Back to my roots: I am rockin' the grunge right now. Thanks to a wonderful, extensive, and somewhat haphazard series of events, recounted here.
*Note: Some important theoretical discussions also went down, and I will skim them in italics at the appropriate chronological narrative moment.
The Plan: Karin would finish work in Manhattan around 10pm. Audrey would catch the 7:30 train from New Haven. I would leave Wilmington by car around 8, and the three of us would meet up at Karin's convent-home in Astoria by 11. We would then head out on the town.
The Wrench: On Monday my oil light came on, so I made a service appointment for Friday and in the meantime poured a few quarts of oil into my engine over the course of the week. The best part of this is that my designated oil-buying time is approximately 8:45 on weekday mornings, on my way to work... Which means I'm demanding (politely) a quart or two of 5W-30 and a funnel, declining (also politely) any help or expertise, and pouring oil (delicately) into my engine in heels and tailored trousers.
Despite the unfortunate conditions forcing me to perform this task, the scene never fails to amuse me.
Because we all know I like to make a scene.
Friday afternoon, around 4pm, I find out out my oil pan needs to be replaced, because the entire engine is splashing around in several quarts of motor oil. The car should not be driven, and if it must be driven, it should only be driven locally in Wilmington, until the pan can be replaced on Monday.
So, feeling somewhat defeated and wildly desperate, I check train tickets: no way I'm going to spend that kind of $$. The time is ticking. Greyhound's got my back, but I have to be at the bus station in half an hour, it's 15 minutes away, and I haven't packed yet.
The New Plan: Audrey, Karin and I converge on 42nd Street, Manhattan, 4 hours from ticket purchase, ready to hit the town, with only a purse each. Thus the grunge.
The Run-down: I saw the lady behind me at the Wilmo bus station get nabbed for check fraud, and fought for a phone-charger outlet as my phone was conveniently and extremely dead. Love the bus, baby.
After a series of long, mid-sidewalk group hugs, we headed to E. 14th Street for free-pizza-when-you-buy-a-beer at the Crocodile Lounge. Immediately upon entering Karin disappears from in front of us into a deluge of screaming hugs from none other than Britta and Andrew, notable Jersey City Inhabitants, St. Olaf Class-of-'11-mates, and Good Friends. (Also Joe McGo of Northfield freestyle fame.)
Crocodile Lounge was hot and deafening, so we decided to head back to the street in search of a slightly less overwhelming venue. Karin had been wanting to check out a place nearby called, what else, Professor Thom's. As die-hard anthropology grads, could we really pass up a bar kind of named after the illustrious Tom Williamson? Not a chance.
It turned out to be the best decision ever. Thom's is a Boston bar, which is probably only interesting to me since my brother goes to school there and I love it. And possibly interesting to New York City residents who want to watch Patriots or Bruins or Red Sox games. The decor looks like colonial Boston, brick-walled with red and gold accents, lots of polished wood. More notably, we took our first round, of Thom's Olde Ale, upstairs to the Loft, where we found a side room full of large couches and a small dance floor pretty much owned by two gorgeous ladies in LBDs and tall boots, rocking out to 80s dance hits. Needless to say, we eventually joined them.
*Note here the social phenomenon of taking turns buying rounds of drinks for our companions, a theory first introduced to Karin in Professor Tom's Modern Elixirs class back on The Hill. Sociologically, the proverbial "round of drinks" is a ritual that shapes the social experience of drinking culture.
When things seemed to be petering out up there, we left to find drunk food and found it around the corner at a Taiwanese joint called Baohaus. To find out what bao are, you are better off just clicking the link and looking at photos, because I really am at a loss for descriptors. I got an oyster po bao, mostly because I thought the name qualified as amusingly poor wordplay. It was very oystery, which I didn't mind.
True to CAKE-in-New-York form, we made it back to Astoria roughly around 5am.
Also true to form, we headed over to the nearby Brooklyn Bagel for breakfast the next morning. Now New York is famous for its bagels, and Brooklyn Bagel's mindblowing array of creamy, any-flavor cream cheeses and fresh bagels does not disappoint. They also have one of those fresh orange juice machines, which I love.
