June 19, 2006
Home Sweet Home
OK, let's get this over with. I've been avoiding writing this entry since we landed on Friday night. And don't get me wrong, I had a fantastic time, amazing and thrilling, but writing about it just loses all of that emotion. I'll do my best.
The first thing I noticed when we were leaving JFK for Manhattan was how much Brooklyn looks like Chicago, especially the neighborhood my grandmother lived in before she moved west. The buildings and houses, how they were arranged, the schoolyards, it brought me right back to visiting Grandma B in Chicago. Of course, these are the memories planted when I was like seven or eight years old, so who really knows.
SP and I arrived at our hotel, Hotel 17, on 2nd Avenue and E 17th Street and almost immediately left on foot to explore. He took me through Union Square to Chelsea, the Village, and down to SoHo where we stopped for a few drinks. We got back to the room around 2 a.m.
The next day, we were up and out early to Bumble and Bumble, where SP got his hair done, and where I spent an hour or so gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the Hudson River. After that, we took off again to wander around Lower Manhattan. We ended up having lunch at a terrific little Cuban place called Café Habana. From there, we went back to the hotel to get ready for the concert.
OK. There is no possible way I can describe how the concert went. I mean, it was an amazing concert, Rufus Wainwright is wonderful, the music was wonderful, Carnegie Hall was enchanting, his sister Martha, and his mom Kate McGarrigle were great, the surprise of Lorna Luft singing a duet with him was jaw-dropping (frankly), and I expected that much. But when the overture started playing, I started crying, which only ended during the intermission and then started up right when Act 2 began. I was so moved to hear these famous songs. Rufus loves Judy, there's no question about it. And he performed the music with reverence but didn't lose his fun, unique personality. He sang the playlist of the entire concert, and I was especially bawling my eyes out when he sang "San Francisco" and the medley that includes "The Trolley Song." His sister, Martha, sang "Stormy Weather," and she was amazing, all the way down to her rhinestone-studded heels. I was captivated, sitting on the edge of my seat the entire concert. And after the concert was over, and after we passed Gina Gershon on the street, we went around the corner to the stage door where we waited patiently for Rufus to come out. And when he did, the crowd went wild again. He looks so short in person.
So get this: It's a concert; concerts have t-shirts. Marc Jacobs designed one of the t-shirts to look just like his poster. The shirt is solid orange, and on the front is the concert poster, which looks just like the Judy poster only with Rufus' name and picture. Those sold out in minutes flat. We should have bought the shirts first. We tried at the end of the show, and they only had smalls and mediums left. Whatever. You people knew this was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime event, and you didn't plan to make an inordinate number of larges? Like what, you wouldn't be able to sell them? Sure thing. We were destroyed. There were two black shirts, each of a different design, but we didn't want those. We wanted orange. Wah wah wah. So, on the way home, we decided to try the hall on Thursday night, right when the doors opened to see if they had replenished their supply. Sure, they had to have more somewhere, right?
Thursday was spent walking up the east side, through Central Park, running into Geraldo Rivera on the street (not exactly who I thought I'd meet on the streets), walking around the Jackie O Reservoir in Central Park, down Central Park West, and back to Carnegie Hall to check on the t-shirts. We got there right as they started selling the merchandise. And guess what? They still had no large orange t-shirts. "Still?" we said. "Oh, were you here last night?" said the t-shirt guy. "I almost got mauled because we didn't have large shirts last night." Yeah, by me, I thought. So, once again, with dreams dashed to the floor, but still needing a shirt, we settled on the black shirts and walked out.
