New York in February: Perfect

Before I tell you about my trip to New York, I need to tell you something about myself. 

I am an oxymoron; I am a people-person who loves her solitude. I live mostly alone (my eldest son lives with me, but he’s more solitary than I am), and I work in a classroom filled with the enthusiasm and chaos of teenagers. I am intentional about making time for friends, but I spend long stretches of time alone. My life works for me.

This is why my quick trip to New York last week was absolutely perfect. I spent my days mostly alone, wandering around, eating my way through neighborhoods and generally soaking up the city. I left Kentucky with one scheduled item on my daytime itinerary. Everything else was fluid. My evenings, on the other hand, were booked with good friends. Six of us moved as a group to dinner and Broadway shows, laughing and talking nonstop about everything.

Perfect.

Two of those good friends invited me to tag along to their work conference. Or more accurately, they invited me to tag along to New York. They went to conference sessions all day while I wandered around the city, and then we all went out in the evenings. (A piece of unsolicited life advice: Always say yes when good friends invite you to go to New York or anywhere that takes you out of your daily routine.)

Even the air travel was perfect. Our flights there and back were on time and neither was full. I had a whole row to myself both ways which felt like a luxury. Check out the dude in front of me. He booked one seat for himself and one for his cello. I could see it out of the corner of my eye, and my writer’s imagination turned it into a robot whose head, at any moment, would swivel around and stare at me. (It is a well-established fact that I am both a weirdo and a nerd. I own it.)

Our hotel was in Times Square, and it took us an hour to get there from the airport. There were five of us, and I was squished in the “way back” of the van, but I didn’t mind. The driver, trying to avoid the worst of the traffic, took a circuitous route through Harlem and down the West Side. I suppose a native New Yorker would have hated it, but I saw it as an opportunity. We passed schools and bustling streets with people going about lives that were both different and the same as ours.

Ice balls fell out of the sky on that drive. (It was 74 degrees back home.) By the time we got to Times Square it was just cold rain, but none of that dampened our spirits. This picture was taken at 2:30 in the afternoon. 

We wandered around and decided we needed a snack to hold us over before our dinner reservations and went into the Stardust Diner. 

Our timing was perfect, and we were seated immediately. When we left an hour later, the line was out the door and down the block. If you’re not familiar with The Stardust, the wait staff are all Broadway hopefuls. In between bringing your nachos and drinks, they sing, and when they sing, you know it’s just a matter of time before they make it out of the diner and onto one of the stages nearby. We all spent more on the tip than we did on the food with no regrets. On the way out, Erin said, “I think I just paid $40 for a milkshake.” 

There may have been some hyperbole in that statement, but not much. Our waiter was wonderful! Blogger wouldn't let me upload the video, but suffice it to say he’s great. He was also ridiculously fun. When he realized that we were seeing & Juliet, he got so excited! He’s seen it nine times! We had agreed on Wicked and then waffled between & Juliet and Six for our second show. His excitement got us hyped about our choice!

I am a confirmed terrible selfie-taker, but here we all are, blurry and with part of Tai’s head cut off. 

This is a good time to talk about the shows we saw. They were both reimaginings of classic stories. I love turning a story on its head when it’s done well, and especially when it’s rewritten from the perspective of a female character who has been vilified or marginalized. I won’t say much about Wicked except that it was wonderful and we loved it. It’s been running on Broadway and touring for years, and many of you have certainly seen it. I will say that as I was watching, it put me in mind of both the UKJHF workshop on teaching the Holocaust that I attended recently and several moves by this session of the Kentucky legislature. When you need votes or a distraction to keep the base stirred up, reframe the narrative and create a convenient scapegoat. Happily for her, Elphaba was not powerless, and the story ended well. I do love a happy ending, and we are all happy here.

