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Pod hotel, hipped-up remodel of Pickwick Arms
Lobby of Pod Hotel in Manhattan. They say: “High style and high tech converge at the Pod Hotel, which offers hip, convenient accommodations for the stylish and spendthrifty traveler. Formerly the Pickwick Arms, the hotel is located in the heart of New York City’s Midtown East neighborhood.”
I used to stay at the Pickwick Arms, it was inexpensive and just around the corner from Random House, my distributor for 30 years. The rooms are small.
NYC garbage truck
When she’s good, she’s very, very…
Lord, just stepping out of the hotel is like going into another dimension. Overdrive, baby. People here are so on-the-ball, so alert. (This ain’t southern California.) There’s also a special chemistry when the weather is good. The city has its moods, and right now, good vibes are enhanced by comfortable weather. Once I was here in August on a Monday after a big parade; it was 95, high humidity, and the entire park smelled like piss. I went back to my hotel every hour or two to take a cold shower. Miserable. Locals were cranky. Another time I went for a run in slushy snow (at night) in January (my serious running days). Today, though, was sit-on-the-stoop or at an outdoor cafe weather.
Last night I went to Trattoria della Arte, across the street from Carnegie Hall, and sat at the bar, masterfully tended by Cynthia, whose judgment I invariably trust in what to order and drink. A woman was on the next stool and we started talking. She told Cynthia to bring me a plate and gave me a piece of her thin-crust pizza. She was from Amish country in Pennsylvania, on vacation from her 3 teenagers. The guy on the other side of me hears us talking and he’s also from Pennsylvania. A designer of stores and stage sets. The guy next to him has an iPad, and soon the 4 of us are yakkin it up like old friends. There’s an intimacy in NYC due to proximity, especially in restaurants, and many times I’ve had wonderful random encounters like this.
Afterwards walked down to the village and had vanilla ice cream and an espresso at Cafe Riggio (left).
I just got back from a massage with an extraordinary bodyworker. I’ve, yes, injured my left ankle, right hamstring in running, and needed some unlocking of scar tissue. I looked up “sports massage NYC” online and found Robin Rubenstein (646-337-8634) and as soon as she touched me I knew I was in good hands. I’ve been to tons of bodybworkers over the years, a necessity from a lifetime of physical activity, and Robin loosened tight muscles and got the chi flowing. Now it’s 10 PM and I’m going out into the warm night to find an Italian restaurant.
I think they’ll keep me down on the farm, but I sure do like Paree.
Last of the original Minis
I was walking down the sidewalk in Kenmare, Co. Kerry, in the morning (Sept. 23), and this guy came across the street, singing to his little girl (see her peeking through the window here). The Mini was his and I asked him about it (we have a Mini Cooper these days, and I used to rent these wonderful little cars in England and Ireland in the ’70s). He said they made Minis up until 2001 (!) and you can tell the last production runs from the silver stripes.