Caution:  Tom has an irreverent sense of humor...some might call it sardonic.  In other words, Dave Barry has nothing on him when writing satire.  None of his comments are meant to offend or be taken literally, but I laugh out loud when I read the trip reports he writes for my family and thought I'd share them with you.

LUCY AND TOM TAKE MANHATTAN

Well class, let’s go back and review how these folks take trips.  Last year, we saw how they traveled across the US and changed Lucy’s life in Denver, then this year, how they narrowly managed to make it out of Tornadoville, Tennessee .  Join us now as Lucy and Tom Take Manhattan….

Murder She Wrote

A couple days before leaving, Lucy and I got to participate in a Murder Mystery Party in Portland to celebrate a friend’s birthday.  This was major confusion and major fun; Lucy portrayed an ex-showgirl named Ruby Lipps and I was a corrupt preacher named Hal Fyre.  The gun didn’t fire as planned, so I improvised by yelling “BANG!”  We also had an issue with the dead person snacking during the murder investigation.  However, everybody had a good time with their roles, especially the Rock Star and the Biker, who apparently were more than friends.  I’m just saying. 

We wished all well, and got ready for our trip.  We left the kids with a couple strangers who happened to be our relatives.  They were planning to have a garage sale while we were away; after some consideration, we asked them not to sell the kids.

Welcome to Nu Jirzee

We flew out on Continental, which was about 5.5 hour’s flight time.  It was a smooth flight, and I was about to remark on this on landing in Newark, when the pilot hit the brakes – hard.  Inertia is a terrible thing.  I apologized for my spontaneous upgrade to First Class, and we headed out to Baggage Claim.  The entire terminal was deserted, which was strange.  Upon reaching Baggage Claim, we soon found that the mechanism was set to “teasing” mode.  Every 5-10 minutes, one bag would pop out, until after 45 minutes, when dozens of bags tumbled out in a stream.  It took close to an hour to get our bags from the Baggage Claim of Forever.

We then went out to find a ride and met up with “Alex”, a wonderful immigrant with a “Limo”, which in NJ means a full-size car with no dings and a taxi sign.  When we reached his car, Alex was shocked to find the passenger door open and leapt in.  Fortunately, he found his money intact (over $300 worth) even after 2 hours.  He gave us a great tour as we crossed over into Manhattan via moonlight, very romantic if you can ignore the hair-raising driving maneuvers.

A City on the Move and in the Dark

We checked into the Warwick, a hotel with a history (the Beatles used to stay there regularly, but visited less often after they died) and had a very nice room.  The quietness of the room was very unsettling.  Fortunately, this was swamped out by the constant whistling and honking that happened out in the street, along with the sirens.  This is because NY cars are wired differently for EPA; the horn is wired to the brake pedal, while the siren is hooked to the gas pedal.  I also decide to make some calls for some Broadway show times.  New York has two kinds of phone voices: Tired female voice, and unintelligible male voice.  This is true no matter who you call.  If you call your Mom on the West Coast from New York, the conversation will sound like this:

“Hello, Mom”?

“Hi!  How are you doing Son?”

“Sorry Mom I can’t understand you, you sound like an unintelligible male.”

Tuesday, now settled in our 110-decibel environment, Lucy and I decide to walk around the town a bit.  So she irons her outfit, no issue.  I pick up the iron, and it never gets hot.  I reset it, check water levels, and check the oil….nothing.  I trade the evil iron out for a gender-generic model, and iron my Untouchables outfit. 

Meanwhile, Lucy decides to use the blow dryer.  She starts using it, when “click”.  Everything goes off in the hotel room.  I call the front desk, they send a person to reset the breakers.  The person then informs us that we “should not have so many electrical devices in use.”  Sure thing, after all, we should just assume that a blow dryer and 4 lamps will crater the hotel power budget.  Lucy finishes her hair by blow drying it in the dark, and we head out.

