Conan O'Brien: Breaker of Hearts

I returned to New York this weekend and I'm very glad I did. Truth be told, I was feeling sad about missing out on things that were going on up there in recent days (most likely due in part to my lack of employment and recent, traumatizing loss of cable television). I just needed a quick NY fix, and I am satiated.

Jeffrey and I had business to attend to there in the way of shopping in SoHo, eating falafel in the Village, and meeting friends for Afghan food on 26th Street. But our primary reason for being there was an event sponsored by the New York Times Arts and Leisure Weekend in which Conan O'Brien was to be the speaker.

There are very few such people in the world whom I would race up to New York to see at such an event without a moment's hesitation. Messrs. Conan and Bono are two of those, and seeing as Bono's appearance this weekend was canceled due to a medical emergency involving nasty back surgery (it's always something with those rock stars), I was more than happy to see Conan be interviewed about, well, being Conan, as it turns out. Which isn't as heinous as it sounds. Conan's a really smart, nice, geeky guy who wound up in an extraordinary position through a great deal of dumb luck, and had a seriously tough time holding on to that position ten years ago when he took over from David Letterman as the host of Late Night. But he's a very well-spoken and insightful person and it makes me glad to see that such a nice, intelligent guy is capable of his kind of success. I guess I'm a bit partial to bookish redheaded misfits with twisted senses of humor.

The only tragedy of the night occurred after the conversation when Conan stuck around to sign as many programs as possible before his handlers made him go home. He stopped at the girl right in front of me, leaving me standing in vain with a program thrust sadly in the air imploring the handlers not to go away. Jeffrey will attest that it was somewhat pathetic. But if that's the most rotten thing to happen to me all weekend, I suppose I'm in pretty good shape.

Robyn

WTC Plans

It looks as though they've decided on the design for what is to be built at Ground Zero. Of the two that were being considered, I suppose I like the chosen one better.

The trouble is that anything they put there is going to look wrong to me, just as people hated the Towers when they first went up. But I never knew New York to look otherwise. It looks strange now, and it will look strange with the new tower. It will never look right. It's very odd to me that my children will have a very different picture of New York than I have, because I can't picture it any other way.

I am glad they didn't go with those two skeletal towers. They just looked like bombed-out buildings to me.

In happier news, "Angel of Harlem" is playing on Virgin Radio. Joy.

But then, people hated the Eiffel Tower when that went up. Maybe I'll warm up to it.

Robyn

So Long, Farewell

I couldn't ask to leave New York in grander style.

Mum came up for the afternoon for lunch, and we went to the Rainbow Room at the Big Pretty Building. Unlike most times that we've gone to pricey, famous New York eateries, we actually enjoyed the food and atmosphere. When we first got up there, it was pretty foggy. But after awhile (and after Mom temporarily convinced me that a particularly nasty front was about to unleash a tornado upon Midtown Manhattan), the weather cleared and we had a lovely view of the south of the city. We followed the nice lunch with a victory lap through Rockefeller Plaza, Fifth Avenue, Grand Central and finally Penn Station. Now my feet are tired and I'm too weary to go out and do more even if I wanted to.

So I guess that does it for me in New York for awhile. It's been a swell three years. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sad to go. But I believe I'm going for a reason that is infinitely worth whatever heartache comes with leaving. Besides, there's a lot more trouble to cause, er, good work to be done in Washington as far as making a difference in the world at large. So let's see what I can find...

Adios, New York. It was fun.

Robyn

Soy Un Perdedor

Today was a lonely day, as Christine is gone and I'm all by myself in the dorm room. The threat of a transit strike and the crunch of finals have made it difficult for friends to come play with me in the evening, so I was left with the prospect of taking myself out to dinner, since supplies in the kitchen are low this week.

But before you cue the violins and break out the hankies, I did manage to have a pretty entertaining night, and was able to embarrass myself without anybody's help.

