Momentum Wears a Bright Yellow Shirt... and No Helmet

One evening last week in NY, I was due to meet Nick and Reny in the lobby of their building at 8:30 so we could go walk down 9th and find something for dinner. I was running about 15 minutes ahead of time, so I decided to stretch my legs and make a bit of a walk out of it.
I was over on 10th Avenue and had just approached 55th Street. The light was red and the “Don’t Walk” sign was lit, but in true New Yorker fashion, I stepped out into the street anyway and looked up the hill to the left to see if any cars were actually coming.

That’s when I heard him… a few seconds before I actually saw him. Which is surprising because of the neon yellow dri-fit shirt he was wearing.

Just as I was about to cross the street, I heard “HOLY MOTHER F’ER!!!!!!!!” from up the street… I stopped in my tracks, having no idea where that was coming from and why. A split second later, I saw him – a rollerblader careening down 55th (ie. DOWN the hill) towards 10th, headed straight for the intersection, just as the light turned green and the cross-traffic began moving again. Mr. Neon Yellow skidded to the side, like hockey players as they angle themselves to slam an opposing player into the boards, fell and tumbled to the very edge of the intersection, missing the passing traffic by only a couple of feet.

I ran to him as he lay on the pavement, not moving and asked if he was ok, if he could move, if he needed me to call 911 (or anyone for that matter). He opened his eyes, raised himself on his elbows, shook his head and said “No, I think I’m ok.” He wasn’t bleeding and none of his limbs were sitting at weird angles, so I said “Well, let’s at least get you off the street” and tried to help him get up. Once I got him to his feet (er, wheels), he promptly fell down again.

By this time, a couple of other people had stopped to help (and who says New Yorkers don’t care??) and we managed to get our rollerblading buddy off the street, up onto the sidewalk and propped up against the side of the building. Again, we asked about calling 911 or getting a hold of a friend, but he refused again.

After making sure he had his bearings back, I headed up 55th and when I turned back to check up on him, I saw him sailing across 10th (with the traffic lights, thank goodness), his helmet-less head glinting under the street lamps and his arms and legs flailing in all directions. I think he yelled something else out, but I was too far away to hear it now. I can only imagine what the follow up to “mother f’er” might have been.

I don’t know who was watching over this guy to make sure he wasn’t killed, or even seriously injured, but whoever it was should really remind him to wear a helmet AND send him to Central Park where he would only risk crashing into trees and other rollerbladers.

It's Good To See You Again

Last week, I was back in New York for a few days for business – this was my first trip back to Gotham since my 36-hour extended farewell in the middle of August. It was great to be back, but it also felt pretty strange to be staying in a hotel. When my driver picked me up at JFK, he confirmed “Headed to The Dream Hotel on 55th?” and I started to respond, “No, we’re going to West End and … “ before my voice trailed off and I remembered that I was not actually going “home”, but that I was once again a temporary visitor in the city that never sleeps.

Although I have reams of evidence that I actually did live in New York for two years, on this trip, it all felt like it had all been just a very vivid dream. It’s the same feeling I get when I’ve just returned from a vacation – the feeling of never having been gone at all. This time, it was the interesting contradictory sensations of everything being intimately familiar yet brand new at the same time.

On the day of my arrival, I had a late dinner with Nick and Reny at a random Italian place on 9th Avenue (“It’s the best in the city!” the host promised as we pondered the menu from the sidewalk – it turned out that the host had a great gift … for hyperbole.) The next day was full of meetings and work and I was more than happy to finally escape the office around 7:00 to join Ally, Oda, Nick, Dina and Kim for drinks at Ava Lounge and then dinner at Brasserie Cognac. (We settled on Ava after trying three other places that were either closed completely or closed for private parties for Fashion Week…I guess it was appropriate to wind up at an old haunt on my first trip back to the city.)

After a quick 48 hours, I was back in another town car heading for JFK… so glad to have been in the city, but just as glad to be heading “home” for real.

Special Day for Special K

Happy Birthday to Special K! That's right, this is the momentus day on the calendar that is responsible for the delivery of Special K (and I don't mean the breakfast cereal, as you all should know by now) into this big old world.

The celebrations really started last night at Sangria in Hermosa Beach. Special K and PJ (accompanied this time by JC and IG) put on a little "First Fridays" show (on a Saturday) and in between renditions of "American Girl" and "Margaritaville", Howard busted out the birthday cake for both Special K and for Timber, another Septemeber 7 baby. At the stroke of midnight, we all raised a glass to the two birthday boys, and around 1:00 or 1:30, I herded half the band into the car and safely delivered them through a Del Taco drive-thru and then back to the Castle.

Today, the day kicked off with the Steelers first game of the season (Steelers killed the Texans), followed by a quick trip out to the beach.... who knows what the rest of the day shall bring!

