On the phone with SYB last night, the subject arose of the jokes kids tell. The evening’s downpour, followed by the unexpected sight of a brilliantly pink-bloomed tree in the plaza outside my office, called to mind this one — among the first I ever learned:
Question: If April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring?
Answer: Pilgrims!
The joke is a lot funnier if you happen to be an eight-year-old… or just have the sensibilities of one. Ah, kids.
I’d scheduled a rather ambitious evening for myself weeks before there were any plans of globe-trotting, and by late this afternoon, I was running on Coke Zero. (Must be the Ace-K that makes it taste so good.)
After work, it was up to the 92nd Street Y, where tonight’s featured reader was another of my favorite authors, Michael Chabon. Chabon, who pronounces his name “Shea as in Stadium, Bon as in Jovi,” is best known as the 2001 Pulitzer Prize winning author of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay — one of the ten best books of the past ten years set in New York City. The comic book set knows him better for his award-winning spin-off graphic novel series and as the screenwriter behind Spider-Man 2; film buffs, as the author of the stories on which 2000’s Wonder Boys and the upcoming The Mysteries of Pittsburgh are based.
All groups were represented in the capacity audience tonight – thanks in part to the rather extensive media promotion of the event, based on Chabon’s ongoing weekly serial in The New York Times and the controversy surrounding his new book, The Yiddish Policemen’s Union, dropping on bookstores that day.
Chabon easily defused any lingering tensions by opening the evening: “Is there anyone here tonight who’s already mad at me?” Nervous twitters and surreptitious head-swiveling eased into laughter when after a beat, he continued: “Then I’ll see what I can do.”
The author went on to talk about the early inspiration for his latest work and the role his faith plays in his writing. And after reading a short excerpt of The Yiddish Policemen’s Union, he submitted to an interview with Salon co-founder Laura Miller, followed by “fawning praise and obvious questions” from the audience… during which there were absolutely no outbreaks of violence.
I wish I could have stayed on for the entire evening — or stuck around to get my Kavalier & Clay signed — but I was off into the suddenly wet night to meet M downtown for the Tribeca Film Festival‘s late-night screening of Suburban Girl. The film, starring Sarah Michelle Gellar and Alec Baldwin as the romantic leads (ew ), is based on two stories from Melissa Bank‘s 1999 chick-lit bestseller, The Girls’ Guide to Hunting and Fishing. Marc Klein, best known for his screenplay to 2001’s Serendipity, wrote and directed what was overall a not-so-entertaining, rather confusing mess of a film. Based on the enormous popularity Bank’s debut book, I can only assume that the source material was ill-served.
Sadly, the heartiest audience laughs seemed to have been at the expense of absent Baldwin, whose Mr. Big-esque character was asked to deliver some unfortunately-timed lines about a “vindictive ex-wife” and — worse, still — to leave a phone message for his estranged daughter. (I have to admit, I snickered there, too.)
On the way home, the 24-hour Starbucks in my neighborhood. 1 in the morning on a Wednesday and not a free table in sight.
If it holds true that comedy is tragedy plus time, then I am due for a good laugh sometime soon. In an uncanny bit of timing, my temperamental T40 chose almost the exact day on which its warranty expired to begin the slow, inevitable march to the laptop graveyard. Things were looking rather bleak on the blogging front, but once we returned to domestic soil, I managed to coax just a bit more life from the old machine.
Perhaps it just missed New York City. I understand. And even if I spend the next few nights holed up at home, in that state of woozy wakefulness that comes from crossing 14 time zones, embroiled in the drudgery of data backup… it’s good to be home.
Happy birthday, Jug.
Battling jetlag and technical difficulties, so for the steadfast few who continue to check in: please be patient. Updates to come.
I didn’t mind the 14.5 hour flight from SFO so much, not even coming on the heels of the 6 hour flight from JFK. After a while, the plane feels like your home. And New Yorkers are used to small spaces.
I touched down at dawn, and after a few snags, B (whose redeye from NRT arrived an hour after mine) spotted me wandering around the international terminal. We hailed a cab just outside the gates, and we were off.
Traffic was light this Sunday morning, and we arrived at the CBD – that’s the “Central Business District” – within twenty minutes. Our hotel was housed in a beautiful 19th century sandstone fronted building that once served as the headquarters of the Fairfax newspaper empire and later, the Bank of New South Wales. The location could not have been more convenient – mere minutes’ walk from Circular Quay (pronounced “key”), the hub of Sydney Harbour, and the founding site for Sydney and Australia.
