New York City 2009

Monica and I find the Paley Center for the Arts in midtown Manhattan. A well dressed man asks whether we are here for the film, then gives us our will call tickets. First, we claim third row seats, then we visit the Stephen Spielberg gallery which features complimentary wine. This gallery displays posters highlighting the threat of global warming. There is a computer terminal for the purpose of collecting names for an online petition to the United Nations.

The film being screened at the Paley Center will be presented on HBO in the Spring. Eric Metzgar, the film maker, had followed Nicholas Kristof to Congo, where Kristof found starving war victims and interviewed a warlord. Most of the questions went to “Nick”, though someone questioned Eric’s claim of trying to be objective. “There is no way to separate the person from the process. I point the camera where I look.” Two time Pulitzer winner, Kristof, is the hero of the film. He reports on those suffering the most so that people can visualize just how bad these wars are. The Paley audience is the media elite. Pat Mitchell, in charge of the program and the organization, is a dynamo. How did we locate this event? Kristof tweeted.
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We arrive a little early and have a great Buffalo Wing sandwich. On a small stage in what appears to be an old passenger train at Pete’s Candy store in trendy Williamsburg Brooklyn, we will watch Amy Sohn and Julie Klam read from their books, mostly to other women. Hodgman has Twittered us the event notification. Both live up to impressive resumes. Amy enjoyed Julie relating her Letterman intern memories. Julie was an intern while going to NYU film school and her fictional memories of her real job were great fun. Julie likes Letterman. “He had a five year old. As far as we knew, Letterman was a one woman man.”

I went online to get SNL tickets and Daily Show tickets. We walked on Broadway past a Letterman taping. We stopped at TKTS and might have gone to Broadway shows. But, we somehow avoided the major visual broadcast events for more literary and independent events that popped in front of us or into our cell phones’ text mail.
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One set of tickets was purchased in advance. That was to see the Les Paul trio at the Iridium. Monica asked, “Would you have gone to see Les Paul if he were still alive?” “Absolutely. I loved to play Les Paul on KALX and would definitely pay to see him.” “Great. Then, we are going for the right reason.”

T.W. Doyle, Les Paul’s engineer, opened with some of his compositions, which I enjoyed, especially as he seemed more like a studio guy than a stage guy.

The Trio told stories about Les. Rusty Paul, his son, sat in the back representing the family. (In early November, nephew Steve Miller performs.) I enjoy the bass player particularly. This is how she happened to join the band:

“Les was a master of dirty jokes. I was playing with two guitarists. Les asked me to stay on the stage and they left. Les said something about girl bass players. I said something about old men. Les said ‘Looks like we have an act.”

Larry Coryell headlined the event, playing a speed guitar version of Bolero. (He talked about how he tried to imitate material that he later discovered that Les Paul recorded at 2x speed. I'm guessing that he came up with this in the 1970's.)
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We spent two evenings at the Symphony Space at 96th Street, which we learned about from an LED sign that scrolled on Broadway near our hotel. Appearing on the 20th: Frank Rich with Rocco Landesman. Appearing the 21st: Stephen Levitt and Stephen Dubner. We pick up the pamphlets at midnight or so, then go online at the hotel to reserve tickets.

The Leonard Nimoy Thalia, of the Symphony Space, seats one hundred or so and provides plentiful table space for writing. White haired people filter in and join us upon finishing their wine at the adjacent cafe, which has provided WiFi allowing me to play Mafia Wars.

Frank Rich, while engaged, could not be more relaxed. He asks paragraph long questions in perfect rhythm and grammar. NEA head and country music fan, Rocco Landesman, could not be more quotable. Rocco’s father founded the Crystal Palace theater in Saint Louis “because there were no good drinking establishments in the area.” It was a place “where people like Woody Allen would have residencies when they were going through divorces.”

We learn that the NEA has a small budget, $165 million, which is less than New York City’s arts budget and that, nonetheless, Glenn Beck finds ways to criticize them. Someone asks about special NEA programs for women. Rocco says this will not happen as the local organizations funded by the NEA choose how to spend the money, not the federal government.

