Bicoastal Adventures

I spent President’s Day weekend in New York because I needed to use a free one-way ticket I got from new budget airline Virgin America. As my little brother (Pboy), his wife (Steph) and my good friend (Wing) all live there, it seemed as good as place as any to visit, and I’m sure glad I did. I learned three important lessons while there: (1) New York is even better than everyone says it is. (2) One three-day weekend is simply NOT long enough to even scratch the surface of New York. (3) LA has made me soft. Unfortunately, this last lesson was the hardest to learn. I spent the entire weekend bundled up yet freezing, compromising my ample personal space requirements, and grimacing at the sore feet resulting from this thing they call “walking” of which they are so fond in New York.

But first, a message from our should-be sponsors. If you have not flown Virgin America yet, DO IT. If you live in one of the hundreds of metropolitan areas not yet serviced by Virgin America, then move. Seriously, Virgin America has Southwest prices yet assigned seats, a full media console for each passenger, the ability to order soda refills using your own touch-screen television, and flight attendants who wear pants and collared shirts and generally refrain from wocka-wocka-wocka humor over the PA system.

So my plane left LA on Friday night and arrived a whole hour early at 5:30 a.m. in NYC. I did not sleep a wink in between. Following the explicit instructions Pboy had given me—which I memorized so I wouldn’t have to reference them and appear touristy—I managed to successfully navigate the NYC subway system for the first time in my life and showed up at Pboy and Steph’s doorstep in Brooklyn at 7:00 a.m. After a shower and some other primping, we got breakfast at a great diner in their neighborhood, where they sure know how to cook but not how to spell, so if you’re like me and have a hard time with typos on menus and such, try not to read anything the entire time you are there. This will be difficult—there are signs everywhere. But the effort will be worth it for their many flavored butters.

After breakfast we headed (1) to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens at my request, where everything is pretty much dead this time of year, (2) to Target for some much-needed Diet Coke, (3) to Battery Park, where we hopped the ferry to see (4) the Statue of Liberty and (5) Ellis Island. Both (4) and (5) were great attractions, but I wish we had spent a little less time at (4) and a little more at (5), (5) being far warmer because it was inside, involving far more things to explore than we expected, and employing the more congenial ferry workers. When debarking the ferry at Ellis Island, we were instructed to “watch [our] step” and “take it easy.” By contrast, on Liberty Island we were screamed at to “take bigger steps!”

When we got back to Manhattan, we headed straight for Chinatown. At one point, Pboy went into a bank to use the ATM, leaving Steph and I standing on a street corner waiting for him. I soon learned that standing on a street corner in NYC is equivalent to asking for trouble. We had only been there a few seconds when all sorts of Chinatown locals tried to sell us “Hempay.” As I suspected at the time, and as my internet research has since confirmed, they meant good old-fashioned weed, although Steph and I had a laugh over the technical distinction between marijuana and hemp and the nice hippie necklaces we could construct out of the product they were offering. Even more disturbing, one young man tried to buy some from us. Having watched way too many “cooperation” themed shorts on Sesame Street as a child, I suggested that we point buyer in the direction of seller. Fortunately, Steph reminded me that doing so would violate the law.

Once Pboy rejoined us, nobody tried to sell us anything. Now, I love my brother dearly, but given his beard and the retro-Castro look he was sporting that day, I would have assumed that he appeared to be the most-likely user/seller out of the three of us. I was wrong. Later, when I recounted the whole experience to Wing, she laughed and said the only things she had ever been offered in Chinatown were fake designer purses and watches. What?! Having been paid my annual bonus last year in watches rather than dollars (long story, but totally true-- wretched economy), I was wearing a real designer watch at the time and still nobody offered me a fake one. Nope, apparently I give the impression that all I care about is the drugs. I am seriously rethinking that H&M hat I was wearing to keep my ears warm.



