NYC Adventure: A Day With My Youngest

Posted on January 18, 2025 by Joe Cummings

The Revolt of The-Youngest

Oh, that time comes for all parents, doesn’t it? That time when your children want to get away from you, do more than you have energy to do, to get out on their own and see the world.

Or at least see New York.

The-Youngest started his campaign last night, wanting to wander around the neighbourhood. I was too exhausted to go with him. His brother was nearly passed out on the couch. His mom had walked all day and had had enough.

He said he could go by himself.

His mother said no. It was New York City, not a suburb in Vancouver. There are gangs, whacked-out homeless people, serial killers, rats, rabid dogs and things that lurk in the sewers.

He pointed out that Vancouver has all the same things.

He didn’t win the argument.

So, he said he wanted to get up early tomorrow and grab some tickets to another musical. The Outsiders. By himself.

Seems that this was the greatest musical of all time. The only problem – we had failed a day or two earlier by arriving for a 10am ticket sale at 10am. Silly Canadians.

So, The-Youngest said he’d get up early. I said I’d go with him. I don’t know why I said that, but I did. No one else came forth to volunteer. They were way too smart.

The next day, July 10th, The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had a celebrity hangover and confirmed she had no desire to go, while The-Oldest said he needed sleep more than he needed to do, well, anything.

The Youngest and I left about 7:15. The weather today: 50% chance of clouds and rain. 10% chance of thunderstorms. 100% chance to be wrong.

We made good time. Not a cloud in the sky.

Man, The-Youngest was good at navigation, but more importantly, he was 100% aware of his surroundings, like some sort of Russian spy with great hair. He was aware of the people to steer clear of, capable of seeing a sign on the side of a wall hidden by a sign that said there was no sign, and could even navigate using only the GPS in his head.

He’s grown up so much. He’s become so much more capable than I ever was at his age.

Sadly, though, when we arrived at the theater, there were already a bunch of nutters who had gotten up even earlier, brought foldout chairs (what a great idea) and camped out. But we didn’t give up.

We sat down on the pavement, (making me realize how painful it was for old-Joe to sit on the pavement) and chatted and waited and chatted and waited and waited and looked at our phones and waited.

We had a plan. We only needed two seats. One for him, one for his brother. No seats? Get standing room. No standing rooms slots? Cry. He was to tell them he was an orphan who escaped from the Ukraine after his whole family and dog had been killed and eaten by Russians.

Sadly, none of those things worked. All tickets were gone by the time we reached the ticket booth.

Drat.

So, we do what boys do when they fail to achieve their goal. We improvised. We adapted. We overcame. We went and bought tickets to another show. The Book of Mormon.

Then, to reward ourselves, we went shoe shopping. Yup. Shoe. Shopping. More of a reward for him than me, since I still wear the same, super comfy hiking boots I bought back in the 2000’s (and smell like a skunk died in them).

However, there’s no doubt that The-Youngest loves to shop, so we went to a shoe store the size of a city block and wandered around three floors full of shoes. He touched them all, tried on a few, and chose a great pair. Still cheaper than Canada, he said.

I didn’t doubt him.

I thought about embarrassing him by grabbing every shoe I could find and asking him to “Smell this one. So good, right?” Or by yelling at him from across the room, “Hey, they have the pink ones with white lace that you’re looking for over here.”

But he was having so much fun, I just couldn’t wreck it.

Afterwards, we wandered around the streets a bit, something both he and I love to do, and found the perfect pizza place. Joe’s Pizza. According to The-Youngest’s app, it was only 4.2/5 but I said for me, a fellow Joe, it would be 5.0

I loved that we spent that time together. Chatting with him, seeing the sights with him, people-watching with him, all totally worth the torture of me sitting on the sidewalk for 2 hours. My body would disagree, of course, but my soul was happy.

We had some deep talks.

Sure, he worries about all the things someone worries about when out of high school – things I worried about and things I didn’t because I had The-Margot. Thing is, though, he’s got lots of friends, family, and people who will be there to support and encourage him.

Plus, he’s got a plan for his life. He thinks things through. He’s a GREAT salesman. He’s way smarter than he thinks, and he’s even become charming. More surprisingly, he’s even become considerate.

So much has changed in such a short time. Not long ago, he was this little cherub-cheeked kid who couldn’t tie his skates and now, he’s someone who probably would do better in NYC than me (at least far less likely to get lost).

You just never know when magic moments will happen, but I had one with The-Youngest on this day.

Just us two. 

I will remember it for the rest of my life.

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Epic NYC Moments: A Night on Broadway

Posted on January 17, 2025 by Joe Cummings

What would make an epic moment for you?

Everyone has their dream moment. For me, it would be meeting Churchill for a few drinks, a cigar, and a nice, long chat. Sure, he would be mostly dead and the conversation pretty one-sided, but that would be a highlight of my life.

For The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World, we would come close to making a dream come true and we didn’t even have to pay the Rock to let her stroke his chest.

After seeing the city from the Empire State Building and then me fondling all the board game boxes in a legendary gaming store, we raced home via the subway to get changed into our good clothes.

See, we were going to see Chicago tonight. On Broadway. The second thing The-Oldest wanted to do on this trip. His other MUST-SEE.

We met my youngest cousin at a Mexican restaurant mostly situated underground, or more properly, below street level. I love that NYC has levels. Some high. Some very low. The ones below street level, though, seem like secret spots to me. Something special.

We had a lovely supper and got caught up with our cousin, laughing a lot and listening to her NY stories. She was such wonderful company.

