So. I went to New York.
But you knew that, right? Because: I Tweeted the entire damned time. You grew sick of it; you un-followed me; you unsubscribed to the blog; you made little BPD’s and burned them in effigy. It was shameless, shameful, disgusting, and really just me bragging about the awesome time I was having. I’m sorry. I really am. I have no class.
I have even less class than you think. I’m going to re-live the weekend for you via the Tweets, with a little added detail here and there as seems appropriate. Because you care about every tiny detail (I’ve used an italicized phrase beginning with “every” twice now in this post; I’m a great writer.) It’s going to be long, arduous, and I doubt you’ll make it to the end, because I’m not that interesting.
Why at 4:55am you ask? Because it was the redeye from San Francisco. All times are Pacific Standard Time.
Just had a good lunch at Perry Street 10:42 AM October 03, 2008 from TwitterBerry
I can be even more inane. Wait for it.
Because seriously, I didn’t need to fly to New York to go to a yogurt shop. Women. Can’t live with ’em, can’t leave them at home while you avoid yogurt shops.
Self-explanatory? This Tweet just means that I changed my shirt.
But I can go the rest of my life without seeing Regis and Kelly again. They were on a loop every 10 minutes in every cab, talking about what a great cab we were in and how awesome the little tv’s are.
This place was at the end of dark, scary alley. There were stuffed animal heads on the walls and the restaurant served rabbit. Emily won’t eat anything cuter than she is, though, so she had a cheese plate. I had a steak, because no cow is cuter than Emily.
So, as dinner was winding down we jumped in a cab to go to Broadway for this show involving muppets and sex and swearing. But the cab took forever and we were going to miss the call, so we jumped out of the cab a couple of blocks away and ran (Emily was in heels) down the street, shoving lame theater-goers (lame after we had knocked them to the ground and stomped on their ankles, anyway) out of the way, and we just beat the curtain.
If that doesn’t tell you exactly what Avenue Q was about, I don’t know what else to say about it.
Good morning New York. Go away housekeeping; I know it’s 11am, but seriously? I’m on vacation. And a leetle hungover. 08:09 AM October 04, 2008 from web
Housekeeping tried to walk in on us twice. Because when we got back to the hotel we didn’t have the presence of mind to put the latch on or put the “Don’t even try to open this damned door” sign up.
I know. I’m a sucker for tourist traps.
There were entirely too many strollers and happy family-types hanging around Central Park for my “abandoning my child at home with grandma” comfort.
Seriously? 15 minutes? What about those long romantic tours around the park that I see in the movies?
Don’t send mail. I know I misspelled “Schwarz”.
After I Tweeted this I had the following conversation with Emily:
Emily: You’re going to hell for Tweeting in here, you know.
Me: What? I’m not Catholic.
Emily: God doesn’t care.
(Me and Miss Britt)
(Jane Porricelli does her first tequila shot. With her parents looking on.)
So, in case you didn’t know it the excuse for the trip was that somehow enough of you clicked on a little button over at the Hot Blogger Calendar site for me to show my boobs to the world, all at my own expense. Well, Emily’s expense. It’s not like I work, right? I’m just a dad. Lazy dad. Slacker. Sitting around the house all day.
So, at the end of dinner as we were all reaching for wallets and preparing to do the “I swear I left a 20% tip but now it looks like there isn’t enough money in the pot” dance, Peter Shankman just straight up announces that his organization bought dinner. Peter Shankman. Help A Reporter Out. Peter Shankman. Help A Reporter Out. (<———I figure I owe them this much at least for the chimichanga).
In actuality New York Rickrolled me. I was only singing it because it came on the speaker system in the store.
Damn you Wil Wheaton. Baby stealer.
Did you know that 10am happens in New York too? I didn’t. I’m not sure I’m the better for knowing it. 06:59 AM October 05, 2008 from web
Tequila stings a little in the morning.
Getting ready for the Hot Blogger Calendar photo shoot. Do I have time to do about 10,000 crunches? Where’s my Spanx? 08:04 AM October 05, 2008 from web
That’s right. I know what Spanx is/are. Even if I don’t know if it/they is/are singular or plural.
It really did. My hair always looks the same.
Seriously girls, I almost made out with Busy Dad myself, because he is just that hot in person.
I don’t want to think about it! Oh, the shame!
I totally did. Twice.
It was so matter of fact that I didn’t even think “hmm, there could totally be a bomb in that Papyrus bag”. Oh, that’s right, because there is no way in hell there was a bomb in that bag.
This parade went on forever. I think it even impeded traffic on the other side of town in the morning.
Grover was turning tricks the next block over.
Ok, Flickr Photostream: Behind the Scenes at the Hot Blogger Calendar Shoot http://flickr.com/photos/backpackingdad/sets/72157607765196410/ 03:52 PM October 05, 2008 from web
Paid just enough money for a sampling of some very, very good steak.
If you are going to go to the Empire State Building and you don’t care about, you know, seeing any buildings or anything, I highly recommend going at 11pm. There is no line whatsoever.
This will not end well. You know that, right?
Ladies, he sings too!
This was incredibly painful to attempt. Because not only is it a half-step out of my range, the entire freaking song is within a couple of notes of each other, so it wasn’t just the high notes I was missing: it was basically all of them. Also, I’d only had one beer so I was in no condition to do karaoke; I need at least 4 beers. Of course, with that much beer I’d have really been straining to hit those notes. I should have done a Johnny Cash song. But thank God for forgiving, drunk, New York karaoke bar patrons who didn’t actually boo me. But I walked off the floor like a rock star, flashing a double Sign of the Devil and sticking my tongue out as if I hadn’t just murdered an awesome drinking song. Then my lovely wife had to go and show me up by knocking out some Ace of Base.
But, it’s so early. Why do flights have to be so early? 04:35 AM October 06, 2008 from web
Really, I ought to have learned my lesson after the first time. But I’m slow like that in the morning. Also? The hour-long cab ride into New York from JFK really only takes 20 minutes. Who knew that all you needed was a cabbie willing to take pedestrians and school buses down with equal glee?
I mean, I like them. But what jackass made this call: “We’re going to have little arcades in the big lobby areas, and they’ll be a ton of fun, but we’re only going to have two games. And those games will be 25 years old. But new copies. Nostalgia should be powerful enough to get them to plunk quarters down every 10 minutes and 20 steps. Right?”
And that was that.