Tag: Times Square

Father’s Day With My Father

This is the last full day of my parent’s visit – time for another trip into New York City.

Usually, on Sunday trips, we drive. Steffie asked if we could take the train and I said yes. I’m not entirely sure it was a good idea, though a street fair on 6th Avenue and the Yankees game probably slowed things down.

We left around 10:00 AM and headed to New Haven’s Union Station. Our train was local through Connecticut, but from Stamford it went non-stop to 125 Street in Harlem and then Grand Central Terminal.

We talked about people we knew, people from Connecticut, who claimed to never have been to New York City. That stuns me, though I know it’s true. There’s so much to do in the city that you can’t do anywhere else.

Actually, as a kid I always thought I’d grow up and move to New York. Even as an adult there were times when I thought my career would take me there. At this point it probably won’t happen.

Living in New York is convenient and cumbersome at the same time. Getting anything home – like grocery shopping, is an incredible hassle. Then there’s the noise and the crowds. On the other hand, if you live in the city, you can get anything delivered to you at any hour of the day or night.

New York is the only city in the world with twenty four hour room service!

And, you can walk to where you’re going. Walking is the major advantage city life has over anything else. It’s funny how we think of the suburbs or country as healthier living, but New Yorkers certainly walk more than my neighbors do. They surely walk more than I do.

And, of course, whatever you want to do – it’s there! Movies, museums, restaurants, culture, crap – it’s there.

We got off the train at Grand Central and headed to the Museum of Modern Art. I’ll have to hand it to Stef. She kept her word. I know she had no desire, but she went with the rest of us into the museum.

MOMA is unlike most museums in that there are no classics – everything is new, meaning 20th or 21st century.

We headed to the fourth floor and started scouting around. Some of the work is spectacular. Some of the work is ridiculous. Some of the work seems to be saying, “Can you tell I’m trying to fool you?”

The man on the left is staring at a painting that lists the world’s 1,000 longest rivers, in order. Is it art? Actually, I liked it!

Yes, there are single colored canvasses – just a solid blue canvas, for instance. Is that art? MOMA thinks so. I’m not so sure.

Then there are the works of Picasso, Gauguin, Klee, Lichtenstein and Jackson Pollock (he of the paint splatters seemingly sprayed at random on a canvas). Andy Warhol‘s soup cans are there too.

It’s all a little overwhelming. Standing next to some of these paintings is like standing next to Mick Jagger or Britney Spears because they’re cultural icons, etched into our common experience.

We couldn’t stay too long. Six months ago, before we knew my parents were coming, we had gotten tickets to see “Wicked” on Broadway. Steffie, Helaine and I had to head to the Gershwin Theater for the 3:00 PM performance.

“Wicked” is the prequel to “The Wizard of Oz.” It’s the story of how Glinda became the Good Witch and Elphaba, The Wicked Witch of the West. It’s a cute story with a great cast. As is so often the case on Broadway, the first act was better than the second, though the show ended very strongly.

For months Steffie has had “Popular,” a song from “Wicked,” on her Ipod. And for months, I had been playing it and singing along. Obsessed? Me? Sure.

If, for some reason, the conductor had suffered a wrist injury, I was ready to step in and lead the orchestra for this one song. I knew every word, every note, every bit of accompaniment in the arrangement.

It took everything I could muster to refrain from leading the orchestra from my seat.

The original cast is long gone. The current stars – unknowns to me – were very good and the staging was spectacular. We didn’t expect it, but in the cast were Ben Vereen (The Wizard of Oz) and Rue McClanahan (Madame Morrible).

It has become common for Broadway shows to have names you recognize from TV to help at the box. If these two were meant to sell tickets, they’re awfully well hidden. Of course “Wicked” doesn’t seem to need help selling tickets at the moment.

My parents met us at the theater at 6:10 and we proceeded to dinner. The five of us feasted at the Stage Delicatessen on 7th Avenue.

We were stuffed as we walked south, through Times Square, and back to Grand Central. I must have taken 10 shots of the Chrysler Building as it glistened in the golden light of the late day’s sun. It stood out so tastefully against the pure blue sky.

Our train left at 8:07 and took nearly two hours to reach New Haven, making this an awfully long day – but a great Father’s Day.

Oh – My Toe

How do you know if you’ve broken your toe?

After I slammed mine into the side of the bathroom cabinet&#185, I started writhing on the floor in pain. That seems to be sign number one.

Swelling, which began almost immediately, is probably sign two.

To me, the clincher was when Helaine asked me to look at the toes in question. Instead of being parallel, they were making a “V”. It looked something like the intersection of Broadway and 7th Avenue in Times Square.

I pushed the toes back together with the ‘pinky’ toe making a snap sound as it went back into place.

They are currently taped together. It is my understanding toes don’t get professionally set after they break. Tonight, I am the physician pro se.

&#185 – This cabinet has been in our bathroom for 15 years. I should know where it is. If asked, I will claim to my dying day, it jumped out at me.

Blogger’s note: This morning, while at the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation kickoff breakfast, Steve the doctor called. He was looking for computer tech support… and I asked about my toe. Maybe it’s not broken after all. Possibly it was only dislocated. It still hurts like crazy. Not my week for pain.

We Missed Dick Clark

Helaine and I sat around last night and watched the ball drop in Times Square. Because of a stroke&#185 Dick Clark couldn’t host the show (which his company produces) on ABC. Regis Philbin substituted.

I love Regis. He was the wrong man for this program.

Regis’ strength is his ability to ad lib and show emotion. This was totally scripted, needing someone with Dick Clark’s ability to fake sincerity. Regis just couldn’t muster the talent to read someone else’s lines and be Regis at the same time.

I hope Dick Clark is better soon. I hope he’s back next year. Regis Philbin won’t.

&#185 – The press released characterized this as a minor stroke, though Hollywood press agentry is anything but trustworthy in matters of health.

Saturday in The City

Fear, trepidation – sure, I had both with the promise of protests preceding the Republican Convention. But, the lure of knockoff handbags was too great and so we went to New York City, Saturday.

After much thought on which way to get there, I decided on driving to Stamford and catching Metro North from there to Grand Central. Then it’s a short subway ride to Canal Street.

I know, looking at my logs, that many of you reading this live far away from Connecticut or New York City, so let me give you some subway advice. There is no better, faster way to get around Manhattan than the subway. It has its shortcomings – nearly no service on the far West or East Sides and multiple routes on the same platform, going different places.

We consider it safe, though sometimes interesting. Yesterday, on the #6 train downtown, a man entered from the next car and began to tell his tale of woe in a loud, non-threatening voice. He was begging. But he never intimidated anyone (that I could see). In fact, in his spiel, he said he would not do anything untoward (OK, he didn’t use that word exactly).

More than anything, the subway gives you the feel for the real New York, which continues to be a city of immigrants. While on the platform at Grand Central, I asked Helaine how many languages she thought we could have had translated?

I’m getting ahead of myself.