I decided to take myself to TeaNY, the vegan cafe/tea shop owned by one Mr. Moby. It's been awhile since I was there last, and since they have a marvelous selection of teas and it's within walking distance, I went by myself to get some dinner. I took some Christmas cards and my journal to keep me busy while I waited for my food.

It wasn't busy at all when I went in, and eventually I was the only patron in the place, munching on a fake turkey club and key lime tea (I know, I know. But since I'm only in Lower Manhattan for a few more days, let me indulge in some hippie dippy goodness while I can). Suddenly, Mr. Moby and some of his pals bound into the place and sit directly behind me. All of a sudden, I'm in the ninth grade again, sitting next to a kid I have a crush on but am too scared to talk to, let alone keep my hand steady enough to hold a teacup.

So not cool.

In the end, I didn't wind up talking to him at all. Which is okay in that I've talked to him before and he was with his friends and all. But I did feel like I should have capitalized on the moment. So I grabbed one of my Christmas cards, scribbled something about how I appreciated his music and the role that it's played during my time in New York and that I'm super-sorry about your recent beating, and when I finally left (which was a good hour or so after Moby & Co. did), I left it on my seat and fled into the night.

Needless to say, I feel less than super cool now. Especially when I realized that I slightly under-tipped my nice waiter. Sheesh. But that's okay. Because I'm never ever ever going back there. At least not for a good few months.

Incidentally, I discovered that vegan cheesecake is actually quite good and that eavesdropping on rock stars and their friends can be surprisingly boring when all they're doing is singing along to the New Wave tape that's playing in their restaurant.

Robyn

Pat the Bunny

I like to consider myself a well-educated, fairly sophisticated, well-traveled individual. But few things give me more happiness than the free-range bunnies at the Central Park petting zoo.

First of all, the Central Park Zoo is one of the best things going in New York. It only costs $3.50 for both the regular zoo and the children's zoo. It's small enough that you can fit in several other tourist stops in your day, but big enough that you're more than adequately entertained. I highly recommend getting there in time for the feedings of sea lions and penguins.

But I do have a fondness for those bunnies.

They're located in an enclosed pen so they can romp about. One rabbit, who I assume to be of opposite sex than the others, is segregated, but it manages to engage the others in bunny tomfoolery despite the wall of chicken wire that separates them. The fence is tall enough that I suppose they're not meant to be touched, but its spaces are big enough that one can fit a clandestine pat in here and there. The black and white one I made friends with was very obliging.

Do visit the bunnies if you're in the area. One can't be sad watching bunnies romp in the grass.

Robyn

Weiner Dogs and Woody Allen

This is why I love living in New York.

Despite weather forecasts that threatened the region with the remnants of Hurricane Lili, yesterday's weather was beautiful. So I decided to take myself to Washington Square Park, where something very special was going on.

Yesterday marked the date of the autumn Dachshund Fest. Hundreds of dachshunds and their owners gathered in the north end of the park (as the southern end was dominated by some very hopped-up nannies who were getting ready to march to City Hall to demand labor standards). The event culminated in the group gathering together to hoist their weiner dogs above their heads to sing the Dachshund song.

This, friends, is why you never leave the house in New York without a camera.

Not content to end my day with that, I paid a visit to the Met. As I was walking to the 19th-Century European wing, the family of three a few paces in front of me stopped to admire the sculpture courtyard below. It was Woody Allen and Soon-Yi, with their young daughter. They wound up in the same room as me a couple of times in the Impressionism section, and plenty of people noticed them, too. Nobody seemed to care all that much.

In three and a half years, that was my first celebrity-in-the-wild sighting. At least the first one that I noticed.

And tourism in this town is flagging? Come up and visit, people! All this happened in a span of four hours. Imagine what you could see in a weekend.

Robyn

Sad Day, Not a Bad Day

I confess that I was a bit anxious as to how the anniversary of 9/11 was going to be commemorated. I was afraid it would be a very heavy-handed, depressing day.

