It feels strange to recount the remainder of my trip to New York City after having left the state entirely and then returning to Chazy, NY on the shores of Lake Champlain, about as far upstate as one can get. Instead of the glow of the streetlights, the roar of the subway, and the chattering of a thousand passing conversations, I have a dark blue evening, the murmuring chop of the lake, and my family's long knives of good-natured sarcasm slipping between each others ribs. They are different worlds, and yet as I sit here, in one of my favorite spots on earth, I must say I miss the city.
After Monday's entry from an Upper West Side coffee shop, Hanley and I met back at her apartment for ecstatic hugs and a brief change before she led me back out onto the streets and down to Riverside Park. Strolling through the park, we caught each other up on recent months and discussed, as we often do, Atlanta versus not-Atlanta, home versus not-home. This chat led us all the way down to the Boat Basin Cafe, where we sat on a large open porch overlooking the Hudson and toasted ketchup and mustard bottles to seeing each other. Appropriate to passing the site of the final scene in You've Got Mail, the conversation meandered towards relationships and specifically to how Hanley and William first met (a beautiful show-mance story). After we finished, it was the subway back to her apartment and an evening of preparation for her auditions the next day. Going over the scripts was a familiar thrill with Han's TV-specific training providing just enough curveballs to teach me a little something about the high wire act a theatre/onscreen actor has to go through.
On Tuesday morning, after sharing the walk to the subway, Hanley and I parted ways, her to a day on the job of auditions and me to meandering the city from that point until I met my friend Laura in the afternoon. I gathered my thoughts in Birch coffee shop, where, just the afternoon before, I had delighted in iced coffee growlers and conversation starting table signs to encourage shared space. Feeling restless, however, I pulled stakes quickly and took the train down to the New York Public Library. Han had mentioned that the reading room was closed for renovations, but the exterior still loomed sufficiently and I briefly walked the lobby feeling, for all the marble and security, like I was back at the Smithsonian.
From NYPL, I began strolling south down 5th Avenue, simply to enjoy the rhythm of the traffic lights and the flow of people getting about their days. When I noticed the avenue's circulation blocking up with tourists (thinking, of course, that I didn't count), I caught on to my surroundings and crossed the street to gaze up at the Empire State Building, where Meg Ryan was held in the clutches of King Kong, only to be rescued by Joe Kavalier and Sammy Clay.
My stroll continued down past the Flatiron Building, where I peeled off onto Broadway and followed that down to my newly-determined goal, the Strand bookstore. Despite pinching my pennies of late, I wanted to buy a book at this bibliophile's mecca and so, after an unfortunately short perusal, I shamelessly picked up Slouching Towards Bethlehem from a display table close to the check-out and more shamelessly accepted the nodding approval of the cashier who said he had it on his list as well. I wonder if his interest also stems from a Buzzfeed list of What Men's Favorite Books Say About Them. Most shameless of all.
At this point, I should mention that the August heat in the city had me feeling disgusted by my own sweat, so once I got to DUMBO (after briefly stopping down at the new Freedom Tower), I decided I would have to further splurge on a new T-shirt so as not to meet a friend after 12 years as some sort of sweat elemental. So fixated was I on my quest for that clean feeling that I walked by David Cross and his dog without once thinking I should say hello.
With a new T-shirt on my back and bluebirds of relief singing around my head, I sat down at One Girl Cookies with a cold brew to engage with my new friend Joan and wait for my old friend Laura. A short time later, the latter walked in bearing the shining smile I remembered from high school and an easy, big city glamour that I did not.
For all of the valid questions floating around about what the internet is doing to social interactions, I find it hard to assign demerits when Laura and I legitimately only got together because Facebook kept us in touch. There's a degree to which Facebook actually educated us in our similarities more and more over the years, having taken the torch from the great blogging boom of Milton High School. Given that, seeing Laura was in some ways the greatest experiment of this Find the Creatives northeastern tour and our conversation did not disappoint. I felt a little maudlin catching her up on my whole artist-escaped-from-perfectly-reasonable-profession tale, but as with so many of these visits, listening to Laura speak of her relentless pursuit of interesting and challenging work and vibrant, inspiring surroundings made me feel charged up by osmosis. After these long years crunching numbers, I feel as these last few months have been creative rehab.
