Marriage, Straight Up

One of my best friends in the world got married this weekend.  So, of course, I have got weddings on the brain.  For the last 96 hours, I have been living, eating, sleeping, and breathing wedding.  Longer than that, in fact, since I lived with the bride for two months mid-planning period.  We've had an engagement dinner, a bachelorette party, wedding showers, a pre-wedding trip to the lake, hair appointments, nail appointments, alteration appointments, a wedding rehearsal, a rehearsal dinner, post-wedding rehashing, photo sorting... I even got to participate in the cake tasting.  And the bride, well, she did that plus everything else, including making a binding life-long commitment.  It's Monday, and I am thoroughly, utterly, and absolutely exhausted.  With all of that planning, fretting, problem solving, and fun-having, I can't help but wonder what is it all for?

The cynic in me chuckles and mutters under her breath, "For the gifts, of course."  For the attention.  For the parents.  On the other hand, the romantic in me says the answer is obvious: to celebrate love in all its majesty with everyone who ever meant anything to you, because a person in love loves the whole world all at once and cannot possibly stem the glory of love welling in her heart and radiating from her pores. Oooohhh love.  Lovely love.  Love love love.  Love.  I certainly like this explanation better.  But, both seem sort of polarized. 

Weddings are most definitely meant to be celebrations of love.  But, love still exists without the five parties, the expensive dress, the decadent cake, the sit-down dinner, the bridesmaids, the flowers, the tuxes, and the church, right?  Honestly, if love depends on having cookies with my initials on them, I am royally screwed.  But, if the love still stands when all of the ruffles and glitter are stripped away, then why go through the torture of planning and executing a wedding -- for many, the single most stressful, angst-ridden, bank account-draining, over-hyped event of their lives?

Every bride I have ever known (including myself, in a past life) jumps at the thought of planning her wedding, and then immediately starts complaining about how overwhelming it is.  And for what?  A year of aggravation for an evening of dancing?  Is it the fantasy that movies and magazines have built up in our heads as the fifteen-minutes of fame to which we are entitled for falling in love?  Congratulations, you are capable of making a commitment!?  Isn't the decision to turn one's life over to another enough without having to also decide what color the nine bridesmaids will wear and whether there will be a chocolate fountain at the reception?  My guess is that most of us have already worked and struggled and compromised more than enough to get to the point where we can maintain a functional and loving relationship, do we really need to prove it further by waging another war with our families over whether we need to pay an extra $3 per head for chair covers?  What exactly are we trying to prove by having the most elegant, tasteful, unique, raging-good-time-of-a-wedding we can possibly assemble without going completely broke? 

I simply cannot convince myself that the wedding is a measure of the love that supports it.  In fact, the bigger and fancier the wedding, the more the actual love and commitment elements seem to fade into the horizon.  With so many superficial concerns running through her head -- will the limo be on time?  does my hair look good?  should I have lost five more pounds?  is the photographer capturing this face I am making? -- how could there possibly be enough room for those that are the crux of the event -- why do I love this person?  how will I handle the rough spots?  do I trust him with my every necessity?  can I imagine a life without him? I am not saying that it's not possible to multi-task and compartmentalize.  But, is it really necessary to dress up love with icing and lace to make it beautiful?  Or is the raw tenderness of the commitment of marriage sweeter served a la carte?

By no means am I trying to criticize elaborate weddings or brides who revel in the details of their big day.  For many of them, the effort they put in trying to make that day as resplendent as they possibly can is simply a reflection of their intense feelings for their spouse-to-be and a measure of the effort and care they will put into the marriage for years to come.  And that is certainly a wonderful thing.  But, I would guess that, just as often, the wedding becomes a competition --- Who can book the best venue? Who can spend the most money?  Who buys the most beautiful dress?  Who can project the most happiness? Who is the most worthy of love?  Too often, I think we might forget that the relationship, the commitment, the love at the root of it all, grew while we were being ourselves, while we were having bad hair days and waking up with morning breath and leaving dishes in the sink and wearing sweats to the corner store.  Worthiness cannot be quantified in the number of wedding guests in attendance.  The most touching moment of the day is the one that happens whether the guests number two or two-hundred.  The most enchanting bride is not the one with the designer dress; she is the one whose happiness radiates into those surrounding her.  The heart of the ceremony transcends rhinestones and freesia and hairspray.  Marriage is not beautiful because of the weddings...it is beautiful in spite of them.

