huge. But what I mean to say is that it's so mind bogglingly huge as to incomprehensible to anyone who hasn't been there. Take San Franscisco and multiple it by six times. Maybe more. And then take the amount of people you'd have from San Francisco six times over and mutiple THAT by two. Then, just maybe, you might have an idea of how big New York City is. Third is traffic. We have absolutely NO RIGHT to complain about traffic. Sacramento? This is the boon docks. San Francisco? Maybe a bit tricky. If you thought Market Street is bad, don't ever try to drive in Manhattan. You'd slit your throat two Avenues in. The thing that really struck me about New York City drivers, is the COMPLETE AND TOTAL DISREGARD for lanes and turn signals and... well everything. It's pretty much a free for all. Anyone who gets home in one piece won, for the day. Even the pedestrians are agressive. They have what I have charmingly dubbed "The Manhattan Sidle" They will slowly inch their way into traffic untill you are literally mere inches from pasting them to the asphalt. As soon as there's a break in traffic they bolt out into the road. Whoooo. That's enough of that.
Okay. So I go to the airport and check my bags, get through security with no problems, and then I head straight for the bar to get me a good stiff drink to calm my nerves. As stated in my previous entry, my last expierence with flying is remembered less then fondly, so I was starting to panic, though I was doing well at not showing it. The guy I sat next to started flirting with me. Nothing unusual there. He bought me a drink. Also not unusual. Before I know it, I'm plowed and we've had our seats changed so that we can sit next to eachother on the way to Chicago. Bad news. He molested me while I was trying to sleep the whole way there. Geez. That ought to teach me to drink with strange, older men.
We arrive at O'Hare sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I get my bag and bolt partialy to avoid that guy (who's name I can't even remember- I'm not even sure if I'd remember what he looked like if I saw him again, honestly) but mostly because according to the departure screen, connecting flight is in a completely different terimnal, and my layover is only forty-five minutes. I got to sprint from one concourse to the other at three in the morning in a completely foreign city. Good fun, that. I made my connecting flight with no problems, other then that I really wanted to go have a cigarette and that I was slightly hungover. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time for a cigarette.
The flight to Lagardia was uneventful. By the time I got there I was ready to die. It had been over 24 hours since I slept- thanks to the guy on the first flight, I really didn't get any sleep. Sara picked me up, and I got my first view of the buildings of downtown Manhattan, from far away. All I could really formulate in my travel-exhastion marred brain was "WOW."' We stopped at a jewish bakery and got bagles. Why don't we have these out here? I want lox for my bagles dammit! They over like five different types of fish to be put on your bagle. It's brilliant.
We got back to Sara's house in Queens, and hauled the absurd amount of junk I brought with inside. I'm incapable of packing light. After a quick shower, I was out like a light, as Sara left to run some errands. I was completely unconscious for about three hours when she came and woke me up. I got dressed really quick, and then it was off to the East Villiage in Manhattan to pick up Angelica. We walked around, and I shopped- I must always shop. I own more clothes then many small families. It's disgusting. But in the Villiage that day I picked up a velvet jacket (Because just having one isn't enough), and the vinyl waist cincher (you know, the one with the buckles on?) that I'd been looking for. We picked up their other friend, Marrianne, and Angelica bailed out- she had to get early to be at work the next day. From there we went to Staten Island to see a few Con friends of theirs. By 10 PM, I was starting to feel pretty tired, and I was really uncomfortable because the friends were smoking pot even if my friends weren't. On the way back to Queens I picked up a second wind, and call another aquaintence of mine to ask for the address of a club he'd told me about. Address aquired Sara and I (Marrianne had stayed on Staten Island) changed clothes and headed back into Manhattan to go clubbing.
The club was called the Metro, and it was on Avenue A, between 6th and 7th. It was tiny, badly light, and had very expensive drinks. It played progessive and '80's music. There were people out front of that place that are a million times more hard core then me. Well, maybe not. I'm not counting. Anywho, it was so small, that there wasn't any room to dance, so we left by about 2:30. Oh. clubs in NYC close at 4 AM, and most places never stop serving alcohol. And yes, by gods, that was just ONE day!
It occurs to me that I haven't had any sleep in 48 hours. I will continue this story tomorrow. After 8 hours sleep. In the meantime, have some pictures. Please note, that this is NOT all of the pictures. I have this many more twice over, I beleive.
To be continued.