Landesman pitches that the Arts attract the employees that attract the good companies that make cities thrive. “Arts money is development money.” A second thrust is education. “It turns out that the schools that incorporate art into everything, into math, into science, into everything, have the best test scores.”

Landesman faces little controversy from this polite, older crowd of arts supporters though he notes that his answer about arts spending for women “drew faint applause.”
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“I’m Levitt. He’s Dubner.”

We have figured this out already. The lanky, stiff guy must be the academic. The formally dressed Al Franken-esque guy must be the writer who first interviewed Levitt in 2003 for the New York Times Magazine.

This is a younger crowd. White haired people are present, but scarce. One would think that given the genial and good-humored Dubner lives a few blocks away, this crowd might be equally friendly to the previous night’s crowd. Judging from the questions, four of the five which could be considered pointed or self serving, this is not the case.

First, Dubner and Levitt describe how they met. This is entertaining and may be found in the forward to SuperFreakonomics. Two of the questions relate to environmental scientists accusing Dubner/Levitt of misquoting them, which they refute here.

“Let’s say we stop putting carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. It will still take 50 to 100 years before warming stops. The temperature will go up six degrees. We are not saying we need to put sulfur dioxide in the stratosphere (about the flow of one garden hose at each pole) to cancel out the warming effect. We are not saying that ocean acidification and carbon dioxide are not issues. But, we do need to talk about geoengineering. That is all.”

A woman plugs her book. Levitt plugs the woman’s book. Dubner gently corrects Levitt: “You learned about the book on prostitution in Chicago 100 years ago from our blog.”

Levitt coins the phrase "carbon crazies" and apologizes as "this is not language that I use elsewhere." As I texted to Facebook friends about our social skills: Monica is Dubner. I'm Levitt.
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Frank Rich. Nicholas Kristof. Dubner/Levitt. Their data will be solid. Their opinions will be well thought out. Their books will be best sellers.

Dubner/Levitt perhaps seek out the controversy, but are not angry themselves. People currently in their forties and early fifties seem to like to disagree to be disagreeable. “Mensa doofuses” ask impolitic questions, making themselves look unreasonable, where the same questions could be asked politely and reasonably. Heavily represented on television, I will be pleased to see them go out of fashion.

At less than Mensa level, we found Yankees fans in a lower Manhattan bar to be uniformly obnoxious during a playoff game versus the Angels. How obnoxious? They made fun of the Angels’ Nick Adenhart for being dead. People in Jeter uniforms (number 2) may be telling us more than they imagine. It was not just the one comment or the one bar. Because of the Yankee fans in New York, I can no longer imagine myself rooting for the Yankees team, even against the National League.
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A jean clad woman drinks from a water bottle. “No drinks,” the librarian giving our tour directs. “This is posted on the front door.” Our tour advances to the end of the hall. “No cell phones,” she directs to a man in a suit. “Please move on.”

The New York Public Library has WiFi. The restrooms in the park have attendants who prevent the grounds from turning into camps for the homeless. The library will soon lend. (It has been a research library.) The mission is clear. “No one had heard of this man. He left his estate to the library pointing out that no one had asked his name, but that nonetheless, help had generously been offered. Our mission is to serve everyone.”

More symbolic of our time is the Metropolitan Opera tour guide who looks at Monica’s backpack (actually more of a camera case.) “Of course, since 9-11, we can not allow backpacks backstage of the Met. Do you have a place to store it? No, there is no place to store it here.”

In my imagination, the librarians of NYPL vigorously debate whether water bottles should be allowed. Meanwhile the director of the Lincoln Center prefers not to think about their policies or to discuss them with employees. “Didn’t the Bush Administration warn us about backpacks?”

So much has changed. No one reads books in the Subways. It seems like they did two and four years ago. Dress is much more casual, even on Wall Street. The pace on the sidewalks has slowed as people stare into I-Phones. People in Manhattan do not seem to be as there as they used to be.

