Location: FirstYearMentoring..,.
Destination: Barnes and Noble at Lincoln Center to witness Patti Lupone's Book Release Concert
Chapter One - Getting There (Not the Mary-Kate and Ashley Movie... unfortunately)
I think the NYC transit system and I are fighting. The subway wait is making it awkward for the two people I dragged down into the station to see Famous Broadway Diva Patti Lupone. The 11 minute wait for the subway and 14 minutes until show time are causing me to get rather antsy in my wet khaki shortshorts. I suggest we dash up and catch a cab.
So we do...
.... even though we already used our metro cards to get into the station...
Once we get to the street we attempt to hail approximately 12 cabs before landing lucky number 13...?... The cab driver is incredibly frustrated that the three of us are, like, breathing I guess (I'm pretty sure there was nothing else that could have made him angry because seriously all we did was breathe). Anywho, on the way we pass super intriguing crime scene in Central Park and a plethora of soaking wet, jaded Upper Eastians.
Chapter Two - The Arrival.
We see the building. PAPAPPAPAAAAATTTIII!!!! Oh, I neglected to mention that neither of the girls I'm with have any clue who Patti Lupone is... those darn Speech-Path majors. So we race in and down the first escalator we find. Unfortunately this speedy decision did u
s no good given that Ms. Lupone was not on the first floor, but the fourth. Escalator after escalator until finally we get to... PA....PATT.....PAAATTT.... the-security-guard-who-tells-us-no-more-people-are-allowed-in-to-see-patti.*Profanity*
Chapter Three - The Recovery and, ya know, the Actual Assignment
We do see/ wave at Patti through the giant glass case and watch a little bit of the performance on the TVs one floor up in the Starbucks (obviously we get food... based on our collective depression about the lack of Patti). Then we decide to walk around Lincoln Square.
Columbus Circle is one of my favorite parts of the city because of its openess, beautiful fountains, and enormous variety of fabulous people. We managed to catch some C list, starving Super Models coming out of the Fashion Week Event in the Square. We also got free Frappucino coupons (which was ironic considering the Starbucks in our hands), invited to hop in a sketchy bus traveling to the Meat Packing District, and given various post cards leading us to various hopeful designers websites.
Despite our ability to be in the same room as Patti, we celebrate our small victories. For example: getting across town in twenty minutes, trying giant pizza pretzels that turned out to be "just okay" according to Anna Patruno, and standing alongside clueless Paparazzi.
This evening definitely resembled my New York. It was beautiful, spontaneous, tragic, and just awkward enough.
The End.
i LOLed
ReplyDelete******* Anna Patruno's post:
ReplyDeleteLife is full of unexpected twists and turns that can send you on a roller coaster of emotions. Being a New Yorker, I've become familiar with having good and bad moments within the same day. The day can start off melancholy when you wake up early for school on Monday morning but get a little bit more pleasant as you walk down Lexington Avenue window-shopping with your fresh Starbucks Pumpkin Spice in hand. However, my experience juxtaposed this somewhat blissful day. It began decent and should have gotten better, but instead put me into a four day long depression.
I decided to go home to Brooklyn and be with my parents for the weekend. You know, do some laundry, have some dinner, talk about how awful it is to be living in one of the greatest cities in the world. (Just kidding). But now it was Friday night and it was time to see one of my best friends. I decided I wanted to take her around the city, mostly downtown and grab a bite to eat. Things were going as they normally did until I took it upon myself to be spontaneous and invite some other friends. I should have known things were not going to be good when my driving skills seemed to be looking less like skills and more like incapabilities. Even pulling over was becoming a hassle…as seen by the scuff I left on the innocent 2010 Mercedes Benz I victimized. I ended up paying my dues to the owner of the vehicle once her husband pulled up and harassed me with questions. But regardless it was still a Friday night and I was not about to go home so my friends and I voyaged to the city in search of The Creperie. AKA, the hole in the wall that makes the greatest crepes in the World.
I had my GPS, but still managed to make a completely wrong turn and end up going towards MMC. Once I got my bearings straight and arrived to The Creperie it seemed that the night was going to end off on a good note. I was wrong. Intelligent me decided not to turn my GPS back on and use whatever knowledge I had, or lack of the city streets at the time to find the Brooklyn Bridge. Needless to say I ended up following the signs for the Manhattan Bridge and ended up on Vesey Street. Now I knew where I was- Ground Zero. The one place I try my best to stay away from.
Time does not heal. And you don't forgive and forget. I don't at least. It's not easy for me to accurately describe the emotions I feel about September 11th. Sad? No, that's not strong enough. Vengeful? That's not Christian-like. So what am I allowed to feel? Well, as a New Yorker, valiant and unyielding. Don't be mistaken, I was terrified that day, that week, that year. Both my parents were in Manhattan and I could see the towers collapse from my fifth floor classroom in P.S. 176, but there was a certain implicit warmth felt between New Yorkers in the following weeks. I could still feel it as I drove past Ground Zero that night. I could feel the tears I cried that day and hear the screams in the streets. I could see the pictures from all the magazines and newspapers of people injured, killed, or jumping to their deaths. I could feel it all as I tried so hard to stay within the solid white lines as I drove by. My heart felt heavy from all the emotions running through my mind and in my blood and as hard as I tried I could not speak the rest of the drive home.
Somehow I made one simple right turn and found myself on my way to the FDR going towards the Brooklyn Bridge. It was as if God had wanted to remind me of the horror of that day or of how grateful I should be to have my parents unlike so many of the children who had lost theirs.