Mexican food with our youngest NY cousin

But then it was time to see the musical. We went up into the lights of Times Square and made our way to equally impressively lit Broadway. Oddly, The-Youngest and our cousin were the most excited. Personally, I didn’t think this was going to be anything super fun, though long ago, in another life, I saw Les Miserables and it changed my life (I was forced to admit I LOVE musicals).

In line for Chicago at the Ambassador

We had great seats in the balcony, on the edge, to the right. Much to The-Oldest’s joy, the orchestra was located on the actual stage – as part of the performance. Musicians, he believes, should be seen and not just heard.

The musical itself was excellent. The story was good. It’s about two chorus girls who are charged with murder and how they plan to use that to their advantage. The singers were amazing, the flow on stage flawless and whenever the cast interacted with the orchestra, The-Oldest would nod like order had suddenly been restored in the world.

But it wasn’t until one of the supporting characters came out – A big woman who played Mama Morton, aka Mama –  that something odd happened.

Immediately, The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World started bouncing up and down in her seat and making very quiet but excited oh, oh, oh, oh, oh noises. Not sitting beside her, I was only able to give her a quizzical look.

Turns out, the woman was one of her favourite Drag Queens. Jinkx Monsoon. Actually, I think The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World was mouthing Jinkx’s name at me but I thought she was staying “It stinks,” (which was kind of rude and did not explain her excitement) instead of “It’s Jinkx!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Honestly, she, he… errrrr hold on, *loads up proper pronouns* right, SHE was fantastic. She had a presence on stage, like someone born to be up there. She owned that part with gusto and glee. No wonder The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World was a fan.

A quick link here if you want to check her out.

Afterwards, as we walked out, The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World still bouncing up and down like someone had put slinkies in her shoes, I saw we could wait to see the performers. Apparently, that was a thing. Who knew?

So, I convinced The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World to stay. Maybe we could see Jinkx? Maybe we could get a photo of her?

The star of the show – Robyn Hurder as Velma

 The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World went shy all of a sudden. She wasn’t so sure this was a good idea, but all of us pitched in and said, “You have to get a picture!”

Someone smarter than me thought we should position ourselves beside the tall limo idling by the curb, and so we waited. We saw the other performers all come out. We took pictures and told them we were sorry to have taken their pictures but gosh, golly, they were amazing (I mean, we’re Canadians. We have to say nice things if someone comes up to us.)

Then Jinkx came out and we had to stop The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World from running away. Trembling, gripping her program like she was a teenager waiting for Duran-Duran, she stood behind the rope line, hoping and fearing Jinkx would come over.

But that someone-smarter-than-me knew we had a good spot. She couldn’t get into her limo without us stopping her. And stop her we did. Or I did. After she signed The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World’s program, I asked in a very nice and polite and completely Canadian way “I’m so sorry, but would you mind if we took a picture of you and my wife? She’s an epic fan.”

Jinkx and the Happiest-Girl-in-the-World

And Jinkx, without hesitation, with a big smile, mouthed, “Yes, of course.” (she was saving her voice). And like years ago when The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World got her picture taken with the Fonz, she got her picture taken with the amazing Jinkx.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World bounced away with a smile of pure happiness on her face, hugging her program like it was her first grandchild.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World was in heaven.

We thanked our cousin for sharing this with us and we made our way back home, stopping only to gawk at a DeLorean.

What a great day. An epic day. Even for The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World, who had, up to this point, pretty much endured lots of sweaty humidity and sore feet.

It was a day you could only have in New York City.

It would be hard to beat, but I think we did.

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NYC Parking Challenges and the Magic of the Empire State Building

Posted on January 12, 2025 by Joe Cummings

July 9th

Parking in NYC is hard. Very, very hard. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and I learned that last night when we came back from New Jersey. It took an hour to find a place near our place and by ‘near our place’, I mean somewhere on Manhattan Island. We weren’t allowed to leave the car at the rental place cuz, reasons, and everyone in NYC who got back before 10, had already found all the available parking spots.

Good lord.

An hour. Plus a 40 min walk back to the apartment.

But in the morning, I marched back to the car and returned it to the rental place where I found out that returning with an empty tank was the thing to do. See, it’s a scam of sorts. You have to fill up a little (we filled up a lot) and who wants to drive around on the big E trying to return it on E? So we eat the extra cost.

Bastards.

But the rest of the family slept in. We didn’t get going until about 2 when we made our way to The-Oldest’s 2nd MUST-Do – See the Empire State Building.

Oddly enough, it’s not easy to see when you’re wandering around the city as it’s surrounded by massive skyscrapers. It’s like trying to find The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World in a crowd of basketball players, but find it we did (after almost walking by it).

“Hey, that’s a nice building.”

“That’s not a nice building, that’s the Empire State Building!”

I can understand why The Oldest wanted to see this one and not, say, Top of the Rock. It’s a classic building—old school. There is not a lot of steel and glass. This is concrete, marble, and brass. This is Art Deco. This is the architectural equivalent of a great piece of music.

There weren’t a lot of people there, which is not to say it wasn’t busy, just not, you know, rub-yourself-against-your-neighbour busy. We got to see a cool display of rivet workers tossing rivets at each other and the boys got to stick their fingers in the noses of metal statues. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World got to live out a fantasy of being groped by King Kong and I got to take pictures of pictures.

We sure know how to have fun, don’t we?

But as much as I LOVED the art deco, we’d come for the views, and boy, they did not disappoint. It’s hard to realize just how HUGE Manhattan is. How many skyscrapers sprout out of the ground like spears, and how many little neighbourhoods can be seen? Wait, there’s our apartment? Wait, isn’t that Times Square that The-Youngest hates so much? Wait, isn’t that one of the water towers I took a picture of (no one could prove it wasn’t, though they did try.)

