The Quintessential New York Spring Weekend

Central Park Picnic
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This was a friendly weekend, where a dear friend and I drove to visit a third dear friend we met during our previous travels. Intermixed with lazy afternoons and inside jokes, the three of us spent a quintessential New York weekend together, that I wanted to share for the once and future tourists.

My first driving experience in the city was around 11 pm on Friday night. Let me say, now, that I strive to make enough money to one day live and own a car in the city. What fun!

following locals to 4 am fries and shakes is one of those "I heart NY" experiences that good weekends should be full of.

Karaoke!
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Saturday consisted of an early morning with news and excellent coffee, and a trip to the market for produce. We collected enough veggies to make gargantuan sandwiches (two vegetarians and one accommodating omnivore) and a huge batch of couscous salad. With that, and a few other provisions that amounted to a very heavy picnic bag, we headed for Central Park. Along the way we found a farmers' market, and picked up fresh cider- one raspberry, which was too sweet, and one cranberry/apple, which was just right.

Mmm-mm-mm-my Sherona!
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There is a public meadow, the Sheep Meadow (there really used to be sheep for grazing!), where families and friends gather for picnics, where kites are flown but organized games are strictly prohibited, and a beer guy walks around all day to sell his libations wrapped in newspaper. We settled there until the wind picked up, some hours later. It was a perfect afternoon.

Evening was approaching, and we had barely just stopped eating, so the idea of going out for dinner was difficult, although necessary. After a quick nap, we headed out for Ghenet again. I have reviewed this restaurant, after my first visit three months or so before, and after a few more Ethiopian experiences across the country let me state that this is still the best.

I'm classy.
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Positively stuffed (you know when the skin over your stomach and abdomen look stretched fit to burst, as if there is more food and air in you than your body has ever tried to make room for? then you know my condition) the night was still young. We headed to NYU territory, where the great Korean Karaoke bar Sing!Sing! has incorporated the only design that can improve karaoke: the private room. Of course the group experience is key, and we did enjoy a few frat brothers attempting  the fabulous and impossible "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by The Darkness, but the freedom of our own soundproof booth was brilliant. We sang louder and worse than ever. Reminiscing to three awesome nights spent singing Karaoke at a gay bar in Cuenca, Ecuador, we crooned our favorite, My Sherona (the Knack). It was almost moving. Have you ever seen the actual music video to that song? Some guy drugs a lady to make him look attractive to her. Almost makes you mad, if you aren't full of Korean vodka drink.

We must have left around 3 am. Coming from Blue Law capital Massachusetts, I just expect the last call bell to announce when its time to go. Without that, I could sing all night. But we were craving fries, and there's this Belgian guy, a taxi ride away, who sells fries and milkshakes well into the wee hours of the morning. That was an awesome stop. Sorry I can't remember the address, but I worry he may have closed this summer. Anyway, following locals to 4 am fries and shakes is one of those "I heart NY" experiences that good weekends should be full of. How did anyone ever find that guy in the first place, you know? Fabulous.

On Sunday we had the best Indian brunch you can't buy, and after three aloo paranthas (two with peas, mmmm), the body tends to shut down. I was prostrate on the floor soon, and we all moved to the couch for some Spanglish followed by Planet Earth episodes.

It was everything you'd want in a New York Weekend. If you want more activities, I highly recommend picking up a Frommer's Walking Tours of NY book, because a few weekends ago I took the Greenwich Village Literary Tour. You can make it into four hours or more if you stop for snacks, photos, and historical plaques. The literary and political history in those neighborhoods fascinates (practically every residence around there used to house a late great like Poe or Alcott, if not the headquarters for a radical newspaper in the early 20th), and the walk itself is quite nice.

When it was finally time to leave, we walked back to find the car, happy to see it sitting there, The Club beaming at me through the window. I dreaded to leave. I just fall in love with getting to know this city.

Anyway, I don't know if driving in the city will always benefit the depth perception of locals, but the two cars sandwiching mine (in beautiful examples of parallel parking) offered a combined nine inches or so of space. My first thought referenced the old Mentos ad where a cute woman solicits the help of large overalled construction workers to lift her equally cute car out of a similar jam. After looking at the car, hands on hips, we decided, might as well try. My friend stayed on the sidewalk as guide (bear in mind that a scaffolding set up allowed no use of the sidewalk) and directed me. As soon as I spun the wheel and backed up, gently kissing the car behind me, two guys stopped to watch. They made an 'oooh' face and told me I was kissing the car. I said, well, yeah, but what would you do? They crossed their arms and nodded, but decided to stick around.

As I spun the wheel again and inched forward, three women that I assume made up three generations made even more dramatic 'ooh faces' and said I would never get out. My friend said, well, yeah, but give her a few more points. So I inched forward, stopped, spun the wheel, inched back (I only made the one kiss), and after the fifth point, the nose of my dear and beloved civic, was ready to head out into Sunday evening traffic. It was a lovely departure.