Although every single meal I had in NYC was fabulous, I must say that the culinary highlight of the trip was at Joe’s Shanghai in Chinatown, where they have the most wonderful pork soup dumplings (pictured above). I didn’t even know I liked soup dumplings that much until I tried these. It was love at first taste. I don’t know if Joe’s is the best Chinese food in NYC, but I will say it is the best Chinese food in LA. Even when you factor in the price of a plane ticket, it is a reasonable amount to pay for such a great meal.

Although it was still early evening, I was completely exhausted by that point. We went back to P&S’s super cool apartment and I fell asleep in the middle of CSI: Miami. They let me take a short nap, then woke me up and kept me talking for a few hours so that my sleeping schedule could get back to normal. They also fed me ice cream cake.

(The Players, from Left: Pboy, Steph, Yours Truly, Wing--who was

promised that no pictures of her would be posted on the internet without

express permission, which has not yet been obtained)

I spent the majority of the next day with Wing, my friend from law school whom I had not seen in four years. We got breakfast in the West Village (I think) and she took me on a walking tour of all the hippest neighborhoods in Manhattan. In the process, we stumbled upon a Belgian waffle hut selling French Macarons, which have replaced cupcakes as the chic treat du jour in Beverly Hills, so we stopped in to get one (or was it sixteen?). Then we went to the MoMA (my choice) and, as it goes with modern art exhibits, we saw a lot of awesome art and a lot of total crap. Seriously—a crumpled piece of paper under a glass case? That doesn’t even qualify as irony. My favorite was the “installation” of a motion-sensitive light bulb that, when you crossed its path, whispered horrid things at you in a Satanic voice. Wing and I had a good time standing in front of blank canvases while practicing our best “hmmmm… brilliant” faces. Yet our admission fee was truly earned when Wing overheard a New Yawker security guard tell another security guard, in his best New Yawker accent, “You have built yourself a false paradise.”

After the MoMA, we got real NYC hot dogs for a late lunch and cruised around Central Park. In actuality, it was only Wing who was “cruising”—in her leather boots, no less—while I was “hobbling” along in my sneakers. Eventually we met up with Pboy and Steph in the East Village for some Thai food. The food was great, but the 1980s easy listening soundtrack made it even more memorable. During a Richard Marx song, Steph confessed that she had childhood crushes on both Richard Marx and George Michael. Strangely, the very next song was Wham’s “Careless Whisper.” Only it wasn’t George Michael singing, it was as if someone in the restaurant was singing Karaoke. The restaurant was empty except for us and the employees, none of whom appeared to be singing to Steph. After “Careless Whisper,” the music returned to normal. We never did solve that mystery, but after encountering that demonic light bulb at the MoMA, I can’t help but wonder if it was the fixture above our table serenading us.

By this point, I was dead on my feet once again. Regardless, Pboy, Steph and Wing dragged me to Times Square just so I could say I saw it. I did. It was fun. We all debated the need for an entire store dedicated to M&Ms. Then we went home. That was also fun but not as electrified.

On Monday, Pboy had to work (heresy), so Steph and I set out for some bagels, some shopping, and some Brooklyn Bridge crossing. I was pretty much freezing the whole trip, but being atop the Brooklyn Bridge with all the wind took the cake. Still, if you go, you have to do it. We also ran into Tom Hanks and Colin Hanks at a store in SoHo, but I will let you read about that on Steph’s blog cause I’m getting tired of typing and Tom Hanks really only talked to her and not to me. And no, he did not try to sell us any “Hempay.”

After recovering from our unexpected celebrity sighting, Steph and I met Pboy near his work and went to lunch at a place called The Burger Joint, which is literally a shack tucked out of sight in the lobby of a five-star hotel. There was quite a wait, but it was well worth it as the burger and fries were fabulous. After that, it was time for me to head back to Brooklyn, pack up, and get myself to the airport.

Back in LA, the only public transportation I took was the shuttle from Terminal 4 to Parking Lot C (for you Angelenos, it was too late to catch the Flyaway bus). Then I drove my car the eight miles back to my house. An entire Jeep for just me and my backpack seemed like an embarrassing excess after a weekend of cramming into the subway with other people. And that, my friends, is how LA makes people so soft.