*Enter the Cream Cheese Theory. If, hypothetically, Karin went to Brooklyn Bagel on Day 1 and had a whole wheat everything bagel with lox & scallions cream cheese, and fell in love with it, should she try some of the other delicious options on a later occasion and risk dissatisfaction? Or should she continue to enjoy her old standby, lox & scallions? Analogically, should we settle at this early point in our lives in a place, or with a person, that we love, when the theoretical maple walnut could potentially be our new favorite if we only tried it?
Next stop, Central Park Conservancy's Tavern On The Green ice sculpture exhibit. This was a cool stop, and as a matter of interest you can become a member of Central Park Conservancy kind of like you can become a member of public radio, old-school-crowdfunding-style. The free hot chocolate was a major perk.
We didn't stick around too long because the Chelsea High Line was calling our collective name. This former elevated train track has been turned into a park, like a raised greenway popular in cities like MSP and Boston. Audrey was excited to catch a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty off in the distance, and a rather extensive glimpse of Jersey across the river. Actually, the High Line provides a pretty sweet vantage point of the big city. (In the future, keep an eye out for a photo of the building-side Diane Von Furstenberg ad featuring tons of lips, which it turns out I love with a weird intensity.)
Feeling hungry, and in search of a restroom, we descended toward the Chelsea Market, where one can find the impressive Amy's Bread, started by an Ole grad like ourselves!
Let me just say that Valentine's Day weekend was a fantastic time to visit the city. Audrey and Karin were somewhat taken aback by my uncharacteristic displays of emotion at the virtual cornucopia of flowers saturating the city. Also at the babies and little kids all bundled up in their tailored New York best. A few quick vignettes: A flushed, apron-clad server at a Queens diner dashes out of a florist two doors down with a single rose clasped behind her back. A sort of nondescript grey-haired man emerges from a subway station with an explosive bouquet in hand, emanating distracted determination. A little girl in a perfect black pea coat and matching beret flounces along before her parents holding a bright yellow tulip over her heart. Beautiful. There is no other word.
Back to the Market. I was most excited by a stall boasting "Craft Beer To-Go!" but my sighting of it was poorly timed. We hit up Hale & Hearty Soups for three-lentil chili and a delicious Tuscan white bean soup with spinach, and talked about our professional ambitions as though we are real, live adults. Our real-life adult alter egos also hit up a wine & chocolate tasting of wines and chocolates I somehow managed not to write down, but the chocolate had lip prints on it (!!!) and was filled with rosé champagne cream. The tasting also featured a beautiful, rich port, which I would love to drink again but alas, I am remiss in my name-jotting.
Quick aside: I am a sucker for shoes. Another enthusigasm I had (haha, see what I did there?) was a direct reaction to a Chelsea store called Shoegasm, where I got stuck on a delightful pair of bright purple Dolce Vita "Notty" pumps. Today, between Chinatown and SoHo, I was hypnotized into a store called Necessary Clothing by a gorgeous pair of red Breckelles Kansas-12 boots. Step 1: I wholeheartedly own the fact that I have a problem. Step 2: I have retained my willpower and bought neither pair of shoes. Kind of a sad victory.
Now, Shoegasm happened while we were vaguely en route to meet Andrew, Britta and Joe for happy hour, and we ended up stepping into and back out of several West Village bars before we found The Slaughtered Lamb in Greenwich Village, on W. 4th and Jones Street. It caught my eye because of the Slaughtered Prince in Stardust, and also because I'm super into that dark-windowed pub exterior with neon beer signs in the window. The embellished nameplate was a successful kicker.
*Here I went on a passionate rant about intelligent design, or better intentional design. (Here Karin chimes in, "Purposeful design!" And Audrey adds, "Conscious!" Context being the heated disbelief of a person this summer who insisted that intelligent design couldn't be possible if we consider all the ways our bodies break down and stop working, and all the individual imperfections in our bodies and in the natural world. My argument is that intelligence does not presuppose perfection, but that the flaws and failings of what I call Creation make it all the more beautiful, that I, intelligent though I may be, could not begin to create something that works better. That the intricate workings of our bodies are beautiful and I prefer to imagine someone bent over them late into the night, working out the kinks, putting pieces together with agonizing care.