We parked in the garage across the street from the Stamford station and bought three tickets with a $4 Metro Pass (subway) add-on from a machine. I must have missed a menu somewhere, as I bought an off peak/peak ticket – overpaying. The conductor pointed this out, and later at Grand Central Terminal I applied for a refund… which may or may not be mailed to me, and which forced me to be another set of off peak tickets for our return.

Neither the train or the subway were a problem. We got to Canal Street, popped back to ground level and started to sweat. It was stiflingly hot and humid. The sky was a steel gray of haze with indistinct clouds.

Canal Street was busier than I had ever seen it. Along with the Chinese and Indian merchants normally there were African men selling watches and sunglasses. I would guess they had been moved from the area, now cordoned off, that will host the Republican Convention. They sold their wares while walking along the street, as opposed to the more entrenched merchants who had tables and tiny storefronts.

While Helaine and Steffie walked along, darting into cramped little spaces, I stayed on the street snapping photos. There’s not much here I haven’t snapped before, but now I have the new camera and a chance to get a different perspective.

Throughout the afternoon, I watched at least 3 or 4 caravans of police vehicles, lights and sirens running, move through. Often there would be a marked patrol car or two, black Yukon or similar big vehicle (with police lights), a few enclosed scooters (normally used for traffic enforcement) and another marked police car at the rear.

New York is not Connecticut. Cars do not part because of lights and sirens in New York. First, there’s usually no place to part to! Second, it’s New York and even lights and sirens don’t get you an advantage.

It was quite a fruitful day for Steffie. She came home with three bags. I saw some computer books, but nothing I wanted. In the past I had seen a few software vendors, selling what could only be bootleg software. They were not evident, nor was there the normal amount of bootleg DVD dealers.

I also looked at watches. I tried on a very nice tank watch but couldn’t ‘pull the trigger.’ It was very handsome, emblazoned with the name of a very well known, high end watch company. The quality was excellent. There’s no one I know who would even suspect it wasn’t the genuine article. It will be there next time we go.

We decided to head uptown to eat. Over time, there are traditions a family develops – ours is the Stage Deli. Forty years ago my Uncle Dave was a waiter there. They don’t hold that against us.

We headed into the subway, swiping our Metro Cards to go through the turnstile. Helaine’s didn’t work. A station cleaner, not doing much but yakking on his cellphone, told us we were out of luck. This, of course, was the fear of New Yorkers when the city switched from tokens to Metro Cards. What happens if there’s trouble in a station without a token booth? We found out – you lose $2.

Well, not exactly.

Even New York has its street justice. A man getting off the train at Canal Street saw our plight. He must have had a weekly or monthly pass, allowing him unlimited rides, because he turned to Helaine and me, smiled and said, “Here, use mine.” And, she did.

We took the train to 47th and Broadway, the north end of Times Square, and prepared to walk the few blocks to The Stage. As crowded as Canal Street was, Times Square was just the opposite – empty. I looked across the street at the TKTS booth and saw something I had never seen before – no line!

On many occasions Steffie and I have gone to New York and waited 1-2 hours in line at TKTS to buy Broadway show tickets. TKTS sells unsold Broadway and Off Broadway tickets for half price, plus a small surcharge. They’re still not cheap, but it’s one of the best bargains in New York and we’ve often gotten great seats.

I checked the board and was amazed. Nearly every hot show was available – and for 50% off! We had seen Hairspray, Mama Mia, The Producers and a few others. Among the listed shows I hadn’t heard about was “The Frogs.” I asked someone nearby what they knew of it and she said two words that immediately made our decision, “Nathan Lane.”

The Frogs was playing way uptown at the Vivian Beaumont Theater in Lincoln Center on 65th Street. The Stage was on the way. Life was good.

There is nothing special about the Stage Deli – nothing that would strike you if you were only looking at it from the street. I suppose its days as a New York City show people hangout are long over. Now it’s inhabited, mostly, by tourists who vaguely connect with the name.

The Stage is known for its immense sandwiches, huge desserts and unlimited sour pickles at every table. Helaine and I had roast beef sandwiches while Steffie had a Denzel Washington – pastrami and sauerkraut under melted Swiss cheese. For dessert we shared a piece of chocolate cake the size of a Manhattan apartment.

It would have been a moderate walk to the theater, but Steffie wanted Jamba Juice, so we backtracked four blocks. While Steffie and Helaine went inside, I saw these two mounted New York City policemen. I thought the look of Times Square with horses in the foreground would make a good shot. I’m pleased with how it turned out.

I mentioned earlier how I had seen lots of police activity on Canal Street. The same was true in Times Square, including two or three policemen visible standing in front of every hotel.

It’s easy to think suburbanites should be healthy and New Yorkers flabby but reality trumps perception. New York is a walker’s city.

We headed up 7th Avenue to Central Park South, then turned west toward Columbus Circle. We passed a man, with his dog laying on the sidewalk. As hot as it was, the dog was at ease. I decided this dog led a better life than I ever would… certainly in a better neighborhood.

We crossed Columbus Circle, catching a glimpse of the Time Warner Center across the way. Along the edge of Central Park we passed a small army of protectors. They were probably there regardless of the Republican Convention, protesting political conditions in China.

There was also a lone protester with a sign complaining about the press. I asked if I could take his picture. He asked, “For who?” Me! I took the picture.

We still had a few blocks walking along Columbus Avenue to Lincoln Center. The Center itself was busy with at least two performances.

When we couldn’t find our theater, I stopped a man wearing a tuxedo shirt with no tie. He led the way, giving me the opportunity to ask if he was a ‘player.’ I meant it in the old school way… and he was – a bassist in the Mozart performance at Avery Fisher Hall.

The Vivian Beaumont Theater is one of the best performance spaces I’ve ever seen. It seats about 1,100, but with its amphitheater design and staggered seating, no one was far from the stage or without a great sight line. The stage extended well beyond the curtain, forming a semicircle big enough to mount a play (though that was not the case for The Frogs).

Our half price seats were in the 10th row, slightly to the left of center. They would have been great in any theater.

The Frogs, written by Aristophanes and first performed over 2,400 years ago (though heavily adapted and rewritten) started strong, ended weak. The Steven Sondheim score is excellent. It’s just that second act. It dragged interminably – especially during a debate between Shakespeare and George Bernard Shaw.

That’s the bad news. The good news is Nathan Lane. He is amazing. After this show, I’d pay full price to see Nathan Lane read from the phone book. As I was disappointed seeing The Producers without him, I can’t imagine this show post-Lane. His presence is so strong. His timing is so exquisite.

In a way I feel sorry for Roger Bart who is wonderful as Lane’s slave. In any other cast he would receive the raves. Trading lines back and forth with Nathan Lane allows much of the show to be stronger than its script alone. The same can be said, though not quite as strongly, for Peter Bartlett.

As has happened so often recently, I was surprised by another name in the show, John Byner. He plays Charon, the boatman who crosses the River Styx to deliver Nathan Lane and Roger Bart to Hell.

