If You’re Ever in a Jam, Here I Am

Gallivanting

“Before we get too old, show me a garden bursting into life.
Let’s waste time, chasing cars around our heads.” Chasing Cars- Snow Patrol

I began Saturday by showering and dressing-plaid shorts, white t-shirt, black Guess sweater vest and olive jacket-and a visit to the Coffee Pot for tea and internet access. Then I cooled heels for a bit until it was time to meet a couple of friends for the first time.

I think it’s safe to say that many of us might think spending time with people whom you have previously only known online is odd. A couple of years ago, I would have thought so too. But by the time I got the opportunity to do so, it seemed perfectly natural.

In the days prior to our meeting, there were a frenzy of e-mails trying to get ourselves coordinated and we finally settled on meeting at a parking garage a few blocks from my apartment at ten a.m.

I was there at nine.

I’m an insomniac and I lack patience. I went into Bis Co Latte and got a Cappuccino and a chocolate ginger biscotti to waste some time before returning to the garage at Forty-ninth and Tenth.

Annette arrived first and it took me a minute to be sure it was her. She walked towards me and I looked at the face (slightly obscured by sunglasses) and the hair (which is shorter than it is online), but the clothes removed any doubt.

White pants and a cropped grey jacket told me this was Cenci, a woman with an Italian sense of style. We greeted each other and chatted for a few minutes, both of us looking up Forty-ninth Street to spy Martha as she walked from the subway station. Through the traffic I caught a glance of her and Annette and I were like impatient children trying to force the light to change so she could cross to our side.

I think I nearly assaulted her with a hug as I ran towards her, and happily she didn’t turn and run. After a brief hug-fest, we engaged in a discussion on our chosen wardrobes for the day, with Martha laughing at herself for choosing the most preppy attire she owned-jeans, striped shirt and sweater-while staying in Williamsburg, Brooklyn; I’m sure they thought she was an actress getting into character for an off-Broadway play.

We went to the Carnegie Deli where all of us ordered French toast, which is not an odd choice for breakfast, but it might be an odd choice for a New York deli. I think we just wanted to make a decision quick so we could get to the talking, and we did. The French toast was good and the conversation was too.

I gave a brief history of the group (including the part where I scared-off a couple of newbies who took potshots at long-time members), and we each explained what brought us to the group. Annette’s reason was the best: “I just wanted to know what all of you were talking about.”

After loading up on starch and fat, we did our best to walk it off by going to Central Park. We walked and talked, and visited spots that were significant to us-Martha wanted to see Jim Henson’s bench (and anywhere John Cusack might have stood), I wanted to see my favorite bridge, and Annette, who had never before been to Central Park, wanted to see Alice in Wonderland and the Bethesda Terrace.

We saw it all and more, and despite the amount of verbalizing that took place (much of it mine), there were times when we sat or stood in complete silence, each of us having our own little moment. It was nice, and a bit unexpected. Often you can share a comfortable silence with people you’ve known for ages, but I don’t think it often happens with people you have just met; you’re more apt to feel the need to keep the conversation going.

Annette & Martha by my bridge

After a few hours, Martha suggested it was snack time, so we walked west towards the Buttercup Bake Shop for fuel. Having settled on a bench on Central Park West, and sanitized our hands (I keep a small pharmacy in my Timbuk 2 bag), we tucked into Red Velvet and Devil Dog cupcakes.

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Eavesdropping, on a bench on Central Park West, staring tourists walking by

The Teacher: Hysterical laughter

The Italian: Hysterical laughter

Guy with devil’s food cake on his face: “Just tell me where it is so I can wipe it off-everyone is staring.”

The Teacher: “I’ll tell you when you’re done. This is too much fun.”

The Italian: More hysterical laughter

The Teacher “Okay, it’s right there,” indicating that spot between lip and chin.

Guy with devil’s food cake on his face: “You let me sit here with a chocolate soul patch?”

The Teacher and the Italian: Maniacal laughter

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Brooklyn Bound

After the cupcakes and more walking, I escorted my new old friends to Hell’s Kitchen and showed them my smashing apartment. They used the bathroom which indicated a certain level of bravery on their part (I did in fact clean it as best I could in that I was unwilling to spend too much of my food money on cleaning products), I changed into long pants (albeit still plaid), and we took the subway to Brooklyn for dinner with another online friend, Don.

A Room With A View- my pad in Hell’s Kitchen

This friend is the one that brought us all together, so we owe him quite a bit-something that just occurred to me this minute. He chose D.O.C wine bar as our meeting place, and we arrived a bit ahead of him so we had time to admire it.

It reminded me of a trattoria you might see in a movie, the kind that someone just happens upon-low ceilings, small, cozy chairs, scrubbed pine tables and a great deal of wine. Our host arrived fairly soon after and we all moved from our sidewalk table inside.

I think all of us were afraid to speak for a moment, since there was a slightly higher level of absurdity in our meeting him than in meeting each other, in that we became acquainted with him when he appeared on a couple of television shows (neither of which were watched by more than a couple hundred people, something I’m sure he’d want me to point out). We didn’t want him to think we were star-struck fans or stalkers of short-term minor celebrities.

He got the ball rolling and the conversation flowed naturally from then on. We ordered a selection of cured meats, cheeses, flatbread, and a bottle of Sangiovese. The wine was excellent and we used it to toast the members of our online group who could not be with us. I told Don which members wanted to join the party and why they couldn’t, and he got slightly impish look on his face and said “You’re the guy who knows everything about everybody, aren’t you?”

“Well . . . yeah, I do.”

“Okay, so tell me . . .”

The rest of this conversation has mysteriously slipped my mind. I think it was the wine. (Don’t worry; I didn’t say anything he wouldn’t already know if he read every single thread.)

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Eavesdropping, somewhere in Brooklyn

Cat Boy: “. . . It’s one thing when the crumbs in the silverware drawer are yours, but when it’s someone else’s crumbs . . .”

The Italian: “You’re like borderline OCD.”

Cat Boy: “You think?”

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After dinner he took us to a couple of bars: The Brooklyn Ale House which welcomes people and canines alike, and plays an excellent variety of music; the other is one that up until a few years ago offered cocaine in addition to drinks. I found that a fairly comical image given the tables in the bar currently hold games like Connect Four and Ker-Plunk.

I liked that incidentally-more bars should have games on the tables, and coloring books too. I don’t know if it’s just me, but the idea of sipping a cocktail while coloring in Bullwinkle’s antlers sounds like a tremendous evening with the right people.

After a couple of rounds, we all saw Martha to the subway, and Don saw Annette and I to a cab, and we went our separate ways. Our time together was short, but filled with laughter, good food, good liquor, and good music. It pleased me immensely, and it still does.

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Eavesdropping, at a bar in Brooklyn

Monkey Boy: “They never gave us our fan mail, you know, to protect us. I’m an adult . . .”

Cat Boy: “I met a couple members of a Real World cast at a book signing, and one of them talked about all the letters he got . . .”

Monkey Boy: “You went to a book signing for someone who was on the Real World?”

The Italian: “Who?”

Cat Boy: “Judd and Pam from San Francisco-I just happened to be in the bookstore, I didn’t know there was a signing.”

Monkey Boy: “Sure you didn’t.”

The Italian: “I tried out for that one.”

The Teacher: “You auditioned for Real World?!”

The Italian: “Well, it was in San Francisco.”

Monkey Boy: “Is that the one with Puck?”

Cat Boy: “Oh, you mock me for going to a book singing, but you remember who Puck was.”