We looked down upon the Brooklyn Bridge that we’d passed under just a few days before. We could see Central Park that we didn’t know we’d never get to. We could see Brooklyn and New Jersey and Queens (also places we’d never get to).

Honestly, there was just so much to see, if (a big if), you like looking at buildings. If you don’t, then there was always the marble stairs with brass railings or pictures of famous people who got their picture taken on the Empire State Building.

Oddly, I think all of us kinda liked looking at such a huge, gigantic city. I mean, Manhattan is just a small part of NYC and Manhattan makes Vancouver look like an Amish community beside a pretty mountain.

All of us looked at some of the individual buildings with those cool binocular things you see in the movies, and for once, even though the sun was out, and it was hot, we didn’t care because we were so high up, I thought I could touch the sky.

We spent a good hour, maybe 90 minutes there. I honestly don’t know if it was everything The-Oldest thought it would be, but he seemed to be having fun. Ok, maybe not ‘jazz club’ level of fun, but like he was seeing living art and walking through it.

I would recommend seeing the Empire State Building to anyone who likes a building with class. However, if you want a similar view, there is also the 30 Rock building (Rockafeller Center) something called the Edge and, of course, the One World Trade Center.

Before we left, we forced The-Oldest to buy something for his girlfriend at the gift shop while The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World bought a few nicknacks for her friends and family.

After that, though, I got to do a Joe-MUST-DO – We visited a legendary gaming store. I know, that’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but for me, it was like being teleported to the past when I was just a pre-teen and I had not yet discovered girls, at least in the way I’d later discover them. It took me back to a time when I would wander the game store and touch everything (like The-Youngest) and dream of the day I could afford to buy that game or model or set of little toy soldiers.

Nostalgia is a powerful thing, yo, and it’s an interesting thing – a memory from the past brought to life by something in the present.

Like the old days, I roamed around and touched everything, finally buying two games that I hoped to play with my brother.

So, Jackson got to have his adventure, and I got to have mine.

But wait, wasn’t today supposed to be the day we made it up to The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World?

Well, the day wasn’t over and before it ended, The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World got to have her BEST experience in NYC (and no, it wasn’t more groping by King Kong, though I think that came a close second.)

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6 Flags Adventure: Weather, Rides, and Family Tales

Posted on January 10, 2025 by Joe Cummings

What happens when the best day for one is not the best day for everyone?

And what if something totally unexpected happens?

First, the weather forecast: Cloudy. Partial sun. Chance of rain. The plan: New Jersey. 6 Flags. The-Youngest’s 2nd MUST-DO.

We didn’t have a car in NY so my first job was – Get a car.

So, I got up early and walked to the car rental place, a small box of an office in an underground parkade that smelled like part urinal, part garbage bin.  It wasn’t far, about 20 min walk, but by the time I got there, I was covered in sweat. It was 8am and it was already that hot and humid.

Ack. Maybe New Jersey would be different.

Getting out of the city wasn’t a problem. I thought it would be. New York drivers are not known for their patience and though I was looking forward to being sworn at in 300 languages, I didn’t want to have to exchange gunfire with anyone (mostly because I didn’t have a gun, I had a pen.)

Getting on the highway wasn’t a problem. The other drivers weren’t a problem. Finding the park wasn’t a problem. What was a problem? There was no gas in the tank when I picked it up. It was on ¼.

It was something I should have checked, especially since I picked the car up in an underground parkade that smelled of urine and garbage.

We filled up at a truck stop just inside the New Jersey border. It was the size of Victoria. According to my calculations, gas was either $22.18 a litre or $1.39/L (I’m not good at math, but I suspect the latter was correct). It was $1.82 when we left Vancouver.

We filled up, got some snacks, but I was not happy with the rental firm. Who leaves a tank empty?

Now, to the park. It was bigger than I thought, with a nice entrance, a cute little ‘town’ inside the gates, and not a lot of people wandering around. Screams of fear and glee filled our ears. The air smelled of sunscreen (us), cinnamony churros, and BBQ’d meat. Hot sun baked us from above and The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and I longed for a park with a lazy river.

No matter, the boys charged off. All the rides are here, but first up was the Joker. Not a hard ride, but there was no way in hell I’d do it. If I did, the first time it flipped upside down, I would throw out my back, then the first time it took a fast, tight turn, I’d wreck my neck, and the first big dive down, I would scream like a two-year-old getting a haircut. Also, I’d likely vomit like a child possessed by the exorcist demon.

The Joker

I had become more of the kiddies Dumbo ride person.

So, we let the boys run around to the various rides. We had purchased fast-passes so they didn’t have to wait in line. I know, I know, those are not cheap, but here’s my thinking: It’s always a time vs. money battle, but since we only had a day here, hours spent in line (in the baking heat) would be terrible. So, we spent some money. Also, it was one of The Youngest’s two MUST-DOs, so we MUST-DO properly—VIP-like.

The-Youngest and his brother rode the Devil the most, but by noon, The-Oldest, like an old person, had run out of steam, and the rides were making him dizzy. Here’s the surprise, though. The same was happening to The-Youngest.

As you get older, do you start not to love roller coasters anymore? Can this be a thing?

Next thing you know, The-Youngest will no longer want to mountain bike because it throws out his hip or he starts complaining about ‘kids these days.’

