Thursday was
mostly a recovery day for us. Wife had to rest her feet so she could go to the
dinner and show reservations we had at Carolines comedy club. I read book 2 of
the Hunger Games to her until she fell asleep. I then went for a walk while it
was still daylight. I decided to head to Central Park since it didn’t appear
that a carriage ride would survive the “to do” list cuts with our ever
shrinking budget, and Wife’s feet were not going to be happy walking in the
park.
Granted, it
was December, and nothing’s green in December, but I was rather disappointed in
Central park. I walked through about half of it, past a carousel, a large green
area, and so on. Perhaps it’s because I come from a place where green spaces
aren’t such a novelty, but Central Park was a lot like any other park, except
for the old bridges all over. But I had my i-pod shuffle and listened to The
Nerdist guys interview JJ Abrams, so it was a nice stroll. I walked up to the
Museum of Natural History, ate a hot dog, and hopped back on the subway to get
back to the hotel.
We got to
Carolines well before we needed to, so we spent more time gazing at Times
Square and visited the M&M store, where we loaded up on candy and some
Christmas gifts. At Carolines, we ate a mediocre meal and could hear the
muffled noises from the showroom that could only be Gilbert Godfrey. He was the
8 p.m. show. This was also the first place we went to where there was a
bathroom attendant. I do not know what to do with a bathroom attendant. He
turned on the water, pushed the soap pump, and handed me a paper towel. I felt
awkward, and wondered why this position still existed, as I have never thought,
if only there were someone here to pump the soap for me, what a bother! I
immediately warned wife about the situation, as she would surely feel equally
out of place. Here’s her recap of her encounter. Just imagine someone speaking
louder than usual.
Wife: Hi!
Attendant: Good
evening.
Wife: I am a
bathroom attendant virgin! I don’t know what to do!
Attendant:
OK.
Wife: I will
now run away!
After a
delay, where we watched Gilbert Godfrey take photos with people and sign
autographs, we were let into our VIP seats, a long bench with a table where we
could both sit to face the stage. There was a table for 8 between us and the
microphone, but I knew our placement would make Wife nervous. I have always
wanted to go to a comedy show in New York, but Wife is deathly afraid of having
to talk to the comic or getting picked on. We were at “the Chosen Ones” show, a
Jewish line up for the holiday season.
The night
was hosted by Rich Vos
And included
Harrison Greenbaum
Myq Kaplan
Bonnie
McFarlane
And Adam
Newman
And another
one that wasn’t on the bill. Every time a new comedian came up, I feared they
would look straight ahead and start asking me or Wife questions. This was a
potential catastrophe. However, it didn’t happen.
Instead,
when Bonnie McFarlane was doing some crowd work to lead into a bit, she asked
the table behind us “Do you have any secret fetishes?”
I turned to
look back.
“Yes!”
The yes did
not come from behind me. I looked at Wife in terror. I looked at the comedian.
I looked back at wife. The comedian indicated she wasn’t talking to Wife. Wife
put her hands on her mouth and turned beet red “Oh my god!” The comedian
rolled with it.
Comedian:
What is it?
Me: I would
like to know as well.
Wife: We’ve
been married for four days! I’m sorry!
We got a
round of applause, which was nice. The comedian went into her bit and we all recovered
from the awkward. Over the next 4 days, Wife would bring it up again and again.
“I’m so embarrassed. I don’t even know if I have a fetish. I just assume
everyone has one. Oh god!”
Friday was
our day to explore the southern part of Manhattan. The plan was to go to
Battery Park to see the Statue of Liberty, and make our way north to Little
Italy and Chinatown. Wife did her sleeping in thing, and we left the hotel at 4
to start our day. Two subway trains later, we got out at Battery Park just as
the sun dipped below the horizon and the last tour boat came in. It was dark,
but there were a lot of people leaving the park. We decided to walk to the
water by the boat to sit and take pictures.
It was dark,
and as we walked I could hear a rustling in the leaves to our left.
Me: Whoa!
Was that a squirrel?
Wife: Yes,
keep moving.
We got to a
bench, and were much more alone now. I took out the camera and tried to steady
it enough for a night shot. More rustling.
Wife: Holy
shit, lift your feet! Now!
Me: What?
Wife: That
was a rat. A rat was there. A rat. There. That was. Let’s go! Eeeuahughfaha.
Me: OK.
We walked
briskly through the park to find some solace from the rats. Wife had a knack
for seeing them everywhere, while I was always a beat too late when she pointed
and yelled. I stood in the middle of a large cement area thinking it might be
safe and took this picture.
Wife said a
rat came within 3 inches of my foot while I took it.
Here’s her
recap of the scene:
“In my entire life, I've seen 3
rats. 2 near garbage sacks in the North End of Boston, and one in my room
near Boston College. Husband decided to let me sleep one day, and we went
to see the statue of Liberty. We didn't want to do a ferry or anything,
so we just went to Battery Park around 5:30pm. No big deal. But, it
was DARK. REALLY, REALLY DARK. Husband heard a rustle in the
bushes. I knew it was a rat, but I let Husband believe it was a
squirrel. As he is snapping pictures of the Statue, the rats began to run
in herds. I'm serious. All their little eyes showing in the bushes,
like deer eyes here. They just ran everywhere. Across the sidewalk
in front of us, behind us, everywhere. I freaked the fuck out. I started
running and screaming out of Battery Park. Husband, who never really saw
them at this point, didn't understand. And, then he did. We
got into the light and the subway station safe and sound. So, my only
memory of the Statue of Liberty is of the rats.”
We got on
the subway, and I worked to convince Wife to continue on the outing rather than
run back to the hotel. We got off at a stop near Chinatown, and although I knew
what street we were looking for and had a good mental map in my head, the thing
about coming up from underground is you have no idea which direction you are
going until you can confirm it by walking a block in one direction. After that
block, and walking past a dozen shops where people were hard selling purses,
scarves, perfume and watches, I wanted to look at the map to confirm the
direction. Wife said under no circumstances was I to pull out the map. We then
fought for about 6 blocks, just walking along until some street name looked
familiar, but none did, and I wasn’t allowed to pull a map out because if SVU and
the media has taught us anything about New York, it’s that if you look like a
tourist, you will get mugged, raped, and stabbed. Wife had correlated me
looking at a map and getting stabbed, on a well lit street, with lots of people
around. I couldn’t convince her otherwise. Finally, she stopped, cried, I
consoled, we looked at the map, and we had been walking in the exact opposite
direction we needed to go.
We started
back, I apologized profusely, she continued freaking out about getting stabbed
because who the hell knows what neighborhoods are safe at night? Then, like a
switch, we entered Little Italy, and she was at peace. She was back among her
people in the North End of Boston, another heavily Italian place where she
lived for two years. We found Lombardi’s pizza place and had dinner of half
meatball, half prociutto pizza with fresh mozzarella baked in a wood oven. We
found a wonderful italian bakery and took home mini cannolis and tarts.
Next time:
Part 4 – life among the 1 percenters.
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