Originally, the part played by Roger Bart was going to be performed by Chris Kattan of Saturday Night Live fame. Ten days before the opening he was canned. I’ve got to find the back story on that!

After the show we caught a cab to Grand Central and made the 10:10 train to Stamford. Actually, an express that left a few minutes later got to Stamford a few minutes sooner. We didn’t know that at the time.

The story should end here… but it doesn’t. We left the train station and headed to our car. The garage was, by this time, virtually deserted. We drove around and around searching for the exit! Finally, after at least 10 minutes of scouting, we saw a service vehicle. I flashed my lights to get the driver’s attention.

As it turns out, to exit this garage late at night you have to drive all the way to the roof and then connect to an adjoining garage. Unfortunately, there are no signs that say this – none!

It was a full day. We were home around 1:00 AM

Blogger’s note: All of the photos with this entry are linked to larger versions. Just click on the photo. There is also a gallery, with these photos and more, here.

I Never Thought I’d Have One

A piece of email just flew in. Popfile, my mail filter, saw it as spam and relegated it to the spam bin (which I still quickly check a few times a day). As I clicked the button to delete it, I realized I had seen the word “TransitStore” on the subject line.

I fished it out of the delete folder.

The New York City Transit Authority has recently retired the rust red subway cars which made the trip from Times Square to Main Street Flushing on the “7” line. Called “Redbirds,” these cars were among the best ever bought by the NYCTA. They didn’t break down a lot and aged much more gracefully than earlier or later models.

Originally bought to spruce up the line for the New York World’s Fair in 1964, they survived nearly 40 years. Imagine driving a 1964 car on the streets today – a car that was in use around the clock 7 days a week. It’s an accomplishment.

I’ve taken hundreds of trips on the “7.” It wasn’t my first choice when going to school, but was often my transport into Manhattan. With two local and one express track, it managed to be local only at the hours I wanted to ride. It was built as the city was changing the named streets of Queens to numbered streets. Stations are named for streets that haven’t been around since the depression.

With the cars out of service, and probably waiting to become an undersea reef somewhere, individual pieces have been removed and are now for sale. That’s what the email was touting.

I started to write this blog entry, looking at the memorabilia, when Helaine walked in. Why don’t I get something, she said. I had never thought to do anything more than longingly browse.

I’ve made the order.

The front destination sash, which says Times Square – but should also say Willets Point/Shea Stadium, World’s Fair, Main Street Flushing and a few other points from my past should soon be here. It won’t mean much to Helaine and Steffie, but for me, it’s a big deal. I’ve silently wanted one of these for at least 45 years.

Times Square

I was browsing through the New York Times website when I stumbled upon their selection of multimedia files. These are so well hidden, it’s a shame.

I looked down the list and one particular entry struck me as interesting. The title is: “Times Square: Then and Now.” It is written and narrated by James Traub of The Times who has written a book on the history of the area.

This is one of those things you listen to and then say, “Oh – that’s why we have the Internet.” It is an excellent use of still photos and great writing, tied together with Macromedia Flash.

Note: NY Times content requires free registration

Happy New Year Dick Clark

It’s a family tradition that we don’t go out on New Year’s Eve. There are a few really simple reasons for this. First, I usually work. Second, we don’t drink.

Years ago, the last time we really went out for New Year’s, a drunk guy started making a pass at my wife. In fact (though we laugh about it now) we almost broke up on our first pre-marriage New Year’s Eve together.

This year, we stayed home with Steffie and watched some of the goings on in Times Square. Helaine said she wasn’t, but I was very worried that some masterstroke terrorist act would take place in Times Square while the World watched.

Though we moved back and forth between Fox, MTV and ABC, we mostly stayed with ABC. Sure, I work for an affiliate, but there is also a tradition with Dick Clark. Again this year, for at least the second year in a row, Dick was inside a warm studio above Times Square. I’m sorry. He needs to be outside. And last night, the weather wasn’t all that bad.

I was also upset at the use of Steve Doocey – who represents Fox News Channel’s morning show – as ‘talent.’ This is not to say Steve isn’t good… he is. But, this is another case of cutting your nose to spite your face. Why would ABC want to shine such a bright spotlight on someone who is trying to eat their lunch? Doesn’t anyone in the company realize that using talent from other networks is the equivalent of dumping the Disneyland live shots for Six Flags or Universal?

There was a pretty tough article on Dick Clark in Newsday recently. I’ve attached it to this link.

Maybe because I knew most of this before, or maybe just because it’s becoming more obvious now, I have trouble finding Dick warm and likable. His interaction with others, especially on ‘tosses’ from live shots, or look live taped pieces, is forced and a little too staged.

On the other hand, I’m not ready to cede New Year’s Eve to Ryan Seacrest or the stable of hosts on MTV (none of whom stick out in my mind).

Happy 2004

Continue reading “Happy New Year Dick Clark”

New York City Trip Report – Day 3

Click here, or on any photo to see my album of photos from this trip.

Lots to talk about as we finish our three days in New York. But, before we get to the day, a little housekeeping.

First, there’s the question of Internet access. The Millennium Broadway doesn’t have high speed access. In this day and age, that’s inexcusable. I knew it coming in. The location was our most pressing concern. Still…

The first night, I used dial up and got a fairly decent speed. I haven’t used dial up regularly in a long time. I don’t want to get used to it again.

The Sony Vaio laptop I brought along had a WiFi 802.11b card in the PCMCIA slot, so I tried to see if it would find anything. Zip from the desk. I moved the laptop to my lap and sat by the window. With all the buildings surrounding our hotel you’d think there would be some activity… and there was.

Using Netstumbler, I started looking at what I was hearing. First, most of the activity is concentrated on channel 6, which is in the middle of the band and probably the default for most access points. It was for mine (though I’ve since moved it).

Much of the traffic is WEP encrypted. That’s smart. There was a cluster of encrypted AP’s, all with ID’s that made me think they were owned by Bertelsmann Music Group. There were other encrypted transmitters and, a few that were open and in the clear. They just weren’t very strong.

Thursday evening, I was able to send and receive my mail using an AP that identified itself as Apple and then a cryptic series of digits. Probably an Apple AirPort. I sent myself an email through that AP to see the actual IP address. It was routed using road Runner, which is the time Warner cable modem service.

When the weather turned rainy on Friday, I was no longer able to connect to Apple or any other in the clear AP’s.

Over time, we grew to dislike our little room. It never really seemed clean and had some stains in strange places that weren’t right. The bathroom floor always seemed dull, even after the maid had visited.

I still don’t know how a hotel becomes 4-star. Is it self assigned?

Finally, I made an interesting discovery, looking at our window on that rainy Friday morning. There were weeds and moss growing on the top of an air conditioner unit. I am unsure if this unit is associated with the hotel or an adjacent building.

Now, with all this said, it’s on to Friday. It was a rainy day – the antithesis of Thanksgiving. Thank heavens the parade was yesterday!

Helaine and Steffie wanted to do some shopping and go to lunch before we headed back to Connecticut. We left the hotel and headed toward Macy’s. Being a good weather oriented family, we were prepared with the proper outerwear.