I just learned the term “jukebox musical” this week. & Juliet is a jukebox musical. All of the musical numbers are familiar pop songs, but they are repurposed to fit the story being told. The writer for & Juliet is David West Read who also wrote for Schitt’s Creek, and the same humor and heart is in both works. The way he used pre-existing song lyrics was genius. This jukebox musical relies heavily on boy bands and pop queens, and for a couple of days the Backstreet Boys owned real estate in my head. Love them or hate them, their songs are singable ear worms that stick. When Juliet sings, “Oops!... I did it again,” she gets big laughs, and contextualized properly, fluffy pop songs become emotional anthems. When the Nurse sang P!nk’s “Fuckin’ Perfect” to Juliet, I felt every word. (Side note: None of us knew the original song dropped the f-bomb because we had only ever heard the sanitized radio version. The unsanitized version is way less fluffy.) 

I love love love this version of Juliet where she decides not to kill herself after waking up from the friar’s potion and finding Romeo dead. She’s sad, but she also wants to keep living, and when her parents threaten to send her to a nunnery, she runs off to Paris with the Nurse and her best friend May, a trans woman. (As one character notes, this is not shocking. Shakespeare frequently played with cross-dressing as plot device.) 

Hijinks ensue, and they are smart. The writer drops out-of-context lines from the original play with perfect comedic timing. Amanda, Erin, and I couldn’t decide if we loved it so much because it was truly funny or because we’re English teachers who have taught Romeo & Juliet soooo many times. But our non-English teacher friends confirmed that it was actually hilarious. William Shakespeare and his wife, Anne Hathaway, are characters in the story, and when Anne told Will that he wrote Romeo as a douche, I cried laughing. It’s true!! Romeo is a total douche, and high school kids always figure it out. Leo DiCaprio’s Romeo is less douchey, but even the greatest actors can’t overcome the writing. (Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m not ragging on Will. I think he intended Romeo to be a douche. Why else would he have Romeo howling on the ground, saying that flies may kiss Juliet, but he may not? Seriously.)

Anne rewrites a scene, and Romeo moves from girl to girl, repeating, "Did my heart love til now?" It's comedy gold.

So yes, & Juliet is absolutely funny, but it also has heart. Erin and I cried real tears for May and her subplot. And again, those breezy pop songs carried some weight. May sang Britney’s “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman” so poignantly it hurt, and when she tried to get the acceptance of a parent with the BSB’s “Shape of my Heart," I realized I was actually clutching my own heart for her.

Final word: Six of us went to see & Juliet, and we gave it 12 enthusiastic thumbs up. If you get a chance to see it in New York or on tour, GO!!

I’m so glad I was with those six people! There was so much to process, and it was a much richer experience for being with friends who share my sensibilities about theater and art and music. But I’m also glad for the time I spent by myself. I am a copacetic group member, but there is luxury in deciding exactly how you’re going to spend your time in a place like New York.

As I said, I had one thing on my daytime itinerary when I arrived: go to a Fitness 305 class in the Village. This is why at least one friend affectionately called me a weirdo, but I’m addicted to my workout. I love dance fitness, and Jazzercise wasn’t an option because of their schedule. A week before my visit, an instructor visiting from DC who had previously lived in New York came to my class. She told me the Jazzercise Center in NY was awesome, but she surely knew about their limited schedule because she told me if Jazzercise didn’t work out, I should go to a Fitness 305 class. So I looked it up. It’s dance fitness with a live DJ and a whole club-style light show happening while you’re working out. I’m not going to lie. I was a little intimidated. In the videos, the crowd skewed significantly younger than me, and when I arrived, there was no question that for most of them, I could be their mother. Most of them. There were three ladies who looked like they might also remember the 80s and that made me feel better. 