Not that it stopped The-Youngest from spending the whole day riding coasters, but it made him cancel his plans to ride all the roller coasters in the American East (and there are hundreds and hundreds of them.) I think he said he’d be taking up knitting.

The highlight for The-Youngest was the terrifyingly high and Joe-Killing Kingda Ka.

No, I didn’t go on it, nor did I want to go on it, nor did I even imagine going on it. It was a ride, well, hell, just look at the picture. I think it reached the moon.

Everyone who rode it screamed the moment it shot off, and that drop… omg. OMFG.

The Youngest loved it, though. It was the tallest death machine in the world, and he knew who built it, when it was built, why it’s here, what it was made out of, and how many people died on it (not a billion like I thought; the answer was none).

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and I sat in the shade where I realized I had lost the ability to sit cross-legged without being in a lot of old-age pain. Good lord. How sad.

We did only two rides as a family (due to another three that we might have done being down). We did the Roaring Rapids where, for the first time in my life, I was happy to get soaked with cold water.

However, as feared, when we did Skull Mountain, a simple, basic ride meant for six-year-olds, The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World threw out her neck and I buggered up my back.

Ack, old age, I tell you, it sucks as bad as watching The Rings of Power while getting a cavity drilled without anesthesia.

El Toro

But the boys had fun, even in the heat.

The two adults, though, with all that walking, the pain of being old, and the price of 4 reusable cups costing as much as a university degree kinda beat the hell out of The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and I. We lost our smiles at about 1. By 5, we looked like we’d been on a forced march through Afghanistan without water.

For The-Youngest, it was a BEST day (hey, he rode the Kingda Ka thingee, the back-breaking El Toro [twice] and Nitro).  For The-Oldest, an ok day. He didn’t throw up, something The-Youngest cannot say. He didn’t pass out on a ride. Something The-Youngest cannot say. He didn’t hurt himself on any of the rides, something I cannot say.

All in all, I win. I love it when my family is happy, but make no mistake, that day broke The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World.

We would have to find a way to make it up to her.

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A Perfect Day in NYC: Jazz, Shopping, and Steak

Posted on January 7, 2025 by Joe Cummings

What makes a good day for someone? What makes a ‘GREAT’ day?

Hugs from The Rock? A visit to a tank museum? Seeing a live Jazz band? Eating a giant steak cooked to perfection? Shopping in a fancy store? A chat with a real-life Broadway star? Finding a bag of money in a suspicious case in an alley?

Well, four of those things came true this day, and (except for one), all were unplanned.

It began after we failed to get tickets to Outsiders, another Broadway musical. There were no tickets left. No tickets for the standing room only. No tickets for hanging from the beams. No tickets for the boiler room 200’ below the stage.

So, we went looking for food and were invited to a pub with a live jazz band.

For the first time on the trip, The-Oldest was in heaven.

He got to have a beer and watch a jazz band be all jazzy and cool and weird (which I guess is the point of a jazz band). While eating a huge burger and gulping down beer, he watched the drummer make noise with all sorts of strange things, the best being a rubber chicken. He slipped into the groove of the music, easily, and bobbed his head to the rhythms with his eyes closed.

He loved it. It turned a day into THE BEST day for him.

When we had first arrived at our apartment and looked at things to do nearby, I found a jazz club, but he didn’t want to go. Too scary. So, this was a perfect introduction to NYC jazz. He said, when the band took a break, that he feels NYC is a much better place for music than Vancouver.

I wonder if he’ll come back here?

After the band finished, we left for home but got sidetracked by a visit to Saks 5th Avenue. It was full of stores where I felt like I’d be asked to leave if I didn’t have a diamond-encrusted Rolex and a twenty-year-old wife with a massive boob job.

Saks

There were $30,000 purses and $1200 runners. There were pieces of art which didn’t even have a sticker price and jackets starting at $4000. There were suits that cost more than my car and jewelry that cost more than my house.

I think The-Youngest touched them all. And then some.

For him, this was heaven. Designer shoes, designer shirts, designer sunglasses, designer fragrances, designer mannequins…

If only he had money.

But then it was time to go home, have a shower, and take a snooze before heading out to the steak house. We took the bus, again, and I have to say, that became our favourite way of traveling. No possibility of passing out from the heat on the subway platform. No masses of humanity sweating next to me. No cars that smelled like a hobo’s bathroom.

Bus, baby, buses all the way.

At 6, we headed out to Gallagher’s, dressed up and looking fine. We figured if we were going to make it a special night, might as well make it a special night. We had no problem finding the place, as The-Youngest knew exactly where to go. He had it planned for months.

And man, what a place it was. Dark wooden walls, a room full of aging beef just inside the door, perfectly dim lighting (except by the bar), and lots of tables. We were taken to a booth, given menus, and told our waiter would be with us.

Now this is the type of place where you don’t have just one waiter, you have several. All dressed to the 9s. All serious servers who know their jobs.

It’s the type of place where you order a steak and then order something to go along with it. It’s the type of place filled with people who look like they shopped at Saks. It’s the type of place where you expect to see Frank Sinatra (if he, you know, wasn’t dead) or or a godfather surrounded by beefy bodyguards who are winking at The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World.

I won’t lie, despite the prices, I was a little excited. This would be an epic meal. I just knew it. The-Youngest, I swear to God, couldn’t stop grinning, like he’d won the lottery, got his first kiss from a girl, and found a Saks card on the seat worth $20,000.

Ok, it was expensive. Really expensive, but I said, as much to myself as everyone else, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Let’s enjoy it.

And by golly, gosh we sure did. My steak was perfect, I mean how could it not be? I asked The-Youngest. He knew ahead of time what he’d order. The best stake possible. A ribeye. Medium rare.

