Category Archives: Travel

Boning Up

My last excursion was up to China Town, which led me to the following discovery: I am not ready for authentic Chinese cuisine. Fried duck tongues? Pass. Snails and pork intestine in porridge? Pass. Snails and crispy fins? Yes, still pass. Speaking with the only person I know who has admitted to eating pork intestine, I learned that they “taste like crap.” Since this is coming from a Chinese woman, I am willing to accept it as an accurate assessment. Who would have guessed?- the conduit for crap tastes like crap. As the punchline goes — Alimentary, my dear Watson!

dem bones

No Chinese food today. Instead, I am going to the Long Island cousins and enjoying an Easter dinner away from home. True, I would rather enjoy an Easter dinner at home, but it doesn’t look like that is going to happen this year.

Trinity Church

Yesterday after the Natural History Museum, I had lunch at NorthWest, a café on Columbus Avenue. Halfway through my meal, Matt Dillon and his friend Lease, who were on the way out of town to visit Matt’s sister for Easter, came in and sat at the table next to me. Or maybe it was ‘Lise, I’m not sure. It sounded like Lease. Being an avid people-watcher and eavesdropper, it was great fun. While Matt fidgeted and wolfed down his eggs Benedict, I stared out the window at the gawkers. Most people walked by, oblivious to being so close to greatness, blind to the shining star that is Celebrity. Okay, I’m playing things up a bit here — most people just walked by. Really, I shouldn’t mock the famous. Considering that nobody ever comes up to me and says “Hey, you’re that guy who put all those silly comments in the C-NET web sites! You hack together some great code, man . . . can I have your autograph?”, I think I deserve the chance to mock, dammit! Crap, off-track again.
dem bones

A few, though, would look in, then do a double-take. They would then slow down and whisper something to their friend, who would also turn, trying not to be too noticeable, and they would then either stare unabashedly, or argue over whether it was really Matt. Yes, everyone on Columbus Avenue in New York walks in pairs, or did so this Saturday. I just sat there, eating my wild mushroom ravioli, then later my apple cobbler, enjoying the viewing opportunities and wondering whether I should start making faces to see how many people I could distract. Is it rude to make people laugh while they are trying to stare at a celebrity?

So, what do the famous talk about? Well, Matt likes to talk about bread, pastries, and the Sicilian Mafia, the myths behind the color of blood oranges, and being in a cave. Waking up in the dark and thinking he was trapped in a cave, actually. All in all, a great day for an eavesdropping people-watcher.
dem bones

Hey, what about Rental? Or Lease, or whatever her name was? Oh yeah, she had a salad (Cobb?), was very blonde with entirely too much make-up and rarely spoke. When she did, she had a habit of mangling words. Much too painful to listen to, thank you.

dem bones

If it’s Tuesday, I must be in Denver

I flew into Denver tonight. It was an uneventful flight, which suits me just fine. Sure, there was a little turbulence, but for once I wasn’t convinced that a wing was going to snap off and we were all going to plummet to our deaths. Not often, at least. Although it was dark when I arrived, I could still see the general shape of the airport, and I must say that I like it. Inside is nice too. I really like the whirligigs or whatever the heck they are that spin along as you ride the train between terminals.

What I did not like, however, was the stench. Cor, it smelled like a thousand horribly flatulent cows had exploded once you stepped outside of the main terminal building! Fortunately, the smell went away by the time I passed the Suncor refinery. Or was it just that the overwhelming smell of sulphur and petrochemicals overpowered the flatulent cows? This too passed, and by Pecos avenue, all that remained of the foul odors was the stench of what I must assume was an entire neighborhood or ruptured septic tanks. I don’t think I’ll be eating at the Black Angus I saw off to the right there . . . anyway, it was fresh and clean-smelling by Broomfield.