Macy’s isn’t too long of a walk, so we headed out to Broadway and then downtown, toward 34th Street. As you leave Times Square, Broadway is a monotonous series of cereal box office buildings with first floor storefronts. It is an area without much charm.

Macy’s is located in Herald Square. I’m not sure how it got its name. It might be a similar story to Times Square, in that there was a New York Herald (which, by the time I was growing up was the Herald Tribune, and whose Sunday supplement was New York Magazine).

Macy’s is probably unlike any other store you’ve ever seen. Its two buildings cover a full city block with 10 stories and over 1,000,000 square feet. Above the 4th floor, the metal escalators give way to wooden ones that must be fifty years old. The store is beautifully decorated for Christmas.

Since Macy’s attracts so many shoppers, it also attracts its fair share of everything else. By the time we got there, there was already a TV crew with a microwave truck from one of the local stations. I also saw a reporter/photographer team from a Spanish newspaper and a long photographer from Women’s Wear Daily.

There were also protesters. I’m sure this isn’t isolated. Macy’s was being picketed by animal rights activists, who themselves were corralled into a small pen, shouting about animals being killed to make fur coats. Outside the front entrance, a lone woman railed on about Macy’s policy of racial profiling and how they had a prison in the basement. If she was changing hearts, it was impossible to see. No one seemed to pay her any mind.

As Helaine and Steffie went shopping, I walked through the area. It’s not a really thriving shopping district, though there is a lot going on. The area holds Penn Station, Madison Square Garden, and The Empire State Building.

Across from Macy’s, in a microscopic triangular shaped park, Yahoo had set up four laptops with wireless Internet access and was extolling their shopping site. Everyone I saw who entered their little promotion won a hat… except me.

I met the girls at the base of the down escalator, and we left the store and hopped on the subway. We were heading to Greenwich Village to Jekyll and Hyde – a theme restaurant with a SciFi/Horror bent.

Getting off the subway at Christopher Street, we headed into Sheridan Square. Up ahead was a theater that has been the home to the long running “Naked Boys Singing”. Hey, it’s Greenwich Village – don’t be surprised.

I had actually been at either Jekyll and Hyde or the restaurant next door back in the mid-60’s when Bob Weiss’ family took Bob and me to see Jean Shepard do his live Saturday night broadcast on WOR. For a kid who idolized Shep, that was an incredible experience. I wonder what happened to bob. I probably haven’t spoken to him since 1966 or ’67.

Maybe I was a little tired, and ready to go home, but Jekyll and Hyde was not that great for me. I had a pretty good turkey club tortilla wrap, while around us, figures mounted on the walls came to life. At the same time, some jerk at an adjacent table made loud cell phone calls. Across the way, a little girl was celebrating her 4th birthday. I wonder if Jekyll and Hyde would cause her nightmares to help remember the day?

We hopped the subway and headed back north. While I looked at the “Rodenticide” sign, Steffie had a ‘wildlife’ spotting on the tracks. Obviously Rodenticide only works so long.

By the time we returned to the hotel to pick up the Explorer and head home, it was nearly four. I reached for the claim check… but it wasn’t there! We did find it, in my coat which had been left in storage with the bellmen.

The trip home was pretty easy. The day after Thanksgiving may be busy at the stores, but it’s less than pedestrian on the Connecticut Turnpike. Manhattan to our house took a little less than two hours.

During our stay in New York, I took nearly 500 photos. On Thanksgiving alone, I snapped nearly 1 GB worth of images. We all had a great time. Our anniversary will go in the books as a happy one. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade will be a lifetime memory.

As I type this, early Monday morning, Priceline has just sent me a survey, asking about my hotel. I told all.

Click here, or on any photo to see my album of photos from this trip.

New York City Trip Report – Day 1

Click here, or on any photo to see my album of photos from this trip.

It’s inside my wedding ring – 11/26/83. Helaine and I were married, just outside Philadelphia. In the beginning, I used the ring for reference to remember the exact date. Now, I know. It has been 20 years!

The past few months have been sort of rough, especially with Ivy passing away. Helaine thought it would be better if we were away on Thanksgiving and our anniversary. I agreed.

I had asked for November 26th off way back in December of last year. It was the last day of the very important November ratings book. To their credit, my bosses allowed me to take the day off. Twenty years is a milestone.

Helaine thought it would be fun to go to New York City, get a hotel, see some shows, do a little shopping, maybe catch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade and come home.

We had never used Priceline, but some folks at work had had success with it. I looked for a 4-star hotel in the Times Square area and bid. My first bid was rejected, but there was a suggestion that ‘maybe’ I’d get it if I upped the amount. I did, but in retrospect, I don’t think my Priceline deal was that hot.

I called the hotel to make sure the room would have two king size beds (we were taking Stefanie). No problem, but it would be a rollaway bed at $50 per night! And, of course, at this time my Priceline bid was locked in and non-refundable.

Helaine set out to get show tickets. Stefanie and I have gone into Manhattan on numerous occasions, standing in line at TKTS in Duffy Square and buying half price theater tickets. This would be different.

Helaine found pretty good seats for Six Dance Lessons in Six Weeks, starring Polly Bergen and Mark Hamil and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof with Ashley Judd, Jason Patric and Ned Beatty.

Six Weeks was in previews but had been well received pre-Broadway. Cat had gotten very good reviews, especially for Ned Beatty. We ended up seeing neither play!

Six Weeks was lambasted by every reviewer I could find. This was the kind of awful play that critics take particular pride in crushing. It wasn’t long before we got a call from Telecharge saying the Thanksgiving performance had been canceled. Actually, the show closed.

Helaine set back to Telecharge and found Wonderful Town, a revival of a 1950’s show about 1930’s New York. I had been hearing radio commercials for this show and it hadn’t appealed to me. Still, there wasn’t much choice on Thanksgiving night, and I love the theater.

We set out for Manhattan on the morning of November 26. I had been up the night before writing a story for work and taking two tests for my courses at Mississippi State. Steffie got behind the wheel of the Explorer. Helaine got into the back and prayed for a safe journey.

Stefanie got a little highway time behind the wheel and taking us to Norwalk. We swapped seats and I took us the rest of the way into the city.

Traffic was unusually light, especially considering it was the day before Thanksgiving. I got in the wrong lane at a construction site in the Bronx and ended up having to double back though some side streets. Still, we made it to the Cross Bronx Expressway and West Side Highway without incident and breezed crosstown on 44th Street directly to the hotel.

The Millennium Broadway is an OK hotel in a great location. It is less than a block east of Times Square.

We knew parking wasn’t included and now we found out it was $45 per day! We were reminded again that a rollaway bed was $50. We headed upstairs to our room, 1716.

In most hotels a 17th floor room would provide you with a commanding view. Not here. The 17th floor is only barely above the roof lines of the smaller buildings in the area and provides no view of the street or anything farther than a few blocks away.

