Sick-bed travel diary

I have not been able to summon up necessary will to blog since returning home. Have taken to my bed since having been struck down with terrible influenza-like disease. I have named it West End Virus (even though we stayed in midtown). If you have fever, body aches, and a deep, soul-racking cough, you've got it. Either that or pleurisy. Neither one is nearly as romantic as it sounds.

(I had to go take a break. That one poor West Nile pun zapped my energy, and I needed to rest. Must be more careful.)

I am so happy I didn't fall ill while trying to eat my way through NYC. We stuck to the three page itinerary almost to the letter until the very end. I'll be honest, though. That last dish of creme brulee at Cafe Mozart on Monday night was more business than pleasure. We spent Monday down near Heath Ledger's SoHo flat on his last happy day on earth.

We brunched at Max Brenner's Chocolate by the Bald Man (thick Italian hot chocolate in hug mug is best I've ever had. One member of our party, who will remain nameless, is rumored to have had two. We also had chocolate fondue with freshly fried churros. The 2-mug lady missed the churros, mostly, because she was in the potty. All the hot chocolate had a not-wholly-unwelcome, er, cathartic effect.)

Went on to Nanette Lepore on Broome Street where I got some great shoes and earrings and a very flapper-y sort of dress with sequins that I can already picture Tommy trying to pick off during Sacrament meeting. Had it all shipped to us like all the fancy shoppers do. Nobody who is anybody carries her own purchases around anymore. Is totally declasse. (I'm making things up now.)

Then we went downtown to Chinatown. Now in Chinatown, if they offer to ship your purchases, do not believe them. Is likely big lie because you look like easy mark that just came out of Nanette Lepore. Mom bought some ancient perfume that had gone bad and went right in the trash in the hotel. Found Jen's favorite jeans connection. I was concerned that many were pegged at the bottom (I am too old to be fooled by terms like 'skinny leg.' I am still haunted by the photos of my 7th grade self, back when the pegged legs didn't contribute to the optical illusion that my arse should be moored down in the harbor instead of waddling about in $45 made in China True Religions on Canal Street. The most interesting part was the salesman, a large but agile man, who would tirelessly crawl under his table to some secret jeans underworld over and over to retrieve sizes and styles at our whim. We knew he was coming back because jeans would start flying at our feet from under the green vinyl partition, and he would soon follow them out, on his belly. This isn't how they do it over on 5th Avenue. Jen made an attempt at the 'dressing room' (small hole in wall), but came out pale and said she was 100% surprised she hadn't been bitten by a rat.

We soon realized our hands and feet were entirely frozen, and that we no longer cared about cheap thrills, so then I tried to talk Mom and Jen onto the subway, but they wouldn't go, not even in single digit temperatures and in absence of a cab.

I'm almost out of time. Jake said babysitter is coming and dishes are overflowing in sink. Long story short, we had some Mexican food (Maya) that was a little bland with a side of habanero salsa that caused a tiny little blister on my bottom lip, then we went to see a show that I found a little too sacrilegious (apparently I'm a Catholic at heart?), but that Jen (apparently more liberal-minded sort) dug a lot. The best part of Alter Boyz was song "I want you so much it makes me wanna wait". Howz all that for some run-on sentences?

Now, back to my sick bed...