NYC: Day 4

This morning, after sleeping in for the first time all trip, Mandi and I headed to a niche restaurant she had been hyping for weeks: Rice to Riches. In a space-age looking shop completely out of place among the exposed brick and urban aesthetic, it was an amazingly quirky experience all about rice pudding! We decided to split four flavors between us—french toast, pecan pie, cherry-mascarpone, and banana-coconut. An excellent and a very eccentric way to start a day at MoMA.

Since before planning the trip, Mandi always wanted to show me New York's Museum of Modern Art. It's one of her favorite places, understandably considering how it matches her obscure, artsy sensibilities. We took turns taking odd pictures with the art and generally being silly. Unfortunately Van Gogh's "Starry Night" was on tour, but we still saw tons of Warhol and Pollock. We rested in a dark-room exhibit showing an evocative, 40-minute slideshow featuring photographs about love and its progression over time, and briefly sat in the sun of the sculpture garden, which would have been beautiful to lounge around had the weather not been freezing.

That afternoon, we again went out with Brooke to a restaurant quite possibly conceived by a dessert guru on the verge of chocolate-induced nirvana, Max Brenner, which focuses whole-heartedly on everything chocolate. I had a toffee hot chocolate and split a pita-dipper platter with Mandi. Obviously, the gestalt of the desert menu was imposible to take in one visit; I hope I can return soon and possibly try the chocolate-and-marshmallows pizza!

That night, Brooke headed off to the movies, so Mandi and I decided to go to her favorite pizza place just down the street from the dorm, Patsy's. While we waited for food—I remember, I was starving, having eating nothing but sweets the entire day—I couldn't stop watching one of the employees, possibly the owner, who continually greeted guests and acted friendly. He would take the men's hand, kiss the women's cheek, laugh deeply at jokes—all things done in the manner I imagined a cliche Italian pizza-restaurant owner would use.

It was great. Also, the pizza was incredible. Every slice had on them whole leaves of basil. Between the two of us, we finished an entire 8-slice pizza in close to 30 minutes flat.

NYC: Day 3

This morning, Mandi had an ethics mid-term so I was left to wander again. I started out purposeless, but after walking down to 5th Avenue, decided to head for the Empire State Building. It looked so close!

It was not so close, but only took about 30 minutes to walk there, including stopping to take photos and generally be tourist-y. I had a great time gawking at the Flatiron building near Madison Square Park.

By the time I got to the Empire State, I knew Mandi would be getting out of class soon. But I had come too far to turn back, so I quickly got in the observation deck line. The line moved pretty fast, I thought, at least until I got to the elevator, which by comparison really DID move fast. I spent a good 20 minutes on the freezing 86th-floor observatory deck, snapped a bunch of pictures, then headed down. I hunted around the base of the building for a restaurant my great grandmother had apparently left a glove in—a story my parents have always told when prompted with the subject—but didn't find anything so I walked swiftly through the cold back to Washington Square.

Mandi had her last class for the week that afternoon, so I'm off again—this time south. I walked clear form SoHo into the downtown area. The sheer size of the buildings hurt my neck and I wondered around the state capitol building and the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge before catching the subway back.

I rested my feet for a while and that evening we again went out again, this time uptown to Times Square and Broadway! We had tickets for Avenue Q, an ingeniously hilarious Sesame Street parody about the hardships of real life and burgeoning adulthood. Mandi and I were both struck by the actors' skill, both in handling the puppets and acting themselves.

We also coincidentally pasted by Birdland, the famous jazz club that gave Charlie Parker his fame. But after having such a busy day, I was more focused on heading home for the night. Maybe next time.

NYC: Day 2

The next morning Mandi again had class. But instead of going, I chose to strike out on my own for a bit. I made a large circle around the campus and walked for a while down Broadway, peering in windows and taking in the city.