JI's wedding  this weekend was spectacular in every detail.  But, having had the privilege of living with her and her husband-to-be for a period of time, I am even more impressed with their boundless enthusiasm for and quiet commitment to building an enduring life with one another.  It is this that shone in JI's face at her wedding , and no hair-do or fancy shoes could have made her more stunning that day.

Online, Schmonline

Online dating.  I'd like to consider myself a pioneer.  As a five-year veteran, I remember the time when we'd rather lie about how we met than admit to technological assistance.  (My ex didn't even tell his friends we'd met online until our wedding day.)  But, things are much more relaxed now, and the online dating options have exploded.  From eHarmony (only for the most serious of seekers) to Match.com (aka meatmarket.com) to okCupid (for the hip, blasé crowd) -- it's become more of an everyone's-doing-it phenomenon.  And I'll admit that I have online dating sites to thank, over the years, for more relationships than I care to admit (about four boyfriends, three completely undefinables, one platonic friend, and one ex-husband -- there, I admitted it).  Not a bad haul, by any accounting.  Yet, here I am, throwing in the towel.  That's right.  At the height of its golden era, I am done with online dating.

Shocker.  I know.  To those that know me best, this announcement will be followed by a skeptical "Uh huh.  Right."  For them, I may be almost synonymous with online dating.  At this point, I think they assume that if I met someone new, it had to have been digital.  This fact is not the least of my reasons for dumping online dating.  Yes, I tend to be a woman of action.  Yes, I tend to be impatient. And, yes, I don't leave much up to chance when it comes to things like my career and my social network.  But, when all is said and done, there is a part of me that wants the exact opposite of that for my love story.  I am a romantic idealist when it comes to love; and, digitized dating just doesn't feel right.  When my daughter someday asks me how her father and I met, what sort of romance is there in retelling the story of sorting through a glut of profiles and hand-selecting someone who a computer pre-determined for me through an algorithm predicting compatibility based on how much "me" time I need and my favorite color?  Drive, calculation, and ambition make for great career success tales.  But, they make for pretty lame love stories. 

On top of all that, at some point, online dating becomes inefficient.  The fact of the matter is that people can represent themselves online however they want -- inaccurate photos, exaggerated descriptions of personality, minimization of neuroses.  As a result, you end up going on a lot of dates that lead to absolutely nothing aside from a lighter wallet and a toss-it evening with which you could have been doing so many other things.  (The only thing I've definitively learned from such interactions is how to make conversation with a brick wall.) Sure, if you meet your life partner online after a matter of weeks or months, then you've wasted relatively little time.  But five years and countless first dates later, I start to wonder how many foreign languages I could have learned in the time I've spent checking my watch over chardonnay.  Assuming you have other interests, like art and yoga and running and reading, at some point it must become a more efficient use of leisure time to only date people who you have actually met in "real life", who you know you like at least enough to spend an entire evening of one-on-one time and not want to vomit.  (Leaving more time for the activities you find truly fulfilling.) While that may be a recipe for fewer dates, wouldn't it also mathematically yield a higher percentage of good ones?