Our room was as small as any hotel room I’ve ever been in. The king size bed took up most of the space. There was a small desk, color TV, microscopic closet with a moderate sized safe, and a few smaller chairs. One entire wall was windows.

The bathroom was normal sized with incredible water pressure. I have never seen a bathroom sink that could puncture your hand with its water pressure before this one. Towels were moderate in size. The tub/shower had glass doors and was a decent size.

Helaine discovered the drain in the tub was stuck closed. I’m not sure how the housekeeper didn’t catch this. I tried to unstick it and it snapped off in my hand. I would later tell the front desk of this problem and it was repaired properly.

This being New York, we headed down to Canal Street. I’ve written about Canal Street before, so let it suffice to say, this is the place to go to get knock offs of all types.

There are a few very interesting points about Canal Street. First, how can the trademark/copyright holders not enforce their rights? Sales of Rolex, Movado, Luis Vuitton and a zillion other brands go on right in the open.

There is some ineffectual enforcement I believe, because from time-to-time, without warning, Nextel direct connect chirps will sound and black cloths will be quickly drawn over the display tables. In the small booths, metal rolldown doors will close. Essentially any visible evidence of knock off commerce will disappear.

The second interesting point has to do with the ethnic makeup of the business owners. Most shops seem to be run by ethnic Chinese. Canal Street skirts New York’s Chinatown. There are book sellers on tables set up curbside. These folks are Southwest Asian – either Indian, Pakistani, Sri Lankan or Bangladeshis. I’m not good enough to make finer distinctions. From time-to-time lone black men will move through the crowd pulling out watches in small display boxes. These men are all African, based on their accents.

If sales tax is collected on Canal Street or if any paperwork is kept, I’ve yet to see it!

Steffie bought a few watches and a head band. Helaine and I watched.

For our 20th anniversary dinner, Helaine made reservations at Rocco’s in the Flatiron District. Rocco’s is the scene of the reality show, “Restaurant.” We caught a cab after a few minutes of jockeying for the proper location and quickly moved uptown.

Our reservations were for 5:30, but we were early, so Steffie and Helaine popped into a local furniture store while I took some photos. From the Flatiron District the Empire State Building dominates the northern skyline.

In order to eat at Rocco’s you have to sign a bunch of waivers acknowledging that a TV show is being taped here and that you give up all rights to the production company. I signed, but am unsure how AFTRA (the performers union I belong to) would react to this.

It’s a moot point. I doubt I’ll be on the show.

Rocco’s is a nice Italian restaurant, undistinguished in most ways except for the camera crews running around, the cameras on the ceiling and the casting call fresh contingent of waiters and waitresses.

Helaine and Steffie had spaghetti and meatballs (the house specialty) while I had linguine with white clam sauce. Dinner was good, not great.

As we ended dinner, Helaine spotted Rocco’s mom. She is actually responsible for the spaghetti and meatballs. With the TV show she had become a minor celebrity. Pictures were taken, of course.

We headed uptown by cab toward the Music Box Theater and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. We got to the theater and heard the news: Ashley Judd was sick. She would not be performing tonight. Since she was the big star, refunds would be offered. Helaine and Steffie decided to pass on the understudy, and I went along. We weren’t alone. I believe most ticket holders walked.

There might be a back story here. Just the day before, in the New York Times, Ned Beatty had been less than kind toward Judd and Jason Patric. To paraphrase, they were working hard but didn’t have the chops that many unemployed Broadway actors had. It was not a glowing endorsement.

Since the show would be dark on Thanksgiving, taking Wednesday off would give Ashley two in a row and some time to get over what Beatty said. Was she sick? Was she pissed? I just don’t know. Ashley and I never did get together.

This left us without anything to do, but there was a possibility. We had heard the Thanksgiving Eve balloon inflation on the Upper West Side was very visual, so it was into a cab again.

Columbus Circle was already closed in anticipation of the parade, so we went far west and scooted up to the 70’s before cutting back to Central Park West. We followed a crowd to what we thought was the one block line to the balloons. Nope. Once we got to where the entrance should be, we found out there was another 2, maybe 3, block wait.

Too much. We headed back to the hotel.

In retrospect that was a great idea because Thanksgiving Day was going to be quite full and begin very early!

Click here, or on any photo to see my album of photos from this trip.

Kennedy Assassination As a Universal Experience

I remember, with vivid clarity, the moment I found out about John Kennedy’s assassination. I am not alone. It has been said that no one who lived through November 22, 1963 will ever forget where they were, what they were doing, when they found out.

For me, it was a sunny, late fall day, in Mr. Friend’s classroom on the back side of the first floor at Harold G. Campbell Junior High school. In New York City school names are ceremonial, at best. It was JHS 218 or JHS 218Q (for Queens).

Mr. Friend was told first and he relayed to the class that Kennedy had been shot. That’s all we knew. I can’t speak for the class, but I can tell you that whatever I thought at that moment, I wasn’t grasping the significance of the moment or that anything more could happen.

It was a time when TV news was much less crime and picture oriented. The grit and grime of violence may have been played out every day in the Daily News or Mirror (in 1963 the New York Post was a liberal newspaper which tended to play toward organized labor and its causes, not crime and debauchery)… but I read The Long Island Press, published in Jamaica, Queens. Violence outside of war didn’t exist as far as I was concerned.

November 22, 1963 was the day newspapers lost their position as ‘news of record’ for most Americans to television.

The windows from our classroom faced east, across open space and toward Queens College. Within a few minutes, someone in the class noticed a flag at Queens College being lowered to half staff. That’s when it hit me.

We were dismissed early and I began to walk home. I know I was with friends… maybe Dennis Westler, possibly Marty Ingber. I’m not really sure but I know I wasn’t alone. We discussed the fact that the president was dead and Lyndon Johnson, the vice president, had suffered a heart attack. I know now that was wrong – I didn’t then. We speculated what would happen. I was 13.

Still, we were discussing facts and the emotion had still not hit me. We were cavalier.

As I came home and turned on the TV, I realized this was major. All regular programming was gone. News, in a somber manner, was on all channels. Slowly, from the adults around me, I began to become aware of the gravity of the situation. We all sat, glued to the television.

Though I was born during the Truman administration and remember Eisenhower in a sketchy sort of way, Kennedy was the first president that I really knew. My parents were good Democrats in a lower middle class area of trade unionists who were also Democrats. The huge apartment complex we lived in, made up of dozens of three and six story buildings, was financed and built by the Electrical Workers Union Local 3 and called Electchester. Our friend Morris Scott, on the first floor of our six story 72 unit building, was a Transport Workers Union and Democratic functionary. He was not an exception in Electchester. The two went together.

During the campaign for the 1960 presidential election, Kennedy spoke at a campaign rally at Parsons Boulevard and Jewel Avenue, a block from our apartment. I found the photo on the left at an NYU site – amazing it’s preserved on the net. The facade of the building behind Kennedy is from the Pomonok Housing Project, which was across the street from us. The camera is shooting from the SE to the NW, across the intersection. My memory is of a huge crowd, but I was 10 at the time. This busy intersection was closed and a wooden platform was built.

