I'll spare you the tedious details of flying; I do think the idea of getting from JFK to the heart of Manhattan for $1.50 on the subway is so unlike everything else expensive in New York. I figured I would save my cash on hand for beer.
I went straight to the Chelsea Hotel, where an envelope was waiting at the desk for CVS, with a key inside and a note reading, "Went to get snacks. Be back in a jiffy- Love, Wade." I figured right that snacks meant booze, so I just hung out in the lobby of the hotel, sitting next to some sort of fake prostitute chowing on Chinese food.
The stairwell leading up some ten floors is elegant, the iron railings match the Queen Anne style terraces that Wade and Linda sat with me out on. The elevator, which Wade prefers to the stairs, took us to the 8th floor when we pressed 4. Not once was Sid Vicious' name mentioned.
We went to Marion's in the Bowery for dinner, where we inadvertently each ordered red, white, and blue drinks, respectively, in preparation for Independence day. I looked up and saw Elizabeth, Dale Duncan's pal, sitting two feet from me. Everyone became quite chatty and eventually we allowed her to order dinner. We left after my hosts picked up the check.
Walking around the lower east side we came upon Pete Straus' current lady Alissa and her accompanying gaggle of chicks. Peter and her are visiting from S.F. and why I'm running into people is beyond me. We drink and dance, and while the music playing is unmemorable, they have green beers which is just fine with me.
Photo of the famous shirt and babe both showing skin (54K)
Wade discreetly asks me later in the evening if I'm going to chase the little honeys off into the night and go to some dance club. I, even more discreetly, announce, "No way, Wade. Bros before hoes, man!" as we shared a gentle bonding moment (48K) that thankfully went unnoticed by the rest of our group. With a dainty wave of her pinky, Alissa and the girls dashed off to the disco, and we headed back to the Chelsea.
Linda works for William Wegman, the pictures-of-weimaraners-doing-silly-human-things guy. As opposed to Larry Flynt, the pictures-of-humans-doing-silly-dog-things guy. Anyway, everyone there was nice and we had a good day. I met Chip. Yes, he's a weimaraner. Chippy's a good dog. I also got a T-shirt to carry around the City all day.
After watching some television in Times Square, we passed the Army recruiting stand and continued walking uptown to the park. We found a deli for beer and by the time we reached Central Park, it had started to rain. Once we found an appropriate outcropping of schist under cover, we drank what was quite possibly the best Heineken ever. Definitely the most expensive one to be sure. Wade took panoramic photos- that man loves his toys.
Photo from the feet up in Central Park (66K)
More goofing and walking, but slowly heading back. New York's mayor Rudy G. apparently has made the park more like a country club with all the fences and barricades. The great lawn was unpenetrable but looked good from the other side of the fence. I didn't want to join a softball league, just wanted to sit for a spell.
Photo of beer taking effect with cutoffs (68K)
I left Wade and Linda at the hotel and ambled downtown, eventually looking up a narcissistic art party "curated" by David West, another friend of Salt Peter Straus. $5 to get in. Beer available for $3. Bands were meant to be playing. West was wearing a T-shirt, jogging shorts, and black cowboy boots. I was offered cocaine to buy, and I heard that San Francisco's own Eufloria Mason had popped in but ditched the scene straight away. Grand! Peter and I sat and talked for a bit, but damn if that wasn't an abysmal scene, so I split.
I went to Max Fish on Ludlow and there was Julie Deamer, by golly, another S.F. crony. She and her friends took me to Barmacy or Pharmacy Bar, whatever they call it, it's an old pharmacy and a new bar. Get it? On the way I ran into Seth from the Mockers, he's visiting from Virginia Bch. What's up with this?
Anyway, this drug store bar is doing an OK business in the East Village, I'm drinking more green beer and I look over and there's Heather from Linda's work. I was talking to Julie but some guy wanted to play smartypants-grabass so I let him do his thing. Heather's a laugh, or I'm drunk, either way, it's 3 AM and I'm having enough fun for one night so I pack it in. After all, I have to record the next day. I sneak in to the hotel room on little cat's feet and manage to not wake either of them. The constant 50dB din of the W 23 St. traffic helped drown out my motions, I'm sure.