Another thing dragging down the ratio of good to bad dates generated online is what I refer to as "affirmation addiction."  Oh boy.  For those who have dated online a substantial amount, you know what I'm talking about.  For those who haven't, here's my explanation:  Through functions like "winks", lists of "visitors", "favorites", "awards", and basic emailing, people can not only send you a message that they like you, but they can flirt, obsess remotely, spy regularly, save your profile to examine repeatedly, and give you awards for being clever or friendly or sexy.  Each one of these is a little nugget of affirmation tossed your way on a semi-regular basis.  Who needs to develop intrinsic self-worth when you can measure yourself by how many awards you get for being "better looking in person"?  The result:  Addicts -- people who get hooked on the validation they receive from the volume of male or female attention they get online.  Why risk approaching a woman in person?  Why take the chance that the guy you like won't call you back?  Online daters can just revel in the glow of admiration while remaining isolated, selective, and non-responsive.  In some ways placing a profile online is "putting yourself out there," but it also allows users a way to hide from the rest of the world.  Eventually, some online daters give up on the "real world" completely because its affirmation is neither reliable nor likely without reciprocation.  Minimal input, maximum output.  The modern American ideal.

The problem arises when those who haven't slipped into the comfortable world of online affirmation meet someone who has.  And then, Dater A just can't understand why Dater B will trade flirty emails but never meet in person.  Or why Dater B disappears along with the honeymoon phase.  Or how Dater B could fail to call after an obviously successful or passionate or connected date.  Poor things have no idea that the object of their desire never intended to leave the comfort of his couch or is retreating back into his hole once the adoration wanes or eats up good dates like Pacman pellets until his self-satisfaction meter reads in the green.  It's a no-fail formula for frustration and heartache.  Not to mention wasted time and energy, both of which seem to get more valuable as we age.

It's for these reasons, friends, that I am closing the door on online dating.  Instead, I am going to use my time to learn that foreign language.  To travel.  To talk to strangers.  To paint and draw.  To exercise my mind and body.  To visit my family.  To go on movie dates, climbing dates, dancing dates, brunch dates, and reunion dates with my girlfriends.  And to just be, without having to project "interesting" or "smart" or "cool".  To open my door to the flesh and blood world.  And to let things just happen.  I am done digitally seeking love.  If love wants me, it will have to come to me.

To commemorate this moment, the site of my last last LAST online date:

The Little Owl
Corner of Bedford and Grove (West Village)
I could not have hand-picked a last online date place better than this guy did (unwittingly, of course).  It's tiny (read: intimate) and crowded (read: popular).  Reservations are a must, unless you are feeling daring enough to take the risk and just show up (although, you will inevitably be waiting quite a while -- which we did at a nice place down the way called Betel).  I might even venture to say it's worth whatever wait you have to endure.  They know their wines.  They know their fish.  And boy do they know their side dishes.  This place was amazing, flavorful, and cute as button.  Perfect for a first, date, a last date, or any date in between...

This Time, Like All Times, Is a Very Good One

“Observe due measure, for right timing is in all things the most important factor.” (Hesiod) 

For years -- my whole dating history, in fact -- I have held the firm belief that timing is one of the only things that can single-handedly topple a relationship.  The elusive nature of "emotional availability", its ebb and flow, is an irregular tide whose rhythm we attempt to follow closely enough to catch the wave to shore.  Both the surfer and the wave must find themselves in absolute states of readiness, at the same coordinates and at the same moment.  It is no wonder, then, that while thousands of waves may reach the beach, the surfer rides only one -- that one ride the result of the singular struggle to arrive at his point in the sea and the patient wait for the timing gods to give their blessing.  When timing is at the heart of success, how do we ever find one another?

Timing is, however, also a very convenient excuse for not getting what I want.  Unceremoniously dumped?  Timing.  No return phone call?  Timing.  The next girl gets the man?  Timing!  Timing!!  It's not you; it's not me -- it's timing.  Luck.  Circumstance.  The no-fault, no-guilt, no-pain panacea that allows me to shrug my shoulders and accept my fate.  Not that that is a bad thing.  Often, it is much healthier and more productive to find a way to move on, rather than wallow in an ocean of self-doubt, self-pity, or self-righteousness. But there is also danger in making timing the scapegoat du jour.  It becomes habit.  It's easy, like giving up or giving in.  If timing is to blame, then no amount of struggle on my part will change my situation.  Avoidance gets comfortable.  Action becomes a lost art.  And, when the opportunity comes for that golden stand-and-fight glory moment, "timing" lets it slide away. 

