04/09/2000
Hell of a Town

We got in the cab outside LaGuardia yesterday. After I told the cab driver where I was going he said, "so, what's the strangest thing you've ever put in your ass?"

And that, my friends, is how I became the star of the next episode of Taxicab Confessions.

The Wife and I pried ourselves out of bed at six Saturday morning, hastily made ready and took off for the airport, stopping in route for gas and Burger King. The Northwest e-ticket is totally easy - just walk up to the gate, tell 'em you're there and you're ready to get on the plane.

There was a moment there, though, when we were afraid...what shall we call her? Mo. Let's call her Mo. There was a moment there when we were afraid Mo, Sonya's friend and our travelling companion for this trip, was going to be late. She sidled up to the gate, though, moments before they started to announce boarding. Apparently Mo's teenaged son had criticized her clothes and make-up as "too young," but Mo is pretty and sassy and looked very comfortable and age-appropriate. We supported her completely.

Got a copy of Detour - a Hollywood-centric kind of magazine - because it had John Cusack on the cover. [Note: They don't have a website or there would be a link here. I'm link-happy this evening.] It's one of those magazines that's so pleased with its own cleverness that it never gets too illuminating or entertaining. I left it on the plane.

"Do you guys smell feet?" Mo asked at one point during the flight. Sonya and I assured her that we did not. On deboarding, though, I got a whiff of the footy odor, too. One of our fellow passengers needed the odor-eaters, apparently. Flying over New York City itself was cool, as we gawked down at all the big buildings and pointed out landmarks. The landing itself was hair-raising, as our runway terminated in a large body of water, which we seemed to be mere inches above. At the last second dry land appeared and we touched down safely.

I think airport designers do that just to get one last fright out of passengers. They sit back in the VIP lounge and watch each plane come in over the water, knowing at least one person is scared shitless and wondering why the pilot didn't announce that those seat flotation devices were going to come in pretty handy, after all. They watch all that and laugh like motherfuckers.

We didn't check bags, so we zoomed right out of the airport and into a cab, where I did not go into great details about anal adventures. The cab ride was like the plane as it came in for landing, with us pointing and gasping at the Big City.

"Look, the World Trade Center!"

"Oh, Broadway!"

"Hey, the Midtown Tunnel!"

It wasn't too long a trip, though, and we were deposited right at the door of The Inn on 23rd, which was lovely. Our room had a massive four-poster bed, a little sitting area and an alcove for Mo's rollaway bed to go in, along with three big windows that opened and allowed the warm breeze and sunshine of a beautiful spring day in New York to shine in. We spent very, very little time there.

Now, New York is a big city, and I have no idea how to get around in it. I didn't get a travel book or even a map. You'd think three New York newbies from Memphis would be pretty screwed without any kind of tour guide, right? Right. But we had a tour guide, and her name is Siobhan.

For those of you who are totally clueless, Siobhan is also an online journal-writer. Now, I think meeting internet people is creepy, even though I've done it and, usually, they're okay folks. Still, it gives me the shivers. But Siobhan keeps an excellent journal and she comes across as "not psycho," which is so important. We write occasionally, and send little gifts. That makes her a friend, not an internet person.

For the record, Siobhan is:

Picture of Siohban, Me and SonyaThe man-magnet thing is totally true. During our brief time with her she accumulated more phone numbers, compliments and marriage proposals than you would think is possible. It's like those big green flies on dogshit. Where do those flies come from, anyway?

Wait a second...that's not the most pleasant analogy in the world, is it? I should state that Siobhan is in no way dogshit-like. She is, however, a powerful attractor.

Personally, I suspect pheremones. Anyway, she's wonderful and I've totally got a crush on her now, as well as on a bouncer at Lucky Cheng's and, well, several members of the staff at Lucky Cheng's, actually. Read on.

So Siobhan shows up promptly at one thirty - just after we'd gotten in the room and put our shit down. We left the hotel and, chatting like old acquaintances, headed for the Empire State Building.

Whoo! They do make 'em big in New York! The Empire State Building is powerfully tall. Or, to adopt a Siobhan-ism, "mad" tall. It's also very crowded on Saturday afternoon. We descended to the steamy bowels of the building in search of the end of the line. We found it and were told it would be an hour. We bought postcards and continued on our way.

What all did we see on our walk? Um...Times Square, the Ed Sullivan Theater, Macy's, Radio City Music Hall (in the distance), the World Famous Bridal Building, the ESPN restaurant...uh, we saw the place where they drop the ball on New Year's, Trump Tower, the Plaza Hotel...and we capped it off with a leisurely stroll through Central Park.

I must stress that it was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, around seventy degrees or so, light breeze, no humidity...the park was packed with picnickers, joggers, strollers, lovers - all kinds of people that end with -ers. It had the look of the first pretty day after an unpleasant winter. We have days like that here in Memphis, of course; they just usually happen in late January.

We went back to the hotel on the subway, where we were neither mugged nor killed, much to my relief. It wasn't as clean as the Underground in London, but neither was it the Escape from New York dungeon I pictured it to be.

At the hotel Sonya, Mo and I changed clothes for the night's Eddie Izzard show. This required full costume changes for Mo and The Wife, while I merely put on the black vinyl pants and called it good. Then we went out to hail a cab, which is fun as long as it's not freezing cold or pouring rain (keep reading).

Siobhan took us to a Thai joint in Greenwich Village, which was friendly and spicy and very pleasant. Then we went to the bar next door, which is a place where Andy Warhol used to hang out. In fact, I think it was called the Warhol Drank Here Bar. We had beer and I felt oh-so-cosmopolitan, having a drink in Greenwich Village before a night of cutting edge comedy!

