So…our last real day in New York had come. Kim had made reservations for us to go to the World Trade Center Memorial in the morning. Nothing like a super depressing American tragedy to get your day going. Before all that fun, we went to grab some “real New York bagels” at Ess-a-Bagel. Johnny had told us that “real” New Yorkers don’t toast their bagels. Kim and I both thought that was the stupidest thing we’d ever heard. Toasting a bagel is just about the best thing you can do to it!
There was a crap ton of different cream cheeses and bagel flavors to choose from. Kim had some difficulty making her order and the guy behind the counter asked her sister (me…!) what I wanted. He was pleasantly surprised by my brief, precise order. Salt bagel, toasted with cheddar cheese cream cheese. Holy sweet Moses. All that salt and cheese was like french kissing God.
The irony of our cab driver bumping Middle Eastern music while taking us to Ground Zero was not lost on me. There wasn’t a long line to get into the memorial. People were very respectful there but there was one thing I didn’t understand. Obviously, this is a tourist place, so people were taking photos. What I didn’t get was, why were people smiling and taking photos next to names on edge of the fountain? Are they happy to be next to a place where hundreds of people died? It was just a little off putting to me.
Thankfully, the museum was closed for refurbishment. I don’t think I could handle anymore sad stuff. We grabbed a cab to take us to the Brooklyn Bridge. We were tourists and the driver knew that but he was so put off that we wanted to go to the Brooklyn Bridge because, he said, “it’s right there.” Shut it, dude! We don’t know how to get to “there.” Plus, we’re giving you money, just drive!
Since we’d walked all over the damn city and made it up to the Bronx, we figured, why not walk over to Brooklyn. It was only about a mile walk, which was nothing to us at this point. When we had started out earlier that morning it was overcast, now it was sunny. Not even half way across the bridge I touched my chest and KNEW I was going to be sunburned. Kim couldn’t believe I knew it before I even looked burnt. 27 years of living in a pale, pale, shell…you just know.
It was a pretty quick walk. There were plenty of tourist and a bunch of school kids. The only annoying thing about the bridge is that there are two lanes, one for bikes, the other for pedestrians. The pedestrians have to use one lane for coming and going traffic. Not a great idea.
Brooklyn seemed nice, but we didn’t stay long enough to find out. I was just happy to get my photos to pay homage to Colin Quinn’s music video, “Goin’ Back to Brooklyn.”
Kim’s feet were killing her, so we sat in a nice little park while she slapped some bandages on her toes. For some reason, there was a gigantic, inflatible ketchup bottle at the park. And we all know the deep love I have for that condiment.
I also witnessed my first bum fight. Two guys were fighting over a cane and one dude looked like he was losing because there was a LOT of blood, which kind of looked like ketchup, coming out of his head due to the other guy beating the crap out of him with said cane.
Our next stop was The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I could have spent all day here…Kim was probably OK with the time we ended up logging. There was so much artwork there that it seems like who ever was in charge of all of it said screw it and made one gigantic room full of all kinds of art. This room reminded me of a very organized Tuesday Mornings, but it had the BEST art in it. Well, best art in the sense that it was some weird, kooky stuff. Here are examples of some goodies…
We continued on to find rooms decorated exactly as though you were in the 1820’s. I thought it would be hilarious if someone filmed a spoof of the old MTV show ‘Cribs’ in there.
While trying to find the baseball cards exhibit that Kim was interested in, we happened across the Egyptian temple that I know from ‘When Harry Met Sally.’ (And the fact that I’m writing about this movie on the day Nora Ephron died is kind of creeping me out.)
I was surprised to find that we were allowed to walk right on in.
We found the half a hallway that comprised the baseball card collection. Kim was pretty disappointed with the lameness of it all. I managed to find something to make her laugh.
For some reason there was a pretty sizable armor collection at the Met. The coolest one we found was from King Henry of France. The suit was so intricate, I’m 100% sure it never saw any kind of action on the battlefield, but I’m sure it was a babe magnet.
After clunking around in that room we found a statue garden. I couldn’t help but think about all the ridiculous pictures Roger and I could take there. It was like photo Heaven!
I knew there was a British silver collection on exhibit and since my Dad, (like a spinster,Victorian woman) is obsessed with silver, I thought I’d take some photos of the pieces for him.
If you are trying to find the elevator to go to the rooftop garden at the Met, good fucking luck. By the time we found it, we were ready to kill someone. The workers sent us on a wild goose chase all over the first floor, to the second floor, back to the first floor, then to the mezzanine, then, hidden in a corner…the elevator. They made it seem like there’s some neat-o martini bar at the top, which is what lured us up there. After a long day of walking and elevator hunting, a martini sounded pretty good!
Guess what? There is a pop up bar there, with booze in a plastic cup and lame sandwiches. I got a Diet Coke and a cookie and sat down, trying not to get even more sunburned. It was a nice view of Central Park but there were too many annoying people up there for our taste. By the way, if you think you can take the elevator back down, think again. They sent us down this shady, side stairwell that emptied us out into a gift shop. (I see what you’re trying to do Met…I work at a theme park. Nice try.)
