Month: December 2009

New Years Eve in midtown Manhattan?


Tomorrow is New Years Eve. Year 3 in New York City. Makes me question myself and my whereabouts every time I contemplate how long I’ve been here.

Year 1: House party in Murray Hill. Ice luge, check. Penthouse, check. A bunch of people I know, check. A bunch a people I don’t want to know, check. Midnight tolls. I’m confused. I don’t like it much and wonder, although surrounded by those I love, kinda like, and want to hate, and do hate – is this forthcoming of a new year worth my efforts?

Year 2: Same penthouse. No ice luge. Same group of people I love. New group of people I hate. Still wonder why I’m here. Not satisfied with my only, or at least only semi-viable option being a replay of last year, only worse. I end up at a diner five minutes past the stroke of midnight. It’s empty. Service is slow. What can you expect? I’d hate me too if I had to serve burnt grilled cheese on New Years Eve in Midtown.

Year 3: I’m opting for something different. Can I truly leave New York without doing an all-inclusive open bar in midtown for too much of my hard earned money? I mean, I only drink beer so $135 open bar for a bunch of, well at least I hope something a bit tastier than Coors Lite drafts, but lets be serious folks, shitty drinks while wearing a fru fui outfit, mask, and a bitter cold on the
roof top – apparently a view of the fireworks, to freeze my ass of and shiver like there’s no tomorrow – is worth it.

I envision walking in, seeing a dark-haired and blue-eyed man give me “the look”. I’m still not even sure if I know what that means. They hand me my free bottle of champagne. A big guy, a magnum of the good stuff. Not the shitty mini bar type that is most likely what I’m going to get. So yea, I’ve got my sexy sequined skirt on. I even went the ten-fold to curly my hair. Still deciding if I’m in the mood to manipulate my toes in a “I’m ready to walk on the side-walk in my stockings” kind of heels, or just opt for the sneakers kind of mood, but we’ll see.

The forecast calls for snow, rain, and sleet. 28 degrees farenheit. Awesome.

Least to say, I have to do it once. Pay a shitload of money to stand in line. Hide out next to the entrance where the waiters exit to serve the handful of h’ourderves not sufficient enough to satisfy an over-filled bar. Drink my moneys worth of beer; not in the least that I could have gotten for $15 at my local, where I’m pretty sure the clientel will be a bit more my speed and can have a conversation other than Brittany or Tiger’s latest shananagins.

So wish me luck folks! I’m off to celebrate New Years Eve in Midtown! Oh boy!

Frozen Monkey makes me feel alive


I initially started this post on a torn piece of paper from the back of the current book I’m reading, a collection of travel stories from the year 2002. My moto today is anything is possible if you make it happen.

I get great satisfaction eating at the Frozen Monkey cafe in Hoboken. The service is terrible, and no, that is not a typo above that I take great satisfaction in eating here. There tend to be long waits for simple a menu to be dropped on your table, your order of eggs takes as long as making mashed potatoes from scratch, yet lately it has been friendly and not as daunting as I recall from the past.

Maybe this is because I eat often by myself and don’t notice these subtle nuances anymore. I like it here because its one of the few places in Hoboken with character. That’s not to say the various bars and restaurants plastered all around this small city don’t  hold true to the northern New Jersey joints most would picture in their minds; they do exist. But this place represents the character that shouldn’t exist and isn’t expected to.

Local, contemporary art hangs on the walls – changed every few months to support the local artists. Bright, vibrant shadows drape the walls in lime green, blood-red orange tables and chairs fill the room, and a coffee counter sits in the corner as retro as a 70’s polyester suit. I come here, despite the service, because the food is flat-out good, healthy, and cheap.

I make eye contact with a cute boy with shaggy hair and blue eyes sipping coffee at the table across from mine. They play music that I would listen to in my own apartment or at least would be interested enough to want to. I ignore the screeching laughs of the university girls who come in to gossip and the nannies who wipe spit from the spoiled children’s mouths while their parents are off working at investment banks in Manhattan.

It’s Sunday and I’m bored. It’s sunny but cold. The snow is shoveled against the curbs, occasionally missing someones head as it falls from the apartment window sills above on Washington street. Today is my day in Hoboken and I feel alive.