I don’t count Saturday as day one because I got here in the evening. That “story” is not very interesting and not that complicated, but the experience was, still, a bit trying.
I got into Cleveland on time; we rode in a propeller-propelled plane that had nine rows, the ninth of which had five seats across, which is to say, two for each aisle and one in the middle where the aisle would normally be. I was in row eight and boarded third behind a young woman; she followed the single “rewards” customer, who was in the 9th row but moved up to 4 before takeoff. The thing about small planes is that because of their size, balance matters … not too many people on one side vs. the other, or all up front vs. in back.
In Cleveland I rushed from concourse D to C, and there I only needed to get to gate C-3, but when I arrived there was a line and the plane was boarding, so I made a quick trip to the bathroom, came back out, asked a guy in line which rows were boarding, and since it was 16 and higher (to 29) and I was in seat 24-D, I was in the right place. As it was my part of the row was empty but for me, and over in 24-A an Asian-American woman sat reading a book. About the time we should have been taking off the captain told us that Newark told us to wait 20 minutes due to weather delays. Then they rerouted us north of the storm, and when we finally got to the eastern part of New Jersey they furthermore put us in a holding pattern, so I saw the same football field and baseball diamond several times as we circled.
Finally we landed, I hurried off the plane and through the airport to the AirTrain terminal, stopping to buy a ticket first. I got to the end station, got out, hurried because I saw the 8:06 train, and, perhaps because I first put my ticket in upside-down, perhaps “just because,” I got to the base of the stairs a few seconds too late, the doors were closed, and so I had to wait. I knew that there should be another NY-bound train arriving momentarily, but then it didn’t come and didn’t come, and even a couple in late-middle-age standing nearby with whom I spoke wondered. It should have come at 8:15. At 8:25 it still wasn’t there. Around 8:29 it arrived and departed … with us, and, curiously enough, it made up time and we arrived more or less “on time” at 8:50, only about 9 minutes late for me, had I taken the first train, that is.
After a little searching I did find Jyoti, we got on the 1-2-3 line uptown (it was an Express) but switched at 96th because we were on a 2, and took a 1 up to 110th. She lives two blocks north on 112th, which means within a couple hundred feet of “Tom’s Restaurant,” made famous, I guess, through the “Soup Nazi” from Seinfeld. I never really watched Seinfeld, so it means little to me, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
We dropped things off and shortly thereafter caught another train downtown, for we were going to the Bollywood Disco down in Tribeca. Once there we called some friends/acquaintances, and when they arrived we chose to pay the $12 cover. If only it had included a drink. In any case, we all stood around and danced a few minutes — I unenthusiastically went along for a few minutes but then resorted or returned to form by standing while others danced.
I thought and thought about it, and perhaps I was just tired, perhaps it was just normal, but I had no desire to dance, no inner fire that was being held back by insecurity or inhibition … it just didn’t seem “fun.” The music was okay, mostly from Bollywood films that I didn’t know. But even if it had been Nirvana or AC/DC I’m not sure I would have jumped around or felt the wish to. Around 1am Jyoti and I and an unnamed short guy — fitting into Jyoti’s educated (Harvard) Jewish man fetish — left and took trains back uptown.
Jyoti supposedly knew three of the people who showed up — the hefty blonde, the pretty Indian, and Tekla the Hungarian (who, alas, reminds me in name if nothing else of Ookla the whatever from Thundarr the Barbarian. Tekla is much nicer than that, though. But she went home early and didn’t join us inside.
Today (Sunday) I awoke late, or rather, awoke early but went back to sleep until nearly 11. After all, I hadn’t gone to be until after 2am. Which takes me back. Unnamed accounting student (age: 39), Jyoti and I stopped at “Tom’s Restaurant” for some early morning / late night food and drink. The purpose was shakes, but I also got some fries, and I got a malted milk rather than a regular shake. Not bad; $4.40 for the drink. The fries were okay but nothing special. Unnamed guy went for an omelet; Jyoti had a veggie burger with basically no toppings … no lettuce or tomato, making her a bit of an anti-vegetarian-vegetarian.
This afternoon we went a few blocks south to the Indian Cafe, which was having a 21st Anniversary celebration (celebrating 1-s is supposedly an Indian thing, says Jyoti), and as such were charging their 1986 prices for everything. I had a tasty catfish salad … not particularly Indian, but quite good. And not too large a portion. Mango drinks all around … lassi for me, juice for Jyoti, and shake for Ana, which takes me back to another not-yet-typed paragraph.
At the corner of Broadway and 112 Jyoti and I waited for and then met up with Ana the Serbian, a blonde of average height (5’7″?) who has a friendly smile and always seems eager to listen even if you suspect it’s just politeness. Nice person as far as I can tell, though. After the food we all walked north to Columbia and strolled through the campus. Outside the gates again Ana left us to study, and Jyoti and I took a walk first through Barnard, across the street, and then through the Union Seminary whatever building, where the Columbia religion program is now/currently housed. Then down Amsterdam, a street parallel to Broadway, but one block east, and eventually back to Jyoti’s to rest.
In the evening we tried calling Ana but she was unavailable, so the two of us went alone to this local Hungarian Pastry Shop … really tasty looking food items. Cherry-Cheese Strudel for me, thank you very much. The prices are doable … not worse, really, than a Starbucks, which means that done properly, New York can be affordable.
Jyoti wants to see a Broadway show, but tickets would run us $50-60 … perhaps I should do it just because … but I can’t make a habit of it. At the pastry shop we talked, I doodled a bit, and Jyoti told me stories about Zeke and Ana and the possibly crazy friend of a friend, as well as some tales about other friends and acquaintances … all of which aids me in contextualizing things.
From there we strolled a few blocks and then back “home” for the night. I showed Jyoti the Serbian Eurovision winner, the video for whose song I had confused with the Bulgarian entry … Ana should be pleased, since I’d had few nice things to say about the Bulgarian video. The Serbian song, though, isn’t much to write home about, though, and the singer looks a bit like Rosie O’Donnell crossed with a Sean Young outfit from Bladerunner. We spoke of well-aging French women quite briefly, which led me to think of someone not quite French, or rather, French in a nicely international way: Isabelle Adjani, born of an Algerian father and German mother, blah blah blah … and whom I remember from Possession (1981).
Jyoti has all four Harry Potter movies on DVD … quite the distraction.
Tomorrow is Memorial Day, the museums are closed, so we’ll take a long walking tour downtown via Central Park, stopping along 5th Ave. toward the south end of the park because of all the “sights” located there, and then Times Square and more south toward NYU … and a subway home. That sounds reasonable to me … with lunch and other breaks for our feet and stomachs.
