Aaaaannd...Exhale
Have you ever noticed that after you've survived a bit of a crisis, food tastes better, colors are more vibrant and the air is more fragrant?
After a recent bout of unpleasantness, I blew off some steam on Friday night at the very masculine Hudson Bar and Books. It's a scotch/cigar bar in the West Village. The wood is dark, the top of the bar is gold tin and the books are stained with cigar smoke. There's always a James Bond movie playing on the TV in the corner. [This evening's selection: Dr. No. Dynamite fashions. Ursula Andress emerges from the Caribbean. ]
If you fight and hang in there long enough, eventually you'll get a bit of a repose and, if you're lucky, someone will bring you a nice tumbler of 15-year old Balvenie on a silver tray with a little ice on the side. This is the moment you exhale and realize that the world has not, as expected, collapsed. And take it from me, pallies, the second round goes down even smoother.
My friend just returned from Spain and smuggled a few illegal Cuban cigars into the country. [The U.S. still has a trade embargo with Cuba, believe it or not.] I'm not a big cigar smoker—a few a year perhaps—but smoking a COHIBA from Habana felt dangerous and fit in with the evening theme of unwinding. The smoke was kind of harsh and my voice was several octaves deeper the next morning.
Afterwards, I took my somewhat tipsy ass for a walk. I walked from Hudson and Horatio, up 8th Avenue, all the way to Port Authority to catch my transport back to New Jersey—a distance of about 42 blocks. It was a glorious night. Just a tinge cool. Everyone was out and about. New York did what it always does for me—provided its own rolling sideshow. The big parade of humanity. When I got to 8th and 14th, I plugged my iPod in and listened to Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. I know that's kind of square but it worked so well that I listened to it twice.
I passed young couples who were arguing in the middle of the sidewalk right next to couples on first dates who clearly wanted to dispense with the formalities and get to main event. I walked over subway sidewalk grates that blew hot air up at me as A trains whizzed passed underneath. I've always heard that you shouldn't walk on a subway grate because it could collapse under your weight. Not only has it never happened to me in 20+ years, I've never seen it happen to anyone else.
Is everyone aware that Manhattan is having a bedbug problem? It's true! They're everywhere. There are special trained beagles who can sniff out the little devils. Bed bug beagles! What a smart business opportunity.
I passed the Tello steakhouse on 8th and 20th Street. Its clever neon sign out front has a blinking "M" that implores you to "EAT" "MEAT."
At 27th Street I passed a man in a wheelchair walking his three-legged dog. He (the dog) was missing his right front leg. Two tough sons-of-bitches.
At the other end of my trip home were two beautiful daughters safely snug in their beds and a wife who, once again, didn't bail out on me when things went sour for a while. Between the three of them and New York City, I can't see that I have much to complain about.
After a recent bout of unpleasantness, I blew off some steam on Friday night at the very masculine Hudson Bar and Books. It's a scotch/cigar bar in the West Village. The wood is dark, the top of the bar is gold tin and the books are stained with cigar smoke. There's always a James Bond movie playing on the TV in the corner. [This evening's selection: Dr. No. Dynamite fashions. Ursula Andress emerges from the Caribbean. ]
If you fight and hang in there long enough, eventually you'll get a bit of a repose and, if you're lucky, someone will bring you a nice tumbler of 15-year old Balvenie on a silver tray with a little ice on the side. This is the moment you exhale and realize that the world has not, as expected, collapsed. And take it from me, pallies, the second round goes down even smoother.
My friend just returned from Spain and smuggled a few illegal Cuban cigars into the country. [The U.S. still has a trade embargo with Cuba, believe it or not.] I'm not a big cigar smoker—a few a year perhaps—but smoking a COHIBA from Habana felt dangerous and fit in with the evening theme of unwinding. The smoke was kind of harsh and my voice was several octaves deeper the next morning.
Afterwards, I took my somewhat tipsy ass for a walk. I walked from Hudson and Horatio, up 8th Avenue, all the way to Port Authority to catch my transport back to New Jersey—a distance of about 42 blocks. It was a glorious night. Just a tinge cool. Everyone was out and about. New York did what it always does for me—provided its own rolling sideshow. The big parade of humanity. When I got to 8th and 14th, I plugged my iPod in and listened to Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. I know that's kind of square but it worked so well that I listened to it twice.