The fact of the matter is that timing will never be on my side -- on anyone's side.  Timing doesn't take sides.  It moves in and out like the tide covering a sand bridge at high tide and allowing passage at the low.  Whether we get to the floating island on the horizon is a function of timing -- is the tide out when we arrive at this spot and for how long?   But, timing, while it wanes and waxes like the tide, is not as regular.  Is unpredictable.  Opportunity is fleeting.  And, should we get to that spot where we must decide to cross or remain on land, if we are to ever make progress, we cannot wait for timing to tell us to go and afford us passage.  If the island is worth the exploration, we must bridge the gap ourselves.  When we find a person worth knowing, we must not allow timing to be our obstacle.

I have been thinking about this for a while now.  Reading back over my previous posts, I realize that I blame my apathy towards the men I've met as a function of my own life timing, my emotional unavailability, my un-readiness.  But, the truth is that, after the long and tumultuous journey I have made to get to this spot, I won't build that bridge for just anyone.  I have a certain amount of energy and resources on this side of the divide.  It is not that I am not ready to use them or not ready to put in the effort. (We are all always simultaneously "ready" and "un-ready".) Perhaps the reason I haven't used them yet is that I haven't found someone compelling enough to spur me into action. 

I live a life that is somewhat well-examined, measured, disciplined, and mature.  This weekend, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I felt silly and light and giddy with excitement.  It was like a light switch -- one day I am going on a perfectly decent date with a perfectly decent guy and feeling relatively little.  The next, I stumble into an unexpected evening with an unexpected person, and it's like the world has shifted imperceptibly -- everything is the same, but...different.  And, today, all I want is to feel that again, to see where that goes, to explore and discover and create.  Struggle or no, this bridge will be built not because I am "ready" to build it, but because I can't imagine not (at least) trying.  Maybe the path to the island is not about the accident of being at the right place, at the right time.  Maybe it is finding the right place, timing be damned.

Just the high points, gastronomically and theatrically --

Yuca Bar
Corner of Avenue A and East 7th St.

"Latin Fusion" = Mexican with more seafood than average.  I have been to this place a few times now, and my one consistent complaint is that the music is way too loud.  Fine if you're a bar, not fine if you want to be a restaurant.  At 7pm, people should be able to eat and have a conversation with their dining companions.  Just my opinion.  That aside, however, their arepas were something else -- easily rivaling Caracas, but totally unexpected, which might have made them even better. 

Arepas con carne at Yuca Bar

Fringe Festival, "Have a Nice Life"
Various Locations (this show was at Lucille Lortel Theatre in the West Village)
First, loved this venue.  An intimate yet traditional theatre setting, complete with balcony.   Great location, as well.  I hope I see something again here eventually.  And the show was funnier and more clever than I expected.  Turn out is was a musical -- had no idea.  And, I honestly was impressed with the level of acting and singing talent.  Overall, a pleasant surprise and no complaints.

Death + Company
433 East 6th St btw 1st Ave and Ave A

It's called "Death", and yes, it might be a little dark in there.  But, the cocktails were absolutely full of life.  I had two (gin-based -- obviously) cocktails, both of which were inventive and well-balanced.  Some might have thought them too sweet, but all I can say is that I am not a fan of sweet (I avoid tonic like the plague), and they didn't offend my sensibilities in the least.  If that means anything.  Early on in the evening, it was quiet and perfect for catching up with a friend.  I hear it gets quite crowded and difficult to get into later on, but I might venture so far as to say it would be worth the wait, if you're in the mood for complex concoctions and dark corners...

