As I was researching my memory for the next phase of the story, I realized: I forgot to finish Friday night! If you missed it, you can catch up here.
As the brother and I were high-fiving and figuring out Saturday, we decided it would be prudent to feed him. During one of my outings in the rain earlier that day I had seen an authentic looking Indian restaurant a few blocks away. Upon investigation, it was revealed that the poor guy had never actually had authentic Indian food and he was up for the adventure.
Although it was late, well past traditional dinnertime, the place was packed. My brother exercised explicit trust in me by allowing me to order our meal... (It was later confirmed, that this was not a mistake!) As we sat, nearly on the laps of the people next to our table, my brother and I had our first conversation, of depth, in months. He is very much like me, only in some ways, nearly the exact opposite. We have had very similar frustrations and struggles. Both of us are questioners. Both of us are passionate. Both of us have big hearts and "soft spots". We've gone about protecting ourselves very differently. I love him. I am proud of him for his questions and proud of him for being one of the few men his age that has thought through a few of his convictions. Although we have polar opposite views on some things, I looooooooove that we are able to discuss our reasons over a dish of Aloo Gobi and a pint of Flying Horse Lager. I'm not even sorry that the tables next to us were forced to listen...
As we finished up dinner, we both were energized enough to catch a train and head back into Manhattan. It turns out that a friend of a friend is a comedian from L.A. He has been on the East Coast for a few shows this weekend and, somehow, we were invited to attend the now-traditional vinyl party that ensues whenever he is in NYC. Ummmm, okay, I'm in! I told you, I'm not about to waste time sleeping in the fantastic city!
Sooooo, we met up with Jessica. She is a published author, blogger, columnist, and NYU professor who is now working for MTV.
I. Like. Her.
Jessica's friend Chris is the host of the party and Kurt is the friend of honor visiting Chris. There are also about a half a dozen other friends littering couches and kitchen counters... The music is perfect, there's always a vinyl on cue. If I had days to dig, a couple of record stores, and a turn table I would recreate this night every single weekend, forever. Alas, all good things must come to an end. We caught a cab back to Bedford Ave. in Hipster Central and grabbed a few hours of rest.
Saturday
I awoke to someone sorting beer bottles from the alley garbage cans. Goshhhhhhhhh the city is loud. And I love it. The brother and I decided to grab brunch before he headed off for 42 or so hours of solid work. Over a mimosa, an egg sandwich and a french press, we revisited a few of the deeper conversations that had been left un-delved the night before over dinner. I am so appreciative of this man across from me. We have developed a lighter side to our relationship over the last few years too. The inside jokes started mounting by the dozens and breakfast reluctantly ended too soon- with giggling and dragging feet.
As my brother headed to work I decided that today would be my "touristy" day. I was confident enough with the train schedules and had my main man, Google, as backup. I headed first to the harbor. Obviously, I'd need to see the Statue of Liberty. Because of the damage caused by Hurricane Sandy a few months ago, it was unclear whether it would be open or not, but it didn't matter much to me.
Now is probably a good time to let you in on a little-known fact about myself: As a kid, statues terrified me- specifically, the Statue of Liberty. The same heart-racing, sweaty-palmed, surprised-by-fear jolt that would overtake my little-girl body when I saw an up-close picture of a shark in National Geographic, was the response I had EVERY time I saw a picture of Lady Liberty. I think.... I've outgrown it...
I'm blaming this unreasonable fear on the Our Lady Of The Rockies, Mother Mary, statue that FINALLY stands on the mountain above Butte, MT. For months, while she was being sculpted and assembled, her head- only her massive head- was stored next to the on ramp near I-90. As a family, living in a rural community not far from Butte, we would weekly make the trip and pass her massive stony gaze. I started hiding under blankets before we'd take the exit, to avoid the terror...
I smiled at my little girl self as I approached the subway platform. Once I was underground, it only took a half hour of waiting to realize that on the weekends the trains run differently. The route I had planned would be closed for track maintenance. That was great, actually. I took the subway to the end of the Saturday line and boarded a free shuttle bus to the harbor. It was nice to see the city above ground for a change! As I exited the shuttle at the Staton Island Ferry Terminal, I chose to take a harbor cruise. The familiar Manhattan skyline glistened like a perfect photograph as we rounded the point. Lady Liberty wasn't even scary! The bridges were AMAZING. The docks were fascinating and the piers were beautiful. I took dozens of pictures in each of a hundred angles. I cannot wait to edit these. Being solo on a trip like this was actually nice. I was able to move around, unnoticed, and get my shots without bugging anyone.
