I always think I'm going to do a real trip report, or actually, you know, discuss something I've been doing in some depth. I mean, when was the last time I was in a synagogue listening to someone chant the Torah? It's been 40 years, people. You'd think I'd have something heartfelt and meaningful to say. An observation or two. But actually, I don't.
Anyway, since we last spoke, I've been to Princeton, New Jersey, New York City, and Rhode Island. I've hung out with my husband's extended family, whom I last saw in 2008 at the hippy wedding in California. I've seen my husband's first cousins once removed become B'not Mitzvah.
(I've seen a squillion 13 year old girls in spaghetti strapped minidresses and platform sandals reading congratulatory letters and squeeing.)
I've eaten in the Yankee Doodle Tap Room at the Nassau Inn, where the painting over the bar is by Norman Rockwell, and Michelle Obama has been added to the Princeton notables on the wall. Which kind of balances out the Donald Rumsfeld picture, if you ask me.
Princeton is the prettiest Ivy League campus I've ever seen. And the town has fabulous shopping.
Then there's New York, and again, I should have something to say about that, but here you go: Empire State Building, Grand Central Station, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the American Museum of Natural History, Times Square, The Lion King.
For food there was Sarge's delicatessan, Markt for Belgian beer and frites, Moco for great sushi and yummy cocktails, Fagliolini, and Sardi's for supper after The Lion King.
I had raw tuna at Markt and steak Tartare at Sardi's. Two raws in one day. And yet, I live.
We bought a couple of bottles of wine at The Wine Shop on Lex. It was a tiny hole in the wall stuffed with racks of wine. The owners were Asian and the only other customers were burly Russian construction workers buying nips of vodka. There was classical piano music playing in the background. We stopped into Winfield-Flynn, too--this time to get a present for my husband's father. Their stereo was playing jazz. (Honestly, the liquor stores were so civilized, I could have shopped for booze all day.) Anyway, they turned us on to Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur.
After that we drove to Rhode Island for Thanksgiving with my husband's parents, and give my father-in-law his liqueur. We stayed in a hotel that is trying really hard to be hip and chic, but let's face it; it's Rhode Island. When a groovy loft-style hotel throws a pajama party and people show up practically naked, it doesn't seem fresh and unexpected; it just leaves Mr. Buxom wondering whether prostitution is legal in Rhode Island. After all, prostitution always seems to be legal in places where nobody would otherwise want to go, like Nevada and Amsterdam. And Rhode Island.
And then today we flew home and I have a mountain of laundry to do.
But I also have a mountain of Buffy disks to watch, so once again, it balances out.