48 Hours in NYC

Someday I will end up spending more than a couple of days at a time in my old city, but this was a quick weekend hop to meet up with some old friends I haven't seen in ages (even -- gulp, years!), hang with a few interweb mentalists (you know who you are), and see my favorite band at this moment.

Some scenes from my weekend:

Friday

We finally get airborne after a two-and-a-half hour delay that sets my teeth grinding as I ponder the possibility of being so late that I would miss the show that night.  The view of the Cascades outside my window is somewhat calming:

No time to stop at the hotel first, I rush from Newark to Penn Station to downtown to meet up with Steve at this cool little club called the Cake Shop.  His friend Corbi Wright is playing, and I am charmed enough by her Victoria Williams-esque warbling to purchase a beautifully-packaged, limited-edition (30 only!), lathe-cut 7" single.  Ah, I am a sucker for the vinyl.

Next stop: Brooklyn.  But after cabbing it over to Warsaw to be sure we don't miss Burma, we arrive to a fairly empty club.  Oh yeah, shows don't start that early in New York!  After chilling in the bar for a bit to catch up and drink up, we head back to the stage area, ear protection at the ready for the show.

Mission of Burma don't disappoint, as usual.  And other people are actually dancing and moving (take that, Seattle!) and getting into the cacophonous/harmonious whoosh.  They hit the hits (Revolver, Academy Fight Song), the crowd-pleasers (Uncertain Fate, Photograph) and a good chunk of the new album, before killing us with a Syd-tribute (Astronomy Domine).  Oh my, oh yes.

After the show, another damn-I-haven't-seen-you-in-ages encounter leads us and the former compadre to a Polish old-man bar around the block.  Turns out I'm the only one who isn't an old man, as my attempt to buy everyone another round is thwarted and we cab it back to Manhattan en route to our respective sleepytimes.

Saturday

Time to sleep in, then wander around lower Manhattan.  I almost feel like a tourist, simply because I never explored the Wall St area much in the eight or so years I lived in NYC.  Fighting the waves of people rolling out of the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, I make my way down into the dank subway station.  Right, hot and humid -- welcome to the East Coast!

Some time later, I emerge in Jackson Heights for my long-anticipated Indian buffet feast at the Jackson Diner.  I had almost forgotten how good naan tastes when it's properly crispy, when masala sauce is appropriately spiced and how much a tall, cool mango lassi hits the spot when you've been walking around the grimy streets of New York in the middle of summer.

Later on, dueling dinner plans resolved themselves pretty nicely, as I met up with some peeps at a new Grand Sichuan on, of all places, the strip on St. Marks.  But the tea-smoked duck was just as good as I remembered from their midtown outpost, and I sampled some new things (chili-spiced conch) as well.

After excusing myself and promising to rejoin the crew, I caught up with Derin and Ronnie over their dinner.  After much girly gabbing, the restaurant closed for the night, we loitered on the sidewalk some more until too many people kept asking us if we were in line for the ultra-cool, secret club next door (ha!) and the gals headed off for the subway.

But this is New York, where the nights stretch on and on!  I wandered back to the East Village to rejoin my dinner buddies for drinks and discussion of musical trivia fueled by the jukebox they'd stuffed with their song picks.

After more drinks and various shenanigans involving texted messages/pictures from my cameraphone and observing a, uh, golf trophy being used as a beer stein, 4am eventually rolled around and it was time to call it a night.

Sunday

Time to leave, boo-hoo.  And the thought of schlepping a shoulder bag filled with my things plus recent purchases at H&M (clothes so pretty!) all over Manhattan in 92-degree weather was equally unappealing.  I resolved to make it over to the diner in my old 'hood for a grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwich.

I decided to skip the subway for a pleasant, air-conditioned, above-ground ride on a city bus all the way up through Wall Street, Chinatown, the East Village to 42nd St.  Walking through Times Sq, I jaywalked around the swarming hordes like I always do -- only back here no one gives you a dirty look for it.

Arriving at the diner, I find that it has just closed due to a power outage.  Doh!  Walking a few blocks farther north, I see that my alternate diner is all boarded-up.  Sadness!  Time for a mozzarella sandwich on black olive ficelle from Amy's Bread.  And some treats to take home for later.  Then back down a few blocks for coffee at my old local (urgh, how did I ever think this was good coffee??), then to the Cupcake Cafe to score a buttercream-frosted beauty for someone special.

Laden with treats, I beat a retreat back to Newark for the long flight home.