Saturday began with a perfectly reasonable plan.
We were going to explore Chelsea, Greenwich Village, and the East Village. Wander through interesting neighborhoods, discover a few hidden gems, find something wonderful to eat, and generally enjoy a slightly less ambitious day than we’d had in Brooklyn.
After Friday’s 28,000 steps, I thought we’d earned it.
But here’s the thing about traveling. Sometimes the best plans are the ones you abandon.
Our dear friends Kim and Kim had arrived in New York the night before, and suddenly our itinerary became a little more flexible.
Which was just fine with me.
New York has been wonderful, but getting to spend time with people we love makes it even better.
And as it turned out, Saturday had a few surprises waiting for us.
A Big Disappointment at FAO Schwarz
We met up with Kim and Kim, who had tickets to the afternoon performance of Other Desert Cities, the same Broadway play we’d seen on Wednesday.
But before they headed to the theater, they had something they wanted to show us.
FAO Schwarz.
Specifically, Zoltar, the fortune-telling machine from Big, and that famous giant floor piano.
Naturally, we were all in.
I had visions of Matt and me recreating the Tom Hanks piano scene. Two grown men dancing across enormous piano keys, charming the crowd, and having our own little Hollywood moment.
Now, for anyone who hasn’t been to FAO Schwarz, imagine every child in New York City simultaneously discovering sugar, Christmas, and the possibility that their parents might buy them absolutely anything.
Now put them all in one building.
It was complete and utter chaos.
Wall-to-wall children, overwhelmed parents, and enough noise to make Times Square seem like a meditation retreat.
We found Zoltar and the famous giant piano, but our dreams of recreating Big quickly evaporated.
Apparently, Tom Hanks had the distinct advantage of filming before every family in the tri-state area showed up with a stroller.
We decided our big Hollywood moment would have to remain a fantasy.
Somewhere, Tom Hanks was probably relieved.
Still, it was fun sharing a little childhood nostalgia with old friends, even if none of us got our big Hollywood moment.
Eventually, Kim and Kim headed off to their matinee, and Matt and I continued toward lunch and Central Park.
We had no idea that our friends had an even bigger surprise waiting for us later that afternoon.
Carnegie Diner: A Sandwich and an Audience
Before tackling Central Park, we stopped at Carnegie Diner for lunch.
We ordered a Broadway Danny Rose sandwich, named after the Woody Allen movie, and quickly discovered that the food was only half the entertainment.
First, the table.
I’m fairly certain it was designed for one cup of coffee, a saucer, and perhaps a bagel if nobody minded balancing it on their lap. Our plates arrived, and suddenly the table became a high-stakes game of culinary Tetris. The sandwich occupied most of the available territory, the silverware had to be angled diagonally, and there was no obvious place for a napkin except under someone’s elbow.
Somehow, we were expected to fit an entire lunch on it.
And personal space?
Apparently, that’s something New Yorkers have heard about but don’t particularly believe in.
We were packed elbow to elbow with the neighboring tables, close enough that asking someone to pass the mustard could easily involve three separate parties, a brief chain of custody, and possibly a notarized form. Chairs overlapped. Conversations crossed. Every time someone reached for a fork, an entire section of the dining room seemed to adjust its posture.
The room was so crowded that sitting down felt less like taking a seat and more like being absorbed into the furniture.
And what a scene it was!
The place was buzzing with the energy of a classic New York Jewish deli. Animated conversations, big personalities, opinions flying in every direction, and everyone apparently having something to say to everyone else. Voices rose over the clatter of plates and silverware, servers threaded through the narrow gaps with the precision of air-traffic controllers, and nobody seemed remotely concerned that the person beside them could hear every word.
It felt like we’d wandered into the middle of a New York sitcom, complete with an ensemble cast that hadn’t bothered to wait for the cameras. The dining room had no background extras. Everyone was a lead.
And somehow, Matt and I became part of the entertainment.
