(no subject)
8 April
I went to the Museum of Modern Art for the first time in ages and ages. Even without 'The Starry Night' and 'The Persistence of Memory' (both out on loan), it's still pretty much an indisputable fact that this is the finest collection of its kind in the world, an avalanche of one iconic image after another. And then I walked over to 11th Avenue (I didn't even know they went that high!), to attend a taping of The Daily Show. But, alas, I was too slow. I did have a ticket reserved: but the trouble is that they deliberately overbook, to ensure a full house; and about a third of the queue was turned away. Including me. Oh well. I did get to watch a rather nice two hour documentary on PBS about, funnily enough, Philip Glass; and then I just watched The Daily Show on the telly as usual.
9 April
But I didn't give up! I checked out of the hotel at eleven, but I lingered in the lobby, to take advantage of the wireless internet. And managed to make a new reservation for that day's show. Yay! I left the hotel with a heavy rucksack and a light heart. Spent about an hour and a half in Central Park, and then just headed straight over to the studio. I was eighth in line this time, and it took another half hour for as many people to join the queue behind me, so I guess I could have left it a little while longer. But then, I had a book to read, and nothing better to do, and I was keen not to risk missing out again. So I had a long wait, but I got in just fine. It was kind of magical to see The Daily Show set laid out right in front of me. You need to bear in mind that, even though I did miss a few years of it until More 4 picked it up, I've basically been watching this show since it started in 1996: I'm a big fan! And tonight's was very funny.
I went from there straight down to Penn Station, my work in New York now done, and I got on the NJ Transit North-East Corridor line down to Princeton. The tickets are different, and so are the trains themselves. But, getting off the train at Princeton: well, I can't really say that it was nostalgic, because that would connote some sense of the passage of time, and there was just none. It genuinely felt as if I'd never been away. But I kind of messed up with my hotel. Only it's not my fault! I chose it almost entirely on the basis of its location: but hotels.co.uk flat-out lied to me about where it was! I did actually get wind of this fact the night before I left the UK, but I couldn't satisfy myself as to where it really was because, on subsequent investigation, I found two other websites identifying two more completely different locations for it, to bring the total to four possibilities, several miles apart. I figured that the one on the hotel's own website ought to be the most trustworthy, and, sure enough, it did turn out to be the correct one. Which is by far the most remote and inconvenient of all four, in a land entirely devoid of public transport. Harrumph. I have managed to identify a walking route into town: but it's about six miles. Oh well, I guess I can afford taxis if it's really necessary, and it does rather look like it's going to be really necessary. Looking on the bright side, it is at least a stunningly good hotel -- I've even got my own kitchen! -- and nothing like as expensive as one would expect either.
I went to the Museum of Modern Art for the first time in ages and ages. Even without 'The Starry Night' and 'The Persistence of Memory' (both out on loan), it's still pretty much an indisputable fact that this is the finest collection of its kind in the world, an avalanche of one iconic image after another. And then I walked over to 11th Avenue (I didn't even know they went that high!), to attend a taping of The Daily Show. But, alas, I was too slow. I did have a ticket reserved: but the trouble is that they deliberately overbook, to ensure a full house; and about a third of the queue was turned away. Including me. Oh well. I did get to watch a rather nice two hour documentary on PBS about, funnily enough, Philip Glass; and then I just watched The Daily Show on the telly as usual.
9 April
But I didn't give up! I checked out of the hotel at eleven, but I lingered in the lobby, to take advantage of the wireless internet. And managed to make a new reservation for that day's show. Yay! I left the hotel with a heavy rucksack and a light heart. Spent about an hour and a half in Central Park, and then just headed straight over to the studio. I was eighth in line this time, and it took another half hour for as many people to join the queue behind me, so I guess I could have left it a little while longer. But then, I had a book to read, and nothing better to do, and I was keen not to risk missing out again. So I had a long wait, but I got in just fine. It was kind of magical to see The Daily Show set laid out right in front of me. You need to bear in mind that, even though I did miss a few years of it until More 4 picked it up, I've basically been watching this show since it started in 1996: I'm a big fan! And tonight's was very funny.
I went from there straight down to Penn Station, my work in New York now done, and I got on the NJ Transit North-East Corridor line down to Princeton. The tickets are different, and so are the trains themselves. But, getting off the train at Princeton: well, I can't really say that it was nostalgic, because that would connote some sense of the passage of time, and there was just none. It genuinely felt as if I'd never been away. But I kind of messed up with my hotel. Only it's not my fault! I chose it almost entirely on the basis of its location: but hotels.co.uk flat-out lied to me about where it was! I did actually get wind of this fact the night before I left the UK, but I couldn't satisfy myself as to where it really was because, on subsequent investigation, I found two other websites identifying two more completely different locations for it, to bring the total to four possibilities, several miles apart. I figured that the one on the hotel's own website ought to be the most trustworthy, and, sure enough, it did turn out to be the correct one. Which is by far the most remote and inconvenient of all four, in a land entirely devoid of public transport. Harrumph. I have managed to identify a walking route into town: but it's about six miles. Oh well, I guess I can afford taxis if it's really necessary, and it does rather look like it's going to be really necessary. Looking on the bright side, it is at least a stunningly good hotel -- I've even got my own kitchen! -- and nothing like as expensive as one would expect either.