I wore my Seahawks beanie in New York City a couple of Sundays ago, before, during and after the championship game versus the Packers. You want to talk disbelieving, unbridled joy? That was us during the final few minutes, a gang of out-of-towners and New Yorkers, having taken over an Irish pub in Williamsburg that didn't take credit cards, reluctantly changed the channel on one TV to the game, and didn't even want to turn up the sound. By the time we left, there was football on all 3 TVs, blaring sound, high-fiving and much giddiness. That hat was my ticket to fist bumps, cheerful yells, and more than one whiskey shot.
The trip alternated between intense busy-ness and suburban boredom. We hit the city fresh off the Jetblue redeye on a twenty-degree weekend morning, introduced my niece to the NYC subway courtesy of a napping homeless guy, the seat of his pants blown out with poop or what looked like poop. Coffee and bagels at The Bean, a quick freshening-up at my cuz's place in the East Village, and then off to the Staten Island Ferry, where the freezing breeze stiffened our grins into grimaces, but we sailed past the Statue of Liberty twice, gratis! Next, warm-up, lunch and bloody marys on Stone Street, then a wander through the World Trade Center site. Thirty minutes at Century 21 was time enough to examine some three thousand dollar gowns and set out for TKTS, in a futile quest for show tickets. Finally, we slowed down enough to nap, then had a delicious Italian dinner at Spina, strange and delicious desserts at Momofuku Milk Bar, and then the next several hours roaming the lights at Times Square, us and a million tourists and a forlorn Cookie Monster staring up at a Jumbo-Tron.
Sunday: rain. I made a damp jaunt to Tompkins Square Bagels for breakfast, then we schlepped uptown to check out Dylan's. Our attempt at Central Park failed, due to extreme wetness, sleet, and sloshing shoes, so we abandoned ship and went to the Plaza food court, for Payard macarons, local coffee and pastries. Then it was time to dump our stuff and head for the Irish sports bar! Later on, after another trip to a different Milk, we packed into an Uber SUV, grabbed up some bodega beer and snacks, and crashed a spectacular Brooklyn pad, with a killer view of the city, sorta watched the Pats/Colts blowout, drank and hung out and admired the city.
Monday, with little time left, again uptown to Ess-A Bagel, where elderly Abe regulated the line. Then onward to the Waldorf Astoria, where a buddy gave us the grand tour and we admired Frette sheets and the gloriously mismatched furniture in the penthouse suite. A quick stop at Uniqlo and then a cab to Grand Central, where we parted ways, some to JFK, another to Metro North, and me to a hotel on 39th St.
I saw friends for the next day, met a pal from Zambia days in Chinatown, hung out with my cuz on the LES, lunch with a lovely lady in Midtown the next day, and a hangout at the aptly named Coffee Shop in Union Square the next afternoon. Then, sadly, time to head to the 'burbs, I stocked up on whisky and snacks and found a quiet seat on a Connecticut-bound train.
There's a shadow constantly hovering at my shoulder. For all my gallivanting into the social whirl, nevermind the positive social media...
Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.
Welp, after a half-year experiment in social media, BSP has returned to its blogger roots. I hated Faceborkland, tbh. Sure, it was easier t...