Odds are that if you are reading this website, you know me well enough to know about the weekly ritual of watching Survivor with the family.  Since Survivor runs two seasons a year of 13-14 weeks each, that leaves several weeks in between without.  Last winter, NBC aired another reality TV show, another creation of Mark Burnett, the man behind Survivor.  This was "The Restaurant" and focused on Rocco DiSpirito, a semi-famous New York chef, and his opening a new restaurant.  For eight weeks, and covering a period of time of maybe the first two weeks in business, The Restaurant took us between the tables and behind the kitchen doors, showing the drama that happens when a bunch of hopeful actor/model types act it up for the camera in an attempt to stand out on national television - while serving food at an actual restaurant with actual guests. 

And as anyone who watched the show is aware of, they serve Coors Light on tap and take American Express.  Coors Light and American Express:  official sponsors of NBC's "The Restaurant."

While the show itself got pretty tiresome by the end of its eight-week winter replacement run, Carrie and I still wanted to eat at Rocco's while in New York because of its minor celebrity and our corniness factor.  Ian, though having a general disdain for reality TV, walked to Roccos from his work (it's only 7 ot 8 blocks away) and made us reservations, coming along for the ride and agreeing to not be too agitated towards our "star"-struck nature.

So there we were at Rocco's (now called Rocco's on 22nd due to a lawsuit brought by another restaurant in the City named Rocco's).  The first thing we noticed was that the hostess at the door was the same one on the show!  And look! - the bartender is the guy who used to be in the kitchen and had a storyline involving his problems cooking on the grill and another brief one with a restaurant romance.  And that waiter - he was on the show too.  But not ours, bummer.  And hey, there's Mama DiSpirito talking to that table.  Hey Mama! 

I ordered the Chicken Parmigiana and we shared some appetizers of Mama's Meatballs - a famous mainstay of the show and very tasty in their own right - and some calamari.  The meal was delicious, though a bit pricey, and viewers of the show might be interested to know that the food arrived warm - almost too warm, which beats the opposite - and that the cardboard appetizer boats were nowhere to be seen, instead replaced with wire baskets lined with some italian-language newspaper.

While we didn't get to talk to Mama or see Rocco anywhere, it was still a fun experience.  Ian and I ended the evening there playing a game of foosball while we waited for Carrie.  I then took some photos outside, and as we walked off Carrie pointed out that Laurent, the generally-disliked manager from the show, was sitting at the table talking to two others.  Now to see if he and the others are still there when they start filming season 2.

As you approach lower Manhatten, there is an area that looks oddly familiar, with several grey, glass and comparitively stunted looking towers rising up relatively far from other buildings.  Like some modern architectural version of ancient rock formations, these buildings stand out of place in this City of compacted usage.

But then you realize that they are out of place, in a sense.  What's missing next to them is what were once the two tallest structures on the planet.

I approached the World Trade Center site with mixed apprehension.  The events of 9/11/2001 bring about such an upheaval of emotions - the tragedy of the day - and the further tragedy of how the events of the day were used to start forming our country into something it should never be.  Is a place where so many died a terrible death a tourist attraction?  Should it be memorialized in that way?  Or is visiting it more towards honoring those who have fallen and remembering what was, though undeniably tragic, a piece of our shared national history?  Is visiting Ground Zero much different than visiting Normandy or Gettysburg in that respect?

The tone at the site was that of quiet contemplation.  The whole of the area is blocked off by large metal fencing as they begin construction on the new site, with one large scarred building on the south end under repair, a cross made out of original girders, and a large concrete pit - the sublevels of the site.  Along the metal fence are pieces of historical information about the site along with a list of those who died on "IX XI".  Indeed, if you did not know what you were looking for and were not familiar with the area, it might just look at first glance like yet another construction area.  One lady walking by asked her friend, "I wonder what this is about?" before realizing.

In front of the cross of girders is a piece of fence where someone wrote "Love never dies."  In a place where so much hatred could be evoked and in whose name further pain has been inflicted in this world, I found it fitting.

I've always liked the saying that cliches are cliches only because they are that which has  resonated in the public consciousness.  So I say with all fondness that though it may be a  cliche, I Heart NY (though I must beg my faithful few to forgive the use of the word "heart" in lieu of taking the time to upload and use a picture of a little heart - it's just not worth the time as I race the clock of my laptop battery dying).  As I write this, I am sitting at a small table on the corner of E70th and Lexington just outside a bakery slightly larger than the table at which I write.  Having had a brunch consisting of an apple walnut muffin and a skim mocha, I have found an open wireless network gaining me open - if somewhat inconsistant - Internet access.

It's lunch hour in the City, and all sorts of pedestians walk by, giving some insight into the diversity of the populace.  Actually, scratch that, I'm genuinely surprised by the people here as the City in general is not terribly distinct from what I've found in other megalopolis cities (to borrow a term from SimCity) except for the fact that it just goes on and on and on.  And the accents.

