My Trip to Rafeville

Q: How is a room at the Portland Square Hotel like an Iraqi holding cell?
A: Both are tiny, tiny spaces where one can enjoy tasty Doritos in very cramped quarters.

Working back from Sunday a.m.….Cyclists must die. I don’t care about sight-seeing, fitness or family fun if it means I’m going to miss my flight because I can’t get to LaGuardia because streets and bridges everywhere are closed off for some stupid-ass bike tour. Arrived at the airport so late, I had to rush to my gate and didn’t even get a chance to pick up a couple of bags of Cool Ranch Doritos. Leaving the country without any physical evidence of what makes America great and tasty.
Meal: Big American breakfast. Rating: A-1.

Saturday night.
Why is the second Cosmopolitan so much stronger than the first? Hic.

Rafe on stage. He is a bad man, playing a bad man. This makes me happy.
He is also exquisitely lithe and handsome. This also delights me.




At the very end, we learn that Rafe's character will be beaten to death with farm implements and will be grateful for this release from his miserable life. There is something downright spooky about the final moments of his performance. I manage not to scream out "Don't go into the garden, Rafe". What self control.

When Ian McDiarmid appears on stage, we resist yelling "PALPATINE!", but just.

The play itself is grown-up, literate, difficult and very demanding of the audience. Travelling Companion (T.C.) sums it up: “This isn’t The Lion King”.
Meal: Turkish. Rating: Good.

Saturday afternoon.
At the MOMA, on the fifth floor. T.C., agog, says: “It’s like my art history textbook vomited this room”. That’s an image that will stay with me.
Earlier along 5th Avenue, T.C. has foot problems, thus gets renamed “Wolf Blister, cub reporter”. She didn’t find this nearly as amusing as I did.
Meal: No lunch. But a small bag of Cool Ranch Doritos mid-afternoon.

Saturday morning.
General wandering.
Meal: Late breakfast at Edison Hotel. Rating: Let’s ignore the food and just say the atmosphere was… interesting.

Friday evening.
Generally hanging out on Rafe Street (45th) until a later supper.
Meal: French. Good wine. Rating: A.

Friday afternoon.
Walked, walked, walked, until blisters appeared. The Bowery has a lot of lamp stores! Ooh wee. Chinatown, Little Italy, Chelsea, Soho, Greenwich Village. Short pilgrimage to Bob’s old house at 94 Macdougal Street. Picture me in front of this door. And to think some people waste their time at Lourdes.
Meal: Thai. Rating: A-1



Friday a.m.
CNN Tour. Larry King’s set looks like it is made of Lite Brite. How cheap looking. Did not see Lou Dobbs. Will learn to live with that disappointment. Coolest things on the tour: A set of Iraqi playing cards, with Saddam as the Ace o’Spades, also the M out of the Saddam Hussein International Airport sign.
Meal: Big American breakfast. Rating: A.

Thursday evening.
At hotel and then Times Square. T.C. adopts the phrase “wave of humanity” which will be used repeatedly.
Meal: Indian. Rating: Good, except for nan bread which earns an A.