Everyone was friendly and welcoming. The instructor made a point to remember my name and to tell everyone I taught Jazzercise (But hey, no pressure). I tried to hide in the back row, and some of my Jazzy friends will laugh at that, but there was no hiding in that class. To start with there were mirrors all over the room. Jazzercise explicitly disallows mirrors in our centers so that people won’t feel self-conscious (Thank you, Judi!). We also use a stage so that everyone in the room can see the instructor. No stage in this room. The instructor moved around the room throughout the class, essentially switching the front and the back. Five minutes in, she was right next to me, shouting, “Come on Kathy, let’s get it!” And we got it. We most definitely got it. I can see the exact moment we got it when I look at my heart rate data for the class.

But I didn’t die, and I kept up. The choreography was different from ours, but like ours, it’s in repeated combinations, and after a repetition or two, I picked it up. The structure of class was also different, jumping right into cardio without an opening warm-up. Like our classes, there were customers at different fitness levels who knew how to modify the moves to work for them. When my knee started talking to me, and it did, I brought it down to low impact and didn’t feel weird about it because I wasn’t the only one. It was leg day and we did 5-10 minutes of strength moves focused on legs. I wanted the instructor to come stand next to me then because I was back in my comfort zone, but alas, she was getting it with a girl on the far side of the room wearing an “oh shit!” expression. And lest you think I’m mocking that poor girl, I am certain I had that same look on my face when it was my turn to get it. 

This cute girl kicked my butt!

I’m glad I went. It was fun. It was a kickass workout, and it’s the closest I’ll get to an actual club. I’ll never forsake Jazzercise, but trying new things is a rush, especially when they’re out of your comfort zone.

Since I was in the Village for the class, I spent the rest of the day there until it was time to return to Times Square and my people. I went to The Strand Bookstore where I bought two books, a magnet for my whiteboard collection at school, a perfect onesie for Angela’s baby girl and a book bag that I shall carry everywhere because it speaks the truth.

If you don’t know about The Strand, check out their website, and if you’re in New York, check out the store. They advertise 18 miles of books. I didn’t measure while I was there, but it certainly felt like it could be true.

I wandered into a vintage dress shop, ate a slice at Joe’s Pizza, had some gelato and hung out with the pigeons at Washington Square Park.

Spiderman once ate here. 

Mostly, I soaked up the vibe of that part of the city, and time passed faster than I wanted it to. I walked 7 miles that day, a paltry sum compared to the next day.

I started the next day with a trip to the New York Public Library. My friend, Lisa, suggested it (she is a librarian), and it was a GREAT suggestion.

At the main branch on Fifth Avenue, there is an exhibit called “Treasures,” and there has never been a more accurate name. The first thing you see when you enter is a Gutenberg Bible from 1455. It’s gorgeous. Following that are medieval texts from all over the world. The illuminated manuscripts are incredible, and I had trouble pulling myself away.

The Gutenberg Bible 1455

I saw a first edition printed copy of the Declaration of Independence and a draft copy in Jefferson’s own writing. When I got to the handwritten draft of George Washington’s farewell address, I became weepy. Reading the words of a person who is gone allows us to reach back across time and touch them. That feeling is magnified when you are faced with the actual piece of paper on which they wrote those words. The emotion that welled up inside of me was another version of the feeling I get whenever I open my mother’s cookbook and see a recipe in her own handwriting. In that moment, I feel her there in the room with me. And just for a moment, I was standing with the first American to voluntarily step away from the highest office in the nation. There is power in the written word, and preserving it gives humanity a fighting chance against its own hubris.

Printed Declaration of Independence 1776

George Washington's Farewell Address

After a couple of fruitful hours at the library, I found the subway station and headed uptown. During those two days, I traveled all over the city via subway. A mundane daily routine for one person is fascinating to the next. The subway is a whole world unto itself. So many diverse people inhabit the same space. There is entertainment at almost every station. There are people walking through the cars selling candy and chips. You see people reading, talking on the phone, jamming to music, staring blankly into the dark outside the windows and speaking every language imaginable. Once again, Blogger thwarted me in my efforts to upload a video of a woman singing a mournful cover of "Dancing in the Dark" over the rumble of the subway. You'll just have to go to New York and hear the buskers for yourself.

