This was My Weekend . . . How was Yours?
Upon arrival Friday afternoon-about a half hour after I left work on one of only four half day Fridays left in my summer-my aunt from Ohio (who I have to confess I have never spent an extended amount of one on one time with) puts down her bag and immediately announces she is ready to see New York. The plan for her weekend visit was conceived while sitting Shiva from my grandmother (her mother) only a month earlier. My aunt had not been to New York in almost twenty five years (since her brother-in-law graduated rabbinic school) and I foolishly announced that the city has gone through some significant since then. So she says she’d like to come up and visit, but everyone says that. I said sure she could crash on my couch any time. A week later she had her plane reservations.
So we left my apartment and headed to SOHO for some shopping and lunch. During this time I was regaled with a full account of my grandmothers last twenty four hours on earth. This account actually lasted eight hours (it went over into Saturday and did not end till we met up with my parents who were in for a couple hours between their cruise and their departing flight). After walking her down every side street and alley way, I took her to the Empire State building to catch the sunset and see the city lights. We didn’t make it up the tower in time for the sunset. But my aunt did take the opportunity to speak to almost every stranger standing near us in line. This is sort of overwhelming to someone like me who stresses over things like attending a party for Spin magazine, though I desperately want to do a project with them, because I’ll have to speak to people and I’m not quite sure what I will say. I did discover that my aunt could maintain a conversation for close to three hours with no more coaxing than “uh” “hmm” “really” and “oh wow”. This was a relief because I am quite adept and tuning people out by playing entire albums in my head.
Saturday morning we were roused from our bed (which we actually hit at about 12:30) at 8 a.m. by my parents announcing their arrival. We ran uptown to meet them. I left my aunt with my mother and went book shopping with my father-a much needed and appreciated respite as my father is much more quiet than my aunt. After my folks left for the airport my aunt and I went to Lincoln Center to try and get tickets for The Frogs (which we were unable to do), went to Central Park, went to Rockafeller center, went to Time Square where we attempted to get rush tickets for Aida, Wicked, Caroline or Change and finally Mama Mia (for which we secured $21 standing room only tickets). During this time I found out that my aunt intends to vote for Bush-even though she’s against the war, for stem cell research, pro choice and interested in finding other means of fueling energy outside of oil-because she thinks Kerry comes across as arrogant and she doesn’t like his wife that much either. With an hour on our hands we went to get a quick bite in Hell’s Kitchen, but my aunt turns out to be a picky eater (she doesn’t really like Greek, Chinese, Sushi, Thai or Italian dishes that are primarily red sauces). We settled on a small Italian café with forty minutes before curtain and she ordered linguini with oil and pepper (now doesn’t that sound just delicious?). I stood for two and half hours through Mama Mia, which when it premiered on Broadway I would often refer to as the demise of theater as an art. Silly rabbit there’s no difference between art and product in a consumerist culture.
Sunday morning we got up at 5 a.m. and caught a train to the Hamptons. At 8 p.m. we caught a train from the Hamptons back to Manhattan. In between we spent time at the beach where I subsequently left my aunt with my New York aunt (they’re in-laws not direct relatives), her husband, her husband’s cousins wife and my little cousin. I had no compunction because I’d spent the train ride up listening to her critique People magazine-she doesn’t like Hugh Grant, doesn’t know who Laura Linney is, thinks Gwenyth Platrow is talented (and she has the Oscar to prove it) and believe that Lacy Peterson’s husband is not guilty.
Monday I woke up forty five minutes early and traveled to Time Square during rush hour to get her to The Big Apple Tour because she did not feel comfortable traveling around New York by herself-she doesn’t like looking at maps, they give her a headache. I went to work to begin a week of hell. I returned to Time Square-again during rush hour-to retrieve her, we went to Lincoln Center to attempt to get tickets for The Frogs again. It was sold out. We went to Brooklyn to shop at Beacon’s Closet because she said she really likes second hand clothing stores, but it was closed. We went to a cute restaurant on Berry, but had to leave because there was nothing on the menu she wanted to eat (Octopus is apparently not her style). We ended up at a dilapidated diner run by Polish people where she vacillated between lecturing me about my eating habits (namely that she felt I did not eat) and talking about how she is the heaviest she has ever been in her life-oh yes she’s shorter than I am and about thirty pounds heavier. We went home, but at 9 p.m. she considered it too early to retire. After cleaning my apartment, giving me some redecorating tips that would send my dear Martha MacGyver into conniptions, we settled on going to a movie. Her requirements for a movie are as follows: no violence, no sex, happy endings and little to no cursing. We decided on Little Black Book. Throughout the film I would fidget in my seat because-and this is not an experience I have had very often-the film was so bad it made me physically uncomfortable to watch it. But it was nice to see Holly Hunter recreate her role from Broadcast News surrounded by the worst supporting cast ever.