When in New York…

We first find out about NY culture by stopping in a café at the Rockefeller Center, home of NBC studios.  As the pigeons scramble around us on the concrete, the waiter asks us what we’d like to drink.  Or rather, they told us what to drink.  When I said I wanted bottled water instead of lemonade, he said no problem, he’d get me lemonade.  At a later dinner, when offered dessert, we declined.  “No, you really want dessert.”  I do?  Then you really don’t want a tip…

Walking in NY is different from walking in LA (besides lack of a song about walking in NY).  For one, it’s humid outside, and you’ll sweat a lot.  However, this is easily remedied by wiping Right Guard Antiperspirant all over your face.  You also have to be prepared for a constant inrush of people in your way.  At first, I was jumping sideways almost constantly to avoid hitting people.  Then it occurred to me: if you look at a person directly, they expect you to move out of the way.  So I looked past people, walked straight ahead, and voilah – THEY all jump out of your way.  It works better if you wear sunglasses, keeps them guessing.

Crossing traffic in NY is like playing Tetris with huge diesel-powered blocks.  The rules are:

1. A “Walk” signal really means “Walk if you dare, but if I’m a taxi making a right, I win.”
2. “Don’t Walk” really means “If cars are 10 feet away or more, go ahead and walk.”  If you must wait, wait on the asphalt so that car door handles can polish the front of your outfit as they go by.

At one point, we were halfway across the intersection and then blocked by a bus that stopped in front of us, then blocked from behind by a taxi.  We walked around the back of the bus just before another car pulled behind the bus.  So much for “Walk” signals.

There are other good things.   Street signs ensure you have relatively clean and quiet streets around the major landmarks.

We stopped by one of hundreds of hot dog stands and had an Italian Sausage, which is Italian for “cheap hot dog with a slit cut in it”, and some spice.  I also had a Knish, which is mashed potato in a breaded…um…thing, with mustard in it.  Not bad.

The only downside:  We waited for hours on 34^th St.  No miracles occurred.  Feeling gypped, we decide to go to Macy’s; maybe the miracle is in there.

Macy’s and the Hilton

Macy’s was bustling with people.  Shortly after getting inside, a shades-wearing salesclerk named Rudolph tells us all the specials going on, and the discounts to be had with a Macy’s card.  We thank him and move on.  I mention to Lucy that he didn’t look like a salesclerk, mainly due to the huge anti-theft security tag still dangling from his sunglasses.  The escalators work just like ours back home, except they’re made of wood, are rickety, and change angles while riding them.  The elevators work the same way.  I noticed on the way down that 20 of the people who get on the elevator are from the 5^th floor (Shoes) and exit on the 3^rd floor (Lingerie).  We avoid these floors at all costs; I have enough lingerie to last me a while.  The prices at Macy’s range from the great deals to the “It’s a miracle you even stay in business” level.

On Wednesday, we move across the street and check into the Hilton, where the Romance Writers of America Conference is being held.  It’s fancier than the Warwick, and has special features, like elevators that don’t hit every floor, and CNN in the elevator, so that you’re totally depressed by the time you reach your floor.  But you have little choice; it’s either the elevator, or….Stairway B.

Stairway to Doom

One night, I was rushing to a meeting in the Lobby.  I noted that the elevators are always arriving packed, so I decide to use Stairway B from the 21st floor.  Gravity should help, I figure, so off I go. 

That was a mistake.

As I bounded down the stairs, I became aware that the stairway became progressively darker the further I went.  No air conditioning and it’s humid.  Still, I wasn’t worried until I reached the fifth floor, where a hastily scrawled sign informed me of my fate.  After this ominous message, there were no more doors, and lighting was very low.  As I picked my way down (there were candles and debris on the landings), I made my way past a strange collection of coax wire and furniture.  I finally reach a wood door at the bottom.  Sweating, wondering if I’ll ever see daylight again, I open the door, a blast of icy air grips me, I see reddish light, and I end up….in the Bar.  Of course, I was never worried.  Really.