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We did other things. We toured Central Park and its Shakespeare garden on a cold, damp day. We walked the Brooklyn Botanical Center in warmth and sunniness. We found the New York Transit Museum. (Transit in NYC is several light years ahead of local transit.) We often visited the White Horse Tavern, where Dylan Thomas drank, for late night suppers. We ate the Barack Obama and the Willie Dixon (both excellent) at Amy Ruth’s on 116th in Harlem. We wandered and walked with direction, primarily around the Village. We stopped for “Brief Interviews with Hideous Men” at the IFC Theater.

We found comedy clubs. The first was the Village Lantern, no cover (they asked for donations), where we went because we were hungry. We had been assured some of the comedians had been validated by TV appearances, though the crowd was outnumbered by the comedians. Their schticks related to identity-- black guy, gay guy, guy from India, Bronx guy. The other comic troop, the Upright Citizens Brigade, was a higher league, still only five dollars. Their improv was quite professional.

Giuliani acknowledged Monica near Central park. (I was staring off into some other reality at the time.) Bill Thompson, Obama endorsed candidate for mayor, was surrounded by press in Brooklyn. I would have missed that too without Monica. The Hodgman and Kristof tweets? I would have missed them, also. This was our third anniversary trip. I can not imagine traveling without her.

Together, Near and Now

Together, we find a corner grocery store on 5th Avenue and 28th Street, and buy yogurt and fruit.
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Together, we wander through Chinatown toward Umbertos. A stretch limo is parked out front, which reminds me of my long missing brother-in-law, George Koppmann and his Little Italy mafia stories. (We assume any current mobsters would drive something more subtle.)
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Together, we quest to Lichee Nut, in Brooklyn Heights, where Jennifer and George always went. I order the Lichee and Prawn for the first time. It is extremely good. In 2001, I ordered beef and black bean, which was excellent, also. I am both now and then as we wander toward the area where Jennifer and George had their wedding reception. (It is gone.) Together, we stop at an independent used book store, still open. Again, I am near and then, at a bookstore where Jennifer once worked. (Did she used to work at a Waldenbooks on this street?) We find 100 Remsen, one of Jennifer and George's addresses, before Jennifer died in the plane crash, before we get on the subway and search for Williamsburg. Williamsburg has a "vibrant music scene with young artists like 'They Might Be Giants.'" There is no direct connection to the L-line and I misunderstand the subway man's "Schermerhorn," so we miss out on Williamsburg. But, our triangular Brooklyn walking search for the L line leads us past a McDonalds, past Hank's Bar, where Hank music blares, and near a megashopping area with a Target. Jennifer had shown me this area, too, though it has changed. I am still near and then.
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Together, we wander toward Tiffany's and $1000 silk umbrellas.
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With Monica waiting at a park bench, I find the only publicly accessible restroom in this high rent shopping area at the brewery. Together, we wander to a ticket booth with a finger tapping attendant out of "Welcome Back Kotter." Together, we wander toward the hole that commemorates the World Trade Center, where out of respect, no one takes pictures. Together, we take the subway back to Bleecker, and Monica finds an Italian restaurant where the first course is olives. Together, wander to Delancy, where a menacing man asks for 75 cents. Together, we take another subway toward the hotel.
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Together, we search for luggage along Broadway, at Macy's, at Duane Ready, and at Walgreens. Together, we notice a sign that says "luggage" at a 5th Avenue souvenir shop. Together, we find our corner grocery store on 5th Avenue and 28th Street, and buy yogurt and fruit. We wander to complete our memories and to satisfy our hungers. I wander along routes of my past, but Monica is near and now. Together, we trek toward our future.

NY Pass, A three day tourist trek

Museum of Sex: ****
Very close to the hotel, we visit here, on Saturday morning, before the Literary Tour. I discover that most, but not all "kinks" have been portrayed on Monica's favorite show, CSI. I enjoy the museum, except for the unsettling kinks. This scholarly and XXX museum demonstrates how much times have changed over the last couple of decades. At one time, the museum belonged only in Amsterdam.


Macy's, 34th: **
Monica buys a sweater. It is an attractive old store.