I’m not entirely sure what made us so interesting, but suddenly everyone seemed to want to talk to us. We arrived expecting lunch and found ourselves holding court from a table roughly the size of a hardcover book.
For a brief moment, I felt like we were the celebrities in the room.
It was loud, crowded, wonderfully chaotic, and absolutely New York.
And the sandwich?
We split it.
Not because we were being particularly disciplined, but because there was barely enough room on the table for one meal, let alone two. Ordering separate sandwiches would have required either a second table or a small construction permit.
By the time we left, we’d had lunch, met half the dining room, negotiated a tabletop the size of a postage stamp, and experienced enough New York personality to last us through Central Park.
I loved it.
Eleven Miles of Scenic Cruelty
Central Park is enormous.
I knew it was big. Everyone knows it’s big. But seeing it in movies and actually walking through it are two entirely different experiences.
One minute you’re surrounded by skyscrapers, honking taxis, and millions of people who apparently have somewhere very important to be.
The next you’re wandering along tree-lined paths, past ponds, bridges, fountains, and beautiful stretches of green.
It’s remarkable how completely the park can make you forget you’re in the middle of Manhattan.
Until you look up and see an apartment building that probably costs more than the entire town of Poulsbo.
We spent hours wandering, taking photographs, admiring the scenery, and exploring the different corners of the park.
And walking.
And walking.
And then walking some more.
At some point, I began to suspect Central Park was actually designed as an elaborate practical joke on tourists.
“Look at this beautiful path! I wonder where it goes?”
Three miles later, you’re still finding out.
Eventually, we wandered into the Upper West Side, a neighborhood I’d been looking forward to exploring.
Beautiful old apartment buildings, tree-lined streets, and the sort of elegant architecture that makes you briefly imagine yourself living in New York.
Of course, in my imaginary version, we have a gorgeous apartment overlooking the park, a doorman who knows our names, and absolutely no concerns about the monthly maintenance fees.
Reality is so tiresome.
One of our destinations was the Belnord, better known to fans of Only Murders in the Building as the Arconia.
Naturally, we had to see it.
It’s every bit as impressive in person, with its enormous, elegant facade and unmistakable old-New-York grandeur.
We resisted the temptation to investigate any suspicious activity.
Although, given our walking mileage, I was beginning to consider whether Matt might eventually have a motive.
We also stopped at the Dakota, the beautiful and imposing apartment building where John Lennon lived and outside which he was murdered in 1980.
It’s one of those places where the history changes the way you look at the building. You can admire the architecture, but you can’t stand there without thinking about what happened.
New York has a remarkable ability to put beauty, tragedy, history, and everyday life on the same street corner.
By this point, however, Matt was becoming considerably less interested in architecture.
His feet were developing blisters.
And while he’s been a remarkably good sport about my apparently insatiable desire to explore every square inch of New York on foot, I could tell we were approaching the limits of marital cooperation.
There are only so many historic buildings a man can appreciate while his feet are actively trying to separate themselves from his body.
We decided it was time to find a chair.
Preferably one that didn’t require another three miles of walking to reach.
Eventually, we made our way back toward the Theater District and stopped at West Bank Café, a longtime gathering place for Broadway actors, writers, and theater people.
A little New York atmosphere, somewhere comfortable to sit, and the promise that nobody was about to suggest another scenic detour.
Heaven.
But the best part of Saturday was still ahead.
Some Friendships Are Just Different
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how fortunate I am to have some truly extraordinary people in my life.
And few friendships mean more to me than the one I share with Kim.
My Kim.
Or, as I’ve always distinguished the two, Big Kim.
Her wife is Little Kim.
These names have absolutely nothing to do with the size of their personalities, because both women have enough personality to fill a room.
Kim and I have known each other for well over 30 years, going all the way back to when we were just out of high school.
Thirty years.
That’s a lot of life.
