DanMargarita.com

Unable to get away until Saturday afternoon, I hopped aboard an Amtrak train at South Station, as usual with five minutes to spare. It wouldn’t have been that close but for the gentleman at the ticket window trying to determine all of his options for buying a ticket for some destination.

Getting off at Penn. Station, I make my way to the Sheraton on 7th Avenue. There the man at the reservation desk tells me that I want the Sheraton Towers across the street. My friends, already down for the first two games of the series, have left a room key for me. After checking in I walk to Times Square.

Looking for a place to eat, I wade through the mass of humanity on this hot, humid holiday weekend. The bright lights of the neon signs and giant TV screens illuminate the square to the point of almost being daylight.

The streets seem to have almost as many vendors and sidewalk artists as tourists. I find a nice little Italian restaurant off Broadway. When one thinks of American theater, “Broadway” immediately comes to mind. The second thing that comes to mind is probably “off-Broadway, ” which not only indicates a location but a style of theater, usually avant-garde. As I walk to the restaurant I see an example of this when I notice “The Urine Theater.”

After a nice meal, I head back to hotel and meet up with my friends who’ve just a seen a version of Eugene O’Neil’s “Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” and from there we find a small pub and chat the night away.

On Sunday we have breakfast at Maxie’s in which the pleasure of my open window seat is negated by the fact that I’m crammed into a corner. At one point I drop my napkin, but it stays on the floor since can‘t even move to pick it up. Then we head to Yankee Stadium where the Sox have taken the first two games from the Yankees. I’m excited about the idea of a possible sweep of the Yankees. Naturally, the Sox lose 7-1.

After the game it seems like a good idea to let the subway crowd thin out by stopping for a drink at a bar next to the stadium, beneath the train tracks. On this hot day, the air conditioning in another draw. We might have stayed longer if it didn’t cost $6.25 for a small draught beer.

Back to the hotel to freshen up, than on to the ESPN Zone for dinner. Things are expensive there, but they’re expensive everywhere in N.Y. City. It might be “the city that never sleeps,” but apparently the employees of the ESPN Zone do sleep, as the plug is pulled out of our video golf game in order to toss us out so they can close the place. No matter, there are plenty of other places to close out the evening.

On Monday I head to Leo Lindy’s, next to the hotel for breakfast. This is a legendary New York eatery as evidenced by the celebrity photos on the wall. There numerous quotations and celebrity favorite meals listed on the menu. Apparently Harpo Marx enjoyed cooked asparagus with a scoop of ice cream on top.

The next destiny is a return trip to Yankee Stadium for the final game between the Sox and Yanks. After some confusion about which train to take, we arrive to watch a painful Sox 2-1 loss to the Bronx Bombers in the bottom of the ninth.

New York is known for it’s great restaurants so we decide to check out Rosie O’Grady’s which is right across from the hotel. It’s on the expensive side (even by New York standards), but we figure what the heck, we’re on vacation. It turns out to be worth every penny.

Today we’ve decided to make it a doubleheader and take the subway to Shea Stadium to watch the Mets take on the Atlanta Braves. My only previous experience at Shea Stadium was game in 1987 in which our seats were in the last row of the upper deck. If you’re not familiar with Shea, let me explain that it is right next to LaGuardia Airport. When your sitting in the last row of the upper deck, you can almost grab a bag of peanuts off the table of one of the jets passing right over your head. Through connections, we wind up with pretty good seats. The Braves make three errors but still managed to defeat the hapless Mets.

On Tuesday I’m on my own. My train doesn’t leave ‘till 7 pm so I have all day to tour the city. Again it’s hot and humid, but I suck it up and walk to Grand Central Station to check it out. Unlike Penn. Station, Grand Central survived the ‘60’s & ‘70’s upheaval that was determined to get rid of anything old and rebuild. As a result the magnificent structure is much more simple to navigate than it’s cross-town brethren.

Then I make my way to the Chrysler Building. Completed in 1931 this Art Deco architectural masterpiece remains a tribute to the era great skyscrapers. The interior sports marble walls and a ceiling mural that depicts workmen of the day laboring to build the edifice. The elaborate elevator doors are carved using several different types of wood, far above what anyone could’ve accomplished in Mr. Begin’s 7th grade wood-shop class.

Then it’s on to Rockefeller Center. More specifically “30 Rock” as it’s known, the home to NBC Studios as well as the famous Rainbow Room. One can easily imagine the couples in their wide lapel, baggy pants suits and chiffon dresses making their way in to see “Your Show of Shows” starring Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca. Since fashions always return you may see that couple going in to see “Late Night with Conan O’Brien.”

As much as I’ve enjoyed the sightseeing, I decide that in this hot weather some indoor activities might be more appropriate so I hop on the train to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or “The Met” as it’s commonly known. Unfortunately one section is closed off, but it’s air conditioned and there’s still plenty to see.

Still, I want to view things that I didn’t get to see on my previous trip to N.Y. so I get back on the subway and head to The Museum of Modern Art. The train looks like something that Ralph Kramden might have ridden on, in other words, old.

The trip to Queens is a trip through the “real” or non-tourist parts of New York. Imagine taking a train up the McGrath Highway in Somerville. I’m not nearly as dismayed to find out that the museum is closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays as the woman standing out front who drove up from Philadelphia.

“The New York Times didn’t say anything about it being closed Tuesdays and Wednesdays” she fumed while choking back tears.

It seems like a good idea to get a good meal before I get back on the train so I make my way to Little Italy. Of the numerous empty restaurants (it’s still sort of early) I choose Paesano’s, largely due to the sign that reads “all pasta $7.95.” My warm glass of water doesn’t concern me, but after I’ve ordered my meal, a trip to the men’s room worries me about the hygiene of this place when I discover there’s no soap. None the less, my ravioli turns out to be quite delicious.

After checking out a few galleries I make my way back to the hotel to grab my stuff. It’s not far from Penn. Station and the subway stop is right around the corner. Only when I get there I realize that it’s the entrance for the “downtown” train and I have to have someone direct me to where I can pick up the “uptown” train.

My delay is compounded by the fact that when I get to Penn. Station the setup is a little confusing. Normally I seem to make the train with five minutes to spare, but this time I make it with about 30 seconds to spare. I chose to take the Acela back to Boston which costs more, but is supposed to take three and a half hours. A delay means that it winds up taking four hours, which eventually prompts an angry email to Amtrak.

It dawned on me that as I watched the people of New York go about their daily lives, their daily lives were my vacation. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to live in different places and periods of American history, but as I walked the streets of New York on the Fourth of July weekend I realized that everyday we are living history.