This morning I kissed her good-bye and told her how much I hope she really enjoyed her trip to New York. The experience has taught me two things: you can get a shitload done in a weekend if you wake up at dawn and go straight till midnight and if this woman were not my aunt I would probably really despise her.
So we left my apartment and headed to SOHO for some shopping and lunch. During this time I was regaled with a full account of my grandmothers last twenty four hours on earth. This account actually lasted eight hours (it went over into Saturday and did not end till we met up with my parents who were in for a couple hours between their cruise and their departing flight). After walking her down every side street and alley way, I took her to the Empire State building to catch the sunset and see the city lights. We didn’t make it up the tower in time for the sunset. But my aunt did take the opportunity to speak to almost every stranger standing near us in line. This is sort of overwhelming to someone like me who stresses over things like attending a party for Spin magazine, though I desperately want to do a project with them, because I’ll have to speak to people and I’m not quite sure what I will say. I did discover that my aunt could maintain a conversation for close to three hours with no more coaxing than “uh” “hmm” “really” and “oh wow”. This was a relief because I am quite adept and tuning people out by playing entire albums in my head.
Saturday morning we were roused from our bed (which we actually hit at about 12:30) at 8 a.m. by my parents announcing their arrival. We ran uptown to meet them. I left my aunt with my mother and went book shopping with my father-a much needed and appreciated respite as my father is much more quiet than my aunt. After my folks left for the airport my aunt and I went to Lincoln Center to try and get tickets for The Frogs (which we were unable to do), went to Central Park, went to Rockafeller center, went to Time Square where we attempted to get rush tickets for Aida, Wicked, Caroline or Change and finally Mama Mia (for which we secured $21 standing room only tickets). During this time I found out that my aunt intends to vote for Bush-even though she’s against the war, for stem cell research, pro choice and interested in finding other means of fueling energy outside of oil-because she thinks Kerry comes across as arrogant and she doesn’t like his wife that much either. With an hour on our hands we went to get a quick bite in Hell’s Kitchen, but my aunt turns out to be a picky eater (she doesn’t really like Greek, Chinese, Sushi, Thai or Italian dishes that are primarily red sauces). We settled on a small Italian café with forty minutes before curtain and she ordered linguini with oil and pepper (now doesn’t that sound just delicious?). I stood for two and half hours through Mama Mia, which when it premiered on Broadway I would often refer to as the demise of theater as an art. Silly rabbit there’s no difference between art and product in a consumerist culture.
Sunday morning we got up at 5 a.m. and caught a train to the Hamptons. At 8 p.m. we caught a train from the Hamptons back to Manhattan. In between we spent time at the beach where I subsequently left my aunt with my New York aunt (they’re in-laws not direct relatives), her husband, her husband’s cousins wife and my little cousin. I had no compunction because I’d spent the train ride up listening to her critique People magazine-she doesn’t like Hugh Grant, doesn’t know who Laura Linney is, thinks Gwenyth Platrow is talented (and she has the Oscar to prove it) and believe that Lacy Peterson’s husband is not guilty.
Monday I woke up forty five minutes early and traveled to Time Square during rush hour to get her to The Big Apple Tour because she did not feel comfortable traveling around New York by herself-she doesn’t like looking at maps, they give her a headache. I went to work to begin a week of hell. I returned to Time Square-again during rush hour-to retrieve her, we went to Lincoln Center to attempt to get tickets for The Frogs again. It was sold out. We went to Brooklyn to shop at Beacon’s Closet because she said she really likes second hand clothing stores, but it was closed. We went to a cute restaurant on Berry, but had to leave because there was nothing on the menu she wanted to eat (Octopus is apparently not her style). We ended up at a dilapidated diner run by Polish people where she vacillated between lecturing me about my eating habits (namely that she felt I did not eat) and talking about how she is the heaviest she has ever been in her life-oh yes she’s shorter than I am and about thirty pounds heavier. We went home, but at 9 p.m. she considered it too early to retire. After cleaning my apartment, giving me some redecorating tips that would send my dear Martha MacGyver into conniptions, we settled on going to a movie. Her requirements for a movie are as follows: no violence, no sex, happy endings and little to no cursing. We decided on Little Black Book. Throughout the film I would fidget in my seat because-and this is not an experience I have had very often-the film was so bad it made me physically uncomfortable to watch it. But it was nice to see Holly Hunter recreate her role from Broadcast News surrounded by the worst supporting cast ever.
This morning I kissed her good-bye and told her how much I hope she really enjoyed her trip to New York. The experience has taught me two things: you can get a shitload done in a weekend if you wake up at dawn and go straight till midnight and if this woman were not my aunt I would probably really despise her.