That damn reuben sandwich!

The great emotional breakdown of 2012 started with a latke reuben from Rye Deli.

It had been months since wife and I had gone out to enjoy this city that we moved to six months ago with a job for her and dreams of continuing a career for me. Months of having to scrimp and save. Months of saying "Well, we can't go to this musician or comedian that we are hard core fans of, but once I get a job, things'll change."

Then on a tip from Andria, I started checking out the local library for free tickets to local places. The hope was to score tickets to the Minnesota Zoo and go there Thursday. Wife was taking her first paid vacation ever. I was working a temp job for three weeks and now had extra cash for gas money, and we had a plastic bin and bankers box full of books to sell to fund this excursion.

Unfortunately, the zoo tickets are a hot item at the library, only put out randomly, and they go fast. I've checked 4 times since last week, and never got lucky. We tried on Thursday and got nothing. I was determined to give wife a good day out though. We didn't know what we would do, but after selling the books, we had some money to do it.

Wife had read about Rye in pretty much every Twin Cities magazine, and ever since the New York honeymoon, she's wanted to visit. So we pulled in on Thursday afternoon, an empty time at Rye, and our eyes boggled at the menu, the fish on display, and promises of hand carved meats.

I ordered a brisket sandwich and poutine to share. Poutine at Rye is fries and cheese curds smothered in an onion-heavy gravy, and it makes you want to sell your unborn for the promise that you will have it again, soon.

Wife ordered a latke reuben, which is a reuben, but with latke instead of rye.

Her sandwich came out first. A pile of corned beef between two burned looking pieces of latke. She took a bite, and was instantly transported back to our honeymoon, wolfing down a pie tin full of corned beef from Carnegie Deli with a plastic fork in our hotel room across the street. She piled a fork full, carefully balancing the ingredients to give me the perfect bite. A bit scared, I put the fork in my mouth, and my eyes misted. The meat must have been soaking in angel blood and puppy dreams for a week. The latke was blackened, but tasted unburned, just perfectly crisp.

My sandwich was not as good. I'm not a fan of mustard, but it happens so seldom that a sandwich has mustard that I don't make sure to hold it every time.

But that reuben.

Damn.

Shit.

We sat there, I scraped mustard off my sandwich. Wife occasionally gave me more bites, which I took without hesitation.  I usually pick better than her, but this time it was her turn to share.

We then took in the Life Like exhibit at the Walker, which was fantastic. We could have gotten free tickets for this, but it was just one of those things where we didn't know we would be going until we were driving by it. The Life Like exhibit was one of those rare times where my background in modern lit and themes helped me to decode and understand the pieces on display, while still having a gut emotional reaction to them.

(not my picture)

We coasted through Friday, but I got a rejection from a job I sorely wanted and hadn't heard from for weeks. She was nice about it, but it still stung. With the temp job coming to a close, it started to feel like we were once again approaching that dark precipice of not knowing how to make it through another month.

On Saturday, I woke to check my email, and before I was gone 10 minutes, wife was calling for me. I was annoyed.

The off feeling didn't stop. I went to Cub to grab some groceries. Came home and cooked bacon and egg sandwiches. I rented two movies from a redbox. I know wife's tastes are different than mine, but I figured I had scored a good medium by getting two kids movies. Hugo and Tintin. I had to talk her into Hugo, which annoyed me, since I got it specifically for her. She had wanted to go out for St. Patties day, but we couldn't afford it. Instead, I made corned beef. But nothing seemed to be good enough. I was looking down the hole of joblessness once again, and I didn't know what was going to happen. The reuben had cracked the emotional wall on Thursday, and the art gallery had stuck a crowbar in that wall, but Saturday's fights with the wife took a bazooka to it.

We were lying in bed together at about 3, because we had had enough snipping, and nothing was going right between us, and the weight of everything just. Snapped.

And I started crying. Deep sobs. Like the kind a 13 year old girl would have if she came to the deep realization that Robert Pattinson was way too old for her and would never, ever, ever be interested and the best she could hope for was the scabby acne guy named Stan from fourth period. Holy shit did I break. And wife just jumped on, wrapping her arms around me, calling me back from the abyss. Telling me it would be all right. I cried like I couldn't breathe. I wore my way through eight Kleenix. I felt like I was doing sit ups, the deep stomach shit that was going on.

One hour later.

Me: What the hell was that?

