I got back from New York Sunday night. Today is Tuesday. The plane from JFK was delayed two hours, so I arrived home past midnight. Yesterday, Monday, I had to stare into space. Stare into space and look at my rather random and sparse photographs. Turns out that one can’t put New York City into a lightbox and move its parts around like shoes. “Hey, you, you massive office building, could you please shove on over next to that tree?” And, although the Sartorialist and Tish Jett have figured out how to ask permission for photos of the stylishly dressed in large cities, I’m not quite yet up to, “Hey you, lady, dressed so fabulously, could you stop right there and turn your shoulders to the left?” So I’ve been sorting pictures. And thinking.
It looks like I’ll have four posts. First, a review of the Crosby Street Hotel and a couple of budget alternatives I know of. Second, Walking Some Of The Vast Isle That Is Manhattan, And, The Style Of Its Streets. Third, Window Shopping On Broome Street In Soho. Fourth, The Night I Wore My Louboutins To The Mark Hotel Bar. All subject to change, as I claim middle-aged privilege to remember something I have for the moment forgotten.
I do want to make sure not to disappoint anyone if I can avoid it. High WASPs hate above all else to disappoint, although, of course, it’s unavoidable if you live past the age of 3. So let me set context. This was not a trip of enormous sums dispensed in Fifth Avenue boutiques, or even hours spent looking over mirrored and scented countertops. There was a lot of walking. Huge quantities of pizza. More glitter from the sky and light reflected in windows than from gems. Works of art that you always forget are not just postcards. And, on my face at least, an enormous, almost perpetual, smile.
So I’ve been thinking. Thinking and eating lettuce non-stop. Turns out Californians are far more committed to lettuce than the rest of the country. On the other hand, Sweet Pea Soup With Parmesan Foam at Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s restaurant at the Mark Hotel was delicious. Talk to you all tomorrow. Thanks in advance for your forbearance.
*And by the way, my son turns 20 today. Have a very happy birthday honey.