Siobhan put us in one more cab and then went home to change clothes, assuring us she would meet us after the show to, in her phrase, "party like rock stars." We got out at the Westbeth Theatre, in view of the shores of New Jersey. New Jersey was obviously a bad thing, because clouds filled the sky and a cold, knifing wind started to blow. I was wearing a long-sleeved black t-shirt that I love and that I've had for, like, eight years. It is unbelievably soft and comfy and thinner than a handkerchief. My teeth were chattering by the time we got in the lobby to wait for the doors to the performance area. The beautiful day? Gone!

The show was, of course, unbelievably funny. If you're familiar with Izzard's work you'll understand what I'm saying. If not, he's kind of free associative. He obviously has a set routine, but he always feels free to go off on a completely unrelated tangent. Live he was scruffier and meaner than on tape; his routine had a lot more political commentary in it, too - mainly slagging Margaret Thatcher. The crowd ate it up. He also covered American politics, world records and Darth Vader in the Death Star canteen. You truly had to be there. Sonya met lots of her Eddie Izzard people from the internet and seemed very much in her element. The people liked my vinyl pants, too, so I had to love 'em.

After the show Siobhan was waiting for us in the lobby bar. We all had a drink, then went out into the suddenly freezing cold night to catch a cab and head for our next destination: Lucky Cheng's. Our mission: drag karaoke, or something like it.

Siobhan and I, shootin' the bird"I like yaw paaaaannnnnnts!" said some chick in a bridal veil and scribbled-upon t-shirt.

"Thank ya, sweetheart," I replied, layin' on the ol' southern charm.

Lucky Cheng's is a drag bar where the staff is predominantly Asian. They serve Chinese food, too, or so I was told. Siobhan, Mo and Sonya positioned themselves by the stage while I went to get drinks.

The girl with a veil was a bride-to-be, I learned, and she wanted me to sign her t-shirt and put my phone number on it. I do not understand this ritual, but who am I to question the ways of Long Island girls?

She handed me her shirt-writing pen and saw my wedding ring. "Aw you maaaaaried?" she said.

"I sure am," I told her, putting my number on the shirt.

"Is ya wife heeeeeere?"

"Yup."

"Oh."

Just then one of her friends wandered up, carrying ten bottles of beer by the neck. "Do you wanna beeeer, maaaaaaaried maaaaan?"

"Yes I do."

Yes! Free drink!

So I got a round and went back to where the girls were watching the karaoke. The evening's main karaoke session, though, was delayed because there were three bachelorette parties and one birthday going on in the karaoke room. One drag queen, though, was singing the ol' Pat Benetar gem Hit Me With Your Best Shot. At least I thought she was a drag queen. What she was was gorgeous. I wasn't sure, so I asked Sonya.

"Is she a drag queen?" I asked.

"Uh-huh," Sonya answered.

I looked back up on stage. I don't know that I've ever seen a more perfect pair of legs.

I shrugged. "I'd do her."

We left after a while, but not before we agreed that the bouncer, in his NYC Gym Boys t-shirt, was one good-lookin' man and getting him to take a group picture of us.

Our next stop was Polly Esther's, a disco-themed bar located...well, I don't know where it was. It was nearby, but far enough that we needed a cab and it was cold enough that Siobhan and Mo hip-checked a couple of chicks who tried to get in the cab we hailed. We got more drinks and boogied for several hours to some groovy tunes. Mo got hit on by a guido named Carl. Sonya dropped Siobhan's little lunchbox purse and sent goodies skittering all across the floor. Siobhan met a guy named...Priscilla? Camille? Jennifer? Something girly.

Leslie! That's it. A good-looking guy, even if his taste in hats was questionable.

And Siobhan paid me the ultimate compliment, saying "you're the gayest-dancing straight man I've ever met."

Late in the night (after a photo-shoot on the sidewalk) we walked to a nearby diner. Sandwiches and waffles and a chocolate shake for me. Lots of drunken fun late-night conversation.

When we left the diner it was pouring rain. There were hugs all around as we jumped in a cab and left Siobhan to descend into the nearby subway station.

In hindsight, if we could have kept going another four hours we wouldn't have needed a hotel room at all. We could have partied 'til dawn, had breakfast and caught a cab to the airport. That might be tough, though. Maybe next time.

We got to the hotel at four, promptly crashed and were almost immediately awakened at eight by the alarm. Four hours wasn't even enough time to sober up, much less get over a hangover. I got up and slowly moved around the room, sure that my head would split open and spill its curdled, swollen contents all over the lovely carpet. It didn't happen and I was very sorry.

And it was snowing! Beautiful warm day yesterday, freakin' snowstorm today. Big, hard pummeling snowflakes. They had to de-ice our plane before we could leave, which I've never seen before. And we were sitting in the middle of a group of high school choir kids, who grated on my no-sleep, hung-over nerves. I was tempted to administer headslaps and backhands all around, but I managed to restrain myself.

And, from now on, I'm using "mad" as an adjective every chance I get.




And in another piece of slavish imitation:

Reading: A Man In Full, Tom Wolfe: I picked this up at the airport this morning. Big money and race relations in Atlanta, skewering all manner of social customs along the way. Delightful and sprawling.

Listening:
Josh's Blair Witch Mix
The Best Of, Corpus Delicti
Deep, Peter Murphy
Jen, James and Sonya talking high school reunions. I think I'll start a thread over at Beth's on this one....






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