New York: Monday through Thursday

Monday
Doug, Frank and Beckett took me to LAX with no traffic and no incident. The flight to New York was pleasant and after flying first class, I would imagine it will be difficult to go back to flying any other way. We flew into Newark and were met by a limousine driver who told us the car we were taking was brand new and we were only the second passengers in it.

After checking in at the hotel, we went to explore and look for FOOD. We hit Broadway and 53rd around 11:30pm, the streets still so crowded we had to make our way through masses of people. First stop, pizza, at a place recommended by the bellman. We walked down Broadway and marveled at the lights and sights of Times Square, and shopped at all the tourist-y places and street vendors. There are people selling knock-off purses every three feet, and watches. Lured by the seduction of a new bag, we haggled with one of the merchants, only to walk away unsure we would ever really use that bag, probably not.

We ended at Maxie’s Deli, with a pound of pastrami, rye bread, pickles and cole slaw. Perfect.

As I snuggled into bed, finally, I noticed it was 3:00am and was very thankful I didn’t have anything to get up for first thing the next morning.

Tuesday
The best intentions of getting to the writer’s workshop for the first sessions were more than unrealistic given the hour we ended the night before. We met up for breakfast at the club level lounge on the 44th floor and took our time enjoying fresh raspberries, great coffee and fantastic views of the city.

Great intentions again, we went to the Skyline Hotel for the writers’ workshops, and arrived just as they were breaking for lunch. According to the organizer the workshop was a “holistic” experience, done in its entirety only, and the order of speakers was determined on an ad hoc basis, meaning there were speakers that would not draw a big crowd, and subsequently the speakers wouldn’t have the opportonity to pitch, or sell, whatever product they were really there to promote. Unable to get ahold of a schedule or list of speakers, we decided to take the materials, and tapes of the sessions for the day, and try again tomorrow.

For the next few hours I watched as we shopped in stores I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, in a hundred years, buy anything in, in departments of stores I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, in a hundred years, enter on my own. At some point my brain checked out for a while and I don’t remember any of the specifics of the pairs and pairs and pairs of high-heel, platform shoes being tried on in front of me.

We decided after the long hours worked in preparation for this trip and the long, although very comfortable flight the day before, we needed massages. I had a fantastic massage by a Russian girl whose name was too long for me to prounounce or remember. And even though I didn’t want to miss a minute of it, I found myself drifting off into sleep a number of times.

After the massages we walked across the street for a snack at Mangia, and decided it was a place we would come back to another time when we were really, really hungry. It’s a great concept and the food was outstanding. A franchise of Mangia would do well in LA or Orange County.

Sadly the rest of Tuesday is a blur. I remember something about a wonderful steak dinner and fabulous glass of Pinot Noir at Del Frisco’s, a place recommended by the concierge. Sadly too, I remember sitting at the table alone as my travel companion, far more “LA” than I ever will be, spent most of the time on her cell phone.

Happily, and once again later than I imagined, I fell into a deep sleep, missing my boys and dreaming about hugging them goodnight.

Wednesday
Wednesday was a day spent with friends, hers and mine. Her friend lives in a place with “views of seven bridges.” It was truly spectacular. She was gracious and warm and took us to a place in the neighborhood for lunch.

With the rest of the afternoon to myself, I walked up to Fifth Avenue to shop, a more realistic trip for me I hoped this time, and ended up at Tiffany. I bought a jade starfish to remind of the trip, and to remember who I am and what my life is all about.

A great time for reflection and being alone, which is not an everyday thing for me anymore. Although I appreciate the time alone, it has also reminded me that quiet can be too quiet without the babbling of a baby and the sage wit of a five-year-old.

I was holding out hope that I would be able to meet up with my friend Tim, who lives in New York, for dinner. When I got back to the hotel, there was a message from him. Tim travels so much on business, he is almost never in town. Serendipitously he was, and sans commitment for the evening. He was urgent to get me out of midtown so I took a cab to 6th and W. Houston to his new apartment.

Sparesly furnished, the place is still spectacular. The length of it faces uptown, with windows everywhere. In the common room there is a large, hinged window that opens all the way so it feels as though you are sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city. Because 6th makes a little turn right before W. Houston, the view from his place looks directly up 6th all the way to Central Park.

I got there before sunset, and we sat and talked until we were in the dark, illuminated only by the lights of the city, listening to the noises of the street. The park across the street was showing a movie outdoors on a giant screen, and every once in a while dialogue or music would drift in.