Enjoy the baking soda, darling.

Whew!!

Wow, what a crazy couple of weeks! I haven’t disappeared off the face of the earth, but I have relocated back to the West Coast (SF Bay Area this time around) and as a result, my summer has been a hectic mess of work, travel, and oh yeah, moving across the country. And in between all the moving and relocation stuff, Special K and I also jetted off to both Dallas and Phoenix. The former for his mom’s birthday and the latter for a Labor Day weekend getaway.

For approximately two weeks, when someone asked me “Where do you live?”, I replied, “Well, technically I’m homeless… “ because I had given up my apartment in NY, but hadn’t yet settled in NoCal.

While the movers have now made their way across the country and delivered my stuff, much of it is still in boxes lying around my new place because I’ve hardly even been there to unpack. I don’t yet have cable, internet nor phone because I haven’t been in town consistently enough to arrange for the cable/internet/phone company to come by. (Lack of home internet connection is really the primary reason for my parallel lack of blogging activity.)

But I am slowly getting settled and putting all the pieces in place to construct yet another new chapter of my life in yet another new location. Updates to come!

My Last Night in New York ... Make That New Jersey

So after seeing Big Bird at La Fenice, I headed back to my [former] building to change into travel clothes, zip up my suitcase and catch my towncar to the airport. Although I never do this, something compelled me to call JetBlue and confirm that my flight out of JFK to Long Beach was on time. I just about dropped the phone when the automated computer voice said “Flight… Two-One-Seven has … been… canceled.” I had to press “replay” just to make sure I’d heard correctly.

Really? On my last day in NYC the last flight of the day to SoCal has been canceled? On the very day that the movers took everything away and I don’t even have a bed to crash on overnight? This was all very poetic (and predictable) in a warped Murphy’s Law sort of way.


I looked at my watch. 3:06. My car was due to pick me up at 3:30. Should I just cancel the car? Should I go to the airport with the hope of figuring something out once I get there? I dialed our corporate travel agent and within a few minutes, I had a brand new ticket on a new airline (US Airways), out of a different airport (Newark), in a different state (New Jersey), headed to a slightly different destination (Los Angeles) and with one connection (Phoenix). Not exactly ideal, but considering how many flights had been canceled due to the weather, I felt pretty fortunate just to have a ticket.


At exactly 3:30, I rode the elevator down (for the last time), hugged Leo and Nigel (two of the building concierges) good-bye and located my driver out on the street. As he threw my suitcase into the trunk, he said “All set to go to JFK?” I responded, “Nope! Change of plans – we’re going to Newark instead!” Without missing a beat he said “No worries, I could take you to Philadelphia if you wanted!” and we were off towards the Lincoln Tunnel.


When I arrived at Newark, my new LAX-bound flight was already running almost two hours late. Given that I had only an hour layover in Phoenix to begin with, I called US Airways and re-booked myself on the first flight from Phoenix to LA the next morning and then I called Marriott and booked myself a hotel room as close to the airport as possible.


Over the course of the next 6 hours, the US Airways gate staff in Newark would delay the flight another 5 times, each time adding 30 – 60 minutes to our anticipated departure time. Finally our aircraft arrived, but Mr. Murphy had diverted another plane with our intended flight crew to Albany for refueling.


Finally, at 11:00 pm, a sheepish gate agent came back over the loud speaker and said, “At this time, we are officially canceling Flight 352 to Phoenix”. A collective groan went up in the waiting area and one woman collapsed in hysterics.


I called a couple of hotel chains to try and get a room, but characteristically for New York, every room was booked. The Marriott Rewards customer service agent told me very seriously that there was a room at the Ritz Carlton Downtown in the city and it was a gorgeous 2500 sq. ft. suite with incredible amenities. We both dissolved into giggles when she said it was only $7500 per night. I told her I would have considered it for $6500, but $7500 was just a little too over the top.


I called JetBlue back again and had them scour their Saturday schedule for west bound flights. All New York-Long Beach flights were long since sold out and overbooked, but the agent was able to send me to Salt Lake City and then connect me through to San Diego where I would have to rent a car for a two-hour drive to Special K’s house in The OC.


It was now close to 11:30 pm on Friday night and I was staring at the very real possibility of either (a.) hanging around Newark airport all night (no thank you), (b.) going back to my now empty apartment and sleeping on the floor (less than ideal) or (c.) wandering around Times Square all night, pulling my last “all-nighter” Big Apple style (exhausting just to think about – besides, what would I do with my luggage?)


I called Nick on his cell phone, reasoning that if they were asleep already, the cell phone would be off and at least I wouldn’t have woken them up. Hallelujah! Nick answered on the second ring and soon, I was in a towncar, heading back into Manhattan where I crashed on Nick and Reny’s couch for the night.