Empire State Building: *
We get our tickets, Saturday evening, and find the line for the Empire State Building Observation Deck. On our way, we meet a crying woman on her way to the exit. We should have taken this as a sign. We stand in line. Then, we stand in another line. Repeat. We go up an elevator to the 80th floor. Then, we stand in line. People try to sell us audio tours featuring the voice of a New York "cabbie". We stand in line some more. A voice announces that we can wait in line for the elevator, or we can climb the stairs to the 86th floor. We climb. The night view is nice. I look at the rivers and the outline of the island. Monica's sweater comes in handy, as it is actually quite cold and windy up here. We have spent less than an hour in lines, but nonetheless, we feel much like the woman we met on our way in.

UN Building: ****

The security check is easier than for the airport, this Sunday morning. We buy our ticket, are told our wait will be 15-30 minutes, and take this time to look around. The tour guide is a student from Algeria, who speaks English, Arabic and French. We view gifts to the UN from various countries. The US gift is a Norman Rockwell mosiac, with a multicultural "do unto others" theme. The guide explains the missions of the UN and takes us to all of the meeting rooms. She does not remember the name of the US ambassador, which may mean that Khalizad is more effective than Bolton. I am always impressed by the numbers focus at the UN. Our tour guide speaks of weapons proliferation without ever mentioning the American market share. I buy a UN shirt and cap, and mail a couple of postcards using international stamps. This place makes New York the capital of the world.

MOMA: ***


Van Gogh's "Starry, Starry Night" is here. So, is Edvard Munch, though "The Scream" is on tour. Lots of Monet's and Manet's. A Dali. We even find Duchamp, though his urinals seem to be elsewhere. We eat our Sunday lunch on the fifth floor in a room made up of black and white elements. The museum cafe has an "In-N-Out Burger" quality, as everything happens before our eyes.

Paley Museum of Television and Radio: *****
I guess I love libraries. This is YouTube gone wild, as video collections from the entire history of television and radio are here. Monica watches some of the featured Nixon/Frost interview and reports that it was interesting, and that Nixon was belligerent. Last time I was here, a feature was a very sharp Woody Allen and a very sharp Billy Graham discussing religion from a 1960's Dick Cavett show. We are allowed to view two selections each. The best choice in our Sunday afternoon private viewing is a James Bond special, which we skip through for Ian Fleming interview segments. It took Fleming few words to dismiss silly anti-Bond criticism. I imagine myself culling these archives as a career.

Statue of Liberty/Ellis Island Circle Line Ferry: no stars
Ellis Island Oral History Library: ****
It is a nice morning to wait in line at Battery Park for over an hour. There are hot dog vendors, artists and an excellent street trumpeter. The problem here is security and a dim-witted National Park Service, that thinks Disneyland is a fine model. Security takes their job seriously. I am asked to place my wallet in the box to be x-rayed, though they never bother x-raying it in airports. I am also asked to go through the machine a second time for the crime of having my hands in my pockets. The line actually does not bother me, as I assume that Liberty Island and Ellis Island are small places that can not absorb everyone at once. (It turns out the the islands are plenty large enough for everyone.)

People admire the view of Manhattan as we boat to the Statue. We see no reason to get off the boat at the Statue of Liberty and instead go directly to Ellis Island, where we view historic photos in an historic building. The tour book recommends oral histories and we find a near empty room with computers, where we can listen to 2000 interviews of Ellis Island immigrants. I listen to Elna Larson, who moved from Denmark in 1912, and stopped at Ellis Island on her way to Solvang, CA. (I have Danish relatives there.) I listen to an earlier migrant from England who states that immigration should be encouraged, because all of the people who accomplish anything are first or second generation immigrants. (That explains a lot about our country.) These oral histories are wonderful, but as I said, I love libraries.

We look at monuments to Ellis Island benefactors and wander toward cattle pens where people await return boats. One would think that the boats would be large enough to accommodate those waiting, but this is not the case. We wait for an hour just to leave, and others appear to have much longer waits. I ask why the boats are not large enough, and am told that "we pick up everyone on the Island each day." There are no apologies, so one must assume this is the way it always is. Monica describes this trip as a two hour trip that takes five hours. The free and frequent Staten Island Ferry is the way to go, if you want Statue of Liberty photos without the wait. I guess I had to do this once.

Day II, Literary Tour

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-- Dylan Thomas


We meet at the White Horse, where Dylan Thomas drunk himself to death with 18 shots of whiskey. Monica relates graffiti from the women's room: "We drank more."

