Is there such a thing as a perfect day in New York; a day so perfect that I can still taste it later? Can New York dish up the kind of day that makes me want to sing and dance in Grand Central Station? Can it make me forget full taxis flying by, when I thought my feet would fall off? Can the splendid flower kiosks, stunning public parks, soaring majestic buildings, and endless delicious little restaurants make me overlook strange street smells, homeless people sleeping on grates, and a nearly naked lady playing guitar in Times Square? Can a city where it has rained ashes and bodies make me believe in mankind? Can it make me happy? I believe it can.
Is there such a thing as a perfect day in New York? Personally, I’ve had good ones and bad ones. I’ve felt trapped like a bird in a cage, vowing I’d never return, when I couldn’t leave to chase an angel whispering goodbye elsewhere. I’ve braced myself against bitter winds, bending forward, head bowed against the raging winter. I’ve dodged rain drops, chilling rain, and enormous dark puddles reflecting ubiquitous sirens. I’ve been stuck on the subway. I’ve been honked at and yelled at.
But, I’ve also been helped. Doors have been held open and people have smiled and waved. I have lingered under the European plane trees in Bryant Park at a wrought iron table enjoying the late afternoon summer sun as it filtered through the leaves. I’ve dawdled about on the monumental steps of the Public Library and at the edge of a pond in Central Park. I’ve been swept up in lost, joyous, crazy crowds at Times Square. I’ve walked long boulevards and avenues, where horse-drawn carriages once travelled, catching snippets of conversations and languages and dialects and accents and humanity.
In New York, a complete stranger told me I looked nice then scurried away. When people’s eyes meet, no-one looks away. They share jokes. They hear your thoughts. They agree. They disagree. They laugh. They leave. They turn. They connect. They intersect like a mad science experiment. No-one is from there; they’re all lost, asking for directions and unfolding maps. The energy is intoxicating, but it might be exhausting.
So, is there such a thing as a perfect day in New York? Yes, yes, there is! You start at the Museum of Modern Art, where you and your friends float through rooms filled with masterpieces and strange colours and clever designs. Then, you chance upon a tiny Italian restaurant next door to the theatre you’ll be attending later that afternoon. The restaurant is authentic: the waiters speak Italian or heavily-accented English and it smells like a garden, so you’ll reminisce about visiting Umbria once long ago.
Now, for a perfect day in New York, you and your friends will go to a Broadway show after your lovely omelette and salad and wine. The theatre district is bustling. There are actors and singers and stage managers wearing canvas bags over black t-shirts advertising current hits, sliding effortlessly through crowds of tourists reading billboards and lining up at ticket counters. Your perfect day should include – as mine did – a brand new play that’s just opened. “Relatively Speaking” is a show with three one-act plays, written by well-known comedians (including Woody Allen), and loaded with famous actors whose CVs would fill a book.
After the show, which might make you cry and will for sure make you laugh and shake your head in awe at the talent, you and your friends should be pampered at a Danny Meyer restaurant. Danny Meyer is the CEO of a company that owns and operates several wonderful restaurants in New York mostly around Union Square. We ate at Grammercy Tavern, a very popular restaurant known for its seamless but relaxed service, interesting wine list and, above all, absolutely delicious food. I started my perfect dinner on my perfect day with the “open ravioli”. I chose the ravioli because I’d been lucky enough to be treated to lunch the day before at Maialino, the latest in the Danny Meyer collection, where I ate the most heavenly ravioli ever – the pasta was as thin as tissue paper, and bulged with a rich ricotta mixture, all of it steeping in a brown butter, lemon and sage sauce.
After dinner, during which the staff will have effortlessly made you feel right at home, you will hail a taxi. Since it is a perfect day in New York, the first taxi on the scene will stop as soon as you raise your hand to hail it. The driver will kindly drop you right in front of the theatre where you’re going for the next Broadway show, even though it’s so crowded he can hardly get through the street. You will see a musical – ah the musical! There’s nothing like the singing and dancing! The costumes, the Cole Porter tunes, the innocent love! The show, “Anything Goes”, which has won a Tony for best revival, delivered on every count. The star, Sutton Foster, who plays feisty Reno Sweeny, is exactly the kind of confident, glamorous gal who can steal a show and drag everyone with her to bring a top performance every time. Her sense of fun and perfect timing were infectious; she just lit up the stage!
Oh, have I mentioned that it was sunny and warm, too?
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Monday, February 28, 2011
Punch-Buggy-Green-One-No-Punch-Backs!
I would have a major bone to pick with the marketing team that brought back punching when you see a VW Bug on the road, except that I strongly suspect the trend was revitalized by a 12-year old girl. Why ... because my 12 year-old girl derives SUCH pleasure from punching me under the pretence that it’s for the car.
Every punch is loaded. She punches hard. I, of course, am watching the road, trying to protect her life, which is my JOB. She, on the other hand, is adjusting the radio stations and volume, texting her friends, checking her face in the mirror and ... POW! “Red one”, she shouts!