Arlo and Esme
42 East 1st St btw 1st and 2nd Ave
Although I went straight for the dance floor upon arriving, I was impressed in passing with the options presented by this venue.  Wine bar vibe on top, dance club and lounge vibe on bottom.  It was packed, which made dancing difficult, and the DJ flipped from song to song too frequently for my taste.  But, the ambiance was just what the doctor ordered for midnight on a Saturday.  I will definitely be back.

The "Man" in Manhattan

Welp, another weekend, another disappointing first date.  This one held a lot of promise...tall, dark, handsome.  But as soon as I showed up and saw him wearing a plaid shirt with a button undone tucked into his ill-fitting jeans with loafers, I started to have my doubts.  There may have been a braided belt; I can't be sure.  This guy is the reason they invented the word fuddy-duddy.  There should have been a warning sign -- Caution: avoid all men who actually cultivate and groom a full beard. Never has someone so quickly made me (a well-educated, well-dressed, articulate career woman) feel like just another silly little girl -- in a bad way.  I found myself wondering, as I scrambled for the first possible cab an hour later, why God would waste a hot-guy face on that dude.  What a shame.

But, my spirits were lifted the next night when I went to see Eat Pray Love with R and J.  No, it had nothing to do with the movie (which R aptly described as self-indulgent and which I can only say was ok at best).  In the movie, though, the heroine sets out on her great (self-indulgent) adventure with nothing in mind but indulgence (of course), reflection, and exploration.  And, while it is unlikely that I will ever have the time and/or funding to waste a year in Italy, India, and Bali like she did, I saw a bit of what she was attempting to accomplish in my own adventure in New York.  Coming here had less to do with seeking love and more to do with seeking myself.  This led to the realization that my mother was right when she had said only a few days before -- "You know, you moved to New York to do whatever you want to, whenever you want to, not to get locked down in a relationship."  (Or something to that effect -- you get the gist.)  And that's the truth -- every man I've been out with is either too hot or too fat or too boring or too short or too strange or too enthusiastic or too self-centered...you get the idea.  In Eat Pray Love, Julia Roberts' character ends up finding a new lover in Bali (whom mass media has told me she later married and divorced just like any ordinary unenlightened schlep like the rest of us). The message being -- love is great, but nothing is perfect...or permanent.  And I am, quite frankly, not seeking a whole lot of permanence at the moment.  When it comes down to it, the only relationship I sought when I moved here was with the everlasting city itself.  And that, my friends, is going very well indeed. 

New York City inspires me.  It provides me with one fantastic night out after another.  It is always up for whatever I want to do, and it doesn't resent me when I stay in for the night.  It is always in the mood.  Without fail, New York City is still there in the morning.  It makes promises and keeps them.  There are moments that I stop mid-thought, mid-day, mid-stride and just marvel in the reality that I live and work in New York City.  I can't believe how lucky I am every time I recognize my city in 5 out of 6 trailers for upcoming films in the movie theatre.   The city is full of life and zest and vitality.  It is loud and energetic when I need it to be, but gives me plenty of quiet moments.  Even when it rains, New York never has a bad day.  It welcomes visitors, embraces my friends and family, and comforts me when I feel alone.  Maybe all of these dates seem mediocre because a mere man just cannot compete with New York City.  Maybe Manhattan is all the man I need for now. 

The view from my office window

Just a few of the places, both high up and low down, from which my main man can be best observed and appreciated -- for those who'd like to revel in their own relationships with the City:

Rare View (Rooftop)

Roof of the Affinia Shelburne corner of Lex and E 37th

Despite a few shortcomings (short drink menu, no food, and disappointingly average-looking clientele), this bar had a stunning view of the city after dark.  And fan-TAS-tic cocktails.  I would not hesitate to recommend the jalapeno margarita.  One side of the roof is quieter and the other a little more hopping, and it seems like a nice place for a small group or private event.  There is also an indoor component to this bar nestled in the hotel -- which had a faaaabulous shredded brisket quesadilla.  I am still dreaming about that quesadilla.