After docking my first priority was to charge the ever dying battery. I easily found a Starbucks where I edited a few shots while I juiced up. As I looked out the window, my mood clouded over and went a little dark. I was right there. Only steps away was the Financial District's Charging Bull. These buildings, that bull, are the images I see in my mind's eye when I remember the 9/11 attacks. In my memory I see video after video of these very streets covered in chaos and dust. Crying, running, screaming and terror echo the video looping my memory. On this day there are potted pansies on the sidewalks. People are smiling and lolly-gagging and laughing as the make their way to climb around on the bull. English is just one of the languages I hear, and not the most prevalent one either. I am overwhelmed with love of my country. I am plagued with the thoughts and images seared in my mind. I wonder: do the tiny cracks and crevices of this building, this street, that soil still bear the DNA and grime of that day?
My battery charged, I move with purpose towards the Tower Memorial. I haven't reserved a ticket to get in, which doesn't bother me. I just want to see the surrounding area. In some way I need to be able to understand the lay of the land in order to connect with the weird emotions I'm having. It is Saturday, which means busloads of people from all over the world are milling around the, still somewhat chaotic, neighborhood. Uniformed police direct traffic, there is still the plastic orange construction fencing and cones everywhere. I walk. And walk. I need something else to focus on. As I head back to where the city shuttle dropped me off, I buy my kids knit stocking caps that say "NYC". (I am "awesome" for that, apparently. I have great kids, who are simple to please.) Finally someone speaks to me. I have spent hours in silence with brooding, emotional thoughts. This man is a flirt. He plans to join me very soon in Montana, he says. "Yeah buddy, I've heard that before," I tell him. Still, it's nice to smile.
Next, I made my way to Times Square. I have only one real goal here: I've gotta see the Letterman studio. The thought of Mr. Letterman always makes me hear my dad's laugh in my mind's ear. Golly, I love my daddy. I think he'd approve of my afternoon adventure. I easily found the studio, which makes the next logical stop: Rupert Jee's Hello Deli. The deli is less obvious. In fact there is scaffolding in front and an hand written "Hello Deli" sign hanging above the sidewalk. I almost miss it. I recklessly enter the deli. Oooops, is it closed? I almost left, but then, there he is! On a Saturday? Rupert says "hello", in his familiar way. I am the only customer. His wife is there too and I recognize her as well. She apologizes, "we're not able to make sandwiches today" she glances up at the electrician standing on the deli counter. I tell her that I'm starving! Rupert offers me potato salad from the cooler. I thank them and ask for a picture. These people are so gracious! Rupert and I chatted about "Dave's Montana" and the cost of a good, thick steak at a nice restaurant. I corrected him, It's MY Montana- Dave visits... I invite the couple to my place, since "Dave never has..."
After I had harassed them long enough, I continued my wandering. Of course The Rockefeller Center, Radio City Music Hall, another Starbucks to charge the phone, are all on my agenda. I take hundreds of pictures. As I passed a few NYPD officers I offered to let one have his picture with me. He was pretty excited at the opportunity, I'm certain. Next I asked to photograph a couple of girls in costume on Broadway. Well, that turned into them photographing me, while we were photo-bombed by more of their feathery friends...
I. Love. New York.
I shot and shot. It got dark. I shot some more. I recharged. I shot. THIS is why I'm here. Reluctantly, I decided it was time to heed the warnings of my feet. I would have another full day on my feet tomorrow, it was time to find a train back to Brooklyn. Besides, there was a pint of Anchor Steam calling my name at the sausage bar around the corner...
The place was slammed and I felt no rush to wait in line for a sausage and salad. I chose a tiny table at the far end of the bar where I could sit alone and watch people. Almost as soon as I sat, a couple of awkward, intoxicated, men made their way over. They quickly made it very well known that this was an uncle/nephew wing-man sitch and I was free to choose whichever one I wanted. "Wellllll, that's sooo sweet," I told them, "but I'm here to visit my friend behind the bar". I thanked them for the chat and forced my way onto a stool at the counter. I called the bartender over, the same beautiful one from the previous nights, and told him he was now a very close friend. He agreed with a wink and asked me to call him Matt.