Our tour winds down Bleecker. We learn about wealthy Bohemian, Joe Gould, who told people that he was writing an "Oral History," composed of 20,000 conversations and 9,000,000 words. Here is an excerpt of his writing:


June 7, 1946: "I saw Bele De Triefant. He said he had a pair of shoes for me. I had an ale at the Minetta."
June 8: "De Triefant had not brought the shoes. I had a drink at the Minetta."
June 11: "I saw De Triefant. He had shoes for me. I took them. I went to the Minetta. I drank."
June 12: "I went to Goody's. I had some beers. I lost my shoe. I went to the Minetta."


We are inspired to seek the writing of Lillian Hellman and, upon return, I request "Children's Hour (1953)" from the library. We decide that Militant Children's Hour, a Bay area one man band, has probably read it.

Monica recites one of her favorite poems to me.


Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

-- Edgar Allan Poe


The best attractions in Manhattan are not necessarily on the NY Pass.

Day I, a Muppet Double Feature

Our first evening in Manhattan is pre-planned.  We have dinner reservations at Sardis and tickets for "Avenue Q."



Web reviews for Sardi's are mixed.  So is our food.  My salmon appetizer, with roe, is wonderful.  Monica's Caesar salad has too much lemon.  Monica's entree, with asparagus, is wonderful.  My steak is just average, and I could have done without fries.  Neither of us complains about desert.  (We don't even share.)

The really cool thing about Sardi's are the characatures, which are three high along the walls.  Monica tells me the plot for "Muppets Take Manhattan."  She has actually heard of this place!  Carl Reiner, just to my right, looks younger than he was as a character in the original Dick Van Dyke show.  In our room, there do not appear to be any characatures newer than the 1970's.  I figure the artist has died long ago, which is wrong.  I learn in the playbill for Avenue Q that Vincent Sardi, for whom old-timers had signed the drawings, died earlier in 2007. The waiter tells us that a characature party is going on right this moment for an actor from "A Bronx Tale."



Avenue Q, our Broadway play, is a grown up of version of Sesame Street, featuring actors, muppets and Gary Coleman. Opening in 2003, it is the longest running play ever at the Golden Theater. Do we enjoy it? Absolutely! From "It Sucks to Be Me" to the end. Some of the music feels very much like Auto Body Experience, and if I did not know better, I would figure Scott Yoho to have written the "Schadenfreude" song. Three minutes before the end, where they tug the heartstrings the most, I want to cry. (Truth be told, there is a mathematical formula for script writing that always makes me cry.) The people who sing and handle the Muppets strike me as extremely talented.

The Hotel, Self Fulfilling Expectations II

Our hotel is on 28th Street, just east of Broadway and 5th Avenue. A perfect location. We walk there from Penn Station, after taking the train from Newark. We figure our seven block walk to be quicker than the line for a taxi. The lobby is definitely not as nice as the Pickwick, where we stayed two years ago. It was at the Pickwick that a desk clerk asked if Monica was Mrs. Rasmussen, giving me the confidence to propose via postcard the very next day. The price for the Pickwick has gone up 70%, so we are at the Latham. The web reviews about the Latham are mixed, with some complaints about single mothers who live there. Others point out that small children and single mothers are actually not menacing.

Our room is plenty large. The walls are white. The doors are a drab green. The bed does not feel particularly comfortable, and there are no roses there. The flat screen television is very nice, though we are unlikely to watch much TV during our four days in Manhattan. The bathroom, down the hall, is spacious, with a nice shower, but soap and containers of shampoo are haphazardly left on the floor. I am unable to lock the bathroom door during my first visit there. This is another self-fulfulling expectation. When I return to our room, Monica explains how the bathroom locks work. p.s.-- it is just a matter of closing the door and sliding the lock. The desk staff is helpful and polite.

We have difficulty sleeping the first night, but not the second night. I would say this is a self-fulfilling expectation, but the mattress was actually quite poor. Would I stay at the Latham again? I'd buy a better mattress and move there! Why should only small children and single mothers get the best location in Manhattan?