New York: The Final Chapter

Cafe Wha? was a blast and we stayed out very late so the next morning, (at the bloody crack of dawn), we looked like three sacks of crap when we met Sean at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Actually my cousins looked pretty good. I looked like my father and I will NEVER wear orange again.
Cindi was perturbed with what she referred to as the "hair show". Being that Jennie and I actually possessed follicles that required more work than a towel, we could understand her frustration at having to wait on us but at the end of the day, we politely told her to go pound sand. Let's face it. She had people looking for an autograph the night before and I'd have bet my last nickel that one or two of the groupies at Cafe Wha? rushed right over to their stylists to have their hair shorn the same way. Jennie and I have our grandmother's ass. We needed hair.

But I digress...

The Met was fabulous and Sean had tried to arrange a private tour. Unfortunately, his friend at the museum had another engagement but she left Sean with our admission buttons. We weaved through a fantastic stained glass exhibit which conveniently ended at the cafe where one could enjoy great, aromatic wafts of the worst coffee I've ever consumed. We then moved on to an Egyptian show which included hieroglyphics, mummies and sarcophagi (sarcophaguses for those who say fishes, not fish) or you could just say esophagus and be the biggest loser on the planet.
The final exhibit was Medieval articles of warfare. I tried very, very hard to appear enthusiastic but I would rather have had Sean take one of the gazillion swords or daggers (each with its own long and detailed history) and PUT MY EYES OUT. There is just so much chain mail and war headdresses that a person can take.

After the museum, we said good bye to Sean and went back to Times Square to queue up for the cheap Broadway tickets. We ended up securing three really good seats for Dirty Rotten Scoundrels that night. I wasn't terribly enthused because my heart had been set on Wicked but we were not disappointed. Luci Arnez was in the cast, which was kind of neat but the two lead actors were spectacular and totally irreverent. I had forgotten that Broadway was a little like HBO (no censors) only in 3D. We had a riot.

The next day we were leaving. Cindi and I had later flights in the afternoon. Poor Jen, being at the mercy of Air Canada Aeroplan miles was forced to leave around lunchtime. We decided to have breakfast in Central Park at Tavern on the Green. Jennifer thought that this might be her best chance to run into Regis Philbin since he apparently eats there frequently. Well, we didn't see a single celebrity because they hole them up in private rooms so that crazy people like us don't harass them for autographs. But we did get to see the outdoor garden and it was magnificent (lousy photography, though).
Back at the hotel, we helped Jennifer to pack her things and the conversation centered on the fact that we had not seen a single celebrity. I couldn't understand it. I've had a spotting on every single trip to New York. There have been easy ones like Sarah Jessica filming in Central Park but there has also been Tom Cruise outside of Barney's, Charo and her lips (time has not been especially kind) and this supermodel whose name I can never remember in the hotel elevator at the W hotel in Times Square. But alas, this time we had nothing- not even a "C" lister who ended up on a reality show losing weight.

We took Jennifer's bags down and waited on the street with her while the doorman hailed her a cab. There was this nondescript guy with a backpack and a ballcap waiting as well. The doorman leaned over an whispered that the dude was Spiderman.

"Tobey Maguire?"

"The very same. He just got married and was here wrapping up the latest Spiderman movie." And so it was. He turned and we got a clear view of his face. And all this time, he had been staying at the same hotel. Spidey in the flesh. All three of us have young boys who were going to be completely impressed with this information.

"Married? I thought he was gay." Oops. Got him confused with Elijah Wood.

Well, it didn't matter to Cindi and Jennifer. Both of them stared, wide-eyed and watched his every move. I'm not sure they blinked. Tobey's car came (we're on a first name basis) and just like that, Spidey was gone.

Jenny left a few minutes later with much hugging and a few tears. Cins and I then took off to Filene's Basement where we spent an obscene amount of money and had to rush back to the hotel to pack, check out and get to the airport.

So that was New York. There is much, much more to do and we have vowed to return. I have asked that we plan it around Jimmy Choo's annual sale. Jennifer doesn't care when we go as long as we get tickets to Regis and Kelly. Cindi thought that maybe we should call our cousin Michael and get him tohelp us plan our next trip.

We loved New York.

New York City part three

Day two in New York City started off a bit shaky given the circumstances of the night before, but after a shower and some food, we ventured out to midtown.

Fifth Avenue is a dream. Tiffany's, Sak's, Takashimaya, H & M, Henri Bendel and a million boutique-like settings for your mall favourites. There is something for every budget and we were in serious consumer mode. Besides the best shopping on the planet, New York is all about people watching. If you stand for five minutes at the corner of 5th and 57th, you will get a crash course in fashion. The Waif (eat something, will ya), The Columbia Student (houndstooth and ivy), The Socialite (I am not a zombie. It's the Botox) and The Incognito Star (Don't look at me. This is NY, not LA) are the four basic pillars of non haute couture. They all have their own great style and within a block, you can duck into a million stores and blatantly copy it.