Richard Nixon had nothing to gain by coming to my neighborhood. He was everything we weren’t, Kennedy was like us, though nothing could be further from the truth.

Anything I thought or felt about Kennedy during the campaign was based on those things that affect a ten year old; my parents, grandparents and the folks we lived around. I knew nothing about his policies, politics, social standing or any of the things we know today… and there’s no doubt we know a hell of a lot more today.

In my sphere of influence, Kennedy was like a god. I know that sounds foolish or naive now, but that’s the truth. To me, he was much larger than life. And he was the first adult I knew of to die tragically.

I had tickets to see a Broadway show on the Saturday following the assassination. It was probably my first Broadway show. Like the NFL schedule the next day, Broadway went on. In hindsight, both football and theater performances were bad ideas. Even so, with a bunch of my classmates and Mr. Friend, we boarded the bus for Flushing and the IRT subway (actually it was mostly above ground) to Times Square to see “Enter Laughing.”

I now know, this show was an autobiographical sketch from Carl Reiner. Then, who knew who Carl Reiner was? I remember it being funny in an irreverent sort of way, but the day being gray and gloomy in every other sense.

Sunday morning we sat home in our tiny apartment, 5E. I lived in an apartment with only a northern exposure. At no time in the 16 years I lived in this apartment… and decades longer my parents lived there, did we ever see the sun!

The TV in the living room, our only TV, was tuned to CBS. Along with millions of others, I watched Lee Harvey Oswald being shot, live. Being live, coast-to-coast, from that Dallas Police Department Garage was quite a technical achievement 40 years ago. Today, we see the videotape replay as grainy, dated black and white. Back then, it was live and vivid. Grainy black and white was the norm.

I was stunned. We were all stunned. How was this humanly possible? Today’s metal detecting, secure area-ed society was light years away. I had never seen a pistol, but in Texas, they were much more the norm.

Monday was the funeral. I think my dad was home, which was not a scheduled day off from work. Certainly every school was closed and my guess is most businesses too. By this time we had a common grief and stunned disbelief in what had happened. If it is possible, I remember being a 13 year old who was depressed.

The country stopped for the funeral. It struck me then, as it does now, that there are people who actually know how to plan an event like this with the proper protocol and deference to tradition. What a morbid field of expertise.

It was an awful, rainy day in Queens on that Monday. The funeral was long and sad and more than anything else I remember the riderless horse, the muffled drums and the crying. We’ve all seen the photo of John Jr. saluting. I believe that was only seen by still photographers. I don’t think we saw that live.

People think it was live because it’s been published and seen so many times. A similar situation is the film of Apollo 11 landing on the Moon, with dust flying and the shadow of the lander on the surface. That too was never seen live on TV, though we did hear the voices of the astronauts and Mission Control.

Five or six years after the funeral I was marching down those same Washington streets, protesting the war in Vietnam. In 1963 there was no thought that you might protest what your government was doing. But after JFK’s assassination, everything changed.

Lyndon Johnson became the president and used the Kennedy aura to pass Civil Rights legislation that began to bring this country out some draconian policies that survived even the Civil War. Johnson also inherited Kennedy’s involvement in Vietnam, which would be his undoing as a president. The war accelerated, halfway around the world.

Before Kennedy’s assassination we were innocent and invulnerable. World War II had taken place without any conflict reaching America’s shores. Korea too was fought far away. The strength of our military, combined with the breadth of the ocean, protected us from harm. But now we found that harm could come from within and that nothing would ever be safe again.

A generation only knows about the assassination through Oliver Stone’s movie. Shame on him. Shame on them. Stone’s powerful use of the medium told America a lie, packaged as the truth.

Forty years ago. I remember it like it was yesterday.

(This entry originally posted November 22, 2003)

New York City trip – The Producers

Ivy the dog is still in the hospital There was some improvement today, which I’ll get to later. Still, Helaine felt it was best for her to stay home… and she did.

Steffie and I took our three tickets to see The Producers, got in the car around 9:00AM, and headed into New York City. After Dunkin’ Donuts and gas (there’s a joke here somewhere), we hit the open road, convertible top down.

This was actually risky. The mostly cloudy sky turned overcast as we moved west from Bridgeport (In Connecticut, the east-west Connecticut Turnpike is labeled north-south. This makes a geographically challenged adult population even more confused). I expected to have to pull over, under an underpass, at any moment to get the top up. But, by the time we hit the Cross Bronx Expressway, the sun had returned and the air began to get steamy.

The trip to New York, though shared with lots of other cars, was never hampered by traffic.

We followed the CBE to the West Side Highway (following the Last Exit in New York signs) and headed south along the Hudson River. The view to New Jersey was a little hazy. The river itself was pretty empty.

I parked the car ($30, thank you) on West 44th Street, just west of 8th Avenue. I always put up the top when parking, even in attended parking, and that was a good thing, since it later rained.

It was near 11:00 AM and the show wasn’t until 2:00 PM, so we headed into the subway at the corner and went downtown to Canal Street.

For some unknown reason, I thought the IRT #1 train would be the closest (it wasn’t). I mention this, because the subway stairs at 8th and 44th bring you to the 8 Avenue Line IND station with connecting corridors to the IRT (mentioning IND and IRT only helps to show I’m getting older. These labels, a throwback to the era when some subways lines were privately owned, haven’t been used in decades.) It seemed like we were walking to Canal Street as the narrow, tiled, dingy, hot tubes led up and down, left and right, until we were on the downtown platform. We took the express a few stops and then walked across the platform to take the #1 to Canal.

New Yorkers leave the city in droves during the summer, and I’m sure that’s especially true for Labor Day weekend. At the same time tourists pour in. Canal Street was jammed.

Maybe I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m sure Kate Spade, Christian Dior or Louis Vuitton (is there really a Louis Vuitton?) would clutch their collective chests and fall to the ground in cardiac arrest if they ever saw Canal Street. Everything is a knock off… but a nearly perfect knock off.

When a bag says Prada on the outside, it also has Prada on the hardware and Prada “franked” on the leather inside. It’s a pretty thorough job.

Today, I actually stopped as I bought a bottle of Poland Springs water from a vendor, thinking maybe it too wasn’t the real thing. Hey, it’s Canal Street, who knows?

I continue to look, to no avail, for a Breitling combination analog/LCD watch. Obviously, Breitling has them, but that’s a little out of my price range for a watch… maybe not for a car, but for a watch.

Steffie went bag, wallet and shoe shopping. Is it an obsession? Sure. There should be some 12 step program to get her back on the right track. But, at least on Canal Street you can indulge your fantasy. She bought a few things, including some shoes she had been lusting after.

I found a few computer books. One was on Perl, a computer language (which will not make my spell checker happy) used on websites like this one, that I want to learn. The second had to do with Cascading Style Sheets. Again, it’s a concept used on this website and something I had heard about for years without understanding. Like Perl, if I’m going to administer this site, I need to learn at least a little bit about it. Books on Canal Street go for 1/2 retail price or a little less.