I got off the subway at 81st and Central Park West, right next to the Natural History Museum. My ultimate destination was The Hungarian Pastry Shop on 111th Street, and while I had no intention of walking those 30 blocks, that’s exactly what ended up happening. I had time to kill before my meeting, so I meandered through the park, eventually popping out on the east side at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was tempted to go in because it’s an amazing place, but I have been inside before, and I knew there was no way I’d make my meeting on time if I succumbed to the temptation. So I kept heading north until I got to the reservoir. Then, I took the path that circles it back over to the west side. Circling the reservoir was the coldest walk of the entire trip. The sun was actually shining that day, but it was in the low 40s and a frigid wind was coming across the water. Thankfully, I had a warm woolen cap, and it was bearable.

Once I was back on the west side, I left the park and went two blocks over to Amsterdam. I had not eaten lunch and I was hungry, so I stopped in a Peruvian restaurant and had a couple of empanadas. It was a really good decision. They were delicious, and I tend toward hangriness when I don’t eat regularly. One should never meet anyone hangry, even if one is meeting in a bakery.

Thus fortified, I started walking north again. It occurred to me a couple of times to find a subway station and ride the rest of the way to my destination, but I kept seeing interesting things, and so I kept not getting on the subway. New York is a really cool place to take a long walk, even in the cold. I reached the bakery 20 minutes early, so I wandered across the street to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine and gave them $10 to browse through it. I had actually been inside before, but I love cathedrals, and it was a good way to spend 20 minutes.

Finally it was time for my meeting! If you’re still with me, and you’ve been paying attention, you’re probably thinking, “Wait a minute! You said you only had one thing on your daytime itinerary when you left Kentucky, and you already did that.” Good catch, reader friend, but I made this appointment after I arrived in New York. I posted a picture on my Facebook story of the Stardust Diner on the day we arrived, and the person I met at the bakery saw it and messaged me!

It’s Emmaline! She is an ECS Justice Dragon and former student who now attends Columbia University!

The three hours I spent with her were some of the best of the whole trip. She suggested we meet at the pastry shop, and the line outside the door was a sign that it was a good choice. I had the chocolate caramel cake. I was so engaged in our conversation that I forgot to take a picture. When I later mourned that fact to Amanda, she had my back and found a picture from their website. (What? Food is an integral part of the travel experience, and exceptional food is worth remembering in a picture.)

We talked in the bakery, and then we ventured back out into the cold and talked as we walked all over campus. She gave me the entire tour and told me about her studies. I don’t think I stopped smiling and bursting with pride. She has made unconventional moves in her educational journey to build the life she wants for herself, and she did it during a pandemic. I couldn't be more proud.

Alexander Hamilton was on the tour. He is a graduate of Columbia which was once known as King’s College. (Are you hearing “Ima get a scholarship to King’s College, I probably shouldn’t brag, but dag I amaze and astonish” in your head right now? You’re welcome.)

We talked about everything… the research she’s done, the books we’ve read, academic freedom, living in the city, movies, and even poetry. When Emmaline was in my class, I struggled to win her over to poetry. It just wasn’t her thing. Now she’s in the poetry club at Columbia! Of course, it was a specific poet that won her over, and that’s how it goes. You may think you don’t like a particular thing, and then you find one of that thing that blows you away and your whole mindset shifts. (I thought I didn’t like Bluegrass music, and then I heard Mountain Heart.)

I bought a Columbia hoodie in the bookstore. I can legitimately wear it because I have a kid there now. Roll your eyes if you must, but every time a group of students graduates out of our program, we feel the loss. We have them for 3-4 years, depending on when they join us and they grow up with us. I had not seen Emmaline in the 4 years since she graduated. She is still the intelligent, insightful young woman who left us, but she has gained the poise and confidence that comes with education, travel and life experience. When she walked me to the subway station to head back downtown, we had a hard time saying goodbye. One of us would think of one more thing to talk about, and we stood at the top of the stairs talking for another 15 minutes. My eyes were wet when I finally walked down to the platform.