As Matt became less busy, we started conversation where we had left off the night before. He is alumni of my older brother's Alma Mater and, as a former basketball player, is passionate about the OKC Thunder. We went on an on about sports, debating teams and players and loyalties. On this day in particular, Matt was celebrating. He had just wrapped his first movie, an independent film in which he co-starred. Earlier in the day he had gotten the news that it was picked up for the 2013 Cannes Film Festival. I find myself rooting for the stranger I'm turning into a friend. Fascinating, this little world my brother lives in...
I went home brother-less. I hoped he wasn't too tired or stressed, but I didn't worry at all for me, I had a big day planned tomorrow...
Sunday
This isn't all fun and games, remember?! It's a working vacation and I've got a fire hose to drink from today. International Beauty Show- New York is one of the industry's largest trade shows. There are hundreds of educators, stages, vendors, contestants, models, djs, classes, products, tools and exhibits. Everyone has a microphone. Everyone has a technique. Everyone has a business plan. Everyone has a bag and a brochure. If you get bored, there's jewelry or apparel shopping, competitions, music, and hands-on classes. If I had signed up for all three days, I still wouldn't have seen it all. I focused my attention on a few key areas: natural curl treatments and techniques (I've got your back fellow curly-girls), up-styles (weddings, proms, formal events), make-up (to build my wedding business) and tools. (Can a girl have too many tools?)
A couple of thousand dollars into my day (Yup, Japanese Steel can be pricey), my head and feet were ready for a break. I meandered on over to the classrooms. Because I was exhausted, I relied heavily on my phone's video feature. The salon girls back home would appreciate the class and the educator was gracious enough to allow photos/video.
Mildly rejuvenated, I headed back to the trade-show floor to catch some main-stage presentations. Gooooooood gravy these people are talented! I am surrounded by artists and boundless energy. I love my job. Eventually, as the day wound down, I reluctantly and with mild guilt at not having crammed more useful education into my teeny brain, began the 4,000 mile journey on foot to the subway station. It was no easy task, schlepping the spoils of the day from train to train. I am inspired and can hardly wait to get home and tell co-workers and clients about this day!
After a quick nap, I headed out in search of food. The Thai place on the corner just past the sausage bar looked inviting. It was great, for me. Unfortunately for the rest of the customers, there was some kitchen drama and the cook left the building shortly after I was served. Ummmmm, people are pretty serious about their Cashew Chicken and the patrons were getting upset. I quickly paid and left.
As I wandered Bedford Ave., I found a vintage clothing store where I amused myself with trying on shoes and boots and belts for what must have been an hour. I settled on a pair of Puma's in excellent condition and continued on. Next door was a pet store. I wondered at the inconvenience of having a dog in this city. There are some big dogs walking these streets, and from what I can tell, very small apartments. I continued on. A corner drug store with rows and rows of fresh flowers on the street. I've seen more than one man grab a bunch on his way out of the subway as he heads towards home. Lucky girls...
I checked in on the brother. They are nearing their midnight deadline. It's possible they'll make it, barely; he'll be there until then, at least. I feel awful for him, but am completely relishing this alone time. I'm surprised at me- I've never really like being alone with myself. This weekend I have nothing to solve. Some things just are, and I don't have to understand why. Maybe I'm growing up. My broken heart is still broken, but the edges feel less sharp here, I discover.
Because I feel uncomfortable hanging out with guys who don't even seem to talk to each other at Bachelor Kingdom, without my brother, I head back to the sausage bar to wait for him. Tonight's bartender is the one that was just getting off shift as I arrived last night. She seems like the kind of girl that easily makes friends with guys, but not necessarily with girls. She is the adult, heavily tattooed, version of my daughter, it seems. I intend to learn her...
The bar is relatively slow on this late Sunday evening. There are a few couples here and there at tables at the front of the bar and a single guy with his cap pulled low over his eyes behind me. As the hours pass, I have managed to learn the bartender's name: Hanna. Funny! I had already associated her personality with my own Hannah... She is new to Brooklyn, having moved from Detroit to San Diego to follow a man. That man, stole her heart, made promises, then gave in to the status-quo expected of him- being an accountant and all... She has run here to heal her shattered heart. I guess accountants can't marry girls with tattoos. She is beautiful. I love that her rough, harsh exterior is melting like butter next to the flame of my genuine interest in her. She just wants to be seen, understood, known. Her words echo my own heartbroken thoughts. People fascinate me. Have I said that a time or two?