She punches hard. I’m telling you: every punch is loaded. It has meaning. It has feeling. One says, “You woke me up too early”. Then ... POW! “Blue one! Ha ... that’s two already!” That punch feels like retaliation for making her finish her homework before playing on the computer. Just before turning into our street ... POW! POW! “Beige one! Double punch for convertibles!” That must have been for making her pick up her dirty laundry...
Think about it!? I mean, would you have been allowed to PUNCH your parents? I shudder thinking about it. I’m nearly 50 and I still wouldn’t even pretend to rap my mother’s knuckles! We grew up in the 60s, when moms said, “Wait ‘til your father gets home” and you’d be nervous stewing over what he’d say or do. In my house, my mother might have said that but she didn’t wait; she doled out a share of the wooden spoon first! Well, I spared my kids the proverbial rod and I’m sure all grandparents think whatever’s wrong with this generation is the result of that oversight! In any case, kids in our day were afraid to talk back, let alone PUNCH!
Yet, here we are just one generation later and my kid is bruising my right arm every time she sees a VW Bug. Maybe I need to buy a wooden spoon just for the car – ha ha! Unfortunately, St. Louis fared well through the recent recession so there are tons of brand new VW Bugs on the road right now ... red ones, green ones, yellow ones with daisies, black ones with soft tops, baby blue ones with white doors ... POW! POW! POW!
OW! OW! OW!
Every punch is loaded. She punches hard. I, of course, am watching the road, trying to protect her life, which is my JOB. She, on the other hand, is adjusting the radio stations and volume, texting her friends, checking her face in the mirror and ... POW! “Red one”, she shouts!
She punches hard. I’m telling you: every punch is loaded. It has meaning. It has feeling. One says, “You woke me up too early”. Then ... POW! “Blue one! Ha ... that’s two already!” That punch feels like retaliation for making her finish her homework before playing on the computer. Just before turning into our street ... POW! POW! “Beige one! Double punch for convertibles!” That must have been for making her pick up her dirty laundry...
Think about it!? I mean, would you have been allowed to PUNCH your parents? I shudder thinking about it. I’m nearly 50 and I still wouldn’t even pretend to rap my mother’s knuckles! We grew up in the 60s, when moms said, “Wait ‘til your father gets home” and you’d be nervous stewing over what he’d say or do. In my house, my mother might have said that but she didn’t wait; she doled out a share of the wooden spoon first! Well, I spared my kids the proverbial rod and I’m sure all grandparents think whatever’s wrong with this generation is the result of that oversight! In any case, kids in our day were afraid to talk back, let alone PUNCH!
Yet, here we are just one generation later and my kid is bruising my right arm every time she sees a VW Bug. Maybe I need to buy a wooden spoon just for the car – ha ha! Unfortunately, St. Louis fared well through the recent recession so there are tons of brand new VW Bugs on the road right now ... red ones, green ones, yellow ones with daisies, black ones with soft tops, baby blue ones with white doors ... POW! POW! POW!
OW! OW! OW!
Friday, February 25, 2011
Bring on the Moolah!
Last night, I had so much fun at the Moolah! What, you ask, is the Moolah? Well, don’t worry, I asked the same thing when I found out that it was playing the movie that my husband and I wanted to see. In fact, we’d wanted to see the movie at the same place that our daughter was attending a party so that we could pick her up right after the show but, alas! The movie was not playing there. So, I searched for the next closest theatre showing the movie and ... well, up popped The Moolah.
I thought there must have been some mistake. I’ve been here in St. Louis nearly one and a half years and I’d never even heard of it, despite my best efforts to visit everything this city has to offer in the way of museums, parks, art galleries, music, and live theatre. Well, an online search showed me that it was, indeed, a movie theatre and it was less than a mile from our daughter’s party, so off we went. From the Central West End, we drove east on Lindell until we hit St. Louis University, the large, mid-town, Jesuit university founded nearly two centuries ago. We parked and followed signs indicating the way to the theatre.
As we came around the side of the building toward the entrance, I stopped in stunned silence. The building is obviously old; no-one spends that much on beauty as well as function anymore. Its face is completely symmetrical, with three very tall, narrow, blue doors in the middle framed on either side by identical sets of three narrow windows. One tall, graceful arch of decorative stone reaches from one side of the entrance to the other, while two smaller, matching ones enclose the windows. A miniature arch above each door and window ties in with the larger arches. Between each window and each doors stretch tall, delicate, decorative columns, lending the building a Moorish feel. The building is made of dark brown brick, but adorned with pale blue tiles and a dark gold paint. I believe the design, with its repeated use of threes must be intentional for the Moolah Temple of the Mystic Shrine – as it is actually called – was built between 1912 and 1914 by the Shriners, who are Masons.