I met Mandi just as she got out of class, and we headed to Ino, a cafe and wine bar west of campus. It was downright amazing. We split truffled egg toast (so good!), a trio of bruscetta, and the best americano I've ever had. The atmosphere in Ino blew me away too—a brightly painted and cosy little place.

From there, we sought the nearest subway station and headed uptown to the American Natural History Museum. There was an enterence straight from the subway platform. Unfortunatly, the fourth floor, which held all the dinosaur bones, was closed, so we paid a bit less than the "recommended" entrance fee to compensate. We managed to see everything in the museum that was open, from the origins of the universe to the various ecosystem and wildlife exhibits.

We exited right onto Central Park, and walked south to stop by the "Imagine" mosaic, dedicated to John Lennon's death. Mandi suggested we take the public bus back so I could see more of the city. I have to admit, it was a great idea; we went straight down Broadway, then 5th Avenue, past Time Warner Center, the Empire State Building—which I would return to the next day—and the heart of the city.

That night, I took Mandi out to a semi-fancy French place called Resto Leon. We were celebrating her acceptance into the NYU Paris Creative Writing Program (taught by one of my favorite authors, fucking Jonathan Safran Foer!). We got a bit lost getting there—completely not my fault; New York City street addresses are confusing. The place was very cosy and romantic and we decided to split three appetizers: escargot, squid, and a warm, goat-cheese salad. It was delicious, particularly whatever sauce was on the escargot.

NYC: Day 1

I got in late last night, about midnight. Would have arrived earlier, but the flight was delayed because of "wind"—yeah right. Mandi picked me up from the airport and we grabbed a wild cab ride into Manhattan. Mandi directed the cabbie straight to Pommes Frites (pronounced "pom freet"), a niche restaurant devoted completely to french fries and 25 awesome, heart-stopping sauces. We ordered the medium-sized fries (actually quite huge) and three sauces—sweet mango chutney mayo, smoked eggplant mayo, and, I think, rosemary garlic (obviously the least memorable of the three).

After devoring most of the fry cone—I felt absolutely disgusting at this point, but also very satisfied—we walked back to Mandi's dorm.

The next morning, Mandi had ethics class. I went with her to get the true NYU experience. Class was pretty staightforward, getting to class was not. It wasn't far, right across the street from the dorms. We hurried past the security guards, who check all students for ID as they enter the buiding. We could have signed me in as a guest, but didn't have time. Luckily, throngs of students were coming and going, so, being undeniably college-looking ourselves, we blended right in.

Completely foreign to me was the need for two sets of elevators: one for odd floors, one for even. We stood momentarily in line for the elevator—another first for me—and took a crowded ride to the 8th floor.

After class, Mandi took me on a tour of the Washington Square area. We stopped by some of her favorite places — Shakespeare and Co., American Apparel (sigh, of course), and Think Coffee.

I was very impressed with Think, a college-y coffee bar that turns into a real bar at night. It had that great, artsy atmosphere I alwasy look for in a coffee shop and reminded me a lot of Lux in Phoenix. Think was about twice as big but just as hipster.

Mandi also showed me all the NYU buildings like Bobst, the impressive, sheer-red library, Stern and Tisch, the business and art schools, respectively, and the law school. Then, we went to Tea Spot, a loose leaf tea house right next to the square, where I had a phenominal pumpkin-cream boba drink.

Hungry, but not looking for much, we stopped by the vegitarian-friendly Dosa Cart and grabbed some Indian dosas (dumpling-like things with pesto and chuntney sauce!).

I accompanied Mandi to her second class that afternoon, Letters as Literature. It was a much more intimate class. Afterward I met the professor, thanked her, and talked a bit about school.

Later for dinner, Mandi, Brooke—Mandi's roommate—and I headed to Caracas Arepa, a Mexian-food place. I got a kick out of the street address: 93 1/2 East 7th Street. We got yoyos, fried sweet plantain balls Mandi had been raving about all day. They were, as forewarned, awesome; I've learned over the years to always trust Mandi on everything food realated.

