St. Patrick’s Day started off pretty quiet (by our design) as Paige and I trekked up up up, all the way to 145th St., in Harlem. Why the long commute? Because we wanted to visit the Hamilton Heights neighborhood, of course. And as to why that was so important, I’ll just leave this as explanation…
Ringing any bells?
“Royal Tenenbaum bought the house on Archer Avenue in the winter of his 35th year.”
Guys, I found the house used in filming The Royal Tenenbaums. Insert maniacal, triumphant laugh here.
I literally let out a strangled yelp as we approached the intersection of 145th and Convent Ave. Freaking out in the middle of the street, I approached the house, rested my hand on the stair railing, and craned my neck to see how high the house stretched.
And then I had to take a few pictures with it. I’m super proud to say that, not only is that film my favorite, but I saw the real life house with my very eyes.
After a short tour down Hamilton Heights historic boulevards, we hopped on the M3 bus to head to the parade on the Upper East Side. It was detoured, but we managed to get to the raillings. After a few moments of frustrated scanning to spot a place we could sneak in through the massive crowds, we managed to park ourselves next to a group comprised of two sets of parents and kids, along with two dogs.
The entire event was a surprisingly dignified affair, and Paige and I realized that this was St. Patrick’s Day done right. Although, we were made a tad bit uncomfortable at the fact that this was probably the most blatant display of Caucasian Pride we had ever seen.
The families next to us didn’t help: both dads were tall and handsome, the mothers blonde and thin, the children cute, and the dog even cuter in a Celtics jersey.
The American Dream?
After the parade, we headed to Midtown to the illustrious Museum of Sex, which to my delight had expanded. It got more and more crowded as the people leaving the parade trickled in to gawk at the displays.
They had an exhibit on The Sex Lives of Animals…
Another exhibit on sex in the public space called F*ck Art… (I’m twelve years old).
They also had a really really interesting exhibit about sex on the internet, Universe of Desire, including an entire wall of intensely graphic images of the top 100 most searched sex-related topics. They ranged from enemas to Grannies to Asians. Yeah… Oh, and the entire Facebook chat transcript of Rep. Wiener’s conversation with the bartender (was she?) in Vegas is shown on one wall. Fascinating, how low grown men can fall.
I fully expected St. Patrick’s Day to be the shitshow it is back in Chicago, but was proven wrong–until about 8:00 p.m. in the East Village. Typical.
We got dinner at a “new european” (I think?) restaurant, where we had the best burgers of our lives. Mine was made with walnuts and black eyed peas–I’ll never forget it. The Polish man running the joint was charming and personable, making the experience all the more worthwhile.
A quick jaunt through the Village (at dusk–picturesque) found us at Buffalo Exchange, Urban Outfitters, and Odin. I picked up a boyfriend-fit button down at Buffalo and a pair of jersey shorts at Odin.
Continuing down St. Mark’s Place as night fell proved a challenge as the hordes of drunk people stumbled past us; it was nuts. But energizing, I must say. (And there’s that word again…)