Of course it was sad. I knew that the same thing was going through everyone's minds as I walked through SoHo, Greenwich Village, and Union Square. But people were going about their business just the same. And it was a lovely day. A gusty day, but a welcome change from the ickiness of the past week. Lots of people were outside, stopping by the parks on their lunch breaks. During my particular lunch break I went to Union Square, where there were stations at which you could create a drawing or a message and have it put up on a wall. I sat down and made a contribution, and then took my lunch next to a very nice Jack Russell terrier named Spot. I followed up lunch with a visit to Petco, because no matter how sad I get, watching small furry animals will always make me happy.

Tonight Christine and I went to a candlelight vigil in Washington Square Park. Although it was very nice to see the NYU community gather together for something (anything), I have to say that the event didn't go off as planned. For one thing, the wind, which was beyond anyone's control, made the science of candlelighting considerably difficult. For another, the orchestra (which was supposed to be the centerpiece) was barely audible, so no one really knew when to start being reverent and carried on talking and laughing and trying to keep the candles lit. I guess there was something redeeming in that, but it wasn't the solemn occasion I thought it would be. Real reflection occurred on the walk home south on LaGuardia Place, where there was nothing but pitch black where the towers once sparkled.

But all in all, New York didn't seem to be a depressed city today. Last year, it was a place drained of its energy and spirit. Today people were solemn, but not somber. It was a day to honor the people that died, and celebrate the city that went through a crushing blow, but somehow got its rhythm back nonetheless. It will never be the same, but it's still very much alive .

So September 11, 2002 was a reflective day, but reflective in a positive manner. Not a bad day at all, on the whole.

Robyn

Another Routine Wildly Life-Changing Adventure

It is a very bad thing to waste a day in New York City. Under any circumstances. Especially when it is 80 degrees and sunny.

But alas, I feel I have done just that today.

I arrived back in NYC yesterday, and am delighted to be in an interesting neighborhood on the fringes of Little Italy, Chinatown, and SoHo. I believe the hipster slang for the area is NoLiTa (North of Little Italy), but since I am decidedly unhip, I really shouldn't throw that around in everyday use. Neither should you, if you know what's good for you.

So after spending all of yesterday unpacking and the early part of today stocking the pantry, I collapsed on my bed with a very old magazine and whiled away the afternoon.

There are better ways to piss away an afternoon. I could have read that old magazine in Battery Park. Or the very nice playground around the corner that says "Play!" on the wall.

But the bed just looked awfully appealing.

It won't happen again, but NYC is going to have to wait for me to atone for my sin. Tomorrow I set off for another wildy life-changing adventure when I fly to Dallas to drive halfway across the country to assist Jeffrey in finding a new home in Washington, which is destined to be another regular urban haunt.

The wildly life-changing adventures seem to be occurring rather frequently, don't they?

Maybe an afternoon reposing on the bed was the proper thing to do after all.

Robyn

Here a Moby, There a Moby

It's a grand thing when your favorite musician comes out with a new album. For then you can collect a bevy of magazines and television appearances to amuse and delight you.

At least that's what you do if you're a flaming dweeb.

Moby's new album 18 came out this week, and it's quite good. I was a bit concerned when the single We Are All Made of Stars came out. Suffice to say, even if you haven't heard it, the title tells you all you need to know. Whatever you say, Mobes. Stars. Mmm-hmm. Very cute. Now run along like a good little vegan.

But happily, the rest of the album fairly rocks. Pretty stuff. And I got to meet Mr. Moby (again) at a Tower Records signing. Such a nice guy, even if he needs his goofy artist friend to sit next to him and stare dumbly at the fans when they aren't surreptitiously conversing about things that only hipster rock stars and artists converse about. An appearance on Saturday Night Live rounded out a merry Mobylicious week. Gravy.

By the way, if you're planning to take your two-year-old to see the PG-13 Spider Man movie, don't. Trust me. You'll be happier, the kid will be happier, the movie patrons will be happier. Everybody wins. Rent him Bob the Builder instead. You'll be glad you did.

Robyn