That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: "Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment."
~ Dorothy Parker
So. Here I am – in Manhattan. The Big Apple. New York, New York. Center of the universe – ok, not really. But it should be.
And I’m writing this as I sit in a personal Mecca of sorts.
The Algonquin lobby. Perched perhaps where the Vicious Circle gathered once upon a time, tongues pointed, wit wielded, whisky consumed.
It’s a haven of sorts for me from the elements – wind, cold, Ugg-wearing tourists, throngs of wide-eyed children gazing up at enormity.
I’m sipping a vodka gimlet (surely D. Parker must have consumed something similar, wouldn’t you think?) and even thought it’s made with Skyy and not my beloved Grey Goose, it’s pretty damn good. The subhead on the Classic Cocktails page says it all… “Our cocktails are made with depth, complexity and a dexterous hand. “
Eclectic group here in the hotel lobby of the Algonquin… heirloom-fur wearing dowagers toting ginormous pieces of designer luggage and greeting the staff like old friends; a Couple of a Certain Age having a late lunch a deux of salad, red wine and each other on a love seat in the lobby… illicit? Practiced? Who can know. Leather clad groups with indertminate accents looking furtively at maps and guidebooks and translation dictionaries. Pairs of all sorts and shapes and sizes.
I’m soaking it all in – moisturizer for my dry soul. Giving me new creative life and lustre.
I’m about to jump back into my novel. It’s lain dormant for a while – holidays and responsibilities and life have pushed ahead on the priority list. But I cannot think of anything I’d rather do in these first moments of my brief time here in the City that Never Sleeps (perfect for an insomniac like me – no wonder this city and I get along so damn well…) Sure, there are sales galore and museums to explore (there’s a funky exhibit at the Guggenheim that I may take in tomorrow) and faux bargains to ignore.
But I owe this to myself – my creative self who’s been searching for purpose and attempting follow-through and trying to get out of the starting gate – to be here. At this very moment.
There’s a family sitting in the cocktail grouping next to me discussing Dorothy Parker and her quotable self… trying to remember how the “girls who wear glasses” saying goes. The mystique is not lost on any of us here.
And as I gamely try to wipe off the errant lime juice sprayed from the squeeze into Gimlet #2, I get about the business of putting word to paper. Ideas to life. Me to fruition.
More tomorrow, y’all…