The Whirlwind Weekend that Almost Wasn't
My trip to New York began in a more unconventional manner than expected as I found myself running across the Harvard Bridge at 7:49 on Friday morning. Unlike most of my childhood nightmares I was at least clothed, but by my best estimates I had about 5 minutes to run to my dorm, dash upstairs, throw some clothes in a bag and head out the door. Otherwise, I’d be finding my own way to the Big Apple.
Luckily all went according to plan as I tossed a change of clothes, toothbrush, and a homemade map into a satchel and raced down the stairs to the waiting van. Zach Ozer, chairman of The Tech, had organized a trip to The NY Times facility in New York City and as the sun rose quickly in the east, thirty members of The Tech screamed out of Boston in a motley crew of rental vans, cars, and station wagons.
My van, with 6 passengers, made its first stop in New Haven to patronize a small diner at Yale. Aditya, another freshman, called some friends from Yale who met us on the premises. I had my three dollar eggs, toast, hash browns, and bacon; a welcome sight after a rude awakening earlier in the morning.
We continued to The Times printing facility at College Point. Zack had a contact inside The Times who used to write for The Tech and was now graciously giving us a grand tour of the printing giant’s headquarters. Our group was split in two, one tracing the route of the paper as it enters the mill until it leaves as a completed newspaper, while the other did the reverse. The printing facility is highly automated; mostly robots handled the paper from door to door.
After the factory tour we headed down to 43rd street to witness the real genius of The Times, the newsroom. Our group met with two senior editors and a reporter from world and international politics who gave us the rundown on working at The Times. One of the students asked if reporters were allowed to choose their own topics for stories or if they were mainly assigned by the editors, referencing a story concerning mayor Bloomberg losing his NY accent. The editors replied by grabbing the reporter who wrote the story (his office happened to be right outside the conference room door) and having him explain the issue (the story was entirely the reporter’s idea).
After the conference we received a tour of the news room, photo department, and executive lounge, home to The Times’ 91 Pulitzer Prizes. We got many stares from most reporters in the news room, as private tours are somewhat uncommon at The Times.
Feeling quite satisfied, we headed back down the lobby on 43rd street to regroup. Surprisingly, some kids left right away to return to Boston, but Scot Frank (co-host of the radio show before mine on WMBR) and I headed to the Museum of Modern Art before it closed for the evening. We arrived to find a crowd of people but the admission was free for the evening so we couldn’t complain. The MoMA was hosting a Pixar exhibit that chronicled the life of the company since its inception. Amazingly, there was a special exhibit by James Turrell, the same artist who created the “Into the Light” series at the Mattress Factory in Pittsburgh and also had an installation on a small island near my home in Japan. I recognized his work almost immediately, but I’m worried he might be following me.
After the MoMA, Scot and I headed to the east village on a tip from Max, radio host of DarkBOT on WMBR. He recommended Panna II, a small Indian restaurant filled with red chili lights dangling from the ceiling. Scot and I arrived to a huge crowd but were quickly given a seat. Laughing, we had to duck while walking through the aisles of the tiny restaurant as not to disturb the invasive lighting. The food was delicious, the music spectacular, and the price was right.
I was planning to stay with Inti at NYU for the evening, so Scot called his friend Katy, also at NYU, to inquire about a room for the night. To make a grossly complicated story short, Katy’s friend, a 27 year old from London, and his brother picked us up in a very fast car and took us to a club near 13th street. We went right to the front of the line, danced for a couple hours, then zipped through town in the Londoner’s car to Inti’s dorm at 3rd avenue and 11th street. Inti checked me into his room (surprisingly chic for freshmen college housing), we talked for a while, and I immediately fell asleep after a whirlwind day.
I woke up early the next morning, met some of Inti’s floor mates, took a shower, and read some art magazines before Inti awoke. I thanked him for the hospitality and walked down 11th street toward the subway.
My destination was West 44th Street and Broadway to get tickets to Sarah Jones’s Bridge & Tunnel, a comedy that recently opened at the Helen Hayes Theatre. After finding the theatre I purchased the last remaining student ticket and slumped into a chair at a nearby diner. Two eggs, three pieces of bacon, and a glass of orange juice later I was lounging outside the Radio City music hall, people watching, and enjoying the uncommon 60 degree weather for this time of the year.
I strolled back through Rockefeller Plaza, gazed at the ice skaters, and took a photo for an elderly couple in front of a golden statue. I returned to the Hayes Theatre, passing crowds hundreds of people long waiting to see The Producers and Phantom of the Opera. The Hayes Theatre, known for its intimate setting, played host to Colin Quinn’s “An Irish Wake” and the Merv Griffin TV show, among a host of other performances. The usher showed me to my seat, 102 AA, about three seats from center on the first row.
The show was fantastic; Sarah Jones did a remarkable job portraying a host of characters from a Pakistani accountant to an 80 year old Jewish woman to a Chinese mother dealing with her daughter’s lesbianism. Jones performed the whole show solo, changing outfits and voices to fit each character in a strikingly humorous commentary that followed the lives of various immigrants. With a seat on the front row for the price of a student ticket, I don’t think I could have picked a better performance.
After the show I took the subway to Chinatown and bought a ticket to Boston. Stopping in a small noodle shop I had a bowl of udon with beef and mushrooms, and then cruised to a small Chinese bakery for Anpan, a sweet bean delight I hadn’t tasted since I got off the plane from Japan.
Dragging my feet, I boarded the bus back to Boston and slept like a baby on the four hour journey to South Station.