We talked and talked, about where our lives were now, our work, our dreams and how we were, or weren’t, able to fulfill them in the same way our friend Allan is on his WorldRider adventure. Tim is one of those smart, funny, and easy to be with people. Then we talked about the book that was the main purpose of my trip. Tim’s reaction to the title and what followed was a great discussion in which he challenged me to think about the book in different ways, to answer questions I hadn’t thought to ask myself, and were hard to answer. Ultimately, and most imporantly, he made me think, and then listened to what I had to say.

We met up with my travel companion later at Mas, a restaurant in Tim’s neighborhood. We ordered appetizers and entrees to share, a great bottle of Pinot Noir, and then Tim and I shared our conversation about the book with her. It was a difficult conversation, with reactions it wouldn’t be appropriate to write about, but somehow the evening continued on okay perhaps because Tim and I were able to diffuse the situation by our refusal to participate. The hostility was thick during the cab ride back to the hotel, but the time spent with Tim, coupled by a few glasses of wine, left me giddily happy and unaffected.

Thursday
I had much of Thursday to myself, writing and taking advantage of being in New York without an agenda. I went to MOMA in the afternoon, where I could’ve spent an entire day just on the fifth floor wandering through the amazing collections of Matisse, Picasso, Calder, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Gaugin . . . I didn’t want to leave, but instead kept wandering back through wishing I had hours to study each of my favorites. Afraid I wouldn’t get back during this trip, I went down to the fourth floor where the collection includes Miro, Magritte, Dali, Pollack, Lichtenstein, Johns, Man Ray, more Matisse and Picasso, a truly outstanding collection of art overall.

We had an event Thursday late afternoon, a presentation and cocktail party with the Jewish Book Council. The event was difficult, long and boring to sit through. The book got very mixed reactions, some outwardly hostile, some loved it.

At 7:45, when the event ended, unable to get a cab, we literally ran from 56th to 44th for an 8:00 curtain to see Spamalot, a hysterical respite for both of us. (I highly encourage you to click on this link for Spamalot and take a look at the website, it'll give you a good intro to the show!) I am anxious to see how it does at the Tony’s. Tim Curry, Hank Azaria and David Hyde Pierce fit into the various roles as well as Michael Palin or John Cleese would have. The night before, Tim and I decided that in our youth, Monty Python defined humor for us and thus determined the type of sense of humor we have. Mike Nichols and Eric Idle did a fantastic job hanging on to all that was so good about Monty Python as I remember it.

During intermission I went outside to call home and say my goodnights, and suddenly two policemen on horseback flew down 44th toward Broadway where they stopped traffic. Intermission was suddenly over and I was unable find out what the drama was all about, but it was startling, and somewhat exciting to see.

After the performance, we walked across the street to an old favorite, Carmine’s, for too much food, fun conversation with our father of a waiter who was so concerned about what and how much we ordered, almost like an Italian grandmother. “Eat, eat, eat . . . oh, don’t eat too much and make yourself sick . . . but are you still hungry honey . . . what else can I bring for you? You want some coffee honey? How about some dessert? Oh the strawberry shortcake is so good honey.” This after grilled portobello mushrooms, stuffed artichokes, chicken saltimbaco, and soft-shell crabs sauteed in garlic, lemon and olive oil. I’ll be full until Christmas!

Friday
Show day. Bad form abounded throughout the morning as the stress of the introduction of the book seeped in and back out. Arriving at Book Expo for me is like a five-year-old’s arrival at a candy shop. I could spend hours looking at books, followed by hours more, never enough. It is exciting to see all the big publishing houses’ new releases and posters for author signings.

The booth was filled with familiar faces. I was excited to meet Othello Bach and John Kori in person, and to see Joe Badal and Kim Doren once again. And to see all the books I’ve designed and worked on, all in one place, filled me with pride and a sense of accomplishment. The adulation, warmth and affection from the authors is so affirming, particularly since I admire each of them as I do.

Books . . . they take me away; they entertain me, they pay my bills, as long as I don’t buy too many of them myself. Authors are among the people I most admire, and each of their books is so special to me. The older books remind me of where I was in life when I designed the book, and sometimes Book Expo is the first I’ve seen printed copies of the new releases. Through the course of working on a book, I tend to talk to the authors a great deal, and each relationship that develops is as unique as the books are.

to be continued . . .