Wife: It was you letting go for once. You haven't done that since we moved.

Me: Holy shit.

Wife: It's nice to know you are still human. I was worried. No one should be able to do what you've done for six months without that happening.

Me: Thank you for being here.

Wife: Hey, it's my turn. Howabout we watch Tintin?

Me: OK.

Epilogue: Tintin is frackin awesome.  

Honeymoon part 4

On Saturday, we woke and had our free breakfast, packed, and checked out to head to the next hotel. The doorman hailed a cab for us, asked where we were going. We said The Waldorf Astoria. His eyes lit up. “Woah, nice!”

A short $5 cab ride later, we were at the Waldorf drop off spot inside. We left the bags with the doorman down there and made our way through a series of hallways to the front desk. Check in was a breeze, even at noon. The clerk upgraded us for the honeymoon and found us a ready to go room on the 25^th floor and said the bags would be up in 15 minutes.

We went immediately from the front desk to the room to wait for the bags. Oh, My, God, this room was nice! So nice that we barely left it for the next two days, so this will be my shortest entry. The bed was made of unicorn hair and angel feathers. The television was bigger than both of ours put together.

The only hiccup was the bags took more than an hour to arrive. When we called down to see what was going on, they said we weren’t in the room when they came by, which I don’t see how that’s possible, but whatever.

The bags arrived, and we took a short tour of the hotel. The starlight room, the grand ballroom, the gift shop where ordinary tweezers cost $22. I saw more fur coats than could be supplied by French Canadian traders. 

Wife ordered a movie on the television, The Big Year, which was just ordinary enough to be a nice diversion. I was ordered to go find food at the sushi place near Rockefeller center. As I headed there, a couple blocks away, I saw a bunch of people looking up at a building behind me. I turned and saw this year's version of this thing begin. 

Unfortunately, the sushi place was closed for Christmas Eve. So I headed back to the hotel, and came across another sushi place. Yay! I got what seemed good, but turned out to be OK sushi. By the time I got back to the room, an hour after I left, Wife was sure I had been killed. On the plus side, the hotel had sent us a complimentary bottle of in-house champagne to enjoy on our honeymoon.

Other things we did: Tried to find the Marilyn Monroe subway vent, but while it was on our map, there was no visible marking on the street. Ate Christmas brunch at Oscars, which was not good. Watched the Christmas episode of Doctor Who on BBC America, when it aired!

One last anecdote. Life among the 1% for these two days was a strange trip. Wife would talk to cleaning people like there were human, and you could tell hardly anyone ever does that. But here’s the real story of what happened to me.

I came back with some food on Sunday, and I waited for the elevator with another guy. We got on and two more people got on as well. They pushed floor 23. And I swear this is what went through my head as I pushed the button for 25.

“Huh, only floor 23.”

I became a douchebag for being two floors higher through no fault of my own. What the hell! But then I got out-douchebagged, since the first guy that got on looked at the buttons, and as the doors shut, he said “Oh, this one doesn’t go to floor 31.”

He rode up to my floor and took the elevator back down.

Ugh.

On Monday, after packing and repacking to make sure our bags were both under 50 pounds for the flight, we took the supershuttle to the airport through a lot of backstreets while wife chatted with another passenger, used our groupon coupons for the Delta Sky Lounge where they had free internet and free drinks, and made our way back to the cities. I had feared the day after Christmas for the reputed congestion at airports, but it was much better than I had imagined.  At this point, we were near the end of our budget, and worried we would have to spend 70 bucks for a taxi to Plymouth. This was the only part of the trip Wife hadn’t planned, because in the back of her mind, we weren’t going to get this far. This day would never come. However, we came across a supershuttle booth at the airport, and got home for $40. This time I remembered my bag.

Wife has been watching 30-Rock ever since, dreaming of the day we will go back.

Honeymoon in New York, Part 3

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.

Honeymoon in New York, Part 2

Checked in after so much hassle, Wife and I finally got into the room. I checked for bedbugs. She changed into her PJs and started directing me to put our clothes into the drawers since we would be here for 5 nights. Then she fell asleep.

I decided to take a stroll around the immediate neighborhood to get my bearings. Central Park was 2 blocks away to the north, Times square about 10 blocks to the south. David Hyde Pierce was doing a play on the same block. All in all, it looked promising. I got some food from a deli and headed back to the room for the night. This was going to be all right.

