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September 03, 2007
The Big Apple
Those of you who know me well know that my negative feelings about Connecticut are like mild dissatisfaction when compared to the oceanic loathing I harbor for New York City. I have it on good authority that there are countless empty acres available throughout the world for humanity to spread out upon. Why in the world would 8 million people choose to live on one skinny, stinking, loud, congested, expensive island? It makes no sense. And yet, several of my best friends in life have chosen to settle there. And so I must periodically visit. Thank god Christian had the good sense to leave.
Last weekend, I was in New York for the pre-wedding celebration of Holden, one of my best friends from high school. It was not really a bachelor party proper, but rather a series of urban excursions with a group of people collected in various contexts throughout his life. There was the high school contingent, the law school crowd, the folks from work, etc. We ate brunch in Manhattan before taking a subway to Queens to visit The Beach, a new tourist attraction, which consists of a bunch of sand dumped in a former parking lot along the water. The view of the Manhattan skyline from The Beach is really something. If I had remembered to bring my camera, I'd be happy to show you. On account of its being nearly 100 degrees, we decided to leave The Beach in favor of some cooler destinations. We hopped on the water taxi and headed south, stopping in Brooklyn before arriving at the South Street Seaport.
Along the way, we took some pictures
My friend Victor and me:
Scott, Victor, me, and Holden (and on the far right, Ian, who I just met this weekend, a friend of Holden's from law school, if I remember right).
The water taxi is only $10 and will carry you a long way. All the way from The Beach to the western side of Manhattan, apparently, a trip that takes about an hour and a half to complete. Considering that it usually costs about $50 an hour to stand on the street breathing in Manhattan, this is a fairly economical way to spend time. And on a hot day, the wind on the upper deck keeps one very cool indeed.
We debarked at the South Street Seaport. I headed uptown to pick up some emergency dry cleaning for Holden's fiance Michelle while the others sampled the offerings at the Beirgarten at South Street Seaport.
It was there that Holden ate the last chocolate-coated soft serve he will ever eat as an unmarried man.
We ate dinner at a very swanky Italian place on the lower east side, then headed to Chinatown for karaoke.
While in New York, I stayed in Greenwich Village with my good friend David Turner. As we often do when we're together, we wrote stories together by each providing every other word. We both get on a laptop, turn on instant messenger, and write the story back and forth as a chat. There were several unsuccessful efforts, but we were both pleased with the following:
Silvio Giovanni Giuseppi Beppe del Giorno di Lucca Prima Donna Del Vera was upset. He wanted friends, but who would agree? Who would agree to listen to that boorish, incessantly soporific nincompoop? Not anyone from the little town of Bacia del Pomona Sontita Pace Gama Ragazzo de Ponte Porro d'Abrucio en Gusto. So Silvio went to America, where people laugh and gaily prance. That's where people like Silvio are given a chance. Silvio spent sixteen months living in a lean-to under some docks. He loved it. Well, until he got brave barnacles on his ankles. After scraping them off, he was seized by a biologist from Cape Hampshire, who took him to prison. There he studied theology, chemistry, and botany. Finally, he understood God, chemicals and plants. Once he was knowledgeable of life, Silvio returned to his home overseas and started a new life. He changed his name to God de Lucia del Beppe Magnesium d'Arrancia Conifer Daisy Yahweh van Neon Buttercup de Abraham. Was there happiness? Some, but also despair. For in his will to discover new truths, Silvio had failed to uncover the falsehoods of life: recliners save lives, for every thing there is another thing, and a long day at home is better than a long day with someone you don't respect. No matter, Silvio endeavored to learn still life painting. He married no one and died penniless. His epitaph read: Here lies Silvio de Palma Apple Sulphate Pussywillow Athena di Ginko Biloba Zuul van Sodium Fruit Buddah Bowl Hyacinth Barnacle Jones, he died on his deathbed; how ironic.
Now we just have to convince Robbi to illustrate it.
Posted by bogenamp at September 3, 2007 12:23 AM
Comments
Please pass my congrats on to Holden. When is his wedding?
Posted by: Jessica at September 6, 2007 10:25 PM