Planes, trains, and automobiles

As I currently sit with one Marco Zuccarello, Esq. in lovely Tampa, FL, enjoying the sun and bevy of young vixens, my mind hearkens back to a wilder, less temperate time. In New York City, the city that never sleeps, the Big Apple, the "land that smells of grandma's feet," Marco, Furmonster, Johnny O, and I (joined by Kelly Collins for much of the weekend, and by Mike Sullivan for one evening) tried our hands at what real life might throw at us. Some of us were more "successful" than others.

I'll begin and end with Saturday, since this day was jam-packed with happenings indicative of our trip. We begin in a monsoon (seriously, in the WSJ they called it that): we toured the city on foot, by subway, by cab, and by HIGHWAY. That's right, highway. We allowed one Michael P. Furman to be our guide through "his town" (WTF, he lives on a different island, but we were fools that day.) After seeing Lady Liberty and Ground Zero through sheets of rain, we decided to continue tramping to the next subway station, at a distance of "right over there," in the words of our fearless leader. But the path was "one less traveled," i.e. we walked ON THE RIGHTHAND LINE OF A 4 LANE HIGHWAY IN NYC IN A MONSOON. I was mad for hours.

We finally find our ways back to the hotel and strip down. I shmooze the hospitality staff to dry all our clothes (don't ask me what I had to do... I'm not proud of it.), and then we head out to a Chinese dinner down the way. Little did we know, it was a 4-star Chinese restaurant. I sat down, they put my napkin on my lap, and I look to Marco with eyes that said "We're SO effed." Not that I don't like fancy, but we're all poor, wet, not dressed, and staring at $65 per dinner options. I am sad to report, we had to inform the maitre d' of our plight and depart, tails between legs. EMBARRASSING? Yes.

Finally, we head out for the night, a few libations in of course. We arrive at a bar, drink, make merry, and generally futilely make correspondence with young ladies. All of us, except our faithful Boy Scout, Michael P. Furman. Talking with a very hot young Brit, he says," Oh yes, I actually live on the Upper East Side." [Note: Does he? -No. Does he have the keys to a now-empty apartment owned by a coworker? -Yes.] She enters the query, "Isn't that where Gossip Girl is filmed?" His response, which is actually true, "Yes it is." Sensing his moment, he adds, "Would you like to see it?"

Obviously, she does. And they scurry off to deeds unknown. We greet him the next morning, and he clams up like only a perfect gentleman can. The rest of the story, as they say, is his to share.