230 Fifth (Rooftop)

230 5th Ave (duh), corner of 5th Ave and 27th St.

As the night goes on, this place gets harder and harder to get into.  But, I came here around 6pm on the 4th of July (and hung around past our welcome for the fireworks), and it was perfect.  The crowd really didn't show up en force until about 9.  We had some really tasty appetizers, including these little sliders that were very flavorful.  Again, a great view of the skyline, with a particularly unobstructed sight line on the Empire State Building.

Red Sky

Near Park and E. 29th St. (NW corner)

So, this bar has a roof top.  It's small.  And it doesn't really have a good view.  But what is really dragging this place down is the Guidos that seem to flock like it's the Jersey Shore.  They were loud, crass, and underdressed (as in wearing to few articles of clothing).  Aside from that, the bar might have some potential, as it has three floors of bars and a variety of drinks and food.  Too bad about the clientele, unless you feel like slumming it.

Antique Garage

41 Mercer St between Broome and Grand

Despite the stuffy company, the potential of this restaurant/bar was not lost on me.  The front opens up garage-door style, bringing the open air indoors and providing a nice vista out onto a busy (during the day) SoHo street.  The food looked Turkish/Mediterranean and smelled lovely.  Too bad the date was too short-lived and awkward to allow time to try it.  They have a nice mix of cultural cocktails and basics.  This is one of the few places I've actually seen Pimm's Cup on the drink list.  The ambiance was cozy and bright -- and of course decidedly antique-y (is that a word?).  I am looking forward to trying this place again under slightly different circumstances.

Shoolbred's

2nd Ave between E12th and E13th St.

Scottish.  Very Scottish.  And very dark, which could be a good thing in the right situation.  But also open to the street on a nice night, with limited outdoor seating.  On a Sunday night, the vibe was pretty chill and all the basic favorites were available.  The bartender made me a rather strong Hendrick's and soda, in fact.  But, he didn't use a cucumber if that means anything to you.  All in all, not a bad spot, and definitely a front-runner for familiar neighborhood bar.  Good place to pick out the locals and get to know them. 

Republic

37 Union Square West

Right on Union Square, this cute Thai/Vietnamese place upped the ante around 8pm and tried to turn into a clubby bar.  Don't know how that normally turns out.  But, for dinner, the place was good.  Pretty basic fare for a Thai/Vietnamese place -- vermicelli, the obligatory duck, and Pad Thai.  And reasonable prices.  In terms of people watching, though, the small window counter can't be beat due mostly to the location.  Even on a dark and stormy NYC evening, a parade of characters waltzed by, providing plenty of conversational fodder for the down moments.

Who Needs Boyfriends When You've Got Girlfriends

I have been thinking for a while about what to write for this blog entry, which I do realize is a long time coming.  There have been some man-related events that have happened since I last wrote.  But, for some reason, I can't muster up enough fire over them to actually write about them at the moment.  The truth is that there is something that is energizing me more these days, something I have been feeling more passionate about than boys:  Girls!  Haha -- not that way.   Come on, now.  I mean my girlfriends -- back in Cleveland, here in New York, and scattered about the country.  It's their facebook pages I stalk and them I think about when bizarre things happen randomly throughout the day.  My two best friends from law school (back in Cleveland) are BOTH engaged now (congratulations!!) with one wedding coming up very soon.  My excitement and joy over those events far outshines my feelings for any man in my life (aside from my dad and brother, of course). 

I just spent the weekend carousing with my old friend, R, and some brand new ones, J and L.  The high you feel when you can look at a group of girls and honestly know that you'll be good friends for quite a while is better than any first kiss or first date.  It's the girlfriends that sustain you and support you and make you feel whole and loved in this big and bustling city, whether they are down the street or across the country.  It is those relationships that are worth the work, the sacrifice and the expense.  It's girlfriends that bridge the gaps between men and jobs and cities, who span the gaps in our own heads between fantasy and reality by bringing us back to earth when our heads are in the clouds and by sometimes knowing what's best for us better than we know ourselves. 