Nick and Reny fed me a great breakfast and we even had time to take wee Ryan out to the courtyard for some soccer before I was due to catch yet another car bound for JFK. Upon arrival at the airport, I was not surprised at all to see that my Salt Lake/San Diego flight was already over an hour late. I finally got out of JFK at about 3:00 pm on Saturday afternoon and after a bit of a planes and automobiles adventure (no trains, although it was close), finally showed up on Special K’s doorstep at about 9:30 pm on Saturday night, roughly 36 hours after this whole adventure had begun on the opposite coast.


Escape from New York complete! And I look much cuter with an eye patch than Kurt Russell did.

My Last Day in New York

As far as moving goes, Friday actually went fairly smoothly. There were a couple of hiccups, but nothing that derailed the process in any way. In spite of dealing with the logistics of moving, my last day in NYC was actually pretty great -- surprisingly so since I had mentally prepared myself for a gruelling day of potential nonsense beyond my control. (As it turned out, I wouldn't be disappointed -- the nonsense would come later (in spades) and as you'll see from my next blog entry, it was completely beyond my control.)

Quick review of Friday ("Move Day"):

At 6:00 am, I got up to shower, un-make my bed and get the last few things tucked away in boxes.

The movers were booked (and confirmed) to show up between 8:00 and 8:30 so that they would have enough time to load before I had to leave to catch my flight later in the day. The moving foreman finally appeared around 9:15 and the truck showed up an hour after that. They assured me that it wouldn't take long to load the truck and they were right -- they were pretty much done by 1:00 pm, even though they had to deal with a double-booked elevator and someone else who was trying to move in as I was trying to move out.

After tipping the movers and loading them up with various cold bottled drinks to take with them, I was left alone in my now empty apartment. I took a few minutes to remember the first time I saw this apartment when I first picked up my keys almost two years ago. It was empty then, too, but full of possibilities instead of mostly pleasant memories. What a difference two years makes and how humbling to realize that your presence hasn't made any structural, permanent changes and that the few marks that you did leave on the wall will just be scrubbed or painted away and that space will come the anchor for someone else's personal story very soon. As I thought about that, I dug a Sharpie marker out of my bag, got down on the kitchen floor and wrote "I Heart NY" on the bottom of one of the kitchen drawers. A little silly perhaps, but I liked the thought that a little piece of me will remain on the west side, at least until that kitchen is remodeled.

Because of the movers' efficiency, I had a couple of hours before my car was due to pick me up at the airport, so I headed out to grab some lunch. I was only planning to hit a deli for a quick sandwich, but as I was walking down Columbus, I slowed my pace as I walked by an Italian restaurant I had always wanted to try. "La Fenice" has always looked quaint, warm and inviting from the outside, but I had never actually been there for a meal. I went inside and sat at the bar and struck up a conversation with the bartender. Instead of a banal sandwich, I had ravioli neri with gorgonzola cheese cream sauce (I'm not due to check my cholesterol for another month or so, thank goodness!), a brilliant ceasar salad and a bread basket with a medley of different pastes and dips.

Now THIS was worthy of being my last lunch in NYC! When Peter The Bartender found out that I was moving that very day, he also treated me to dessert on the house, an incredible layered treat of mango and raspberry mousses.

When I was half-way through my lunch, an older couple came in and all the servers went over to say hello. Even Peter the Bartender left his station and visited the couple with the white, silvery hair for a few moments. When Peter came back to the bar, he leaned in and said to me "That guy is Big Bird on Sesame Street! They come in all the time!" My eyes immediately drifted to the wall space above the mirrors behind the bar where a plate was hanging with a hand-drawn sketch of Big Bird and the signature of Caroll Spinney. Peter saw my eyes go immediately to that plate (because I'd seen it as soon as I sat down) and he smiled and nodded, "Yep, that's him!"

I smiled at what a truly "only in New York" moment this was and how great it was that this should happen on my last day, at an unplanned lunch at a restaurant I'd never been in before.

Peter and the other servers wished me the best of luck and I headed home (for the last time) to change clothes and grab my suitcases. This is where the "nonsense" started. Stay tuned...

Please Don't Go! (Or "New York's Last Act of Desperation")

New York, please don't stand in my way. We've talked about this. You know I have to leave. We're just not meant to be together long-term. I need to move on and put some space between us for a while. Your holding me back just makes the whole situation more difficult for both of us. You're so aloof and hard to get close to so much of the time, so I find it surprising that you're actually trying to hold on to me. (Frankly, it comes across as a little desperate, and it's not a side that I'd show very often if I were you.)

Haven't you ever heard the parable about the sun and the wind? Or the saying that if you love someone, you should set them free?

You know I love you, but preventing me from leaving on not just one, but TWO flights is just not cool.