The Slaughtered Lamb boasts over 100 bottled beers, the world's smallest bathrooms, the world's best whiskey sour, awesome music and ambience, and a weird larger-than-life spinning statue of a werewolf biting a young maiden on the neck. We were sitting in its shadow, which really freaked out Audrey and Karin, but we had a good time there anyway. Even though the water tasted like liquid plastic.
The water at Veselka, though, where we went for supper, was delicious. The guy who refilled our water glasses was also very skilled at aiming the pitcher stream straight into the glass from a substantial distance. I was impressed. All of us were impressed with the pierogies, which come in about 9 different delicious flavors. The arugula & goat cheese, sweet potato, and sauerkraut & mushroom were favorites. The place was packed, so we were kind of rushed out, but we took a piece of cheesecake to go and ate it on the subway back to Astoria. It was divine, and all the more so because of the setting. I admit we made a bit of a splash with our savoring antics.
We ended up staying in and watching YouTube videos on Saturday night, so we could get up early and head to Chinatown's Jing Fong Restaurant for dim sum--Chinese brunch in a HUGE banquet hall where we sat at a table with a small Chinese family and chose delicious delicacies off carts pushed by staff through the hall. Let me just say that eating out with vegetarians is consistently an interesting experience, especially since I was craving meat for a lot of the weekend. I'll sum it up in a quote from Karin: "This is great because we can just pick whatever looks good, and Clara can be our garbage disposal for all meat!"
Awesome. I am a garbage disposal. For meat, no less.
Feeling well-satisfied by this traditional Chinese brunch, we set back out on the street, which had filled up with cherry vendors. I LOVE cherries. And they were so cheap! So we bought a pound and pretended like we weren't going to eat them as we walked along. We didn't pretend like we weren't going to practice tying knots in the stems with our tongues, though. Never gets old.
We were going to try and cram a Staten Island Ferry and a mysterious "cute thing" Karin had planned into the day before I had to catch my bus back to Wilmo... But I voted we put off the ferry 'til next time, and we headed up toward SoHo to Openhouse Gallery, currently Park Here: The Indoor Popup Park! Basically, this open gallery has been landscaped with fake grass, trees, bushes and flowers, and even a little gazebo. We parked it on the ground and sat to chat for awhile, watching the Mommy Morning turn into hipster afternoon, full of trendy twenty-somethings reading poetry and drinking coffee.
We didn't fit in at all, not our skinny jeans or several days' worth of greasy hair. We decided to hit up the Grey Dog on Mulberry Street (inspiration for the childhood favorite, And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street? I don't know) for "lunch." "Lunch" being Mexican hot chocolate for Karin and hot spiced wine with almonds and raisins floating in it for Audrey and I. Oh, and we split the world's biggest brownie. Wholesome, I know.
Also, the host kept frantically changing his mind about which table we would be sitting at, finally settling on "The Ideal Table for you guys, it just opened up. There've been some people sitting there but they just left... So you're going to be up in the back corner." Turns out it was The Ideal Table, a little round one nestled in the corner of the bench wrapped around the whole café, which featured a surface map of Philadelphia. The way the table was oriented, Wilmington fell right into Karin's lap. Not a bad place to live, I'm sure.
I won't say I almost missed my bus, because I really didn't, and I did a pretty amazing job not getting anxious about it. But they shut the doors about 2 minutes after I boarded, and I was so stoked the whole way home that I didn't even try to sleep. Really the bus is the best way to go, and I plan to get up there wayyy more often from now on.
Seriously. Spending time with Audrey and Karin was so refreshing, so intellectually stimulating, so much like coming home. Considering that New York City has often been a source of stress in the past, this is saying a lot. But I appreciate our shared prior text, and how utterly and unconditionally comfortable we can be together, and how they take for granted all the parts of my personality I struggle to convince my new friends of. Plus, we got reallllly grungy together. (A true St. Olaf flashback!)
The day before I left I texted Karin asking her what I needed to bring. She texted back,
*Note: Some important theoretical discussions also went down, and I will skim them in italics at the appropriate chronological narrative moment.