As Hanna and I chat, I learn that her "real" job is as a tattoo apprentice somewhere across the river. She is SUCH an artist, and easily shares a few of her recent drawings. We talked about art, which led to photography, which led to me taking pictures of her ink. Eventually I ended up behind the bar with her, taking shots of various bar fixtures in a variety of angles as well as capturing my new friend. I am her "new favorite regular" she tells me. As we laughed and chatted, the lone guy with the pulled low cap came to the counter and offered to take a picture of the two of us. Ummmm, okay, he seems nice. We laughed at the horrible picture he took and told him that we'd obviously have to Instagram that and tag him in it... he agreed.
He grabbed his beer and pulled up a stool next to me to help me find him online. "J...." he said. Then he spelled his last name R-I-T-T-E-R. "Really", I asked, "like John?" Yup. "John is my dad... was my dad," he replied. A cloud of sadness passed through his eyes as he corrected himself. I remember well, the death of his father. I also remember watching a few family interviews after the sudden event. I remember thinking "that is a really cool, close-knit family. It must take intentional effort to be so close and grounded in the entertainment industry kind of environment- for multiple generations..." Actually, I've since learned, it takes intentional effort to be close-knit and grounded in any environment.
As J, Hanna and I talked and laughed and teased we got closer to the time of my brother's arrival. Eventually J asked me where we could get breakfast at this time of night. He had just flown in from L.A. about an hour before coming to the bar and had not eaten. He was going to be staying in a loft apartment above the bar and had no idea where he even was in the city. Could I help? Welllllllll, with that kind of smile, I will figure this out! I told him that I know nothing, but that my little brother knows everything. Then I, without his knowledge and after 40+ hours of solid editing, volunteered my still-absent brother to take us to breakfast as soon as he arrived.
My brother is awesome. He didn't even groan at the thought! As we started out, at 2:30ish in the morning, for an all night diner, I linked arms with J. Eventually he put my hand in his sweatshirt pocket and laced his fingers with mine. Is this real? This guy is freakin' sweet! The diner was, not specifically, but very much like, the diner on Seinfeld. Over french toast, bacon, eggs and coffee we shared current and historical stories of siblings and parents. J told us about the movie he'd start shooting tomorrow, including the twist and the ending. I thanked him for saving me the two hours, I'd not be watching it now- I joked. He begged us to see it anyway. Mmmmmmmm, maybe...
As the only patrons at the diner that night, we were randomly selected to take part in a survey. The cook was mixing up three different recipes of sangria, would we be the taste testers? Sure! This night could not get any more interesting....
Wrong! As we left the diner, we passed a neighborhood playground. J made the mistake of mentioning just how long it had been since he went down a slide. "Come on!" I grabbed his hand and pulled him through the gate. I barely heard his concerns about the park being closed. It's only closed if they tell us to leave, I assured him. We spent a good half hour sliding, swinging, playing hopscotch and climbing the jungle gym. Finally, exhaustion set in. J needed to get home, his car would be picking him up in 3 1/2 hours. He begged us to show him where he was living and we (sorta) willingly obliged. As we again walked hand in hand through Brooklyn, I could barely wrap my head around this day. A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! We dropped him off at his door around 5:30 a.m., I invited him to call us if he got bored in-between shooting scenes, then I accepted a couple of quick kisses on the lips and the brother and I trudged on towards Bachelor Kingdom.
I happen to like this working vacation, and it's only Sundayish...
This is Chris, host of the Vinyl Party
The brother and Jessica A
Kurt B. His stand-up on Comedy Central got me through more than one dark day in the early months of my divorce. He doesn't know that, don't tell him- it'd probably just go to his head.
Brooklyn Bridge
Looking towards the Charging Bull
Manhattan
It's very important to be properly educated before making a blow-dryer purchase.
Just one of dozens of the simultaneous small stage presentations...
This hairy man is also just the teensiest bit handsy.
J and Hanna discussing possible tattoo placement.
He's looking good for two days of solid work, right?!
With a grin like that...