It was so good, I almost cried. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World loved her steak as well, but after tasting mine, she thought I’d made the better choice. The-Oldest, though, looked at the prices and refused to order a steak. He ordered finely chopped steak or as I like to call it, super fancy hamburger. (Link to menu here).

I cannot tell you how much The-Youngest loved that dinner. I think it’ll stick with him until he’s a wealthy man and can afford something like that himself. I hope when that time arrives, he invites me.  True, I may not have any more teeth, but I’ll gladly gum the steak into submission.

For him, seeing Saks and not getting kicked out for touching everything would have made it a good day. For him, watching the jazz drummer would have made it a very good day (he loves to drum himself) but having that perfectly cooked steak dinner made it a GREAT day. The best day.

And he still had one day set aside for another GREAT day!

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Exploring NYC: From Bagels to Broadway Stars

Posted on January 6, 2025 by Joe Cummings

NY12 Day 4 You just Never Know Day

Weather forecast? Partial sun in morning, clouds, then rain. I’m sure that’s how the day would be. Totally.

We had only one planned event. For The-Youngest, his graduation present – a meal at the perfect NY steak house (and by ‘perfect,’ I mean expensive). He’d done his research, found a great place not far from the theater district and we’d booked a table. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World wanted to order a heart attack kit ahead of time in case I had a coronary when I saw the bill.

However, that was an evening event so we could rest up and recover a bit during the morning and afternoon.

Which, of course, we didn’t do.

No, not us.

I got up early and walked to one of the best bagel shops (bakeries?) in NYC. There was a line because, you know, it was one of the best, but that was ok. A line-up says to me that’s a good place to stuff your face.

It was a small shop, with neon green walls, a spooky, black ceiling and very well-behaved people in line. It had a doughy smell to it, not a cool, bread smell, but something thicker, with just a hint of cinnamon in the air.

I brought back 6 bagels and stored them as we had been taught by our cousin. In a paper bag.

Led by the enthusiasm of The-Youngest, the rest of the family got up early, showered again, and rushed out to see if we could get Outsider tickets (the hottest musical on Broadway at the moment). The-Youngest was super keen to see that musical for some strange reason. Maybe it was because he’d read the book or maybe he just wanted to see teenagers coming of age and singing about it. I dunno.

Now, it was ‘sold out,’ but we heard from the Movie and TV locations tour guide that we could line-up early and see if there were any seats. Cheap seats. Student seats. The idea was to get tickets for The-Youngest and The-Oldest while The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and I would find a bar and drink and drink and drink until one of us got up on our table and started dancing… err, I mean, we’d wait patiently in a nice location until the musical was done.

We got there about 9:30 for the ticket release at 10 but there was already a huge line-up of keeners and people who knew how these things worked. However, we didn’t give up. You just never know what’s going to happen.

Spoiler alert, we didn’t get tickets. Not even standing tickets. Not even ‘under the floor in the basement by the boiler’ tickets.

We should have been there earlier. A lot earlier.

A disaster? A waste of time?

Not if you believe in fate.

Because while we waited in line, we met (and actually talked to) a Broadway star performer who was in town for a few days and wanted to see a few musicals. His name – Nick Rished Burroughs.

He played Ike Turner in Tina. He was also in King Kong and in Kinky Boots the Musical and was currently on a break from playing Toulouse-Lautrec in Moulin Rouge the Musical on tour! He told us of how he got started in Alabama and how he loved to sing and how he got picked up from there, not from NY or anything.

I hadn’t heard him sing (but here’s a link) but personality-wise, he was one of those people who just shone. I don’t shine. I wish I did. I’m more like a black hole that sucks in all light and happiness and destroys it.

What a great time we had chatting with him. It was just the type of experience you can’t get while sitting on the couch at home, watching YouTube videos on why The Acolyte is the worst show of all time.

It made The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World so happy, though she went all shy and goofy when I asked if we could take a picture together. “Sorry, excuse me, but before you go, could we please get a picture?”

Honestly, The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World is so adorable. When we met the Fonz at a car show years ago, she was like a three-year-old seeing someone twenty feet tall.

I didn’t think we were going to beat that moment (but boy was I as wrong as the weather channel that constantly predicted rain). It totally made up for not getting tickets.

However, after we failed to get tickets, we needed food. It was about 11:30. In NYC, at least in this part of NYC, there are a billion choices. We thought, hey, why not Italian? The-Oldest loves Italian and we needed to make sure he was having a bit of fun, too. He had spent most of the morning looking like a sad puppy being taken to the vet to have his testicles removed.

The restaurant wasn’t far and as we stood on a corner waiting to cross the street, a woman came up to us. “Looking for a place to eat?” She asked.

“No thanks,” we said. I mean, hey, there was always someone on the street wanting to sell us something. Bus tours. Broadway tickets. Passwords to secret sex dungeons.

“Sorry,” I added. (Remember we are Canadians and can’t have a conversation without apologizing at some point), and we turned away from her, waiting for the walk signal.

“It’s just across the street,” she said. “It’s a nice bar with great food and a live jazz band.”

The-Oldest straightened up like someone had poked him in the bum. “Jazz? Live?”

How could we not go?

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Burgers, Bargains, and Family in New York

Posted on January 4, 2025 by Joe Cummings

NY 11 Day 3 – Burgers and Bargains

Remember that one of our rules was to eat. Well, by the time we got to the Burger Joint, it was 3:30 and we were starving. Now, in NYC, a good food place can be on a rooftop, in a sliver of a building, hiding in a bodega, or lurking in a basement.