I think that, in the fog that "love" puts us in when there is a man involved, we sometimes forget how valuable and essential our girlfriends are to our lives.  But, when I think about it, I can't imagine loving any man as much as I love my girlfriends.  I suppose that, when I do, I'll know I've got something worth holding on to.  But, until then -- I'll take the girls.  The lovely, witty, caring, devoted, hilarious, wild, generous girls that color my world and breathe life into each day. 

Maybe not the funniest blog ever -- but definitely the most honest.  Here are some of the "hotspots" we hit this weekend -- all of which I remember as being a ton of fun -- but maybe that was due to the company...

Angelica's Kitchen
East 12th Street between 1st and 2nd Ave

Organic and vegan, with some Asian flavor in spots.  I am told their miso soup is not only gluten-free but "the best I've ever had."  I ordered the seasoned tempeh and salad -- which was decent, but not fabulous.  And I heard raves about the hummus.  I am still loyal to Souen (see reference in an earlier post), but this place was bigger and BYOB, which is less convenient but more economical.  They were very accommodating, though, and even put our second bottle of wine in the fridge until we could get to it (not all that long after finishing the first, if we're being honest).  We had to wait a while to be seated despite having reservations, but we did have a big party of 6 or so. 

Stanton Public
17 Stanton Street between Bowery and Chrystie

This pretty basic pub-ish bar on the LES was the meeting up point for our wild night on the town.  A great little neighborhood bar, it had character and outdoor space.  And for beer lovers, I hear the selection is great.  their Citron and soda wasn't bad either. :)

The Anchor
310 Spring Street near Greenwich Street

A smallish bar come club, with decent dance music and a collection of good-looking English dudes (who may or may not have been gay -- sometimes the line between homosexual and European is a little bit thin and hard to detect).  Identifiable only by the anchor medallion hung above the doorway, a group of decent looking girls should not have a difficult time getting in.  If I remember correctly, the drinks were a little watery, but the dancing was unbelievable.  Courtesy of us, of course.

Friedman's Lunch
Chelsea Market across from the food gallery-ish area
Brunch the next morning (or afternoon, rather) was phenomenal here.  No only did they have a great gluten-free menu for my new gluten-free friend, but the food was all around amazing.  I had a quiche that was really something special with Parmesan and sun-dried tomatoes.  But, the side salad that came with it was the real pleasant surprise.  Our waiter Charlie was adorable and efficient.  I can't wait to go back here for lunch or brunch again.

The Great Lawn
Central Park behind the Met at 85th-ish

Free people watching, sport spectating, lounging, picnicking and general lazy Sunday-ing.  Nothing in NYC is quite as relaxing or quite as green as the great lawn on a Sunday afternoon.  A blanket, a book and couple of girlfriends make this almost as good as a trip to the beach, with less salt and more clothing.  You are not a New Yorker until you sunbathe on the Great Lawn.

Don't Abandon the Wingmen!

...everyone knows about wingmen.  The concept of hitting the town with a good wingman at your side is as ubiquitous and pervasive as ordering a lime in your Corona.  It is the only way to do things.  Why, then, when my friend JK and I went out full force to the bars of the LES this weekend, did it seem like the wingman technique was as "out" as crop tops and slouch socks? 

First, we patronized Spitzer's Corner, which held a promising mix of young professionals and...well...young professionals.  We were each approached by gentlemen appreciating our respective...intellects.  Not one of these guys brought along a friend.  I suppose I can appreciate the bravado, but the result?  Not only did they come off as "creepy" without a bona fide buddy to verify their ability to socialize normally, but they isolated JK and I, forcing one of us to stare awkwardly around the bar while they monopolized the other.  HUGE mistake.  There is no better way to get a girl to stop talking to you than to hang her friend out to dry -- bros before hos works in reverse for us, stupid.  As if the solo rider technique wasn't an obvious disaster in and of itself, eventually, friends of these guys did appear on the scene and verify (to some degree) that the creepers weren't in fact creeping.  But, it was too late for them, by that point.  They had been rejected out of hand based on the evidence available upon and immediately following their approach.  Badly done, boys.  This all left JK and I to question -- what were they thinking??  Why abandon a time-tested technique for picking up chicks?