A few Canal Street observations. There is a street side display ad for Tag Heuer watches. These watches are sold on Canal Street… they’re just not real. It’s an odd place for an ad like this.

Canal Street is old and tired. There hasn’t been new construction here since the 1930’s or maybe earlier. Little shops are crammed into spaces no larger than a small closet. And, my guess is, this was never an upscale neighborhood, even back in the day. That’s why it was interesting to see beautiful detail work on some of the older industrial buildings.

Finally, even in the midst of urban congestion, people find comfort in things growing. I found this ‘city garden’ on a fire escape. There’s no doubt it’s against fire code, but it is nice to see.

With a 2:00 PM curtain, we headed back into the subway and north to the 42 Street stop on the E train. Up the stairs and, astoundingly enough, we were a half a block from the theater. But, there was a problem. We had Helaine’s ticket!

A try outside the theater yielded nothing. It didn’t seem like the right place to sell it. So, we headed to the TKTS booth in Duffy Square. This is where you’d likely find people looking for tickets, and Producers tickets were always tough to come by.

I walked parallel to the line at TKTS. “Single ticket to The Producers.” Once, twice, three times… and then as I was about to try one more time, Steffie turned me to a woman in line who was interested. She asked how much? I hadn’t thought about it, so asked her to make me an offer. She said half, and the deal was done.

As it turned out, she was Japanese, in New York by herself (though she said she had friends there) and had only come in earlier in the day. She was about to sit dead center in the 6th row, and I was subsidizing 50% of the cost.

The Producers was excellent. It is everything the movie was, though the story has been adapted and simplified for the stage. The current cast is considered “B” next to Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane. Even then, like most New Yorkers, some of the biggest players were out-of-town, replaced by stand-ins. Lewis J. Stadlen, the lead, was replaced by John Treacy Egan, which meant Egan was also covered by an understudy.

I would very much like to see the show again, with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. As the originators of Bialystock and Bloom, and with the theatrical clout to be a little ‘over the top’, my guess is they bring the show up a few notches.

The dialog and sensibility of the show was pure Mel Brooks. You could hear his voice in nearly every line. And, in fact, his voice was heard (lip sync’ed by an actor) during Springtime for Hitler; “Don’t be stupid, be a Smarty – sign up with the Nazi Party!” I believe he did this line in the film as well.

Brad Musgrove as the astoundingly gay Carmen Ghia was a hoot. He got the biggest ovation of the non-principals.

After the play broke, we headed away from the car, and back toward Times Square. Steffie wanted a henna tattoo, which we never found.

We did see a few things in Times Square that you only see in Times Square. The most notable is the “Naked Cowboy.” It is, stripped to its essence, a man wearing a cowboy hat, boots and underwear. That’s it. He charges to pose for photos, and does a pretty brisk business.

For the cowboy challenged, there was also Spiderman, available for a price. In the spirit on New York, I doubt any of his take goes to the copyright owner.

What we did find was rain! What had been a sprinkle as we left the theater turned into a downpour. We were near 42nd Street by this point, so we headed to the ESPN Zone. With a 30 minute wait, we turned back up Broadway and ended up at Planet Hollywood.

When in Times Square, Steffie and I eat at Planet Hollywood more often than not. The food was fine, but more importantly, the restaurant was dry. We were soaked when we got in. Luckily, the camera, books, bags, shoes and the like were in plastic bags. Steffie’s purse had been outside, but tonight, it seemed none the worse for water.

We headed back to the car, only to run into the New York City Fire Department. Something was going on above West 44th Street. Four or five pieces of fire rolling stock and at least a dozen, firefighters (each wearing oxygen packs) stood around chatting as a ladder was extended from a truck and two firefighters climbed to the roof of the theater adjacent to the St. James (where The Producers plays).

If there was cause for alarm, it was well hidden. No one was breaknig a sweat. Steffie wanted to stay and watch, which we did for a few minutes. But, as time went on, it became clear that whatever was going on, was going on out of sight… and wasn’t all that dramatic.

By 6:00 we were in the car, turned north on 8th Avenue, and headed home… with the top down.

Best of New Haven Advocate

Ivy the dog is still in the hospital There was some improvement today, which I’ll get to later. Still, Helaine felt it was best for her to stay home… and she did.

Steffie and I took our three tickets to see The Producers, got in the car around 9:00AM, and headed into New York City. After Dunkin’ Donuts and gas (there’s a joke here somewhere), we hit the open road, convertible top down.

This was actually risky. The mostly cloudy sky turned overcast as we moved west from Bridgeport (In Connecticut, the east-west Connecticut Turnpike is labeled north-south. This makes a geographically challenged adult population even more confused). I expected to have to pull over, under an underpass, at any moment to get the top up. But, by the time we hit the Cross Bronx Expressway, the sun had returned and the air began to get steamy.

The trip to New York, though shared with lots of other cars, was never hampered by traffic.

We followed the CBE to the West Side Highway (following the Last Exit in New York signs) and headed south along the Hudson River. The view to New Jersey was a little hazy. The river itself was pretty empty.

I parked the car ($30, thank you) on West 44th Street, just west of 8th Avenue. I always put up the top when parking, even in attended parking, and that was a good thing, since it later rained.

It was near 11:00 AM and the show wasn’t until 2:00 PM, so we headed into the subway at the corner to head to Canal Street.

For some unknown reason, I thought the IRT #1 train would be the closest (it wasn’t). I mention this, because the subway stairs at 8th and 44th bring you to the 8 Avenue Line IND station with connecting corridors to the IRT (mentioning IND and IRT only helps to show I’m getting older. These labels, a throwback to the era when some subways lines were privately owned, haven’t been used in decades.) It seemed like we were walking to Canal Street as the narrow, tiled, dingy, hot tubes led up and down, left and right, until we were on the downtown platform. We took the express a few stops and then walked across the platform to take the #1 to Canal.

New Yorkers leave the city in droves during the summer, and I’m sure that’s especially true for Labor Day weekend. At the same time tourists pour in. Canal Street was jammed.

Maybe I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m sure Kate Spade, Christian Dior or Louis Vuitton (is there really a Louis Vuitton?) would clutch their collective chests and fall to the ground in cardiac arrest if they ever saw Canal Street. Everything is a knock off… but a nearly perfect knock off.

Today, I actually stopped as I bought a bottle of Poland Springs water from a vendor, thinking maybe it too wasn’t the real thing. Hey, it’s Canal Street, who knows?

I continue to look, to no avail, for a Breitling combination analog/LCD watch. Obviously, Breitling has them, but that’s a little out of my price range for a watch… maybe not for a car, but for a watch.

Steffie went bag, wallet and show shopping. Is it an obsession? Sure. There should be some 12 step program to get her back on the right track. But, at least on Canal Street you can indulge your fantasy. She bought a few things, including some shoes she had been lusting after.

