New York Report Part 2
Saturday, February 11: Hey, Where'd They Send the Hookers, Anyway?
A few hours later, we awoke and tried to formulate a plan for the day. We knew we wanted to get bagels and see a show, so we did some research with that in mind. Having discovered the location of a bagel place, we struck out in search of it.
It turns out that we were a couple blocks east of Times Square - and to be fair, I think that close to Times Square is considered to be Times Square - so we hoofed it out to Broadway to search for our bagel place. It was cold but not windy, and quite nice in the sun (when it peeped through the clouds). The sidewalks were packed with people (mostly tourists), and we marveled at the extent to which Times Square had been commercialized over the past couple of decades. Okay, so we'd never been there before, but I've read enough to know what it used to be like.
Tracking down the bagel place was a pain in the ass - Google maps misdirected us. Eventually we found it and each ordered a breakfasty-type sandwich, which was nothing short of delicious. We headed back out into the chill while noshing, intent on finding the matinee ticket kiosk.
The kiosk is this shanty at the north end of TS where you can see what shows are playing that day and get tickets as much as 50% off face value. Either cash or Traveler's checks are accepted. We got there at 1:45 PM, and scored two tickets for The Producers at 33% off for the 2 PM show. We then walked for maybe ten minutes over to the theatre and strolled on in. We had great seats in the small, beautiful theatre, and I busted a gut laughing. The Producers is not the best musical I've ever seen (I think Les Miserables deserves that accolade), but it is easily the funniest. I laughed throughout, and at times laughed until I cried. Mel Brooks really is a genius.
After the show we emerged into a cold overcast - it had begun snowing, though very lightly. We saw a few people dressed ridiculously and shook our heads; our thin California blood had compelled us to dress warmly, even though no snow was in the forecast for that afternoon. I had my topcoat, a second jacket, and my Gryffindor scarf (thanks, blackmoondog!). Sce was layered so heavily she was afraid she looked pregnant.
We went back to our hotel and crashed for a couple hours.
Upon waking, we arose to darkness and a thin crust of snow on our balcony and railings. Our window looked west, I believe, toward Times Square, and it was aglow with megawatts of neon striking snowflakes. Quite beautiful, actually. I found it peaceful to just sit and stare at the snow flurries.
Our plan for the evening was to visit one of Mario Batali's three NY restaurants, and I chose Esca for us. I had called a week and a half prior to get a reservation, but they said they were a) booked up and b) usually able to find space for two of an evening. We stuck to plan, but it was about 3/4 of a mile away, and the snow was starting to pile up. We decided to walk in the general direction, and get a cab if we felt it necessary.
It wasn't truly necessary (though if you ask Sce, she would probably disagree); we ended up making it there in a few minutes, and we got seated immediately. I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed walking through the snow; I felt a sense of the sharp-edged urban intensity being dulled by the snowfall, and watched as people walked their dogs and rode their bikes and pushed their sidewalk salt-spreaders.
Dinner was great. Esca is a seafood restaurant, and the universe of tastes we experienced was thrilling and satisfying. We had a lovely bottle of white wine along with, and by the time we headed back out into the snow, we were stuffed fat and happy.
We ended up walking back, stopping briefly in the middle of times square to take pictures and marvel at the snow glow. Our hotel bar/swimming pool (no, I am not making that up) was jumping when we got back. We ditched our coats in the room and then went back downstairs to get a drink and watch the beautiful people play in the pool. There were a couple of bare-breasted water nymphs splashing around, which made for good entertainment. Really, everyone in the pool - male and female - were quite attractive, so we sat on the stadium seats with our drinks and just did the people-watching thing. It was amusing to say the least.
Having exhausted the possibilities of the pool bar (neither of us brought swimwear), we figured we'd head up 45th a few doors to Connolly's, an Irish pub, for the last couple drinks of the evening. Sce had a scotch (blasphemy!) and I had a Jameson's, and we sat and basically just chilled for a bit. Being the music fiend that I am, I went to check out the super-futuristic jukebox and was aghast to discover that an Irish bar had no Flogging Molly tunes! The bouncer overheard me and indicated that we should head upstairs for that kind of entertainment, as a live band was playing. We staggered up to the 3rd floor, and holy shit! Black 47 was playing. Turns out they play at Connolly's every Saturday night. We grabbed a couple of stools and listened as they played the last song of the night and began to pack up. Ah well, it was pretty late after all.
After finishing our drinks, we stumbled back downstairs and out into the cold, making it back to our hotel safely.
They have really good pr0n in New York hotels, by the way.
At some point in the early morning, I was awakened by flickering lights, and when I got up to investigate, the snow was still swirling and the world outside was still glowing. Thundersnow, they call it these days. I crawled back into bed and slept the sleep of the drunk and happy.
