Manhattan has received us with open arms; really, three people actually smiled at us this morning. The hotel room we found on Priceline has a view of the Empire State building. And no one’s tried to steal our purse yet.
Since we’re paying by the minute for our wireless connection at Starbuck’s, we’ll skip the headlines and go right on to making some news of our own. On the agenda for the weekend:
*Shopping. Someone whom we love dearly bought us the fugliest hat ever at Barney’s last fall and we’re hoping to parlay the credit into at least a shirt and a pair of jeans at the Co-op.
*Kibbitzing with New York’s wittiest and most prolific Jewish single writer Esther Kustanowitz, who has granted us an audience and subway advice.
*Eating (we just snarfed a gyro on top of a macchiato; we may have overestimated our iron stomachs.)
*Figuring out where the wild things are at the Maurice Sendak exhibit at the Jewish Museum.
*Gettin’ stupid with two friends from summer camp that we haven’t seen in fifteen years. There may be Maker’s Mark involved as we try to erase the years and wrinkles and try to recall all the words to the Violent Femmes’ Blister In The Sun.
*Sweating to the drums at Youssouf Koumbassa’s West African dance class at City Center. We know there must be a connection between Jews and West Africans otherwise there wouldn’t be so many Jewish girls shaking their boot-ays.
*Attending shul on Saturday because we can walk. We explored the challenges of a small town Shabbat last week (and came up with an itchy tush; it’s all healed up now, thanks) and here we are wishing you a good Shabbos from the Biggest City a week later. Gotta love being Jewish in Jmerica.