Day 5: Tuesday November 9, 2004

I'm awakened at 4am by Sarah who says, "Can you roll over? You're snoring and keeping me awake!" I put on my iPod headphones as I can no longer sleep. I listen to The Pursuit of Happiness, a band from Edmonton, Canada, who are one of my favorites from the late 80's. I'm not sure why, but listening to them always feels very self-indulgent to me. They had a hit with their song "I'm An Adult Now", but sadly broke up a while ago, although sometimes make reunion appearances under the name Monteforte. I love the writings of Moe Berg, the lead singer. I have their first two CDs Love Junk and One Sided Story, both produced by Todd Rundgren, on my iPod, and listen to them both. I can't decide which I like better. I am wide awake now, so I just listen to some more music. Eventually 9am rolls around and I get up and we get breakfast from the spread by the elevator.

The Bag Lady
I shower and examine my luggage situation. How did I manage to buy so much stuff in one day? Best to ship some of this home now as I surely will buy some more things in NY. I call the information line and ask if there's a UPS store nearby. Hold on they say. Then a man with a British accent comes on the line. "Is this Dozzy?" I ask. Yes, it is. I tell him his recommendation for lunch the other day was good, and he asks about the rest of our trip. I ask him if there's a store nearby where I can mail some stuff home as I bought too much. He tells me there is one that is a 10 minute walk - too far I say. Then there is a dry cleaners he says. A dry cleaners? What?! A dry cleaners that mails packages that is only a few blocks away. Really, do they have boxes, you think? He thinks so. He gives me directions. I unpack stuff from my suitcase and stick them into two large shopping bags. Put on my new pink coat and head out in the direction Dozzy sent me. It takes me a little while to find the place as it's not exactly clearly marked, one block further than what he said, and actually inside an apartment building. But I do eventually find it. Although it's true they do ship packages, they have no boxes, so it's of no use to me. I pick my bags up and leave and go back to the hotel. Screw it, I'll just deal with this in NY. Back in the hotel room, I pack everything back in my suitcase. Sarah notices we're missing a bathrobe. I don't want to be charged for it, so I call the experience designer again. Dozzy answers it, saying "This is Dozzy." Hi it's Vidya again, I say and I tell him about how I found the dry cleaners but they don't have boxes so it didn't work, and he's sorry about it, but grateful for the information about the boxes. I joke to him about how I felt like a bag lady walking around the streets, and I guess that's a terrible thing for an experience designer to hear, but I'm just kidding, although only sort of, and what the hell it doesn't matter. "But Dozzy," I say, "what I really called to tell you is that we're missing a bathrobe and no we didn't take it, and please don't charge us for it, OK?" Of course not, he says. I wonder if he believes me. He asks how our experience has been and I say it's been great and he says we should come back next weekend. "Well, hook us up with something Dozzy, and we'll make it back," I say, "but right now we need to leave." He says he'll send someone up for our bags. We wait a few minutes, but no one's there so we leave by ourselves.

SuperDawg!
Sarah comments on how we need to have a Chicago hotdog before we leave, so we stop for a Superdawg at Midway airport. I like the green tomoatoes, but what's with that bright green relish on Chicago hotdogs? The hot dog is pretty good, but not award-winning. I personally like TopDog in Berkeley myself. Unlike our flight to Chicago, it's an uneventful flight back to Detroit. We pick up our luggage and part ways and I take a shuttle to the Northwest terminal.

Northwest sucks again!
You can always tell when a plane is headed to New York, because there are a lot of suits waiting for the plane. Everyone acts like they're really important. There are Blackberry's everywhere. I hear a young fast-tracker in a suit saying to his boss, "I don't know it now, but I'll have it down by tonight!" Whatever it is, I wonder how well he'll really know it in just a few hours! There's an older man in sharp suit and sunglasses listening discreetly to music on his tiny headphones. I wonder what he does for a living and what he's listening to. We board the plane. A laywer who is sitting behind me is talking on his mobile phone telling his colleague he would settle the case, and not take a chance of going to trial, but it's her decision. Then he calls someone else and jokes about the blue electrical tape they're using - navigation approved color. He seems to think we'll have some mechanical problem. Alas, he knows only too well, as the captain gets on the speaker and announces something to that effect, but that we'll be getting updates - every 15 minutes at least. Gotta talk to these people in a way that makes them feel important. After all, they've so much to do. The man in the aisle seat is absorbed in his Powerpoint graphs which look just dreadfully boring and, unlike friendly Dale from Kalamazoo, uninterested in starting any conversation. We sit and wait. They give us an update with no news, then finally tell us the problem cannot be fixed and to deplane. I wonder what all these VIPs will do now, unable to make their urgent appointments. Fortunately, Detroit is a major hub for Northwest and they have managed to find another plane to get us to our destination. We move to a different gate and wait. I put on my iPod headphones and listen to music to keep me from getting frustrated and improve my mood. It helps. Finally we board the plane and leave 1.5 hours late.

