The Pilgrims and the Indian (Summer)

In a surprising twist, New York City came back from a particularly chilly October and decided to make November all San-Francisco-Indian-Summer on us. This presented me with a rare opportunity to cross a few items off my Manhattan bucket list, which, against all reason, continues to grow despite my most aggressive efforts. This weekend I put the proverbial check mark next to a few goodies.

First – Open and close a tab (the latter seems to be where I usually get into trouble) at the West Village’s Galway Hooker Pub, for obvious reasons. CHECK.

This was awesome because, unfortunately, I think it is the closest I’ll ever be to any combination of the following scenarios SLASH lifestyle choices:

• Heiress to a swarthy pub chain that boasts a flagship location in the heart of, ahem, Murray Hill.
• A hooker.
• Being the most sensible, sober and (dare I say?) sophisticated Irish girl in the bar.
• A hooker that misspelled either her own last name OR the name of her pub.
• Owning and/or renting any type of real estate north of Wall Street and south of Hell's Kitchen.

Second – Pack a real grown-up picnic and schlep it up to Central Park via public transportation. CHECK. (Bonus: Make successful subway transfer, don’t get lost and don’t start sweating profusely. CHECK. CHECK. UNCHECK. So close!)

The picnic included seasonally appropriate items such as:

1. Pears, apples and persimmons.
2. Champagne and pomegranate juice for-a-mixin.
3. Brie and a Parisian Baguette (Because this affair wasn’t elitist enough.)
4. Latest issue of New York Magazine.
5. And the Pièce de résistance? Dan, Ashley and Sam.

Third: Sit on a mid-crosswalk bench for an extended length of time. Ideally, the bench-sit would include a periodical of sorts and last longer than a rest from the exhaustive walk halfway across the street but shorter than the average hobo’s bench nap. CHECK.

The below conversation took place the following Monday:

Tim: So, how was your weekend?

Me: The usual. Although, on Sunday, Dan and I did finish the New York Daily News' crossword puzzle whilst sitting on one of those mid-intersection benches on the Upper West Side. (Somewhat awkward pause.) Which has been on my New York to-do list for quite some time.

Tim: Really? In that case, congratulations! You’re officially a 75-year-old man. (A noticeably more awkward pause.) Albeit, a hip 75-year-old man.

ln other news, I've decided to cancel Thanksgiving since I can't go home and I'd encourage you to do the same. Solidarity people. Think about it.