The Plan: Karin would finish work in Manhattan around 10pm. Audrey would catch the 7:30 train from New Haven. I would leave Wilmington by car around 8, and the three of us would meet up at Karin's convent-home in Astoria by 11. We would then head out on the town.
The Wrench: On Monday my oil light came on, so I made a service appointment for Friday and in the meantime poured a few quarts of oil into my engine over the course of the week. The best part of this is that my designated oil-buying time is approximately 8:45 on weekday mornings, on my way to work... Which means I'm demanding (politely) a quart or two of 5W-30 and a funnel, declining (also politely) any help or expertise, and pouring oil (delicately) into my engine in heels and tailored trousers.
Despite the unfortunate conditions forcing me to perform this task, the scene never fails to amuse me.
Because we all know I like to make a scene.
Friday afternoon, around 4pm, I find out out my oil pan needs to be replaced, because the entire engine is splashing around in several quarts of motor oil. The car should not be driven, and if it must be driven, it should only be driven locally in Wilmington, until the pan can be replaced on Monday.
So, feeling somewhat defeated and wildly desperate, I check train tickets: no way I'm going to spend that kind of $$. The time is ticking. Greyhound's got my back, but I have to be at the bus station in half an hour, it's 15 minutes away, and I haven't packed yet.
The New Plan: Audrey, Karin and I converge on 42nd Street, Manhattan, 4 hours from ticket purchase, ready to hit the town, with only a purse each. Thus the grunge.
The Run-down: I saw the lady behind me at the Wilmo bus station get nabbed for check fraud, and fought for a phone-charger outlet as my phone was conveniently and extremely dead. Love the bus, baby.
After a series of long, mid-sidewalk group hugs, we headed to E. 14th Street for free-pizza-when-you-buy-a-beer at the Crocodile Lounge. Immediately upon entering Karin disappears from in front of us into a deluge of screaming hugs from none other than Britta and Andrew, notable Jersey City Inhabitants, St. Olaf Class-of-'11-mates, and Good Friends. (Also Joe McGo of Northfield freestyle fame.)
 |
| WWR**. Too excited to make a normal face. |
Crocodile Lounge was hot and deafening, so we decided to head back to the street in search of a slightly less overwhelming venue. Karin had been wanting to check out a place nearby called, what else, Professor Thom's. As die-hard anthropology grads, could we really pass up a bar kind of named after the illustrious Tom Williamson? Not a chance.
It turned out to be the best decision ever. Thom's is a Boston bar, which is probably only interesting to me since my brother goes to school there and I love it. And possibly interesting to New York City residents who want to watch Patriots or Bruins or Red Sox games. The decor looks like colonial Boston, brick-walled with red and gold accents, lots of polished wood. More notably, we took our first round, of Thom's Olde Ale, upstairs to the Loft, where we found a side room full of large couches and a small dance floor pretty much owned by two gorgeous ladies in LBDs and tall boots, rocking out to 80s dance hits. Needless to say, we eventually joined them.
*Note here the social phenomenon of taking turns buying rounds of drinks for our companions, a theory first introduced to Karin in Professor Tom's Modern Elixirs class back on The Hill. Sociologically, the proverbial "round of drinks" is a ritual that shapes the social experience of drinking culture.
When things seemed to be petering out up there, we left to find drunk food and found it around the corner at a Taiwanese joint called Baohaus. To find out what bao are, you are better off just clicking the link and looking at photos, because I really am at a loss for descriptors. I got an oyster po bao, mostly because I thought the name qualified as amusingly poor wordplay. It was very oystery, which I didn't mind.
True to CAKE-in-New-York form, we made it back to Astoria roughly around 5am.
Also true to form, we headed over to the nearby Brooklyn Bagel for breakfast the next morning. Now New York is famous for its bagels, and Brooklyn Bagel's mindblowing array of creamy, any-flavor cream cheeses and fresh bagels does not disappoint. They also have one of those fresh orange juice machines, which I love.