Of course, our conversation was much more than what-have-you-validated-for-me-lately. It was genuinely a treat to catch up, share stories, and laugh with someone whose voice I hadn't heard in over a decade. Laura led me down along the water beneath the Brooklyn Bridge and showed me some incredibly views of the city, complete with the Statue of Liberty, just beyond the reach of the muggy, overcast haze of the city, lit by some fortuitous pocket of sunlight. With Laura's generously-given free time drawing to a close, we walked back to a subway stop where we parted unceremoniously with a rushed hug as I jumped onto a recently arrived C train. Our last in-person interaction, therefore, was a hilarious mimed exchange through the train windows as Laura realized and communicated to me that I was heading in the wrong direction.
One stop and adjustment later, I actually found myself on a more direct train back to Hanley's neck of the woods (a surprisingly capable bit of NY navigation I will be crowing about for a while). Reunited in her apartment, Han and I ordered thai and chatted briefly prior to my Georgetown get-together. As I told her more than once, I'm happy that Hanley didn't mind us going about separate paths those first few days. In fact, I think one of the reasons this was my favorite trip to New York was due to the time to myself, navigating the subway on my own without being led around by the nose as on past trips. I reached a comfort level that provided a strong base for the next day's excursion and many future visits.
But first, there was a Georgetown gathering! Unfortunately, I am not the best at knowing who is where at this point in their post-Hilltop lives (see also: my friend Cora not even being IN New York anymore) and while we thankfully picked up Liz (Vinci) Sisti last-minute, those who gathered in Chris Hadjuk's Hudson Heights apartment were able to come up with some New Yorkers I'd left out. I hope to catch those folks on a future visit.
Nonetheless, the company that made it resulted in a delightful evening. The night began, as did my entire adult drinking career, with a delicious gin and tonic prepared by Chris Hadjuk, while stories tumbled up and down the Jacob's Ladder of GU theatre history (thirteen years of which were represented by those in attendance). Gathered in the warmth of Chris's living room, we were transported to Burleigh parties (in now insanely priced houses) and backstage antics (including who hooked up on which stages and which stages were lit on fire), with brief time-outs to report on our respective lives since last we met. Time flew, and after a spirited round of Cards Against Humanity (or rather Crabs Adjust Humidity), coaches turned to pumpkins as we hugged goodbye and promised not to let as many years fly by before seeing each other. Marjory Collado treated Jason and I to a cab home, which led to me closing out an epic New York day by hopping out right on Hanley's doorstep and collapsing onto her couch with contented exhaustion.
Still to come: Ten Thousand Villages
On Tuesday morning, after sharing the walk to the subway, Hanley and I parted ways, her to a day on the job of auditions and me to meandering the city from that point until I met my friend Laura in the afternoon. I gathered my thoughts in Birch coffee shop, where, just the afternoon before, I had delighted in iced coffee growlers and conversation starting table signs to encourage shared space. Feeling restless, however, I pulled stakes quickly and took the train down to the New York Public Library. Han had mentioned that the reading room was closed for renovations, but the exterior still loomed sufficiently and I briefly walked the lobby feeling, for all the marble and security, like I was back at the Smithsonian.
From NYPL, I began strolling south down 5th Avenue, simply to enjoy the rhythm of the traffic lights and the flow of people getting about their days. When I noticed the avenue's circulation blocking up with tourists (thinking, of course, that I didn't count), I caught on to my surroundings and crossed the street to gaze up at the Empire State Building, where Meg Ryan was held in the clutches of King Kong, only to be rescued by Joe Kavalier and Sammy Clay.
My stroll continued down past the Flatiron Building, where I peeled off onto Broadway and followed that down to my newly-determined goal, the Strand bookstore. Despite pinching my pennies of late, I wanted to buy a book at this bibliophile's mecca and so, after an unfortunately short perusal, I shamelessly picked up Slouching Towards Bethlehem from a display table close to the check-out and more shamelessly accepted the nodding approval of the cashier who said he had it on his list as well. I wonder if his interest also stems from a Buzzfeed list of What Men's Favorite Books Say About Them. Most shameless of all.