I passed young couples who were arguing in the middle of the sidewalk right next to couples on first dates who clearly wanted to dispense with the formalities and get to main event. I walked over subway sidewalk grates that blew hot air up at me as A trains whizzed passed underneath. I've always heard that you shouldn't walk on a subway grate because it could collapse under your weight. Not only has it never happened to me in 20+ years, I've never seen it happen to anyone else.
Is everyone aware that Manhattan is having a bedbug problem? It's true! They're everywhere. There are special trained beagles who can sniff out the little devils. Bed bug beagles! What a smart business opportunity.
I passed the Tello steakhouse on 8th and 20th Street. Its clever neon sign out front has a blinking "M" that implores you to "EAT" "MEAT."
At 27th Street I passed a man in a wheelchair walking his three-legged dog. He (the dog) was missing his right front leg. Two tough sons-of-bitches.
At the other end of my trip home were two beautiful daughters safely snug in their beds and a wife who, once again, didn't bail out on me when things went sour for a while. Between the three of them and New York City, I can't see that I have much to complain about.
posted by The Unbearable Banishment at
3:45 PM
18 Comments:
Amen, Brother! ;~) xoxoxo
Sending thoughts, prayers and strength to you; though, you really do have it all in terms of what is important.
Thanks for another post where I can literally feel my feet walking as you pass over those subway grates.
Missed you.
Your wife sounds like a keeper. She is happy giving you space when you need it. Your walk was so interesting, then I remember, oh, this is NEW YORK, so of course a walk through town is an adventure. Hope you are feeling better now.
"Have you ever noticed that after you've survived a bit of a crisis, food tastes better, colors are more vibrant and the air is more fragrant?"
hellz yeah... very, VERY glad that you got that sweetness, and shared it with us.
Glad to hear that all is well in UB-land.
I think the bedbug problem is much more widespread than New York, although New York is a current hotspot. That's one of the reasons we plan to avoid hotels in future, using our travel trailer instead. The Mrs has always been a hotel bed checker anyways while I'm a little more .....oblivious.
We don't have any trade embargo with the Cubans; you can get Cuban cigars up here anytime, I think. I heard a caller the other day on a Canadian talk radio station say that he hopes the US never lifts the embargo on Cuba. It's currently a somewhat desirable tourist sunspot for Canucks, with a good part of its charm being due to the absence of Americans.
Glad to hear the crisis is past and you are enjoying a breather.
Well sir, (or Sham, as we say here!) You are my designated guide of choice when Map lands in 'merca!
Last time I smoked a (BIG) seegar was in Moscow! :¬)
Savannah: Hits the spot, don't it?
Mama: Through the worst of it I never lost sight of how lucky I am. That poor dude is in a wheelchair. Who am I to complain?
TB: That's the secret of our success. She keeps me on a loose leash and I don't do anything to raise her suspicions. It's a pretty good system. And, yes, this place is a series of unintended adventures.
Daisy: Ain't it the best feeling in the world when it finally abates? It'll be back, I'm sure, but not for now. Not today.
HIF: Imagine how relieved *I* am!
Rob: People staying in New York hotels really do have to worry about bringing the little buggers back with them. They've had to close movie theaters to fumigate!
Map: And how is the tobacco in Moscow? Cigars are not something I indulge in on a regular basis but under the right circumstances, it can feel like the right thing to do.
Yay! A Noo Yark walkabout post. Proves you've shaken the Black Dog.
I thought the warnings about subway gratings only applied to ladies with floaty skirts, like Monroe in 7 Year Itch!
Bed Bug Beagles would be a good name for a band
Perspective is like fresh air.
Dinah: Actually, high heels are a REAL danger on subway grates.
Nurse: A band or a motorcycle gang.
kykn: The only fresh air you'll get walking up 8th Avenue is when it's spoken as a metaphor.
I was in New York, with whisky on my breath, as I read that.
Delectable post;)
Shame about the bed bugs.
The three legged dog reminds me. When I was in Australia, I stayed at someones house and they had a cat. The cat had three legs.
It's name?
"Stumpy"
Good to see you up and running and nothing says cure like good Scotch and a Cuban, i always bring some back every time i hit the Caribbean, good stuff.
You're daughters in bed-bug free beds! God bless the beagle!
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