A Bite Out of the Big Apple (Part 2) ...

Although I have done alot of writing recently (maybe I have a muse, who knows?), I looked back and much of it is negative. Whether it's fighting demon dogs or demon boyfriends, I have been getting out alot of buried emotions and feelings. I just felt it was time to write about something a little more positive; a good memory of mine. So, here it goes.

A while back, I wrote this blog about a trip I had taken to New York City to visit with my friend, Scott. (Ironically, that blog began very similarly to this one.)

Anyway, it was my birthday weekend, 2001, and I can honestly say that I haven't had a better birthday before or since. We had done so much that weekend that I can't really remember if it was Friday through Sunday or just an overnighter, but there was alot we did.

First of all, Scott had been warning me for the entire week prior that there was going to be alot of things in store for me, many big surprises. I had no idea what these things may be and he wasn't cluing me in on a single one of 'em. I was working that last day before heading up and he called me from the road, saying he was about 30 minutes away. I had suddenly gotten the feeling that there was going to be a limousine pulling up infront of work and I started to get alittle nervous...excited, but nervous. When he called again and said he was outside, I said good-bye to my co-workers and headed out. There he was, outside, waiting in his bright red Jeep Wrangler. I felt slightly relieved as I hopped inside, thinking that would've been over the top. But at the same time, I was sort of disappointed. It would've been a real treat to head up to New York in the back of a limo. After we started heading north, I reluctantly mentioned my thoughts to which Scott replied: "You know, I was actually thinking about hiring one, but money was beginning to get tight with everything else I had planned."

Everything else? Geez, what was I in for?

We arrived at his house in Astoria, Queens, a couple hours later and there was just enough time to shower and change before we were due to head out again. I still had no idea what we were doing or where we were going, but I at least figured it was going to be somewhere in Manhattan.

We hopped on the subway and headed into town, all the while Scott keeping shut about our evening. When we surfaced from the underground tunnels of Manhattan, we were somewhere in Midtown. Scott asked me if I figured out where we were going yet, but I still had no clue. We crossed several intersections and I kept my eyes peeled for anything or any place that I may have mentioned to him in passing, but nothing was coming to mind. Then, up ahead, I saw a sign. High above us, rising vertically against the side of the building, red neon beckoning us like a bug zapper to a moth: Radio City Music Hall. Scott looked at me and said: "Have you figured it out yet?"

For a while I remember thinking: Is he going to take me to see the Rockettes? It was December after all and Rockefeller Center was a world famous destination at Christmastime, the Rockettes being the headliner. But I wasn't a big fan of seeing a row of women kicking their legs up infront of me. I told him I still hadn't a clue. We turned the corner and headed towards the entrance to the main building in the complex, 30 Rockefeller Center. Once inside the lobby I became completely clueless. Until I noticed the bronze plaque hanging next to the elevator: Rainbow Room.

I looked at Scott, my mouth hanging open. "You've got to be kidding me."

"We're not eating here, but we don't have alot of time. We're on a tight schedule and we're just here for a drink."

We stepped into the elevator and the doors closed behind us. My stomach turned and my ears popped as the express elevator quickly raced upwards and opened at the 65th floor. Waiting for the doors to open, I was anxious to see one of my favorite paintings come to life: Ken Keeley's Welcome New York, Day. It was my understanding that this was the view one would see when approaching the Rainbow Room. I was disappointed, however, when the doors opened and we stepped out into a darkly paneled hallway. But that disappointment didn't last long when we were escorted to our table in the Rainbow Grille, with it's panoramic view of lower Manhattan. Although we were seated in the center of the room (apparently, the tables along the windows were reserved days in advance), the view was spectacular. Evening had arrived and the city was aglow all around (and below) us. It was a crisp clear December night and the lights of the city and New Jersey were spread out like a blanket as far as the eye can see.

The one somber image three months after the event was the stark white glow coming to us from Lower Manhattan. Ground Zero. Like the last burning embers of a dying campfire, the glow beckoned everyone's attention, the buildings surrounding Ground Zero silhouettes; bordering the perimeter like dedicated soldiers keeping watch. Around the glass enclosed room, you can see all eyes stealing glances in that direction, whispers being made, memories kept fresh with the site of a thin layer of smoke still drifting up from underground even after all these weeks.

As with everyone else, Scott and I looked out, thinking our own thoughts, reliving our own fears and memories. It was something that needed to be done before moving on. Before long, however, we were toasting over deliciously overpriced drinks and readying ourselves for the rest of the night.