I found a few computer books. One was on Perl, a computer language (which will not make my spell checker happy) used on websites like this one, that I want to learn. The second had to do with Cascading Style Sheets. Again, it’s a concept used on this website and something I had heard about for years without understanding. Like Perl, if I’m going to administer this site, I need to learn at least a little bit about it. Books on Canal Street go for 1/2 retail price or a little less.

A few Canal Street observations. There is a street side display ad for Tag Heuer watches. These watches are sold on Canal Street… they’re just not real. It’s an odd place for an ad like this.

Canal Street is old and tired. There hasn’t been new construction here since the 1930’s or maybe earlier. Little shops are crammed into spaces no larger than a small closet. And, my guess is, this was never an upscale neighborhood, even back in the day. That’s why it was interesting to see beautiful detail work on some of the older industrial buildings.

Finally, even in the midst of urban congestion, people find comfort in things growing. I found this ‘city garden’ on a fire escape. There’s no doubt it’s against fire code, but it is nice to see.

With a 2:00 PM curtain, we headed back into the subway and north to the 42 Street stop on the E train. Up the stairs and, astoundingly enough, we were a half a block from the theater. But, there was a problem. We had Helaine’s ticket!

A try outside the theater yielded nothing. It didn’t seem like the right place to sell it. So, we headed to the TKTS booth in Duffy Square. This is where you’d likely find people looking for tickets, and Producers tickets were always tough to come by.

I walked parallel to the line at TKTS. “Single ticket to The Producers.” Once, twice, three times… and then as I was about to try one more time, Steffie turned me to a woman in line who was interested. She asked how much? I hadn’t thought about it, so asked her to make me an offer. She said half, and the deal was done.

As it turned out, she was Japanese, in New York by herself (though she said she had friends there) and had only come in earlier in the day. She was about to sit dead center in the 6th row, and I was subsidizing 50% of the cost.

The Producers was excellent. It is everything the movie was, though the story has been adapted and simplified for the stage. The current cast is considered “B” next to Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane. Even then, like most New Yorkers, some of the biggest players were out-of-town, replaced by stand-ins. Lewis J. Stadlen, the lead, was replaced by John Treacy Egan, which meant Egan was also covered by an understudy.

I would very much like to see the show again, with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. As the originators of Bialystock and Blum, and with the theatrical clout to be a little ‘over the top’, my guess is they bring the show up a few notches.

The dialog and sensibility of the show was pure Mel Brooks. You could hear his voice in nearly every line. And, in fact, his voice was heard (lip sync’ed by an actor) during Springtime for Hitler; “Don’t be stupid, be a Smarty – sign up with the Nazi Party!” I believe he did this line in the film as well.

Brad Musgrove as the astoundingly gay Carmen Ghia was a hoot. He got the biggest ovation of the non-principals.

After the play broke, we headed away from the car, and back toward Times Square. Steffie wanted a henna tattoo, which we never found.

We did see a few things in Times Square that you only see in Times Square. The most notable is the “naked cowboy.” It is, stripped to its essence, a man wearing a cowboy hat, boots and underwear. That’s it. He charges to pose for photos, and does a pretty brisk business.

For the cowboy challenged, there was also Spiderman, available for a price. In the spirit on New York, I doubt any of his take goes to the copyright owner.

What we did find was rain! What had been a sprinkle as we left the theater turned into a downpour. We were near 42nd Street by this point, so we headed to the ESPN Zone. With a 30 minute wait, we turned back up Broadway and ended up at Planet Hollywood.

When in Times Square, Steffie and I eat at Planet Hollywood more often than not. The food was fine, but more importantly, the restaurant was dry. We were soaked when we got in. Luckily, the camera, books, bags, shoes and the like were in plastic bags. Steffie’s purse had been outside, but tonight, it seemed none the worse for water.

We headed back to the car, only to run into the New York City Fire Department. Something was going on above West 44th Street. Four or five pieces of fire rolling stock and at least a dozen, firefighters (each wearing oxygen packs) stood around chatting as a ladder was extended from a truck and two firefighters climbed to the roof of the theater adjacent to the St. James (where The Producers plays).

If there was cause for alarm, it was well hidden. No one was breaknig a sweat. Steffie wanted to stay and watch, which we did for a few minutes. But, as time went on, it became clear that whatever was going on, was going on out of sight… and wasn’t all that dramatic.

By 6:00 we were in the car, turned north on 8th Avenue, and headed home… with the top down.

Saturday… time’s running out.

First things first. This was another really good day at the poker tables. Somewhere north of $250 won playing $6-12 Hold’em. I am definitely getting better… and the cards are running my way.

OK – now to the real events of the day.

Earlier, we had played in the ‘No risk slot tournament’ at Aladdin. It’s actually pretty cool. You play in the tournament… and lose and then you get $10 in free slot play and a $20 comp for food. So, for $30 you get the chance to win and you get your money back.

And, Aladdin’s not stupid, because the food brought us back.

I have always been a huge fan of the buffets at Mirage and Bellagio (Bellagio with cracked King Crab legs). However, I could easily be won over by Aladdin. This is also an excellent buffet with pretty much everything you’d want. The quality seems excellent. There are a half dozen (or more) separate stations with individual specialties.

One thing I don’t like about Aladdin (and Bellagio and a few others) is where you retrieve your car from valet parking. It is under cover and stiflingly hot!

Helaine wanted to try and get some beads and maybe a Chippendale’s shirt for Steffie, so we headed to the Rio. Here’s another hotel I can take or leave. We tried their buffet years ago and I found it very un-special. There’s no poker for me, and the casino is ho-hum. But, they do have the Masquerade in the Sky.

The show this year was different from what we had seen in the past… but they’re all pretty similar. I was somewhat surprised at the number of beads thrown, which I remember as being more in years past.

All week I had been asking Helaine to go downtown. Downtown is where Vegas used to be, before the Strip cam into being. It has been a difficult journey for the hotels there. They’re older, more cramped, without good parking. Many of the older ones like Binions have very low ceilings and, when last I entered, were quite smoky.

We pulled into the valet stand at the Golden Nugget. Valet was full, but I said I was staying at Mirage (same owner) and after looking at my key, they let me in. It is very convenient to park at the GN valet. You’re less than a block from Fremont Street.

Before the hourly Fremont Street Experience started, Helaine took me to the Golden Gate Hotel. This is a Las Vegas tradition… actually more like a legend. You can go to the Golden Gate and get 99 cent shrimp cocktails!

They were very good. The sauce is strong and tangy. The tiny shrimp are more texture than taste. But, it’s amazing that it’s still 99 cents.

The Fremont Street experience, with thousands (maybe millions) of lights projected above your head and set to music, was very good. Fremont Street itself is a little bit like New Years Eve in Times Square or Mardis Gras in the French Quarter. And, there are every type of person you would and wouldn’t want to meet.

It’s a shame we’ll have to leave tomorrow. Helaine is starting to get melancholy. It will be nice to get back to Steffie and my folks, but this has been a really great vacation, and as always, we’ve done a lot.