At this point, I should mention that the August heat in the city had me feeling disgusted by my own sweat, so once I got to DUMBO (after briefly stopping down at the new Freedom Tower), I decided I would have to further splurge on a new T-shirt so as not to meet a friend after 12 years as some sort of sweat elemental. So fixated was I on my quest for that clean feeling that I walked by David Cross and his dog without once thinking I should say hello.
With a new T-shirt on my back and bluebirds of relief singing around my head, I sat down at One Girl Cookies with a cold brew to engage with my new friend Joan and wait for my old friend Laura. A short time later, the latter walked in bearing the shining smile I remembered from high school and an easy, big city glamour that I did not.
For all of the valid questions floating around about what the internet is doing to social interactions, I find it hard to assign demerits when Laura and I legitimately only got together because Facebook kept us in touch. There's a degree to which Facebook actually educated us in our similarities more and more over the years, having taken the torch from the great blogging boom of Milton High School. Given that, seeing Laura was in some ways the greatest experiment of this Find the Creatives northeastern tour and our conversation did not disappoint. I felt a little maudlin catching her up on my whole artist-escaped-from-perfectly-reasonable-profession tale, but as with so many of these visits, listening to Laura speak of her relentless pursuit of interesting and challenging work and vibrant, inspiring surroundings made me feel charged up by osmosis. After these long years crunching numbers, I feel as these last few months have been creative rehab.
Of course, our conversation was much more than what-have-you-validated-for-me-lately. It was genuinely a treat to catch up, share stories, and laugh with someone whose voice I hadn't heard in over a decade. Laura led me down along the water beneath the Brooklyn Bridge and showed me some incredibly views of the city, complete with the Statue of Liberty, just beyond the reach of the muggy, overcast haze of the city, lit by some fortuitous pocket of sunlight. With Laura's generously-given free time drawing to a close, we walked back to a subway stop where we parted unceremoniously with a rushed hug as I jumped onto a recently arrived C train. Our last in-person interaction, therefore, was a hilarious mimed exchange through the train windows as Laura realized and communicated to me that I was heading in the wrong direction.
One stop and adjustment later, I actually found myself on a more direct train back to Hanley's neck of the woods (a surprisingly capable bit of NY navigation I will be crowing about for a while). Reunited in her apartment, Han and I ordered thai and chatted briefly prior to my Georgetown get-together. As I told her more than once, I'm happy that Hanley didn't mind us going about separate paths those first few days. In fact, I think one of the reasons this was my favorite trip to New York was due to the time to myself, navigating the subway on my own without being led around by the nose as on past trips. I reached a comfort level that provided a strong base for the next day's excursion and many future visits.
But first, there was a Georgetown gathering! Unfortunately, I am not the best at knowing who is where at this point in their post-Hilltop lives (see also: my friend Cora not even being IN New York anymore) and while we thankfully picked up Liz (Vinci) Sisti last-minute, those who gathered in Chris Hadjuk's Hudson Heights apartment were able to come up with some New Yorkers I'd left out. I hope to catch those folks on a future visit.
Nonetheless, the company that made it resulted in a delightful evening. The night began, as did my entire adult drinking career, with a delicious gin and tonic prepared by Chris Hadjuk, while stories tumbled up and down the Jacob's Ladder of GU theatre history (thirteen years of which were represented by those in attendance). Gathered in the warmth of Chris's living room, we were transported to Burleigh parties (in now insanely priced houses) and backstage antics (including who hooked up on which stages and which stages were lit on fire), with brief time-outs to report on our respective lives since last we met. Time flew, and after a spirited round of Cards Against Humanity (or rather Crabs Adjust Humidity), coaches turned to pumpkins as we hugged goodbye and promised not to let as many years fly by before seeing each other. Marjory Collado treated Jason and I to a cab home, which led to me closing out an epic New York day by hopping out right on Hanley's doorstep and collapsing onto her couch with contented exhaustion.
Still to come: Ten Thousand Villages
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