A couple of weeks ago, I took a trip to the Big Apple, New York City, to celebrate my girlfriend’s birthday. I recognize that that might sound a little frivolous given the current economy. But as it turns out, the travel industry is so desperate to capture the little disposable income that is actually floating around that it actually cost about the same for us to go to NYC as it would to go to Vegas. And I suppose we decided to class it up a bit, and head to points northeast.Prior to my latest visit, I had only been to NYC twice. Once, when I was still in submarine training when I went to celebrate New Year’s Eve in Times Square (read as: I was still 25 years old, with the social aptitude and accompanying fashion sense of your average agoraphobic shut-in), and then once again, as an attorney, there on business. My overall impression from those two visits? First, it was cold. The kind of cold that makes it your first impression of a place, no matter what sort of wondrous things you see there. Second, the people weren’t particularly nice. Not that anyone was mean, but the indifference was palpable – as if you could burst into flames and people would simply step out of the way and use you to warm their hands. And third, everyone (save the tourists) seemed to have really nice coats. Which does a surprising amount for the gentrification of the place.
But after years of poo-pooing the world’s most famous city, I was interested to see how my perspective might have changed since the last time I had visited. What’s more, my primary impression of NYC was informed by two competing sources: one, Law & Order, which I’m addicted to like a Trump ex-wife to plastic surgery, and two, my hatred of San Francisco, which makes no bones about trying to be the NYC of west coast. Turns out both sources were wrong: the NYPD is not nearly as cool as I thought they were (although still a very solid group of guys), and amongst the many things that SF has all effed up, it can now count its impression of what it means to be a big, important city.
To put it simply, New York City was the absolute shit.
Now, my New York experience was much more consummate than it was authentic. In that, we stayed at the W Hotel in Times Square, saw some shows (both on Broadway and off), went to Central Park, ate from the three major street food groups (hot dog, pizza & bagel), had a real steak and stayed out way too late dancing and drinking. I was ready for the entire adventure to be quaint and fun, but to be ultimately overwhelmed by the horribleness of the city, the paranoia of being victimized by street crime, and the ever present awfulness of the weather. But as it turns out, I had the best four days that I can recall, and now the best birthday I’ve been a part of wasn’t even mine.
Times Square
There are a hundred reasons to hate Times Square: it’s garish, loud, and full of ill-mannered tourists whose ideas about personal space seem drastically different from those of your average Californian. But there are a thousand more reasons to love it. I’m not prone to buying into anyone’s tagline, especially those generated by state tourism boards (for example, the only thing I’d like you to “Show Me” in Missouri is how to get the hell out of it), but Times Square really is the crossroads of the world, and if you’ve got any manner of ADD (even the acute version like mine), this is a place where you brain can actually find some peace.
There are literally a million things to look at. There are news tickers, stock tickers and, well, ticket tickers. Every brand that you can possibly imagine has some square footage there. The buildings are unbelievably tall, and the traffic actually seems to flow through without incident (although never without rest). I actually heard six different languages spoken while walking the same city block, and was never more than a block and a half from a hot dog, pretzel or knish. If there is a place that defines our video game, brand-name, pop-culture generation, it is this.
The Shows
First off, I can’t tell the difference between Broadway and Off-Broadway, and I expect that if I tried to, I’d come off as an even bigger douche than if I just kept quiet about it. It suffices to say that I actually preferred my off-Broadway experience slightly – but they were both pretty awesome. Secondly, I’m not into theater. I find theater snobs about as palatable, personally, as televangelists and informercial emcees. And, I’m more likely to be heard singing a Jonas Brothers song than I am to be humming along to a showtune. So, I consider it to be some measure of miracle that I enjoyed either of these experiences, let alone both of them.
Fuerza Bruta is an Argentian dance and music “experience”, which was like anti-theater. The entire crowd is shuffled onto a theater stage with no seats, and told to move around as directed by the show’s crew. What followed after was an assault on nearly all of the senses, in a celebration of music and movement that was passionate, fun and just the right kind of insane. The show happened all around and above us. The cast ended up amongst us, dancing and inciting the crowd. The DJ had a giant water gun with which he sprayed the throng, and which no one seemed to mind. But the most glorious moment was after the show had ended, when the performers had bowed and then invited us to stick around and dance with them… as they DJ played on and they turned on the “rain” in the center of the room. So, there I was, dancing in the rain in the middle of New York City theater, surrounded by strangers, smiling at my girlfriend (who was, of course, dancing with me) and having completely forgotten anything to not be happy about.
On Broadway there was Rock of Ages, which was a musical based on hair metal of the 80’s, and despite the fact that the star of the show was that insufferable rocker douche from American Idol a few seasons back – er, Constance something-or-other, the leader of the house band was from freakin’ Night Ranger. Enough said.
The Rest Of It
There were so many other things: Cental Park, dancing, shopping at Century 21, the pizza, the cabs, the subway, the W, the steak and even the rain. But above all, there was a sense of bigness about the city that was neither intimidating nor off-putting. There was a contentment in knowing that you’d be able to find whatever you needed to entertain, satisfy or comfort yourself just a few minutes away. Everything seemed so damned possible, even the impossible things – like putting a smile on the face of one California cynic.
In the end, my trip to New York City taught me a few valuable lessons:
1. The pizza in California sucks
2. The weather in California does not; and
3. There’s still nothing better than dancing with a pretty girl in the rain.
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