The day had been full and wonderful, and I collapsed onto the bed in the hotel room at 5:15 ready to rest a bit. Amanda smiled and said we were meeting downstairs at 5:30. Our dinner reservation wasn’t until 7:30 but the rest of the group wanted to get out of Times Square and walk around. They had been sitting in all day in conference meetings. I had 22,000 steps. I whined a little bit (maybe more than a little bit), but rolled back off the bed and rallied. By 6:00, I was back on the subway heading uptown, and for the second time that day got off at the 81st street station.

It was dark when we crossed the street and entered the park, but there were 4 of us and we were on a well-lit path… until we weren’t. Somehow we took a wrong turn and ended up walking under a bridge in the pitch dark. We could see someone coming from the opposite direction, and there was a moment of concern, but I was pretty sure the person was pushing a stroller and holding a child’s hand. I don’t imagine many serial killers take their toddlers with them on their killing sprees. It was weird, though, that he walked with them under a dark bridge, and when I stepped on a piece of gravel and it popped loudly, everyone jumped. We laughed, and we also plowed right through the landscaping to get back on the lighted path. 

We found our way to Strawberry Fields and the Imagine mosaic. Are you hearing John Lennon in your head? Well banish that thought. We were actually listening to death metal coming out of a boombox. Yes, an actual John-Cusak-over-the-head boombox. A whole group of teenagers had congregated nearby. They didn’t pay any attention to us as we took our pictures, and we didn’t feel unsafe. Maybe because we have all taught high school and know the difference between leave-me-alone and menacing body language. We gladly left them alone. The music was obnoxious. 

Our dinner reservation was on the east side of the park, so we headed that way, and I crossed the park for the third time that day. It was a different experience though. The lights of the city were beautiful in the distance. We were all caught up in the experience enough that none of us took a picture of the lights. I was initially disappointed when I realized I didn't have a picture to put in this spot, but then I remembered the vibe, and I was glad I was in it enough that I forgot my phone. The park was still alive with people jogging, biking, and walking their dogs, and it was an experience we could only have in New York. When we sat down in the restaurant, someone declared that we were badasses for walking across the park at night, and then someone else noted that it was 6:30, and we all burst out laughing.

This is the four of us the night before. No pic from the actual restaurant.

Our adventure made a good dinner even better. The restaurant was warm and cozy and welcoming after our cold walk. When we walked in, I noted that it smelled good, and Amanda declared that it smelled better than the rest of New York. High praise, indeed. The food was good. The drinks were plentiful. And we laughed until our faces hurt.

We took a Lyft back to our hotel after dinner. I didn't want to walk any further than the curb. Amanda took a picture of me trying to tie my shoes. My knee was calling me bad names, and I was returning the favor. Thankfully, this is a picture and not a video. 

I walked 13 miles that day… 30,565 steps. My knee flat out hurt when I crawled into bed that night, but I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

We woke early the next morning and headed to the airport. We called a car for five people and the one that arrived seated four. Erin sat on Amanda’s lap and worked at not getting carsick. Luckily for them, the trip to the airport is much faster at 7:00am on a Saturday than in the middle of a weekday. The flight was uneventful, and we stopped at a bustling Chick-fil-A in Florence to stave off hangriness before returning home. We chattered happily all way back to Georgetown, and when they dropped me off, I settled into the quiet of my house, happily alone.

Perfect.

If you’ve stayed with me this far, you are a friend indeed. Reading this was surely a marathon. I know writing it was. I set a goal of 4 blog posts this year. I didn’t intend to write them all at one time. But it is what it is. The first quarter is finished with a month to spare. Go me!