I loved this restaurant below ground level

Our destination was the latter. Jackson Hole. Black iron railings led down wide, stone steps. A balcony above the entrance had cacti in round wooden crates. A metallic cowboy sign loomed over the doorway.

Perfect. If anyone knows their beef, it’s cowboys.

Inside, it was small and cramped with walls of dark wood that made it look like an old pub in England. It smelled of beer, grilled meat and oldness, again, like an old, English Pub. It wasn’t well-lit, and I doubt we would have even gone inside if we were on our own.

But we were given nice, wooden seats together at a nice wooden table. I half expected wooden spoons and an old-fashioned dagger to eat with, but we were given regular cutlery and tons of napkins.

Despite the décor inside, the food was fantastic and we ate a lot. We didn’t eat a lot on purpose, but this was one of those places that when you order a burger, you get a giant burger with all the fixin’s that’s so big, it’s hard to fit in your mouth. Even the Mac&Cheese with beef was large enough to feed Andre the Giant after a week of fasting.

Man, it was good.

But the real treat was spending more time with my cousin, talking with her about her mom, my mom, and the large family that we used to have back in Victoria. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World also has a large family, but they still get together (though less often now that her Baba has passed). I lost that when my own version of a Baba, my Great Grandma Mac, passed and no one picked up the mantle of regular family dinners.

Sadly, it wasn’t until my later years that I realized what a loss that was. As a teenager, I didn’t really care if we didn’t go to the dinners since someone would pinch my cheeks or tell me that I’d grown a lot since they last saw me. As a young adult, I was just too busy trying to build a life. Too late did I understand how wonderful those dinners had been so long ago.

That was one of the reasons I was so keen to go to NY – to rekindle the connection with family.

We had the best talks.

The buildings, they scrape the sky

Then it was off on another quest. There was a street market set up on a street somewhere. 6th Avenue? Again, we could have subway’d it there, but no, we had our second wind and marched there.

We saw Park Avenue, the fancy shops on 5th Avenue, more pizza places than I could count, and plenty of street vendors who packed up when the police appeared (though who would buy a watch or Gucci bag from someone displaying their wares on a blanket on the sidewalk, I don’t know?)

Park Avenue

It was a good walk, but oh man, by the time we reached the market, we were dragging our sorry butts around like pack mules in the desert carrying fat tourists.

Sadly, it wasn’t a real street market though it was, in fact, on a street. It didn’t have a lot of those cool local merchants that are selling jewelry made from coke rings or crazy vintners with homemade nettle wine or craftsmen with stacks of bird houses. Instead, it was more institutional and franchised.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World, being a smartie, bought a fan to fight the heat. She looked at nearly every stall, while the boys reached a point where they would have paid us to take them back to the apartment. Even The-Youngest, a dedicated shopper himself, ran out of desire to look in tents for hippy clothes.

However, before we went home, we decided to hit a souvenir shop. You know the type, NYC T-shirts, snow globes with the Statue of Liberty inside, shot glasses with the Empire State Building, baseball caps with the Mets, Yankees or Rangers.

You can never have too many fans in summertime NYC.

Most of us tourists bought something. I got a secret present for The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World, The-Oldest got a present for his girlfriend. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World got a bag full of goodies for her friends. The-Youngest touched everything in the store but I don’t think he got anything.

We thanked our wonderful host for the tour and went back home, showered, ate some more pizza and went to bed.

It never rained.

Luckily, tomorrow would be a simple day.

Or would it?

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A Personal Journey at Carnegie Hall in NYC

Posted on January 2, 2025 by Joe Cummings

What would you have done on day 3? A Saturday?

Now this would have been a perfect day for a rest. Day 0: Travel. Day 1: Learn NYC and see fireworks. Day 2: Bus and boat tours.

Day 3: Rest

It would have totally made sense. We’d been melted by the heat/humidity and while we loved the lack of crowds, it was clear every New Yorker who could have fled the city, had fled the city due to the weather.

So, naturally, we decided to do another full day.

Or rather, had one planned.

I was really looking forward to this day, however. It was a day with my cousin who would show us HER New York City. Born and raised in NY, living in the city for a long time, she had some ideas. She knew of a great place to eat lunch and wanted to take us to Carnegie Hall (where her and her mom had seen so many great concerts).

I was moved not just by the choice of Carnegie Hall, but by the connection to her mom. Since her mom passed away, she hadn’t been able to go back. The experience was just not the same. The memories were like dark clouds over any performance she thought of seeing.

She arrived to escort us about 9am. Yesterday, the weather channel said it would be cloudy with rain. So, we brought our rain slickers, or rather The-Youngest carried them in our now 300lb backpack. Of course, when we got out, no clouds were in sight – just the usual sunny sun and its menopausal sister, humidity.

Our cousin was a pro on the subway. She knew when to go on the express train and when to switch trains for a faster arrival. She knew where to stand on the platforms to get the best subway car on a busy day. She knew how to get into a subway car and grab a seat without being rude (which was basically, stop being Canadian and letting everyone go first.) She even snuck us from one car to another while the train was moving, which, I won’t lie, was a little badass.

I felt like Tom Cruise being chased by assassins.

Our cousin had booked a guided tour of Carnegie. Jeffery, our guide, had been there for about a million years and with quiet, competence, took us through the stories, the history and the architecture of the hall. I loved that he still loved to show people around, that he loved not only the history of the hall but of all of New York City.

We gave lots of hugs to our cousin as we made our way through the hall since for her, this was more than a tour, it was visiting a place that had once held such happiness and now held only pain.