On our way to the fashion exhibit, Schiaparelli and Prada: Impossible Conversations, this Renoir painting caught my eye. I told Kim that she was very lucky to be living in the time period when tall and tan where in because two hundred years ago I would have been the SHIT! It kills me, every time I go to a museum. I see paintings and sculptures that look just like me and everyone thinks they’re beautiful…then I go home, alone, to hang out with my cat. Come on pale people, we need to take our spot as number one back!
We couldn’t take any photos of the Prada exhibit, but there was a video playing the whole time of Prada and Schiaparelli talking. The actress that played Schiaparelli, Judy Davis, also played Judy Garland in a bio pic a few years ago, so no matter how good she was as Schiaparelli, all I could think of was “Clang, clang, clang went the trolley!” Now I’ve got that stuck in your head, I’m sure.
Like I said, I could have stayed there forever, but Kim’s feet where killing her, and since I remembered that feeling from a few days ago, we caught a cab back to the apartment. Kim and Johnny went to “the best Chinese food ever,” while I went back to the Comedy Cellar. Johnny told me I was missing out on a “once in a lifetime experience.”
Ardie totally remembered me from Monday and asked if I had seen Colin…ha! I knew he wasn’t going to be performing that night, but wanted to see a show anyways. Ardie told me there was going to be a special guest, which I didn’t really care either way about, so long as I had a good laugh. Tom Papa (yes, the very one who had that stinking cocktail party that blocked me from meeting Mr. Q) performed. After he stepped off, a wave of chatter rush through the crowd and since I wasn’t wearing my glasses, I didn’t recognize the the next comedian, who’s back was to me. He got on stage and all I heard was, “What’s the deal with this?”
Holy crap, it was Seinfeld…and for $12. My stingy little heart was filled with glee over how much money I just accidently saved. How ’bout that for a “once in a lifetime experience, ” eh Johnny? People started taking photos, but there’s a no photo policy at the Cellar and my server, Kinga, laid the smack down on some bro-y business guys. (I really liked her, she reminded me of me when I serve.) That is why I don’t have a photo of him, because I’m a rule follower. His set was good, a lot about his kids because that’s what’s going on his life right now. It was brisk and not very long.
After the show was done I headed upstairs and met a nice lady from Scotland as I waited to see if there was any stand by tickets available for the next show. There wasn’t and I didn’t feel like leaving yet, so I grabbed a seat at the end of the bar. Since people ALWAYS talk to me, I was certain I’d meet a special kind of crazy if I sat there long enough. I looked around and noticed that in the booth to my left sat Seinfeld and Tom Papa (in my head I say Tom’s name like Jerry used to say “Newman.”) No, I didn’t talk to them, why the hell would I? To remind Jerry of the time I sat near him at the Broadway Deli in Santa Monica on my 18th birthday (which is the day before his) in 2003? He totally remembers that, it would’ve been pointless.
After a while a guy came over and sat next to me while he waited for his date to get out of the bathroom. I found out that it was their first date, but they had boned before, so he felt obligated to take her out and he only kind of likes her. He was just the kind of over-sharer that I knew would pop up.
I chatted with the nice bartender, Mike (I think), and found out that apartments in NYC aren’t as stupid expensive as I thought. Sure some of them are but not all of them, just like in LA. The bouncer, Shaq (I’m pretty sure that’s his Christian name), befriended me and before I left, kissed my hand like a gentleman. I met Dave Attell, who was very polite. Wil showed up again and had Ardie’s daughter with him. The Scottish lady found me and talked with us for a while. Wil, who is the most Zen-like person I’ve ever met, pulled up a map on his phone to show Ardie’s girl where Scotland is. I would take geography lessons from him, he’s pretty good.
I did not want to leave the Cellar, I love it there, but I needed to meet back up with Kim. She was at a bar with a family friend, Nick. By the time I got there, they had watched the Kings lose, so they were pretty tight. Apparently we were close to Time Square, so we walked over to check one last thing off our list. It seemed a lot smaller to me in real life, like a movie back lot, and it wasn’t a location that meant anything to me. It’s just gigantic advertising. What did impress me was the statue of George M. Cohan. Like I do with most things, I relate them to movies. So, with George M. Cohan, it was not to his Broadway hits, but to James Cagney in ‘ Yankee Doodle Dandy.’
I wanted to dance like this (see video) down the red stairs behind the statue.
Kim decided it was a good idea to have hobo take a photo of us with her super expensive camera. I told her afterwards, maybe, let’s not let strangers touch our stuff at 3AM. Nick, this being his first night ever in NYC, completely disagreed with me and said that no one would hurt us. I told him that I’ve successfully made it through six days in the city without getting raped and/or murdered and he wasn’t going to screw it up for me. So I threw their drunk asses in a cab and got us back to the apartment, so we could sleep before our trip back to the West Coast.