Alas Poor New York, I knew you well…

The next night, I watch the Blue Man Group at the Astor Place Theater.  It was a fantastic performance, a combination of stunt work, industrial music, and staring.  On the walk back, I pass the Empire State Building and Times Square.  The National Debt Clock tells you exactly what you owe the government.  A wonderful walk, and I didn’t get mugged, killed, or propositioned.  I did notice a few things, however.

New York takes pride in their city.  Especially when it comes to mailboxes and walls.  It must’ve taken a TON of people to make these things, because there are hundreds of signatures on them in dayglo colors.  Also, nobody does scaffolding better here, it’s an easy way to extend the floors of the buildings out to the street.  Finally, it’s a lot cleaner here than when I visited 10 years ago.  Back then, papers, rotting vegetables, and garbage littered the sidewalks.  Now, that same garbage (10 years old) is still there, but it’s attractively arranged in rows of Hefty bags along the sidewalk, making fashionable refuges from sniper fire.

Taxi drivers, I’m convinced, are cyborgs.  During one of the days in town, we were racing along 5 city blocks loaded with pedestrians, at about 70mph.  We didn’t hit any of them, passed them with inches to spare.  When we get out, I go to pay, but the driver doesn’t respond.  Puzzled, I look at the back seat, when I find out that the taxi is run by Microsoft Windows 2000 software…and that it’s locked up.  Still, the cab rides were great, and made me almost forget about leaving the bag of souvenirs in the cab.  Or that taxi-pedestrian lingo consists of only two letters: F and U.

In a Place of Wealth, Surrounded by Women…Sort Of

The RWA conference was amazing.  Thousands of female authors and authors-to-be crowded the hotel at every level.  I estimated the number of men at the conference to be a dozen, maybe.

The men were definitely in trouble here.  Already, adjustments were being made, like converting most of the men’s restrooms to ladies’ restrooms (both of the remaining bathrooms were easily accessible from Ellis Island).  Normally at these conferences I try to strike up conversation with fellow husbands, only to be greeted by glassy-eyed stares indicating a form of walking coma.  This time around, I made a few friends, people from England and Australia who were great to pal around with.  Elliot, Will, Steve, you guys made the difference!

My first indications that Things Would Be Amiss was at the Literacy signing, where you can purchased a book autographed on the spot, and the money goes to charity.  I took some pictures around the event, and it was incredible the number of books being sold.  The line winded around the large room. 

After meeting a lot of Lucy’s author friends, she hands me a book.  “Could you buy this for me, while I chat with some other friends?  Meet up with me afterwards.”  Sure, no problem.  I take the book without looking at it and wait in the purchase line.  People next to me in line nudge and wink, telling me “Nice book, guy.”  I tell them thanks, I already know it’s a romance book and I’m a guy, etc.  It’s not until I plopped the book down at the cashier that I read its title.  I’m not THAT kind of guy!

The next night, Lucy and I attend a ballroom event in the Starlight Room of the Waldorf Astoria (starlight.jpg).  It’s a posh event, and we do a lot of dancing.  However, as I bumped a lady after getting a drink, I made the mistake of saying “Sorry, Ma’am.”

She turns.  “You just call me ‘Ma’am?!!”

“Uh…yes?”

She yells to the others, “THROW HIM OUT THE WINDOW!!!”

I ran for my life.  Fortunately, there’s a place for people like me and I reached it in time.  Later, I decide to visit the restroom and after washing my hands, receive a towel from Tippy the Towelboy.  And yes, this is a formal position being held at the Hilton.

The final night was the Rita/Golden Heart Awards for the best long/short romance/mystery/paranormal stories, along with the best first books from new authors. This is a fantastic ceremony, full of jokes, fun, and warmth.  The professionalism of this event has really opened my eyes about the importance of romance novels in literature.  Afterwards, the hotel served desserts and everyone got together for drinks and talk. 

The flight back was great, punctuated only by a crying duel between 3 babies behind us.  We met up with Lucy’s sister and found out we still have kids, so we picked them up and headed home.  All in all, New York was great and next time we’ll bring the kids.  It’ll make hauling souvenirs easier.

Tom

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