A few hours later, we awoke and tried to formulate a plan for the day. We knew we wanted to get bagels and see a show, so we did some research with that in mind. Having discovered the location of a bagel place, we struck out in search of it.
It turns out that we were a couple blocks east of Times Square - and to be fair, I think that close to Times Square is considered to be Times Square - so we hoofed it out to Broadway to search for our bagel place. It was cold but not windy, and quite nice in the sun (when it peeped through the clouds). The sidewalks were packed with people (mostly tourists), and we marveled at the extent to which Times Square had been commercialized over the past couple of decades. Okay, so we'd never been there before, but I've read enough to know what it used to be like.
Tracking down the bagel place was a pain in the ass - Google maps misdirected us. Eventually we found it and each ordered a breakfasty-type sandwich, which was nothing short of delicious. We headed back out into the chill while noshing, intent on finding the matinee ticket kiosk.
The kiosk is this shanty at the north end of TS where you can see what shows are playing that day and get tickets as much as 50% off face value. Either cash or Traveler's checks are accepted. We got there at 1:45 PM, and scored two tickets for The Producers at 33% off for the 2 PM show. We then walked for maybe ten minutes over to the theatre and strolled on in. We had great seats in the small, beautiful theatre, and I busted a gut laughing. The Producers is not the best musical I've ever seen (I think Les Miserables deserves that accolade), but it is easily the funniest. I laughed throughout, and at times laughed until I cried. Mel Brooks really is a genius.
After the show we emerged into a cold overcast - it had begun snowing, though very lightly. We saw a few people dressed ridiculously and shook our heads; our thin California blood had compelled us to dress warmly, even though no snow was in the forecast for that afternoon. I had my topcoat, a second jacket, and my Gryffindor scarf (thanks, blackmoondog!). Sce was layered so heavily she was afraid she looked pregnant.
We went back to our hotel and crashed for a couple hours.
Upon waking, we arose to darkness and a thin crust of snow on our balcony and railings. Our window looked west, I believe, toward Times Square, and it was aglow with megawatts of neon striking snowflakes. Quite beautiful, actually. I found it peaceful to just sit and stare at the snow flurries.
Our plan for the evening was to visit one of Mario Batali's three NY restaurants, and I chose Esca for us. I had called a week and a half prior to get a reservation, but they said they were a) booked up and b) usually able to find space for two of an evening. We stuck to plan, but it was about 3/4 of a mile away, and the snow was starting to pile up. We decided to walk in the general direction, and get a cab if we felt it necessary.
It wasn't truly necessary (though if you ask Sce, she would probably disagree); we ended up making it there in a few minutes, and we got seated immediately. I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed walking through the snow; I felt a sense of the sharp-edged urban intensity being dulled by the snowfall, and watched as people walked their dogs and rode their bikes and pushed their sidewalk salt-spreaders.
Dinner was great. Esca is a seafood restaurant, and the universe of tastes we experienced was thrilling and satisfying. We had a lovely bottle of white wine along with, and by the time we headed back out into the snow, we were stuffed fat and happy.
We ended up walking back, stopping briefly in the middle of times square to take pictures and marvel at the snow glow. Our hotel bar/swimming pool (no, I am not making that up) was jumping when we got back. We ditched our coats in the room and then went back downstairs to get a drink and watch the beautiful people play in the pool. There were a couple of bare-breasted water nymphs splashing around, which made for good entertainment. Really, everyone in the pool - male and female - were quite attractive, so we sat on the stadium seats with our drinks and just did the people-watching thing. It was amusing to say the least.
Having exhausted the possibilities of the pool bar (neither of us brought swimwear), we figured we'd head up 45th a few doors to Connolly's, an Irish pub, for the last couple drinks of the evening. Sce had a scotch (blasphemy!) and I had a Jameson's, and we sat and basically just chilled for a bit. Being the music fiend that I am, I went to check out the super-futuristic jukebox and was aghast to discover that an Irish bar had no Flogging Molly tunes! The bouncer overheard me and indicated that we should head upstairs for that kind of entertainment, as a live band was playing. We staggered up to the 3rd floor, and holy shit! Black 47 was playing. Turns out they play at Connolly's every Saturday night. We grabbed a couple of stools and listened as they played the last song of the night and began to pack up. Ah well, it was pretty late after all.
After finishing our drinks, we stumbled back downstairs and out into the cold, making it back to our hotel safely.
They have really good pr0n in New York hotels, by the way.
At some point in the early morning, I was awakened by flickering lights, and when I got up to investigate, the snow was still swirling and the world outside was still glowing. Thundersnow, they call it these days. I crawled back into bed and slept the sleep of the drunk and happy.