The-Oldest loved being in the grand hall. It gave him a feeling of what success looks like. Being on that stage. Having someone play his compositions. Having perfect and I mean perfect acoustics. Having a crowd listen in quiet awe. Then, having their applause fill the room like thunder.

The-Oldest found signed pictures of some of his favourite pianists, composers and musical icons. Yehudi Menuhin. Shostakovich. Louie Armstrong. Leonard Bernstein. There were signed music sheets, autographed posters, handwritten notes all preserved behind glass in picture frames. I think The-Oldest could have spent hours there.

I think The Youngest was a little awed by the stunning acoustics of the hall. We could hear the other guide on the far side of the hall as clearly as if we were standing beside her.

For The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World, she loved hearing about the man who made the hall: Carnegie. He not only built this epic hall, he believed in libraries having been brought out of poverty by learning to read in one. He went on to build 2500 libraries in the US and around the world. His goal in his later life was to give away all that he had earned, giving back to New York, its culture and its community.

I don’t know what kind of guy he was getting to be rich, but what he did with his wealth was admirable.

Sadly, I failed as picture taker. I got so caught up in the stories, that I only took a few and of those few, none were really instragramable.

***I hang my head in shame***

My cousin was brave, though, and enjoyed the tour, especially at the end where we went to the lounge area where there were posters and news articles and records and all sorts of memorabilia. Her and her mom had been in the room a hundred times, but for the first time, she wandered with us to read everything, like a tourist.

After the tour, we headed towards our host’s favourite hamburger spot. Ok, to be fair, she gave us a ton of choices, but I stopped hearing after she said “hamburger joint.” As we strode purposely towards our foodie goal, who should hail us but Jeffery, our guide!

So, we walked with him to his subway stop while talking all about New York. I think the boys just wanted a good burger, but I wanted to hear about that tall building and what was that over there, and who built that building and what was that smell?

He was so incredibly knowledgeable. I swear, for the 4 blocks we walked with him, he knew everything about every building.

Had I lived in NY, he would have become my new best friend. I would have given him a nickname like Jeff-Jeff and we would have gone for coffee every Monday and talked about history and architecture and how the world had changed and giggled like little girls.

When we parted ways, we made the mad choice to walk to the restaurant and see more of Manhattan. It was a great but utterly exhausting choice. (At the end of the NY blogs, I’ll post a picture of a map of where we went.)

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the walk. New York is a walking city. It was just that by the time we got to the restaurant, we all looked like we could have slept in the booth. Or under it.

And there was still so much more we planned to do.

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VIP Experience on the Hudson: Rain or Shine

Posted on December 30, 2024 by Joe Cummings

Do you trust the weather channel?

Well, in NYC, they played as fast and loose with the odds as a card counting clown who’s had too much tequila.

The weather channel said it would be cloudy in the morning. 80% chance of rain. (It was not). The weather channel said there would be clouds and sun in the afternoon. 70% of rain. (The skies were clear & sunny). The weather channel said there was a 50% chance of rain in the evening and possibly of a thunder and lightning storm.

When we arrived at the dock, there was not a cloud in sight.

That was fantastic since I booked the VIP top deck. Now, VIP doesn’t mean cushy seats and Thai girls in skimpy dresses serving drinks, nope, it’s just the top deck with a small bit of cover overhead. You can, however, see everything from the VIP deck – and that was the point.

When The-Youngest found out we were in the VIP area, he got all excited. It wasn’t so much about being able to see everything as he was a VIP.

The loading was a mess. We had VIP tickets which allowed us to beat the lines, but they moved us from one side of the dock to the other about a hundred times before they figured out what to do with us. Even the attendants were complaining no one knew what was going on. Ha.

But got on we did. We made it to the top deck, hid under a sliver of shade from the canopy above, and relaxed. This was going to be a nice, easy ride with wonderful views.

Did I mention there wasn’t a cloud in sight?

Did I mention there was a 50% chance of rain and lightning and thunder?

Well, well, well.

What would it be?

The boat launched without any problems and toddled down the Hudson. All of Manhattan spread out before us – All the towering towers. All the dockie docks and warehouses. Even an old power station. We saw New Jersey as well. (It is less stunning but looks like a city busting out the moves like a drunken breakdancer).

By the time we reached the Brooklyn Bridge, a few clouds were in the sky, but did that matter? We went under one of the most iconic bridges in the world. What a sight!

At the time it was built, the locals looked on it with the same awe we would look on a shuttle launch or a new Ryan Reynolds movie. Massive and sturdy, it looked like it would last forever like Keith Richards.

By the time we reached the north end of Manhattan, the Bronx was in the distance. The Freedom tower was to our port side. The clouds had gotten all black and angry. And then the storm hit. Thunder boomed in the distance. Lightning flashed. Rain poured down like we were in the tropics – It was a heavy, mean rain driven by heavy, mean winds.

Everyone in the VIP area ran to the shelter of the small canopy that was about the size of a good beach blanket. It was very squishy. Everyone not in the VIP section didn’t have to do anything. They had a roof over their heads.

So much for the VIP.

I had hoped staff would rush out from below to give us fancy VIP rain jackets, or hold umbrellas over our heads but no, no one came. The captain did rush out of his cabin though and look up. He swore and rushed back in.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World gave me a look. A that-was-not-good look. So she moved quietly and discretely to where the life jackets were stored.

The-Youngest and I weren’t deterred by rain and wind. I don’t have to wear glasses anymore, so I don’t mind getting a bit wet, while The-Youngest refused to even put on his jacket while he stood with the wind blowing his hair back and rain soaking his T-shirt.

