We returned to New York for the first time in more than six months this weekend, and had a fun-filled, jam-packed time. We managed to miss the worst of the traffic on the way down, even though we made the exact same navigation mistake we’d made the last time we went. After heading down the West Side Hwy. and crossing over to the east, we met George, who was still at work at 9pm on a Friday, at his office. We headed to his neighborhood for dinner at Baby Bo’s, where we watched the nearly endless Opening Ceremonies and enjoyed their burritos and margaritas. George digs in, as we were short a glass:
After being serenaded by a friendly patron with a few bawdy limericks – he reminded me of Judge Stone’s dad on Night Court – Geo, Anne, Matt, Aimee, and I headed to a local Irish bar and had a drink before Aimee and I took a cab home. We left the car at George’s to take advantage of the free parking we’d found earlier in the evening.
The next morning, we enjoyed egg sandwiches at a local deli, and took the subway to get the car over in Murray Hill. I got a second pair of jeans, period, which was a great idea on Aimee’s part, as well as a new shirt, sort of but not totally on sale. Jeans are getting baggier, or my legs are shrinking, because I bought a size shorter than normal to avoid stepping on the cuffs all the time. Hmm.
We passed the Manhattan Mall, and stopped in for a go at their photobooth before retrieving the car, and heading to Brooklyn for an afternoon of wandering and sightseeing. We looked for a couple of photo booths – the one purported to be at the Grand Press was gone, and I had the wrong address for Buttermilk, so no success there – but hit the jackpot at the Brooklyn Superhero Supply Co. I’d mentioned the store before, and we were really glad to finally be able to pay it a visit. It’s in an unassuming section of Prospect Park, I guess, with a storefront awning that doesn’t look too dissimilar from those of neighboring convenience stores, upholstery shops, and discount emporiums. But when you get a little closer, you realize the minds of Dave Eggers and Co. are at work, and that the place is unlike anything you’ve ever seen.
It is, in fact, just what the name would lead you to expect: a store that sells things superheroes might need, like capes, disguises, secret identities, 3-D goggles, 4-D goggles (!), and secret code paraphernalia. Aimee tried out one of the elements of disguise, becoming, for a moment, “Sharon Boone,” or perhaps “Meghan Toller,” or one of the other identites for sale in the store.
In case you were still too unique and exceptional, maybe some anonymity is in order?
The place was a real treat, brimming with imaginative, hilarious, and clever toys and gear, all beautifully designed and well-thought out.
After choosing to buy the very non-superhero t-shirt and July issue of The Believer, I got to take part in the best part about the store: the check-out procedure and superhero vow. Much like the set-up at the old McSweeney’s store in Brooklyn, the store clerk’s desk is above the height of the average customer, in this case inside a glass enclosure atop a steel cage. I was told to place my purchases in the door of a vault and wait for instructions, which I received from the clerk who spoke into her microphone. After she took my items, I recited the Vow of Heroism and then passed my credit card into the vault, as well. “Nice job. Please take your credit card and your items.” 
After the refreshing superhero experience, we headed from Prospect Park to Williamsburg, where we couldn’t pass up the cheap lunch special again at Thai Tai. It was early afternoon, naptime, when we headed back to Manhattan, made one more unsuccessful photo booth run (to Siberia Bar, marked only with a dim red light over a battered door; photo booth gone at least a year), and crashed at the hotel for a crucial hour and a half of shut-eye.
We took the subway downtown to meet BK and Lauren at Alex and Peter’s place near Chinatown, and stopped in for a piece of peanut butter and chocolate pie at Bubby’s in Tribeca. The place was really charming, and we vowed we’d stop in for brunch our next time around. We enjoyed their excellent built-in photobooth in the basement, as well as a few invigorating rounds of Ms. Pac-Man.
We met the gang at the apartment, and took off for the East Village, where we dined at Three of Cups, a delicious Italian restaurant on 1st Ave. The promised rain from Charley was starting to fall, but we walked around the area a little more after dinner, and stopped for a drink at a quiet bar nearby, where I exercised restraint in preparation for my early morning run the next day and chose water over chocolate martinis and Magic Hats.
I pulled myself out of bed this morning with designs on a nice eight mile run through Central Park, hoping the rain would hold off until I was done. It was three blocks from the hotel to the Artisans Gate on the south side of the park. I ran the entire main loop of the park road, thankfully free of cars (but filled with joggers, bikers, and bladers) on this weekend morning, plus the lower loop, adding up to nearly eight miles, in about 67:00, which felt pretty good. I overheard two horse-drawn carriage drivers point out the same Central Park West apartment building to tourists as the building “where Steven Spielberg and Dustin Hoffman have apartments” (on my first lap) and “where the big marshmallow man attacked in Ghostbusters” (on my second). Glad to know ’80s movie trivia is alive and well in the minds of the carriage drivers.
After showering (and waking Aimee up from her luxury sleep-while-he-runs), we attempted to get the car and head downtown for breakfast. I say ‘attempted’ when I really mean ‘got in our own way’; unbeknownst to me, Aimee went to the front desk to pay for the overnight parking, while I tried the more direct method of giving the guy cash who was giving me the key. So, we paid twice for one car, and had to wait around until the same valet showed up so we could get our cash back. Once that was finished, we headed to Grey Dog for our Sunday breakfast tradition, this time some delicious challah french toast with forty of our closest friends in Grey Dog’s intimate eating space.
The Whitney Museum was our next destination, mainly for their Ed Ruscha exhibit, some of which we’d seen in San Francisco in April. I realized, walking through the exhibit, that Ruscha is really one of my favorite artists. His books of photographs, like Twentysix Gasoline Stations (1963), Some Los Angeles Apartments (1965), and Thirty-Four Parking Lots in Los Angeles (1967) all deal with buildings and spaces in series, not particularly notable individually but fascinating in quantity. An unknown inspiration for my Espresso Shacks project? In addition to his photographs, there’s his attention to typeface evident in his paintings of words and sayings, written in block letters or in flowing, folded pieces of paper. I like his attention to detail and his sense of humor, and I’m really happy we took the time to see the exhibition.
After a tea break with George, once again at work on a rainy Sunday afternoon, we headed out of town, though not quite back to Boston just yet. Like everyone else in New England, we decided to visit the weeks-old IKEA New Haven, which was a mob scene of the first order. The store maintained a miraculous level of flow despite the crush of people inside, and we enjoyed perusing the different sample rooms with their inscrutable names and Swedish books lining the bookcases. I picked up a KILBY bookcase for my room, and Aimee got some wine glasses and other stuff for her new place. What a zoo.
After packing the bookcase into the car, we got back on the road home, and made one more stop before Cambridge: Ralph’s Chadwick Square Diner in Worcester, an unlikely but rewarding destination. Their photo booth was out of order, but the free pizza bagel bites at the bar and the phenomenal jukebox made up for it. Before the dj for the evening pulled the plug and began spinning his records, we got to hear our Badly Drawn Boy, Wilco, Blur, and Squeeze selections, in addition to the Liz Phair, Sex Pistols, and Smiths tunes that were already playing when we walked in. It really was about the best jukebox I’ve ever seen – I hope we can make it back there sometime. Another 45 minutes and we were back home in the Hub, and ready for another week, with our whirlwind Alaska trip beckoning on Thursday night.
