With a 92 Cent Hot Dog...

Was how my weekend in NY came to an end. On a whim, following an interesting series of events Friday night, I jumped on the first bus Saturday morning to the city. College has a way of beating you down toward the end of the term, and watching the Boston skyline shrink against the rising sun was surprisingly rewarding.

I recognized two girls on the bus, whom had both been at Theta Chi the night before. Carleton and Wellesley students, they were on their way to Pennsylvania to visit a friend, after acquiring a car from a friend in NY.

Arriving in late morning, I bid goodbye to the two girls, as well as the older math teacher I met on the bus, and took the subway to Soho, where I'd agreed to meet Kiira for lunch. I grabbed a hot chocolate, which is a good substitute for gloves on a windy day, and purveyed the scene. Trendy book shops, coffee houses, and specialty gift stores lined the streets. At a subway stop on Prince and Crosby, Kiira jumped me from behind - a welcome sight on the crowded streets.

We ate lunch at La Habana, a small diner filled to capacity in Soho. We sat at the bar, where a waiter with a commanding English accent served us pancakes with bananas, and a remarkably tasty omelet. Two women approached the bar to complement Kiira on her dress, as well as choice of nail polish color.

Leaving the diner, we meandered from shop to coffee house, sidewalk to subway before making our way to the Town Hall, where A Prairie Home Companion was to be recorded later that evening.

Kiira had agreed to sell merchandise for the event, and I came along for the ride. Backstage I met Garrison Keillor, along with the rest of the Prairie crew before finding a seat in the backstage dressing room. Growing up with the show, I couldn't help but smile as I glanced through the script for that night's show, chatted with the musical guests (a four piece tuba band), and munched on a roast beef and sprouts sandwich.

As the doors for the theatre opened, Kiira and I were there to peddle the Prairie home wares. Mostly t-shrits and CDs, people from all over the country had come to see the performance.

Leaving Town Hall, we took a subway to Brookyln, where Kiira was staying in a friend's apartment until she can move into her place at the end of the month. The neighborhood was full of hipsters, with their skinny jeans and emo hats.

The next morning I awoke to meet the other tenant in the apartment, a middle aged man in his thirties who is the resident artist at Columbia. Originally from Austria, he spent two years in Berlin, but found the place humorless as a home. His favorite part of America is that everyone has a positive attitude, which was in stark contrast to Berlin. We spoke of video podcasting, an artistic field he finds particularly intriguing, while I shared part of his ham and cheese sandwich, made on a fresh baguette, which reminded me of France.

Kiira and I left for her friends house in the city, an artist from Minnesota who was having an open house to sell her pottery along with a Swedish hat designer. The elevator to her apartment uptown was bright red, and with the addition of Christmas tree may have looked downright festive. There were a small group of people in the apartment, apparently close friends viewing the pottery and hats. We drank warm wine and wild rice soup, and munched on brie with crackers. The artist's husband, who lives in another part of the country, writes children's songs. The artist gave me a copy of two of his CD's with the promise that I'd play them on the radio in Boston.

Escaping back to Brooklyn, we took a nap at the apartment before boarding a train back to the city.

I arrived in Chinatown early, and got a pleasant seat on the bus for once. I grabbed a snickers and a 92 cent hot dog, and drifted off to sleep as the skyscrapers faded into the night sky.