For the entire time the storm raged, I had the Gilligan’s Island song going through my head. The-Youngest would be the professor. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World would be Mary-Anne (the prettiest of the girls) and I would be…. Gilligan? Yup. Probably. I’m too goofy to be the Skipper.

Luckily, we didn’t sink, and within about 20 minutes the storm blew itself out, defeated by The-Youngest and me who, like lobster fisherman from Newfoundland, refused to let the storm dictate our day.

Then the sky lit up in bright pinks and purples in a stunning display of nature’s beauty. With the beautiful colours overhead, we sailed around the Statue of Liberty. It looked as though the great lady had set the heavens with rosy fire.

Stunningly stunning.

It was totally worth how wet I got.

And as night descended on Manhattan, the lights came on and the city burst into new life. The giant skyscrapers became magical towers. Boats became like little fireflies. Docks and quays looked like someone had lit hundreds of torches.

Incredible.

It was one of those moments I’ll remember forever, or at least as long as my memory lasts.

We came back, slightly wet, slightly hungry and not at all keen to walk a long way to the nearest subway station. So, we tried something new.

We tried a bus.

But where do we find one?

Well, no sooner had I said, “Do either of you see a bus stop?” than a bus pulled up about 20 feet from us. It stopped and opened its doors and we rushed in. It was almost empty and we got to use our subway card (which is actually called a metrocard and is good for subways AND buses.)

By the next stop, a good twenty people hopped on, a few sneaking in the backway where people would get off (and not paying in a most un-Canadian way). By the next stop, another twenty wanted to get on, but we were full. Like sardine can full. Like Tokyo subway full.

Luckily, we had a way to go, we had seats, and we were together. We got off near Times Square, got on the subway back to our apartment. Since everyone was hungry and The-Oldest hadn’t eaten much (though there was a lot to eat), we picked up… wait, can you guess?

Yes, pizza.

The-Youngest and I marched out to a different spot to test out if there was a big difference between a 6.2 rating vs a 7.1 rating.

There was.

We liked the 6.2 better.

The-Oldest felt better but not fully better. He wasn’t at all sad he got to stay at home.

We went to bed (after the usual shower) and hoped he would be healthy the next day. We had big plans for that day.

Our cousin was going to show us her New York. A New Yorker’s New York.

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Exploring NYC: Library Adventures and Italian Delights

Posted on December 23, 2024 by Joe Cummings

Should we have taken a break?

Maybe.

It was 2pm on July 5th. The sun blazed over us. Humidity thickened the air. In Italy, they would have all gone inside and rested until the heat of the day was gone. But we’re not Italian, so we marched off to see the NYC Library.

She was super excited. It was her only request for this visit.

Maybe they’d let her sort some books or put a few away or yell at people to be quiet.

It wasn’t a long walk, but long enough. I took pictures of The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World with the Lions in front of the building (which, sadly, did not animate and attack people like in the Ghostbuster movie).

Inside, it was cool and spectacular, like a pillared palace with stone stairs leading to the other floors and a beautiful arched ceiling of stone.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had a lovely chat with the information person about what we could see and do and if they had any firemen nearby. It’s actually quite amazing to see how well she gets along with everyone, and with someone who shares the pain (she would say ‘shares the love,”) of working in a PUBLIC library. It was like they were long, lost friends.

There was a lot to see.

We first went into the old books display. I loved the illumined books from the medieval times and what I called the first comic book (a massive drawing of the 30 years war done in story-like panels).

The-Youngest found a first addition of one of the great philosophers of our time – Winnie the Pooh. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World looked at old children’s books, ancient writing tablets and one book The-Oldest would have loved. It was written by John Cage (a composer famous for writing a piece without any sound).

Anyway, that book collection was impressive and fun to see. But we wanted to see the real library. The-Youngest wanted to touch every book and The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World wanted to glare at anyone making noise.

We found out we couldn’t get into the actual library. Those bookie areas were closed to the general public. You had to be doing “research” and have a pass to get in. Joe 1.0 would not have let that stop him, but Joe 1.0 could be a bit of an asshat sometimes so we contented ourselves to seeing what we could see.

The most surprising thing though was a statue of a little girl. Black marble. Elegant. Flowing. Beautiful.

However, The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World got a sick feeling being near to it. A powerful sick feeling.

She’s sensitive to the supernatural and this statue had a butt load of bad juju. She contacted a friend who told her to get away from it, now, fast, like real fast.

So we did.

And the feeling went away.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World got her good spirits back in the bookstore. If there is a heaven, hers is a library bookstore filled with books for sale (which I thought should be illegal since the purpose of a library is to loan books out for free). There were interesting library-themed knickknacks, shirts, bags, socks and jewelry. She had so much fun shopping for all her friends and family.

By the end, we were exhausted and hungry. The-Youngest found a well-regarded Italian restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, not too far from where we had to get the boat for our night tour. It was a long, hot, sweaty walk, and it turned out the restaurant was not quite as close as The-Youngest thought.

No matter. Tavola was a perfect place with seats beside a shelf of Grosseria Italiana (which, if my Italian is right, means big, fat Italian things), super cool fans overhead that all ran off one cord, and a waiter who wore a long, white apron.

We filled our bellies with the best Italian food. Everything was made with care and love, the way it’s done in Italy, and no longer starving, our health/happiness bars zoomed back into the green.

We could have ended the day there and been happy, but we still had one last adventure. The Boat Tour of NYC at Night.

What a ride that would be.

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