After quick showers to rinse away the grime of a full day’s travels, we set out immediately to explore. After the first of what was to become many trips to the concierge that week, we made our way to the Harbor. Soon, we caught our first glimpse of that iconic Bridge, and the trip suddenly felt real for the first time.
The Sydney skies were grey that morning, and intermittent drops from the clouds overhead threatened heavier rains, so we held off on purchasing the tickets for our planned harbor tour cruise until we had a better gauge of the weather for that afternoon. Circular Quay was already abuzz with activity; the landscaped walkways from which we had open views of the harbor were dotted with tourists and street performers, the likes of which I’d never encountered in New York City.
Adjacent to the harbor is The Rocks, the site of Sydney’s original settlement — an area rich in historic structures and cobblestone and brick-paved streets. On weekends, the northern end of main city thoroughfare George Street is the site of a large pedestrian market. Over 150 stalls set up under white canvas sail canopies, hawking everything from food to jewelry to souvenirs, to indigenous arts and crafts.
By noon, or is that 10PM?, we were famished. The historic Glenmore Hotel was rebuilt in its present location in 1921 after being forced to move to accommodate the construction of the Harbour Bridge across the street. The skies had just begun to clear by then, and the hotel’s rooftop beer garden, which touts some of the best views in The Rocks, seemed like just the place for our first meal. We trudged up three flights of narrow, creaky stairs, and were rewarded with a fabulous panorama of the quay, the Harbor and the Sydney Opera House below.
The beer garden was just setting up for the day, and our friendly bartender set us up with a couple pints of the local brew while we waited for the kitchen to open. I don’t recall the name of the particular beer we had that afternoon, but as we sat with our plastic cups sweating onto the wooden picnic tables, I vividly recall the sense that there could not have been a more perfect drink for the occasion.
Our first meal, classic Sydney pub fare of steak (not Vegemite) sandwiches and chips:
Since 1998, BridgeClimb Sydney has been offering guided climbs to the top of the Harbour Bridge, 134 meters (440 feet) above the harbor. The 3.5 hour treks are very popular, despite being very pricey: $169 to $295, depending on the day of the week and the time of day. Participants don full-body jumpsuits and are fastened to a safety harness run along a steel cable once they begin their ascent up the steep ladders to the bridge’s arch. The main downside: no personal cameras — or other belongings — allowed, out of safety considerations for the cars and pedestrians below. The guides have the only cameras; their group and individual photos are available for purchase after the climb: $65 for 4 on a CD last I checked, the idea being that after shelling out almost $300 for the climb, another 20% is worth paying for a record of the experience.
On a clearer day, I still might have considering the splurge, which earns consistent raves all around. This group looked pretty excited already, and they’d only just begun.
24 hours ago, I was on the phone with a reservations agent, booking this flight halfway around the world.
24 hours from now, I will be in Sydney, Australia – the farthest I’ve ever been from home.
Thank you, B, for making this adventure possible.
Yes, that’s the name of the place on Bowery. And yes, the noodles are yummy, if a little farther than I usually venture from the Canal Street subway station for lunch on a work day.
The noodle shop welcomes both Cantonese and non-Cantonese speakers alike.
At the Gen Art Film Festival for a screening of When a Man Falls in the Forest. I don’t know that this film was ever released in theaters. Not surprising, given the rather trite material, but it seems a pity that more people won’t get the chance to see the brilliant (and brutal) scene where Timothy Hutton’s character leaves a rambling, pleading confessional voicemail message for his estranged wife (Sharon Stone). It’s all done in a single lingering close-up take — and though it feels too real to have been entirely scripted, we learned this night that it was. Every word.
Over tasty Thai take-out, I took my last looks over West 12th Street from this 18th story perch. Even though I’m not the one leaving the West Village this week, I once again felt nostalgic for this street, where I had my first apartment in Manhattan, and from which I saw the Twin Towers fall in 2001.
Looking back, it feels like a very long time ago.
The Living Room for Artists/Summer Play Festival (SPF) and The Mayor’s Office of Film, Theatre, and Broadcasting (MOFTB) presented a panel at Theatre Row examining the development of Grey Gardens: The Musical. The discussion, which focused on the process of shepherding the award-winning musical from source material to Broadway, was led by Katherine Oliver, Commissioner of the MOFTB, and included Randall Wreghitt (Producer), Michael Greif (Director), Scott Frankel (Music), Michael Korie (Lyrics), and Christie Evangelisto (Playwrights Horizons).