After Fifth Avenue, we took a cab to the financial district because it is hard to talk about New York without remembering how we all sat riveted to our televisions on September 11, 2001 watching the horror unfold. I had been down to the WTC site several times before but the emotional impact just never seems to let up. When I lay my eyes on that yawning space, the grief just washes over me and I am always surprised at how fresh it all seems. Cindi and Jennifer were quiet. They slowly walked the length of the chain link fence that surrounds the area, reading the timeline of events and finishing up with the list of those that died that day.

(One of the steel girders left from the clean up of the towers)

We then crossed the street and went into St. Peter's church, which is profoundly sad since many of the "missing" flyers that people posted in the weeks after the tragedy can still be found hanging inside it's walls. We're nearly six years out of this event and it is still raw.

Two or so blocks south on the corner of Cortlandt and Church, we did a bit of shopping at Century 21, which has a shoe department that I often dream about. If you are planning a trip and you want designer stuff at bargain prices, this is the place. The staff is rude, the change room is designed for cattle and the check out process is laborious but the deals make up for everything. Did I mention the shoe department? Pure rapture.

We left there and took the subway all the way back up to the hotel to shower and change for the evening. We were headed out with Sean, my crazy, straight-off-the-boat, red-headed Irish friend who has a weakness for expensive scotch. Sean knows New York City like the back of his hand. He is a former chef, who has never met a stranger and he has an eclectic group of friends. Sean is extremely well connected but he's quiet about it. He just disappears, places a few calls and presto, you've got a table at Nobu. And he is one of the few people on this earth that can make me cry with laughter.

We met him and one of his friends down in the village for a leisurely dinner at a great Indian restaurant where, in true Sean fashion, he picked up the tab. We tried to protest, especially since he was doing us the favour of showing us around but he would have none of it. He embraced my cousins like they were family.

After dinner, they took us to Cafe Wha? which is one of the best places in New York to see live, local music from a house band that does mini sessions of different genres of music. Reggae, rock, gospel, R&B, blues, funk..you name it. It was a.m.a.z.i.n.g. In the 60's the place boasted regular customers like Alan Ginsberg and Bob Dylan. Besides a house band, Cafe Wha hosted comedians like Richard Pryor and Bill Cosby on its stage. Springsteen and Hendrix began their careers here. It hasn't lost any of its charm. At the entrance before going down a set of stairs into the club, there is a three dimensional face that tells you to get moving. Once inside, you are led into a dingy, crowded pub where the music is fantastic and people are dancing in the aisles.

Besides the great music and ambiance, Jennifer and I followed Cindi around in the wake of her famousness. All night long, Cindi was channeling supermodel and the men in the place were staring, open-mouthed. She had on this casual skirt, mile high platforms and a chunk of gold that made a statement. Women were poking each other, pointing at Cindi and saying, "Isn't she famous?" or "Who IS she?" All of that was fine in and of itself but it was especially cool because by proxy, Jennifer and I were famous person's posse. Excellent!

Check out the clip below from You Tube.

It captures the essence.

Tomorrow: The final chapter including culture, Broadway and Spiderman in the flesh.

We heart NYC part two

After leaving the hotel, the girls and I took off down to Times Square because we are shameless tourists and we all grew up watching Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve. When you first lay eyes on the Panasonic Astro Vision screen at One Times Square, where Broadway and Seventh Ave intersect, you cannot help but be awed. You've seen it a million times on tv and by george, there it is. For real.



As you can tell from Cindi's hand, we took care of kid business straight away with a pit stop in Toys R Us. We didn't want to be scrambling at the airport on the way home trying to find that special souvenir for our children and settling for the $200
T-shirt that was made in China.

No, we needed something that said, WE'RE FREE "we were thinking about you" and nothing speaks to a child more clearly than new toy loot.

After negotiating our way through the crush, we caught a pedicab at 47th. Pedicabs are those cool 2 person rickshaws joined to a bike and pedaled by some beefy, hungry, college kid from Iowa. Well, we had loads of bags and there were three of us. Eager college boy said, "No problem. If you can squeeze in, I can get you where you need to go." All right, then. Did I mention that he only flinched slightly when we told him our destination was Columbus Circle, a mere 12 blocks away?

Oh my. Somewhere around 50th, he started to sweat serious amounts. By 54th, we could hear him wheeze. At 56th, he was barking like a dog. At 59th, he began speaking in tongues, alternately crying out for his mother and begging for water. He stopped, let us out, took our picture and tried to smile. He was unable to form words. His hair might have been smoking. We threw gobs of money at him and I think it was Jennie who sagely said,

"That's gonna hurt tomorrow". Yep.



