New York City
I really wanted to write more about New York and even my week in Connecticut, but man, I've been so busy that I haven't had the time to do it all. I forgot that East Coast living prevents unstructured chunks of time (six to eight hours) in which I do my best work. Seems like I haven't had more than a free hour of unfettered time because there was always something going on, something to do, someone to see, memories to job, things to do, yadda yadda yadda.
Even now, I have less than an hour to get out a couple of weeks worth of living. That's impossible to do. I just probably just post pictures of the scribblings in my notebook, but those are often incoherent phrases and trigger words for bigger stories and events. I also write in code just in case someone steals my notes or I lose my notebook. It's happened many times before.
Anyway, I have to write like Hemingway today and using my brother's bulleted point style to blogging. Both are highly effective since I'm pressed for time.
-- Money. Money. Money. The first full day back included financial crapola. Taxes. Future. Blah blah blah. I did my taxes. I don't wish to discuss my disdain for that process. Let's just say, my political views often change as I'm writing the check
-- I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood which meant that one of my favorite bagel stores was closed for the entire week of Passover. Instead, I ate at the Greek diner. Savory and juicy burgers. One of the best burgers in the city. (I later discovered they were shut down by the board of health, which seems to happen once a year. They have a cat roaming around at night, their form of pest control.)
-- On one of my first nights back in the city, I hung out with my brother and ordered a mushroom pizza. Now, that's not the best pizza in the Bronx, let alone the entire city, but compared to what I get in California... it is the fuckin' tits. I also added a loaf of garlic bread. They make it with chunky pieces of garlic and olive oil. It might be one of the unhealthiest things to eat, which is why it's so damn delicious.
-- Nicky spent a few days in NYC, but we only stayed at the same place for a single night. I crashed in the Bronx with family, while she split time between Showcase's digs in Hells Kitchen and her high school friend's loft in Williamsburg. She had a free room one night at a swanky hotel near Lincoln Center the night before we left for Connecticut. That's where we saw Kim Kardashian in the elevator. She was doing the Regis and Kelly show and they put her up at the same hotel.
-- I had to miss Showcase's birthday party because I watched the Final Four with my brother. I heard it was a raging party, but not quite my scene. A little too flamboyant for me. So, I took Showcase out to lunch as a consolation prize for not being able to attend his soiree. He tagged along with a scheduled lunch at Eatery that Nicky and I made with Armando and Jeremy. They are both moving to Africa for work. Unreal, I thought, because I have to return to Vegas this summer for a sixth summer in a row which is not as nearly as epic as a transition to Africa. I envied their exotic destination. Of course, I probably should ditch the WSOP and Phish to explore that continent while the World Cup is going on, but as impulsive as I am, I know that I can't pull that off as smoothly as I'd like. But still...
-- I didn't win as much money as I hoped during March Madness, but I didn't lose any money. I finished with a profit which will help fund my summer excursion to Telluride, Berkely, and a few other destinations. I watched the Final Four games with my brother and the championship game in a bar in the East Village. Friedman won the Pauly's Pub Pool while Otis' kid submitted a sheet that finished in third place. SICK. The kid is the next Dalai Lama. Degenerate gamblers from the farthest corners of the universe will be showing up at Otis cul de sac seeking the wisdom of Lil Otis.
-- When I couldn't sleep, I watched documentary films. I revisited Gimme Shelter and got sucked into Dope Sick Love a documentary about two sets of couples from the East Village who were junkies. Fascinating and stunning. No commentary, just a camera following them around hustling and shooting.
-- I spent sometime in my old bedroom at my mother's apartment. Essentially, it's my storage space, mail room, and walk-in closet. In someways it's a shrine or mini-museum. I took a couple of twit pics of paintings that are almost ten years old. I flipped through books I hadn't read in years. I dusted off a copy of Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail.
-- The day before we left for Connecticut, Nicky and I went to the Guggenheim. She had never been and every time we tried to go, the lines were around the block. We finally had our chance early afternoon on a Monday. I wasn't impressed with anything that I saw, but it felt cool to just wander around a museum. LA is completely devoid of culture and The Getty is sort of a pain in the ass to check out, so we were content with the circular wanderings through paintings, photographs, prints, sculptures, and the interactive films.
-- Post-museum, we wandered through Central Park and hung out in the Sheep meadow. I pointed out places I either bought weed or smoked weed. I lost track.
-- I got a sweet deal on a weekly rental car and drove up to Mohegan Sun in Connecticut. Nicky had to work for seven plus days and I planned on spending almost a week up there, supposedly working, but more there to bullshit and network. I drove, which is rare since Nicky usually drives, but since I knew the route well, I took the wheel. She had never been to Connecticut before. "A lot of trees," she remarked. "Looks just like The Ice Storm."
That's it for now... stay tuned for Volume 2.