Note the British sailor still dancing the night away at 4 a.m.

We continued to wonder this as we made out way through the next two bars.  And, as time went on, began to lose faith that the American male population still had any of that...what was it called...left?  Oh -- game.  Our skepticism was checked at the door however, when, after wandering down the street from Nurse Betty's in search of an open cab, be saw the beautiful little face of a guy we had been admiring only minutes earlier peeking out of an approaching cab.  As fate would have it, a red light slowed traffic enough that flirting ensued, and before we knew it, we were accepting (with obvious enthusiasm for more reasons than one) his invitation to share the cab with he and his friend.  Where were we going?  Who cared?!?  What followed was nothing less than the most graceful execution of the wingman technique I have ever witnessed.  An outside observer might have had the presence of mind to wonder if these two gents were practicing telepathy, their divide and conquer technique was so well coordinated.  It is a good thing that we didn't care where where we were going, because we ended up at Marquee, which is a pretty ghetto club in every sense of the word.  But for the next two hours, these two guys kept JK and I completely enthralled and occupied, dancing the wingman ballet with precision and skill.  Well done, boys.  Well done.  Is it possible that we were wrong about American men?  That Spitzer's corner was just an unfortunate anomaly?  To what do we owe this complete reversal of fortunes, we wondered?  The answer:   They were Australian.

Shame about the American men, but a good time was had in the end.  The bars we landed in were actually pretty decent for the most part.  Any negativity I felt towards them was probably the result of poorly executed interactions there.  So, take it with a grain of salt and know that most of these places were just what they were supposed to be.  And, of course, everything seems better when sprinkled with an Australian accent, so...

Spitzer's Corner
Rivington at Ludlow
Named for the famous canoodling politician, Spitzer's lives up to its name.  There were so many superfluous rules meant to screw you out of cash (i.e. no credit cards for orders under $25).  Pretentious beers, long mingle-why-don't-you tables, and crowds crowds crowds.  Not bad if you want to go with a group, but apparently going to flirt will net you a weirdo or two.  Some of them were not ugly.

The Back Room
Norfolk between Rivington and Delancey
This much-talked about bar has a "hidden" entrance (marked by a big bouncer) that requires a venture down a dark stairwell to a dark alleyway into the darkest bar I've ever been in.  Cocktails out of teacups and beer bottles in paper bags.  Maybe it was just group event night, but it all seemed little anti social there.  Bottom line: overrated.




Marquee
289 10th Ave. between 26th and 27th
Now, the night was no longer young when we wandered into this place.  Thankfully, we were on the list and had cover tickets.  I would say this place is definitely not worth standing in line for.  In typical clubby club fashion, there were upper and lower dance areas with couches and tables (for the bottle service customers and make-out sessions).  Lots of gyrating lights and overweight d-bags jumping on the furniture.  Might not be bad if you're just in the mood for strong drinks and Jersey-shore style dancing.  Which we all sometimes are.  But, this is definitely the kind of place people are talking about when they say they've outgrown the bar scene.


Bar Boulud
1900 Broadway between 63rd and 64th

After a thoroughly exhausting Friday night, JK and I spent Saturday strolling around the UWS and the Park.  We took a nice break here before continuing on to do a little shopping at Lincoln Center.  The food was amaaaaazing.  From the cheese plate (with a Camembert that tasted like butter) to the scallops to the macarons, this place had us "mmmmm"ing for hours.  Plus the cold white wine on a warm day, sitting outside while the world walked by was magical.  Keeping this place in mind for a little romantic dinner-date later on, I do believe...