I don't remember the exact order of things that happened next, but what happened when we left 30 Rock was a surprising treat. We stumbled upon a street artist. A crowd had gathered in the chilly night to watch the man crouched down on the cement, an assortment of spray cans and household tools surrounded him. We watched as he set out a blank sheet of paper and went to work, layering color upon color of spray paint onto the paper and then scratching combs and putty knives and paint cans across the surface in practiced precision, created a colorful skyline of New York City. I was amazed at how this guy worked and stayed to watch him do a few more. Scott tried to urge me on (the time frame for our next destination was apparently growing thin). I held off leaving to watch the street person do a couple more. It was taking him all of about 3 minutes to create each image.

I finally turned away to light a cigarette. When I turned back, for a second I couldn't find Scott. I looked up and down the street until finally I spotted him emerging from the gathering crowd. He smiled and handed me a rolled up piece of paper.

"What's this?" I asked, taking the baton.

"A taste of New York." He replied.

"Thanks again, Sir!" A voice called out. I looked past Scott and saw the street artist looking in our direction.

Our next stop was a place I have only heard of by reputation, although that rep was long dead. We arrived at Studio 54 to see Molly Ringwald in "Cabaret". What amazed me about Studio 54 was the fact that it was alot smaller than I envisioned. What amazed me more (about Cabaret and Scott) was that I found ourselves sitting in the front row of small cocktail tables. Floored was an understatement. The actors, when entering or exiting the stage, had to pass right by us. At one point, I looked up and Molly was standing right next to me getting ready to run up on stage. It was really something.

During intermission, we had a drink or two at the bar up on the balcony, talked about what it must've been like to have been here to witness all that had taken place within these walls, all the screwing, all the drug taking, all the celebrity spotting. Things that will never be repeated again with such debauchery.

After the show, we had to jump into a cab for our next destination. We exited the cab in The Village and walked down a narrow alleyway to a small carriage house once owned by Aaron Burr, Vice President to Thomas Jefferson, but who's political career was completely severed after duel challenge led to his fatally shooting Alexander Hamilton. One if by Land - Two if by Sea was a an incredible place to have dinner. We waited at the bar, beside the 2-story illuminated Christmas tree, waiting for our table to be ready. The bartender offered us a glass of wine while we waited and, although I can't remember the details, we watched as some wealthy woman sat at the bar and got drunk. I seem to recall her singing to the piano player, but I could be mistaken. Once at the dinner, we shared a bottle of wine, toasted my birthday and ordered dinner. I don't remember what I had for dinner, but one thing I do remember was desert.

At work, there is a coffee shop downstairs that I went to every morning. A wide array of flavored coffees offered, my favorite pick when available was always the creme brulee. Scott, at some point, had prearranged to have my desert be the crem brulee (instead of the traditional slice of birthday cake). Incredibly rich, it was the perfect ending to a great night.

After dinner, we went to a couple of bars, had a few drinks and hopped into a cab for the ride back to Queens. I thanked Scott for a fantastic night on the town to which he replied: "There's one more thing." He set a large wrapped box on the bed. I stared down at it, unable to figure out what it was. He had already done too much for me and this, I felt, was going to be over the top and I pretty much told him so.

"It's something you mentioned liking and really, it wasn't all that much." he said.

I unwrapped the box and pulled back the flap. Inside was something wrapped in bubble wrap. I pulled it out. It was a picture...

Okay..this is where I have to do some explaining: We were both co-workers in 2 separate Thomas Kinkade Galleries, me in philly, him in New York. I, personally, cannot stand the artist, but I knew when I took the job how popular he was and that it was going to be some easy money to make, which it was. What I didn't know about Kinkade was that he had a series of Plein Aire paintings. These were images outside the normal "light" thing that he is best known for. A more impressionistic style, these were quick paintings he did on location around the world, often using these as studies for his more detailed works. Of these impressionistic paintings, my favorite was a small 8x10 image of London's Tower Bridge. The oringal not for sale, his canvas lithograph was an already sold-out edition of 550. I've never been to London, but for some reason the image of the Tower Bridge was something that I really liked. And here I was unwrapping it from a roll of bubble wrap on Scott's bed.

The next morning, it was back into the city. A walking tour in midtown. We took an elevator ride up to the top of the Empire State Building (kind of a surreal feeling considering 3 months prior we were at the top of a building that was no longer there). We did a little bit more walking before heading back to Queens and jumped into Scott's jeep for the ride back down to Philly.

So, that was it...

I have thanked him time and time again and I'll do it one more time. Thank you, Scott, for giving me the best birthday I have ever experienced, filled with drinks, fun, celebrity spotting and cherished gifts and memories. It's great to have a friend like you and I only wish we can share more good times together instead of over the phone or the internet.

Scott recently paid me a visit a couple months ago. I'll write about that in a future post.