Luckily all went according to plan as I tossed a change of clothes, toothbrush, and a homemade map into a satchel and raced down the stairs to the waiting van. Zach Ozer, chairman of The Tech, had organized a trip to The NY Times facility in New York City and as the sun rose quickly in the east, thirty members of The Tech screamed out of Boston in a motley crew of rental vans, cars, and station wagons.
My van, with 6 passengers, made its first stop in New Haven to patronize a small diner at Yale. Aditya, another freshman, called some friends from Yale who met us on the premises. I had my three dollar eggs, toast, hash browns, and bacon; a welcome sight after a rude awakening earlier in the morning.
We continued to The Times printing facility at College Point. Zack had a contact inside The Times who used to write for The Tech and was now graciously giving us a grand tour of the printing giant’s headquarters. Our group was split in two, one tracing the route of the paper as it enters the mill until it leaves as a completed newspaper, while the other did the reverse. The printing facility is highly automated; mostly robots handled the paper from door to door.
After the factory tour we headed down to 43rd street to witness the real genius of The Times, the newsroom. Our group met with two senior editors and a reporter from world and international politics who gave us the rundown on working at The Times. One of the students asked if reporters were allowed to choose their own topics for stories or if they were mainly assigned by the editors, referencing a story concerning mayor Bloomberg losing his NY accent. The editors replied by grabbing the reporter who wrote the story (his office happened to be right outside the conference room door) and having him explain the issue (the story was entirely the reporter’s idea).
After the conference we received a tour of the news room, photo department, and executive lounge, home to The Times’ 91 Pulitzer Prizes. We got many stares from most reporters in the news room, as private tours are somewhat uncommon at The Times.
Feeling quite satisfied, we headed back down the lobby on 43rd street to regroup. Surprisingly, some kids left right away to return to Boston, but Scot Frank (co-host of the radio show before mine on WMBR) and I headed to the Museum of Modern Art before it closed for the evening. We arrived to find a crowd of people but the admission was free for the evening so we couldn’t complain. The MoMA was hosting a Pixar exhibit that chronicled the life of the company since its inception. Amazingly, there was a special exhibit by James Turrell, the same artist who created the “Into the Light” series at the Mattress Factory in Pittsburgh and also had an installation on a small island near my home in Japan. I recognized his work almost immediately, but I’m worried he might be following me.
After the MoMA, Scot and I headed to the east village on a tip from Max, radio host of DarkBOT on WMBR. He recommended Panna II, a small Indian restaurant filled with red chili lights dangling from the ceiling. Scot and I arrived to a huge crowd but were quickly given a seat. Laughing, we had to duck while walking through the aisles of the tiny restaurant as not to disturb the invasive lighting. The food was delicious, the music spectacular, and the price was right.
I was planning to stay with Inti at NYU for the evening, so Scot called his friend Katy, also at NYU, to inquire about a room for the night. To make a grossly complicated story short, Katy’s friend, a 27 year old from London, and his brother picked us up in a very fast car and took us to a club near 13th street. We went right to the front of the line, danced for a couple hours, then zipped through town in the Londoner’s car to Inti’s dorm at 3rd avenue and 11th street. Inti checked me into his room (surprisingly chic for freshmen college housing), we talked for a while, and I immediately fell asleep after a whirlwind day.
I woke up early the next morning, met some of Inti’s floor mates, took a shower, and read some art magazines before Inti awoke. I thanked him for the hospitality and walked down 11th street toward the subway.
My destination was West 44th Street and Broadway to get tickets to Sarah Jones’s Bridge & Tunnel, a comedy that recently opened at the Helen Hayes Theatre. After finding the theatre I purchased the last remaining student ticket and slumped into a chair at a nearby diner. Two eggs, three pieces of bacon, and a glass of orange juice later I was lounging outside the Radio City music hall, people watching, and enjoying the uncommon 60 degree weather for this time of the year.
I strolled back through Rockefeller Plaza, gazed at the ice skaters, and took a photo for an elderly couple in front of a golden statue. I returned to the Hayes Theatre, passing crowds hundreds of people long waiting to see The Producers and Phantom of the Opera. The Hayes Theatre, known for its intimate setting, played host to Colin Quinn’s “An Irish Wake” and the Merv Griffin TV show, among a host of other performances. The usher showed me to my seat, 102 AA, about three seats from center on the first row.
The show was fantastic; Sarah Jones did a remarkable job portraying a host of characters from a Pakistani accountant to an 80 year old Jewish woman to a Chinese mother dealing with her daughter’s lesbianism. Jones performed the whole show solo, changing outfits and voices to fit each character in a strikingly humorous commentary that followed the lives of various immigrants. With a seat on the front row for the price of a student ticket, I don’t think I could have picked a better performance.
After the show I took the subway to Chinatown and bought a ticket to Boston. Stopping in a small noodle shop I had a bowl of udon with beef and mushrooms, and then cruised to a small Chinese bakery for Anpan, a sweet bean delight I hadn’t tasted since I got off the plane from Japan.
Dragging my feet, I boarded the bus back to Boston and slept like a baby on the four hour journey to South Station.
2 Comments:
What can I say, a wonderfully documented journey as usual. The only thing that worries me are the many eggs you had. Please watch your colesterol. :)
By Bibi Blogsberg, at 3:51 AM
I think I've eaten at that diner in Yale most likely during my time playing squash there.... Fancy, do you remember the name at all?
Sorry I have been way behind blogging, I have my reasons...
By pallaver, at 1:22 AM
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