House of Worship
I attended a jewelry party in Manhattan last week. It was held in someone's apartment. It's quite common. Not too far removed from the Tupperware parties of the 1950's. You invite your friends to a party and proceed to sell them your products. Or you host a party and receive a generous discount or free merchandise.
In this case, it was the latter. One of my oldest friends—someone I met when I first moved to New York—invited me to her girlfriend's jewelry fête. She knew I couldn't buy anything but we hadn't seen each other in quite some time. I can count my close, long-term friends on one hand and she's one of them. It was great to see her. We can go long periods of time without hearing from one another and once we're together, we pick up the thread of our last conversation as if we just spoke yesterday. It's magic.
The apartment was on Broadway and 10th Street. It was in a building I've walked passed thousands of times. I've always wondered what it would be like to live there. It's in a perfect location. Only three blocks to The Strand bookstore. Four to Union Square park. The East Village one block east. A delicious slice of the town.
They have a balcony and because it was so freakishly balmy for a December evening, we took our glasses of vino outside to catch-up. We dished on our families and relationships. Her dog, Buddy, just passed away and she was sad. I did a post about Buddy once. He kept chasing porcupines and ending up with a quill facial. Each time it happened it cost her $400!
The apartment was on the 8th floor. In my delusional apartment fantasy, I've changed my mind about what to demand from the real estate agent. I will no longer insist on a unit above the 30th floor. I've decided that being closer to the street is the thing to do. Too high up and you miss out on all this fantastic detail.
Just look at this balcony view. My God, how some people get to live. This is looking north up Broadway to Union Square with Grace Church on the right. The ornamental floodlights pouring down are on the roof of the building across the street.
The light spills into the church courtyard creating creepy renaissance shadows. In the distance, steam rises off the crown of the Zeckendorf Tower. The blue clock tower is the ConEdison building on 14th Street. Were this mine, I would take my New York Times out onto the balcony each Sunday morning with my coffee. This is my idea of a house of worship. From the horrified looks on their faces, you'd think the other guests had never seen a grown man weep.
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Here's another festive holiday snapshot for you. GIANT RED BALLS in a fountain across the street from Radio City Music Hall. Everything in this town is oversized. Ornaments. Egos. Problems. Everything.