SP wanted to see a show while we were there, too, so after Carnegie Hall, we walked down Broadway, got two half-off tickets to Threepenny Opera with Alan Cumming and Cyndi Lauper, and then headed off for a slice before the show that night. It was my first Broadway show, and I was happy to see it. It was very good, I had a very good time, but it only got better when the show ended and we camped out at the stage door...again. This time, we were blessed with meetings with Ana Gasteyer (who was awesome and super friendly), Alan Cumming (who was sporting a package that made even me blush, and who is also super cute with that Scottish brogue of his), and—I'm trembling just thinking about it—Cyndi Lauper all pretty and sparkly and friendly and oh my God I love her. When she came out, I started crying again (why the fuck am I so emotional with all this crap?), and my hands were shaking so bad, I had to give SP my camera otherwise the pictures would be blurry for sure. I couldn't think of anything to say, and in retrospect, I only have one question I would have asked her: So Cyndi, how hard is it to buy Goobers when you're out of your body? She was so sweet and personable, so approachable. She saved my life with her music, and while that may be a slight exaggeration, she definitely helped me be who I was and am now. OMG, I love her.
Friday, our last day, we decided to give the Marc Jacobs store a try, to see if they had any stock. Conveniently, they were located on Bleeker Street, right across the street from the Magnolia Bakery, famous for their cupcakes. And of course, we had to go for cupcakes! Turns out, Marc Jacobs didn't have the shirts—they sent them to their store in, of all places, San Francisco. How bloody convenient of you. Thanks. So I immediately got on the phone to the store in the Fillmore and asked them if they had any. The guy said they wouldn't get their shipment until sometime later in the week—it's Friday after all, duh me, whatever—and that I should try back later. Fine, have a cupcake, honey. You'll feel as right as rain. They were good, but, eh, whatever.
We almost missed our flight home. Who the hell booked a flight leaving JFK at the peak of rush hour in Manhattan? I did, that's who, and I swear I'll never do it again. Our driver got us there faster than a cab probably would have, but still, we only had 25 minutes before the scheduled departure time, and as luck wouldn't have it, SP's bag wasn't checked on to our flight. It arrived on Saturday. By this time, my feet were so sore with blisters, all I wanted to do was go home.
I walked into my empty apartment on Saturday afternoon, and while I was exhausted, I didn't sleep until Sunday morning. I was wide awake all through the night, watching movies and fooling around on the Internet. I don't get it. And tell me how happy I was to feel cold air blowing on me when I drove down my street? How happy was I to put a coat on in the middle of June? Love it.
Sunday, I met H out at the Clay Theater to see A Prairie Home Companion which was delicious, but really only if you're familiar with the radio show. Well, maybe not. It's a Robert Altman film, so it's good no matter what. But the best part is that I found the Marc Jacobs store in the Fillmore a block away from the theater. I went in and found the remaining half-dozen shirts from the concert—I guess they just boxed up the leftovers and sent them off—and was lucky enough to find two medium-sized shirts—so I can at least say that I have one. I'll probably never wear it. Crying.
This morning, I got my first injection of the study drug for the vaccine test. I was first drained of blood...not really, but you know me, one vial is one vial too many...and then given the injection with a primitive sort of hypospray—read: no needles—and then sent on my merry way. So far so good. So I've got one bandage on each arm from the blood draw and one on my shoulder from the injection to match the two bandages on my left foot and one big one on my right foot from blisters suffered during my trip. How ridiculous.
I tried to get the gist of the trip into this post. I know it's rambling and verbose and hard to follow, but hey, that's me! I think the most important part of the trip for me was learning how easy Manhattan is. Once you learn how the streets are laid out, once you get your bearings and figure out east from west—and it's not so easy when you don't have an ocean on one side of you—it's a piece of cake. I can't believe how comfortable the city felt. I mean, it's a lot of people and a lot of buildings crammed into a tiny space, and it's still comfortable. Even the subway felt safe and clean to me. When I was walking around San Francisco on Sunday, I thought parts of it were way dirtier than even in New York! Now that I'm a registered voter in the City and County of San Francisco, maybe I'll write dear Gavin a letter.
I'm going to buy me a Lonely Planet guide to New York City and start planning my next trip so I can see all the things that I missed this time. Suggestions are welcome.