After that, my friend Richie called to invite us out for a drink at Kennedy's, this great Irish pub on west 57th. Perfect! We were in the neighbourhood. Poor Jennie was exhausted and she elected to go back to our room to crash. Cindi, the brave, chose to accompany me since I have this somewhat unwarranted reputation in our family for being wild, dangerous, benignly blonde after a few cocktails. We met Richie and his friend and the drinks flowed. At some point, I will admit to crossing the line from pleasantly buzzy to 30 seconds behind the punchline. Richie and I went outside for a cigarette (nasty, filthy, blah, blah, blah) and all of the sudden, Octopus Man arrived on the scene. Richie grew six more arms, came in for the swoop and out there on the street, we had a new and improved version of The Karate Kid. Do you remember the part where the kid learns "wax on, wax off". Have you got the visual on his hands? That was me, battling the tentacles. I was Wonder Woman with her shiny bracelets deflecting remarkably nimble hands . It was a very athletic cigarette break in a self-defense kind of way. Not long after, Cindi and I pulled the chute and headed home. It was well, well into the wee hours of the following day.

The next morning, we woke up somewhere around 7 or 8. Jennie, after a full night's sleep and no alcohol, was eager to get going. Who could blame her? Where did she want to go? Fifth Ave? Rockefeller Center? Chelsea Piers? Central Park? The Village? No, no, no ,no and no.

Regis and Kelly.

I wanted the shoe fairy to get my stilettos out of the closet and drive them into my brain because Kathy Lee was annoying but at least you could despise her. Kelly is perfect. Their show is thunderously loud. Audience participation is encouraged.

HANGOVER + SHOW FOR GOOD MOTHERS DEMOGRAPHIC + ENDLESS QUEUES + TOURISTS IN SPANDEX =



Shamefully, we didn't make it to Regis and Kelly.

Tomorrow: part three- grief, the subway and the best pub EVER

NYC part one

Last year, I went to New York City with my two cousins, Cindi and Jennifer. I am fortunate enough to be in Manhattan several times a year and I have a small but certifiably whacked group of friends that I try to see when there. We were determined to show my cousins a good time and in reflection, I think we accomplished that goal.

First of all, I should tell you about Jennifer. She is sweet, petite and wickedly funny. And I love her, especially since like me, she got Grammie's arse in the gene lottery. Jennifer married a handsome, outdoorsy, man's man with these killer blue eyes. You look at him and just know he could have been frat boy bad but he chose instead to be this great dad who accidentally burns down summer cottages every now and then. Their two sons are athletic, social and in no time, they will be beating the girls off. They reside in a rural town in eastern Canada in a house they built and they've known their friends most of their lives. They are a Norman Rockwell painting.

Cindi is tall, legs up to her armpits, uber chic and well traveled. When she laughs, it bubbles up out of her in massive, uncontrolled waves. And I love her, especially because she is a rail thin girl who eats like a horse and makes no apologies. Of course, anyone who consumes that much spelt and soy should be given a medal for extreme personal sacrifice. Cindi married a South African, razor sharp wit who can make the most mundane situations positively hysterical. And when he swears in Afrikaans, you do not need to speak the language to understand. They have two beautiful children who are smart, charming and creative beyond description. They live in a busy, metropolitan area of Canada in a fabulous house and they lead a truly cosmopolitan life. They are Eurpoean in their sensibilities.

We all arrived at La Guardia at roughly the same time. Cindi was able to get a direct flight so she was well rested. I had been there for days on business. Jen had come from eastern Canada via Siberia to NYC in order to use those fabulously inflexible Aeroplan miles that the monopolyAir Canada doles out. She may have been traveling for several months trying to traverse the 1500 or so miles. She was understandably tired but excited to be in the Big Apple. I couldn't wait to watch Jen's face as she experienced her first yellow cab ride into the city.

Yellow cabs have never let me down. You get in and the driver is a foreigner who has an accent so thick that you generally make conversation by nodding, smiling and talking LOUDLY because we all know that English is so much better understood if we BELLOW. Your fingernails must be longer so you can use them to anchor yourself in the back seat while your driver makes new and creative lane changes. Once you are through the tunnel and in Manhattan, the true flavour of the ride shows up. Do you remember DeNiro in "Taxi"? "You lookin' at me?" It is not a stereotype. While Jennie was enthralled with the scenery (like we all are our first time in New York), our driver was in a flip the bird, eff you contest with one of his fellow cabbies.

My friends had secured us a killer deal at the Mandarin Oriental and the folks at check in said that our hostess had upgraded us to a nicer room with a better view. We were so excited. We got up to the room and found champagne, bath gifts, slippers and sinful nibbles. Then, there was the bathroom. I could easily have lived, with my two kids in that room. It contained one of those rain showers and a tub meant for a party. So we cracked open the bubbly, toasted our fabulous selves and then hit the streets.

Part two tomorrow including Richie the Octopus and the Pedicab man we nearly killed.

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