*Enter the Cream Cheese Theory. If, hypothetically, Karin went to Brooklyn Bagel on Day 1 and had a whole wheat everything bagel with lox & scallions cream cheese, and fell in love with it, should she try some of the other delicious options on a later occasion and risk dissatisfaction? Or should she continue to enjoy her old standby, lox & scallions? Analogically, should we settle at this early point in our lives in a place, or with a person, that we love, when the theoretical maple walnut could potentially be our new favorite if we only tried it?
Next stop, Central Park Conservancy's Tavern On The Green ice sculpture exhibit. This was a cool stop, and as a matter of interest you can become a member of Central Park Conservancy kind of like you can become a member of public radio, old-school-crowdfunding-style. The free hot chocolate was a major perk.
We didn't stick around too long because the Chelsea High Line was calling our collective name. This former elevated train track has been turned into a park, like a raised greenway popular in cities like MSP and Boston. Audrey was excited to catch a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty off in the distance, and a rather extensive glimpse of Jersey across the river. Actually, the High Line provides a pretty sweet vantage point of the big city. (In the future, keep an eye out for a photo of the building-side Diane Von Furstenberg ad featuring tons of lips, which it turns out I love with a weird intensity.)
Feeling hungry, and in search of a restroom, we descended toward the Chelsea Market, where one can find the impressive Amy's Bread, started by an Ole grad like ourselves!
Let me just say that Valentine's Day weekend was a fantastic time to visit the city. Audrey and Karin were somewhat taken aback by my uncharacteristic displays of emotion at the virtual cornucopia of flowers saturating the city. Also at the babies and little kids all bundled up in their tailored New York best. A few quick vignettes: A flushed, apron-clad server at a Queens diner dashes out of a florist two doors down with a single rose clasped behind her back. A sort of nondescript grey-haired man emerges from a subway station with an explosive bouquet in hand, emanating distracted determination. A little girl in a perfect black pea coat and matching beret flounces along before her parents holding a bright yellow tulip over her heart. Beautiful. There is no other word.
 |
| Lunch break hugs. I LOVE these girls. |
Back to the Market. I was most excited by a stall boasting "Craft Beer To-Go!" but my sighting of it was poorly timed. We hit up Hale & Hearty Soups for three-lentil chili and a delicious Tuscan white bean soup with spinach, and talked about our professional ambitions as though we are real, live adults. Our real-life adult alter egos also hit up a wine & chocolate tasting of wines and chocolates I somehow managed not to write down, but the chocolate had lip prints on it (!!!) and was filled with rosé champagne cream. The tasting also featured a beautiful, rich port, which I would love to drink again but alas, I am remiss in my name-jotting.
Quick aside: I am a sucker for shoes. Another enthusigasm I had (haha, see what I did there?) was a direct reaction to a Chelsea store called Shoegasm, where I got stuck on a delightful pair of bright purple Dolce Vita "Notty" pumps. Today, between Chinatown and SoHo, I was hypnotized into a store called Necessary Clothing by a gorgeous pair of red Breckelles Kansas-12 boots. Step 1: I wholeheartedly own the fact that I have a problem. Step 2: I have retained my willpower and bought neither pair of shoes. Kind of a sad victory.
Now, Shoegasm happened while we were vaguely en route to meet Andrew, Britta and Joe for happy hour, and we ended up stepping into and back out of several West Village bars before we found The Slaughtered Lamb in Greenwich Village, on W. 4th and Jones Street. It caught my eye because of the Slaughtered Prince in Stardust, and also because I'm super into that dark-windowed pub exterior with neon beer signs in the window. The embellished nameplate was a successful kicker.
*Here I went on a passionate rant about intelligent design, or better intentional design. (Here Karin chimes in, "Purposeful design!" And Audrey adds, "Conscious!" Context being the heated disbelief of a person this summer who insisted that intelligent design couldn't be possible if we consider all the ways our bodies break down and stop working, and all the individual imperfections in our bodies and in the natural world. My argument is that intelligence does not presuppose perfection, but that the flaws and failings of what I call Creation make it all the more beautiful, that I, intelligent though I may be, could not begin to create something that works better. That the intricate workings of our bodies are beautiful and I prefer to imagine someone bent over them late into the night, working out the kinks, putting pieces together with agonizing care.