On Tuesday, Wife woke at about noon, and only because we had to get going to see the Rockettes. It was her dream since she was a small girl to see them. I was indifferent to the whole thing. We walked to Radio City Music Hall, about 5 blocks, and went in.

The place was amazing to see all decked out for the holiday and designed for another era. The men's bathroom had a lounge area and old nooks for phones. The stage was impressive from our spot in the second mezzanine, which turned out to be better than I imagine the floor would be since you can see more of the stage and the patterns they create from above.

I didn’t know what to expect, and have to say that I was thoroughly impressed. The Rockettes certainly earn their reputation. I was dragged to the Russian Ballet a year or two ago in Fargo for the Nutcracker, and I have to say this was miles above that experience. They performed songs and dances in near Busby Berkely precision, one after another. The only drawback was a few portions of the program used 3D glasses, which are annoying in general, but seem particularly weird when you are at a live show for criminy sake.

When the show was done, we headed a block over to see the Rockefeller Center  tree. 

As we were already there, and Wife knowing my love of going to the top of tall things, she overcame her fear of heights for us to go to the Top of the Rock, my absolute favorite thing of the whole trip.

Wife let me wander around while she sat safely away from the edge of the building. New York is breathtaking at night.

Night settled in early, near the shortest day of the year. We headed over to Times Square to check it out. It turned out to be Wife’s favorite spot to just sit and watch once the first feeling of panic from so many people and lights calms down.   

We nearly got tickets to go see a show that night, but decided against another commitment and instead went back to the hotel. We went to a shoe store to get Wife some walking shoes, Borns, for the rest of the trip. Then across the street to Carnegie Deli. 

Food in New York is pricey, but Carnegie Deli will charge you 25 bucks for a Ruben and give you a heart attack in a pie tin. Piled in this pie tin, on top of two thin slices of bread, was several pounds of corned beef, a thin layer of sauerkraut, and a thick shield of melted cheese. The two of us attacked it, bite after delicious, sinful bite, but still left a third for the trash, our hotel having no mini-fridge for leftovers. We also got a $10 slice of cheesecake that made me want to get it pregnant.

Day four:

Wife at this point was showing a pattern of extreme relaxation. Her ability to stay in bed until afternoon was impressive, but with the short daylight hours available, I was anxious to get going for another day in New York. We left the hotel at about 3, me worrying that the Museum of Natural History would only be open until 5:30. Not a block away from the hotel, Wife said her heels were getting cut to shreds by her new shoes. She stopped and pulled off a shoe.

Me: How the hell? We aren’t even a block away!

Her: I know. I’m sorry.

Me: Would it help to have more socks?

Her: I think so.

Me: Take mine.

I pulled off my shoes and socks and handed them to her. It seemed to help, and I didn't mind going hippie fashion all day. We hopped on the subway and got to the Museum at 3:30. We discovered very different levels of interest in the museum. I wanted to see the space stuff, she wanted to look at dioramas of dead birds. We went through her bits first, and she left me to check out the space part while she did the gift shop. 

We went back to the subway, and found that Wife had lost her metrocard along the way. So between me losing my bag, her shoes, and the card, we were $200 over budget. Sigh.

We left at closing, had a hot dog, and went to Times Square. Bought two tickets at 40 percent off to Avenue Q for that evening. The musical is full of puppet characters singing and learning about life post-college, and it’s a blast. Personal favorite song: Everyone’s A Little Racist.

After   the musical, we were standing outside ready to walk to the nearby subway when a freak rainstorm came roaring down the street. Umbrellas were comically turned inside out, people scampered for cover. Wife begged to take a taxi, but I have a fear of cars in the city after the supershuttle I would not be swayed from. The nearest subway station was just half a block away, and we scampered to it after the wind died a bit.

We got through the gate only to realize the trains were going the wrong way. The only way to get to the northbound train was to exit, go back to the street, and walk another half block in the rain. We got there and found our “unlimited” metro cards wouldn’t work since we just used them on the other side. I was livid at having to buy two more single ride passes, not knowing how long it would be until our own cards would work again, but we made it back to the hotel. Wife took off her shoes and bloody socks and I felt like a complete creep for pushing us around the city with about quarter size holes in the back of her feet.

I went and got a Carnegie Deli brisket meal because I never want my body to forget how much I hate it. We ate like wild dogs and slept like housecats.

Thus ends part 2