The Washington Square Hotel
It's close to 9pm when we finally reach La Guardia. I catch a cab to the Washington Square Hotel, located on Waverly Place, next to Washington Square Park in the heart of Greenwich Village. This is the first time I've stayed in the Village and I'm looking forward to spending much of my time there. The hotel was recommended to me by a friend at work who mentioned that I'd have my own private bar there. Too bad I'm staying alone, and I can't imagine myself drinking alone in a bar. The only catch is that the hotel is fully booked for the weekend and I will have to move on Friday to another hotel in midtown. I am greeted at the check-in desk by a very polite Asian man. I ask him if there is any way of extending my stay through the weekend. He tells me the hotel is fully booked, but to keep checking.

Unlike the Amalfi, the Washington Square Hotel has no pretentiousness, but is just a wonderful place to stay in New York. Not too small or big (160 rooms), it was recently renovated in an art deco style and feels very old world. The lobby has dark wood panels, a cool staircase, retro lighting, and tiles painted with faces of famous actors and actresses from a much more glamorous time than what we live in. My friend Therese told me that she recently met the owner of the hotel, a man she simply knows by the name "Dan", who happens to be on the Board of Directors of the place she doing volunteer work for, just a block away. She also mentioned his wife painted the artwork in the hotel. I take the elevator to the 4th floor and find my room. It's very small, but as cozy as can be with rose-colored walls and framed photos of Audrey Hepburn and Greta Garbo. My window looks out onto what I call a "New York view" - ie. a brick wall. I settle in, unpack a few things, take out my computer and find their wireless signal is very weak. That won't do! I search for an ethernet cable but there is none, so I call the front desk and ask if I can borrow one. Down I go to get the cable, and the nice man who checked me in gives it to me, asking me to return it when I leave. After my Internet fix, I realize it's almost 10pm and how tired and hungry I am. Therese told me the hotel restaurant was good, so down I go to have dinner.

The North Square Restaurant is located below the Washington Square Hotel, and the windows look up onto the street. I take the bench seat at my table and the waiter gives me a menu. I review it and quickly focus on the Pan Seared Tuna, a favorite item of mine, but its served with ratatouille, which I feel doesn't go with the tuna at all. Since I order my entrees as much for the side dishes as the main course, I am perturbed by ordering this. The waiter asks me how I am and I tell him I'm starving! He asks what I'd like, and I tell him I like the tuna, but not with ratatouille, and asks what he recommends. He says the Rack of Lamb and the Filet Mignon are excellent. I've never been much of a lamb person, and I just had a steak in Chicago, but hell, it's a vacation, besides the filet comes with onion rings, and I'm really, really hungry, so I order it. Please bring some bread, I plead to the waiter, and he brings me a basket of good bread with olives...finally... food...and it's good...

Dining alone in a nice restaurant is always a little weird, especially if you haven't a book to read or anything to do. So I look around and eavesdrop a bit. This hotel is popular with Europeans and foreign accents and languages abound. An older European couple (Italian, I think) are seated next to me and they puruse the menu. My waiter comes to take their order. The man orders chicken breast (so boring), and the woman orders a chopped salad. She asks the waiter which has more quantity, the champagne or the wine? He doesn't seem to understand what she means, and say they both come by the glass. "Yes, but which one has more QUANTITY?" she asks. "Well," he says, "the champagne comes in a champagne glass, and the wine comes in a wine glass." Once again she repeats her question. I want to butt in and say, "She's asking which has more booze and will get her more piss drunk!" but don't. "Well," he goes on, "I never thought of it that way, but I suppose the wine glass is bigger." Very well then. She orders the wine. It comes and it's a rosé.

My dinner arrives and I eat it with relish. The steak is fabulous and the onion rings are gourmet. I'm feeling good. My neighbors get their food. The man eats a boring chicken breast, and the woman picks at her small salad, and drowns down her wine and asks for another glass. I finish my dinner, and ask for the desert menu. I can't decide between the warm gingerbread cake or the pistachio creme brulee with raspberries. I ask the waiter which is better, and he says he's not a gingerbread fan, so the creme brulee. I love pistachio, so I figure that's a good choice, and I get some decaf to go with it. When desert arrives, I realize I'm too tired to face a cup of black coffee (which is usually the only way I drink my coffee) and add cream and sugar to it. I'm surprised that I like it that way. Maybe I'll take my coffee lighter sometimes now. The creme brulee is good and now I'm feeling full and satisfied. I pay and leave. The woman is still drinking.

I decide to take a walk around the block but it's late and dark and I'm tired and alone, and you have to have your wits about you, especially when you're by yourself at night in New York. I notice a doggie day care on the same block of the hotel. My eyes are really bugging me now, so I go to the drug store and buy some eye drops. Go back to hotel room, and discover much to my horror that I am missing my night guard, a custom dental splint that I use on account of my nighttime teeth grinding. I must've left it at the Amalfi in Chicago. It's too late to call them now, and make a note to myself to call them in the morning. I stay up late again listening to music on my iPod. Don't remember when I went to sleep.

Next > Day 6: Russian/Turkish Baths, Steve Wynn