When I could finally stopped gawking and trying to soak up every detail of the facade, my husband led me inside, where other wonderful surprises awaited! I fell even deeper in love with the Moolah when I glanced into the intimate lounge on the left of the high-ceilinged, elegant entrance hall where a handful of young adults sipping drinks were nestled into big leather club seats and sofas watching an old Bugs Bunny rerun (remember the one where he’s a matador in Spain...?)! Yes, that’s right: feet up, slouched deep into the cushions, watching ... Bugs Bunny!
Straight ahead was the ticket counter and a small concession popping buttery popcorn, which promised that a movie theatre did indeed lurk somewhere in the building. I could barely take it all in; I was like a kid in a candy shop! To the right of the entrance hall, through a curved arch, a bar beckoned to us. It was like a movie set itself: a handsome, young bartender wiping down the counter; high shelves jammed with various bottles, mirrors and movie posters on the wall, and a long, curved, wooden bar anchored by a long line of stools. The bartender quietly cared for the couples huddled together toasting each other and the old guy nursing a whiskey, reading a newspaper. We found a quiet corner table by the massive wooden doorframe. “You can take them in”, said the bartender, nodding to the drinks he served us. (Can you believe this place?!)
Well, at this point, I barely needed to see a movie but my husband dragged me out of the bar when he saw a long line forming by the concession stand. They must have come out of the woodwork, those folks, because I have no idea where they all came from so suddenly! Anyway, they – the ones who beat us to the line – knew what they were doing. Let’s just say they were Moolah experts! You see, the Moolah theatre is a massive 500-person theatre with a wide balcony running all along the back of the theatre, two sets of movie seats on either side and a floor area stuffed with massive leather sofas, club chairs, side and coffee tables. I felt like a kid playing Musical Chairs, as my husband and I hustled to find an open loveseat amidst the crowd of regulars making a beeline for their favourite spot!
Well, the movie was great but the theatre ... well, it was simply spectacular.
I thought there must have been some mistake. I’ve been here in St. Louis nearly one and a half years and I’d never even heard of it, despite my best efforts to visit everything this city has to offer in the way of museums, parks, art galleries, music, and live theatre. Well, an online search showed me that it was, indeed, a movie theatre and it was less than a mile from our daughter’s party, so off we went. From the Central West End, we drove east on Lindell until we hit St. Louis University, the large, mid-town, Jesuit university founded nearly two centuries ago. We parked and followed signs indicating the way to the theatre.
As we came around the side of the building toward the entrance, I stopped in stunned silence. The building is obviously old; no-one spends that much on beauty as well as function anymore. Its face is completely symmetrical, with three very tall, narrow, blue doors in the middle framed on either side by identical sets of three narrow windows. One tall, graceful arch of decorative stone reaches from one side of the entrance to the other, while two smaller, matching ones enclose the windows. A miniature arch above each door and window ties in with the larger arches. Between each window and each doors stretch tall, delicate, decorative columns, lending the building a Moorish feel. The building is made of dark brown brick, but adorned with pale blue tiles and a dark gold paint. I believe the design, with its repeated use of threes must be intentional for the Moolah Temple of the Mystic Shrine – as it is actually called – was built between 1912 and 1914 by the Shriners, who are Masons.
When I could finally stopped gawking and trying to soak up every detail of the facade, my husband led me inside, where other wonderful surprises awaited! I fell even deeper in love with the Moolah when I glanced into the intimate lounge on the left of the high-ceilinged, elegant entrance hall where a handful of young adults sipping drinks were nestled into big leather club seats and sofas watching an old Bugs Bunny rerun (remember the one where he’s a matador in Spain...?)! Yes, that’s right: feet up, slouched deep into the cushions, watching ... Bugs Bunny!
Straight ahead was the ticket counter and a small concession popping buttery popcorn, which promised that a movie theatre did indeed lurk somewhere in the building. I could barely take it all in; I was like a kid in a candy shop! To the right of the entrance hall, through a curved arch, a bar beckoned to us. It was like a movie set itself: a handsome, young bartender wiping down the counter; high shelves jammed with various bottles, mirrors and movie posters on the wall, and a long, curved, wooden bar anchored by a long line of stools. The bartender quietly cared for the couples huddled together toasting each other and the old guy nursing a whiskey, reading a newspaper. We found a quiet corner table by the massive wooden doorframe. “You can take them in”, said the bartender, nodding to the drinks he served us. (Can you believe this place?!)
Well, at this point, I barely needed to see a movie but my husband dragged me out of the bar when he saw a long line forming by the concession stand. They must have come out of the woodwork, those folks, because I have no idea where they all came from so suddenly! Anyway, they – the ones who beat us to the line – knew what they were doing. Let’s just say they were Moolah experts! You see, the Moolah theatre is a massive 500-person theatre with a wide balcony running all along the back of the theatre, two sets of movie seats on either side and a floor area stuffed with massive leather sofas, club chairs, side and coffee tables. I felt like a kid playing Musical Chairs, as my husband and I hustled to find an open loveseat amidst the crowd of regulars making a beeline for their favourite spot!
Well, the movie was great but the theatre ... well, it was simply spectacular.
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