faute de mieux

Faute de Mieux

Travel, trouble, music, art,
A kiss, a frock, a rhyme--
I never said they feed my heart,
But still they pass my time.
~~ Dorothy Parker

Ms. Parker has been much on my mind of late, having just finished The Portable Dorothy Parker which, at 613 pages and about as many pounds, is not so much. Portable, I mean. So I didn't pack it. Turns out I didn't need to. The spirit of Ms. Parker kept popping up all over the place. That's New York for you. Full of ghosts.

I woke up a trifle fuzzy Tuesday, having enjoyed dinner the night before with Kim and her ebullient young assistant in an Irish pub so unabashadly inauthentic that the quesadillas were hot and the Guinness cold. We followed this cross-cultural repast with a round of very oddly-fashioned Old Fashioneds in our cozy, clubby hotel bar. Poor Kim once again had to get up early and was long gone before I woke up. Ever the trouper, I soldiered on.

"Oh, my...GOD!" I shouted to no one in particular as the revolving door tossed me headlong into a biting wind and temperatures somewhere south of the teens.

"Cab, Miss?" smiled my adorable, big-hearted doorman.

"No thanks. I'm walking."

I'm a California Girl now, a breed well known for our hardiness, I've no doubt. That and our refusal to wear fur. So I zipped up my short leather jacket, slipped on a pair of ancient gloves and headed off in the general direction of SoHo. At least I thought it was in the direction of SoHo. What I mean is, I exited the hotel and turned left at the corner. It seemed as good a direction as any. I was off to see the city.

I hit The Empire State Building for a late breakfast, where I had a huge mug of coffee and some homemade chicken soup (well, they said it was homemade, and who am I to question?) A kindly jewelry dealer did his best to sell me a very pretty gold charm that, though it sported a price tag of $595, he was willing to let me have for $175. Just because I was a visitor to this fair city, and so very charming.

Well, I am charming. And a tourist. But while I enjoy the game as well as the next gal, I had also promised Turk to keep my credit card firmly holstered for all but essentials. Try as I might I couldn't come up with a clever way to classify a shiny golden apple as strictly essential. I left my dealer with an expression of sorrow and a wave of regret.

The wind was bracing and I was rolling. There is an excitement to this place that is uniquely it's own. So much has been written about New York and by far better writers than I that all I can do is think in cliches; that it's all about movement and bodies; rhythm and jazz. It's commerce and money and poverty and pride, an energy at once exhuberant and grim. The atmosphere throbs with life; movers and strivers and hustlers and jivers. I grew up in New York but lived my life out on the eastern half of Long Island. I haven't been back here in years, and I'd forgotten how much I loved this loud, noisy, dirty, vibrant city.

Oh, lead me to a quiet cell
Where never footfall rankles,
And bar the window passing well,
And gyve my wrists and ankles.

Oh, wrap my eyes with linen fair,
With hempen cord go bind me,
And, of your mercy, leave me there,
Nor tell them where to find me.

Oh, lock the portal as you go,
And see its bolts be double....
Come back in half an hour or so,
And I will be in trouble.

... Dorothy Parker, Portrait of the Artist