It strikes me as how down to earth NYC feels.  What surprises me most of all is how the City resonates with me in a way I never expected.  Walking the streets, riding the subway, writing this entry and watching these two guys helping their friend parallel his Jaguar into a tight parking space, the City just fits with me in an unexpected way.  It actually feels very similar to how San Francisco felt for me - perhaps I am just a fan of coastal mega-cities.

To give a recap of the trip thus far:  Carrie and I were running late, so we got the the KC airport about 20 mins prior to our flight.  We were rushed to the front of the security line where, like always, I got pulled over for the security check.  Our lateness lost our seat assignments, so Carrie was now next to the Business Traveler From Hell.  The BTFH, an early veteran of the Big and Tall industry from his lengthy and loud cell conversations, managed to spend the flight playing solitaire left handed, which is relevant because Carrie was to his left so he managed to keep elbowing into her space.  But you must understand that BTFH didn't care, as he was born with that unique devil-may-care mentality that may be his secret to success in the Big and Tall sector - the same mentality that allows him to speak loudly and clearly into his cell while sitting on the plane because, hey, we all want to hear what he has to say, literally up until the moment he is told to put the phone away.  And upon landing, pow, it's out again and his vocal volume is back up.

Ok, so it's obvious that I did not like the BTFH.

We got into LaGuardia around 10:20 at night.  Since 2 of my last 3 flights were to Mexico, I half expected to go through customs, which is an absurd notion but was there all the same.  Ian was waiting for us by the baggage claim, and after a short wait for our bags we were in a taxi and off to his apartment.

Ian lives in the Upper East side at 79th St and 3rd Ave.  His apartment, which he shares with two girls we met briefly, Freda and Lonnie, either of whose names I may have just misspelled, was fairly large for a Manhatten flat costing less than a few thousand a month with multiple rooms.  And Freda had recently purchased a sofa hide-a-bed, which while not the lap of luxury certainly beat resting in a sleeping bag on the wood floor.

How funny, this group of older gentlemen, the same who helped one of their group park their Jag, are now sitting next to me discussing their morning jog, using terms like "phiffy", and eating pound cake.  It reminds me of the images I conjur when John Mandelbaum speaks of going places with his poker buddies.

Anyway, Carrie, who used to live in NY for a short time, wanted to continue her old ritual of buying a Times and drinking a coffee in the morning (which was 11:00am by the time we got out and about).  I refused to go to a Starbucks as there were surely several local coffeeshops in the City.  We ended up at Neil's Coffee Shop, which was really more of a diner.  I got a Diet Coke and a blueberry muffin, which they cut in half and toasted in a move that was unexpected but very good.  So take it from Jason and "Neil" - toast your muffins!

The Group of Old Coffee Drinkers has left.  As three of them were getting into the Jag, one of them called out to the one remaining behind, "Dewey, don't you invite that lady to dinner."  "You guys are clowns."  Then this lady sitting next to me calls back, "What are you doing ordering him around, he's a grown man."  "Crazy these guys," said Dewey to her.  "They've got nobody to talk to.  They're all bachelors these guys."  Then another approached, asking where they went, with a look somewhere between disappointment and relief for having missed his friends.

It's colder than I expected - probably around 50 degrees with a steady breeze making it cooler yet.  And the City is not nearly as polluted as I was expecting either.  Ian worked on Thursday so once we got out of the apartment it was a one-way affair until he got off early mid-day.  And I managed to forget my coat (though not my camera).  So yesterday was a brisk one for me.

After Neils, we met Ian at his job - World Monument Fund, where he is either/both a Program Assistant/Administrative Assistant.  They have a very nice office not far from the Empire State Building, with cubicle walls made out of a cherry-like wood and frosted glass - very contemporary and great style.

Ian suggested a quickie of a detour to the Museum of Sex a few blocks from his office, though he recommended only visiting the gift shop for it cost $13.50 to go into the museum itself.  I had no idea that they made Betty Page action figures ("Jungle Betty" and "Photo Shoot Betty" but there they were, in the, ahem, flesh as it were.  Carrie purchased some magnets and buttons for gifts and then We opted for lunch.

Some time back Carrie was watching the Food Network and saw a bit on this place called "Grilled Cheese NYC" which served, unsurprisingly, grilled cheese sandwiches.  So we walked and walked and walked and walked and some time later arrived in the East Village after a minor detour.  It's a small quaint restaurant with seating in the small dozens but a great brown brick interior.  There I had a provolone and swiss grilled cheese with sage pesto, a tasty combination on 7-grain bread and complimented with what tasted like fresh tomato soup.

Side Note:  Today is my mother's birthday.  I must remember to call her after I finish writing this.

Ok, my battery is about dead.  More later including our trip to the World Trade Center site, Rocco's on 22nd, and todays events.