The Slaughtered Lamb boasts over 100 bottled beers, the world's smallest bathrooms, the world's best whiskey sour, awesome music and ambience, and a weird larger-than-life spinning statue of a werewolf biting a young maiden on the neck. We were sitting in its shadow, which really freaked out Audrey and Karin, but we had a good time there anyway. Even though the water tasted like liquid plastic.
The water at Veselka, though, where we went for supper, was delicious. The guy who refilled our water glasses was also very skilled at aiming the pitcher stream straight into the glass from a substantial distance. I was impressed. All of us were impressed with the pierogies, which come in about 9 different delicious flavors. The arugula & goat cheese, sweet potato, and sauerkraut & mushroom were favorites. The place was packed, so we were kind of rushed out, but we took a piece of cheesecake to go and ate it on the subway back to Astoria. It was divine, and all the more so because of the setting. I admit we made a bit of a splash with our savoring antics.
We ended up staying in and watching YouTube videos on Saturday night, so we could get up early and head to Chinatown's Jing Fong Restaurant for dim sum--Chinese brunch in a HUGE banquet hall where we sat at a table with a small Chinese family and chose delicious delicacies off carts pushed by staff through the hall. Let me just say that eating out with vegetarians is consistently an interesting experience, especially since I was craving meat for a lot of the weekend. I'll sum it up in a quote from Karin: "This is great because we can just pick whatever looks good, and Clara can be our garbage disposal for all meat!"
Awesome. I am a garbage disposal. For meat, no less.
Feeling well-satisfied by this traditional Chinese brunch, we set back out on the street, which had filled up with cherry vendors. I LOVE cherries. And they were so cheap! So we bought a pound and pretended like we weren't going to eat them as we walked along. We didn't pretend like we weren't going to practice tying knots in the stems with our tongues, though. Never gets old.
We were going to try and cram a Staten Island Ferry and a mysterious "cute thing" Karin had planned into the day before I had to catch my bus back to Wilmo... But I voted we put off the ferry 'til next time, and we headed up toward SoHo to Openhouse Gallery, currently Park Here: The Indoor Popup Park! Basically, this open gallery has been landscaped with fake grass, trees, bushes and flowers, and even a little gazebo. We parked it on the ground and sat to chat for awhile, watching the Mommy Morning turn into hipster afternoon, full of trendy twenty-somethings reading poetry and drinking coffee.
We didn't fit in at all, not our skinny jeans or several days' worth of greasy hair. We decided to hit up the Grey Dog on Mulberry Street (inspiration for the childhood favorite, And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street? I don't know) for "lunch." "Lunch" being Mexican hot chocolate for Karin and hot spiced wine with almonds and raisins floating in it for Audrey and I. Oh, and we split the world's biggest brownie. Wholesome, I know.
Also, the host kept frantically changing his mind about which table we would be sitting at, finally settling on "The Ideal Table for you guys, it just opened up. There've been some people sitting there but they just left... So you're going to be up in the back corner." Turns out it was The Ideal Table, a little round one nestled in the corner of the bench wrapped around the whole café, which featured a surface map of Philadelphia. The way the table was oriented, Wilmington fell right into Karin's lap. Not a bad place to live, I'm sure.
I won't say I almost missed my bus, because I really didn't, and I did a pretty amazing job not getting anxious about it. But they shut the doors about 2 minutes after I boarded, and I was so stoked the whole way home that I didn't even try to sleep. Really the bus is the best way to go, and I plan to get up there wayyy more often from now on.
Seriously. Spending time with Audrey and Karin was so refreshing, so intellectually stimulating, so much like coming home. Considering that New York City has often been a source of stress in the past, this is saying a lot. But I appreciate our shared prior text, and how utterly and unconditionally comfortable we can be together, and how they take for granted all the parts of my personality I struggle to convince my new friends of. Plus, we got reallllly grungy together. (A true St. Olaf flashback!)
The day before I left I texted Karin asking her what I needed to bring. She texted back,
"toothbrush, wisdom and love."
I want in on all of your emotional/cultural/culinary New York delights
ReplyDelete