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November 09, 2004
WEEKEND IN NEW YORK All
WEEKEND IN NEW YORK
All right, so I am behind on writing about the weekend... sorry, it's been busy. This past weekend, my mom came up from Delaware to visit New York for just the third time since I moved here and for the first time since right after 9/11. So, while there was a lot of running around, it was still a very nice weekend.
One of the highlights of the weekend was taking my mom to her first Broadway show. (God bless my father, I love him to death and he's a wonderful guy, but it's basically up to me to get Mom to the theater... Dad's a meat, potatoes, and History Channel kind of guy.) So as we walked to Times Square, on the spur of the moment I asked if she wanted to see a show... 10 minutes later we were at the tkts booth in the heart of the Great White Way, and had last minute seats (not great seats, but what do you want for $27.50 only 40 minutes before curtain?) for The Phantom Of The Opera.
I have a wimpy confession to make: Phantom is far and away my favorite Broadway musical. I know that's not vogue or hip to say; it's seen by New York theater types as one of the mass-consumption shows, and it's certainly a bit of a romantic departure from the dark, "the-world-sucks-everything-ends-badly" fare that I usually prefer. Fine. I still love it -- much to the chagrin of the person I first saw it with, my then-girlfriend who is now still a dear friend, and who reminds me (usually with a punch to the arm) that I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to the show when we saw it, and that the pout I put on prior to curtain pretty much put a damper on the show for her.
I've been here long enough, seeing two or three shows a year, to have seen about 15 Broadway shows now. But I've seen Phantom three times, and would go back a fourth, fifth or sixth. It's my favorite score, favorite stage show, and favorite story. (Although the show-stopping "American Dream" number in "Miss Saigon" was also amazing.) And so it was a really nice treat to be able to take my mom to see the show. As it turned out, she was as enthralled as I have been, and really enjoyed it. So that was a good start to the weekend.
Saturday was a new experience for me. You see, my mom is a Food Channel addict, and they apparently have had specials on the different foods you can find in the neighborhoods of Brooklyn. So she was very interested in seeing Brooklyn. Now, my New York City experience is primarily limited to Manhattan and Queens; I'd been to Brooklyn all of twice in all the time I've lived here - once visiting Brooklyn Heights, and once to go to Coney Island, just to say I'd been there. (I still say Coney Island is the only place I have ever seen in the world where the carnies are less cheesy than the clientele.)
So we first hit Bay Ridge, with its hodge-podge of ethnic cultures (Mediterranean, Arabic, Russian, and Turkish, among others)... and I had some of the best shwarma I've ever had at Mazza Plaza. (Had to get a plug for some great food in here.) We also ended up hitting Coney Island -- again, just so she could say she's been there -- and Brighton Beach, which is fascinating in that I think the area is almost more Jewish in culture than Tel Aviv. I ate too much Saturday, but isn't that pretty much allowed when one is visiting or being visited by one's mother?
Sunday, I took one for the team. There are no malls, really, within about a 50 mile radius of where my parents live... and my mom's a mall-a-holic. Not so much a shopaholic, but a mall-a-holic. She doesn't always buy - she can window shop longer than any human being in recorded history, I think. Myself, I am the consumate Guy Shopper: I know what I want/need, I know where to get it, I go get it, I'm done. Watching me shop is like watching a military surgical strike or a predator hunting prey; no wasted movements, no unduly expended energy. So the entire concept of "shopping" frightens and confuses me. I don't shop; I buy.
However, there is a very large mall near where I live, and I knew Mom would get a kick out of it. That being the case, and it being Sunday, I found myself a spot at the bar at Dave & Buster's right in front of the big screen TV, turned on the Jets-Bills game, and told Mom to call me when she was finished.
The first round of games ended before I got that call, and I was mindful of needing to drive home... so I wandered out into the suburban shopping wilderness and decided to try and make the day a productive out.
Beyond being a very targeted shopper, I am also the world's most advanced December 23 Christmas shopper. I find that the urgency of an impending major holiday helps to reinforce the need to be surgically precise in my shopping. Such a tactic also keeps me from being overexposed to all the holiday schmaltz that drives me up a wall, as I've said before.
This works for everyone except my father, whose Christmas list usually consists of the sentence "I have everything I need," before a perfunctory request for socks, belts and the newest Rand McNally road atlas. Since Dad's so imprecise in his requests, a shopping tactic that requires precision usually ends up being a problem when it comes to buying for him.
So this year, I decided that since I was in the land of conspicuous consumption, I'd try and avoid the frustrated, semi-panicky "oh shoot" sprint through the malls I usually do every December 23, having picked up something for everyone except Dad. And I am proud to tell you that on November 7, I completed Christmas shopping for my father. I still have everyone else to go, but the most challenging buys are done.
So that was the weekend - Mom in fact made it back home safe and sound, and life here in New York has returned to what passes for normal. (See what happens when I leave baseball and politics behind? You get day by day updates of my parents' visits. Soon you'll be crying for more Red Sox posts.)