That night Mandi had to practice for mock trial, which was fine with me because I wanted to see her mock. We were a bit late because we ran into one of Mandi's friends in the square, but ended up being fine. Even after wasting practice time to hang out with me, she nailed her part. Apparentely not much of the team could make it that night, so I got plenty of time to watch her practice.

always the journalist, even on vacation

I don't usually preview events in my blog, but this is a sweet exception.

I'm headed to New York City tomorrow! It's all pretty exciting, and I anticipate being exceedingly busy while I'm there. I'll be spending a ton of time with my girlfriend—my reason for going—and just generally enjoying my spring break. However, interesting occurrences always beget interesting blog posts, so look for those soon-ly.

This will be my first time ever in the city. I'm eager to experience it for myself and stop referencing my friends' experiences or the media "Big Apple." While I'll no doubt do touristy things, my girlfriend also has a list of "underground" or "local-only" things to show me. I'll probably end up sharing them with the world via blog. Because that's what journalists do, right?

Casablanca complex

A recent article in the nytimes has me thinking about the role of the letter in our society.

Apparently, Obama used a hand-delivered letter to open communication with Medvedev in Moscow over the conflict-prone missile defense system. Awesome. Not only should we be talking with Russia and trying to foster a mutual friendships — I may be bias here, having visited and loved the country over the summer — but the protocol involved ignites the more romantic side of imagination.

Why use a letter? The most probable reason was probably to cover Obama's "paper trail" — of course, I use paper metaphorically here — which could have made the letter much easier to find and traceable. However, I'm more intrigued by the aethetic element of his move.

Today, letters have a distinctly film-noir feeling. I'm flooded by images of the iconic dark streetcorner, a man in a wet, brown trenchcoat leaning against a lamp post that casts an eerie cone of light just obscuring his face.

A second figure approaches. The first reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a letter, passed in a fluidly nonchalant movement. A shared nod.

The romantic idea of old-time diplomacy fascinates — three-piece suits, fedoras, long rain coats, the warm, full sound of significant footsteps. It's all a black-and-white film for me. So it goes without saying that for a high-tech president like Obama, I'm just astounded by this low-tech, vaguely romantic idea of deplomacy.

the best party ever, sources say

My opinion ran on Monday this week, but I was just too busy to blog until...NOW!

I'm finding it harder to have pure, theoretical opinions; that is, to talk abstractly about an issue. No doubt, I've developed the lazy imagination of a reporter.

While reporting takes a ton of time and effort, the reporter him/herself doesn't need to contribute much. Most good, well-reported stories will write themselves after skimming through your notes, assembling the strongest quote and outlining the narrative progression. The most difficult part—and any journalist can attest to this, regardless of whether they agree with anything else I'm saying—is coming up with a lede (the first sentence or paragraph, designed to capture the reader's attention). Ledes are often the biggest test of a writer's skill. If you've done enough good reporting, the rest of the story should come easily.

That's why writing opinions can, at times, be challenging. I'm lucky; I'm usually present for enough exciting/controversial events and issues that I can use my reporting skills in writing my opinions. However, I can't imagine being an opinion writer trapped in an office building or other such non-inspirational setting. At times, I struggle with this in school already. When classes start slicing into my time, and I'm stuck studying instead of going to events or lectures etc., coming up with an idea can be excruciating.

It creates a definite conflict between performing my job as a journalist and still keeping up with academia, but, right now, I feel like I'm getting the best of both worlds, a good balance between class time and adventure.

It really is incredible how much I've experience being a journalist; my world has expanded so much. Over the past two years, I have developed a gigantic list of contacts from all over Phoenix. They are the people I've contacted at one time or another for an article. My friend Joe and I joked yesterday that I should have a "thanks-for-helping-me-with-an-article-at-some-point" party, where everyone who has ever contributed to my work gets to meet and talk. It would be a big party—lucky I have contacts in the food business.