We’ve shared adventures, made questionable decisions, laughed until we couldn’t breathe, and collected enough stories that some are probably best left out of print.
We’ve watched each other grow up, figure things out, make mistakes, fall in love, and become the people we are today.
And here’s what I love most about our friendship.
Time doesn’t matter.
There have been periods when we’ve gone more than a year without talking. Life gets busy. We live our lives. Things happen.
But when we reconnect, there’s no awkwardness. No catching up required before we can be ourselves.
We simply pick up where we left off.
It’s as if the conversation was paused yesterday.
And underneath it all is something I’ve never doubted.
We’re there for each other.
Always.
Little Kim has become every bit as important to me. The three of us have shared so much life together that it’s impossible to separate one friendship from the other.
They’ve been there for some of the most important chapters of my life.
Including the years when I was still figuring out who I was.
When I was learning to accept myself, to understand my sexuality, and to find the confidence to live honestly, they were there.
They helped me navigate a world that wasn’t always easy to understand.
They gave me a place where I could simply be myself.
I don’t think people always realize how much that means.
Having someone who loves you without conditions, who doesn’t need you to explain or justify yourself, can change the entire direction of your life.
They did that for me.
And then, one day, I met a young, cute guy with an irresistible curiosity about the world and a smile that practically glowed.
His name was Matt.
Naturally, I had to call Kim.
There are certain developments in life that require immediate consultation with your closest friends.
And this was definitely one of them.
I wanted them to meet him.
So I came up with what seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan.
A camping trip to Big Bear.
Now, Little Kim had never been camping.
And, as it turned out, she had absolutely no interest in becoming a camping enthusiast.
Sleeping outdoors, communal facilities, dirt, bugs, and the general absence of civilization weren’t exactly high on her list of recreational priorities.
But she went.
Because she loved me.
That’s friendship.
Not just showing up for weddings, birthdays, and the fun occasions.
Sometimes it’s sleeping in the woods because your friend has fallen for a cute guy and desperately wants your approval.
Fortunately, Matt passed the test.
In fact, he did more than that.
Over the years, he became just as close to them as I am.
We’ve traveled together, shared wonderful adventures, celebrated milestones, and built the kind of friendship that becomes part of your family.
And somehow, all these years later, here we were.
In New York City.
Together again.
Operation Allison Janney
Now, anyone who knows me—or has been reading this blog—knows about my longstanding love affair with Allison Janney.
It’s entirely one-sided, of course.
Matt is aware of the situation and has graciously accepted his place in this complicated relationship.
Earlier in the week, we saw Allison in Other Desert Cities, alongside Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Ed Harris, and Lily Rabe.
It was wonderful.
And afterward, I waited at the stage door, hoping to meet her.
I got some photographs, but not the moment I’d been hoping for.
I was disappointed, but that’s Broadway. Performers have lives, schedules, and absolutely no obligation to satisfy the emotional needs of a middle-aged man from Washington who’s been watching The West Wing for decades.
But Kim and Kim knew how much it meant to me.
And they weren’t about to let the matter rest.
They had tickets to Saturday’s matinee of Other Desert Cities.
And apparently, somewhere along the way, they decided they were going to make this happen.
Their mission was simple.
Get me to Allison Janney.
Not a casual suggestion.
Not a vague hope.
A mission.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in more than 30 years of friendship, it’s that when these two women decide something is going to happen, it’s usually best to stay out of their way.
We got ourselves positioned outside the theater well before the performance ended.
First in line.
Front and center.
We were not leaving this to chance.
I imagine the theater staff took one look at us and recognized a highly organized operation.
Or possibly a group of people who needed better hobbies.
And then the stage door opened.
And there she was.
Allison Janney.
My Allison.
After all these years of watching her on television, admiring her talent, laughing at her impeccable comic timing, and loving practically everything she’s done, I was finally standing face-to-face with her.
And she was wonderful.
Warm, gracious, and genuinely kind.
The sort of encounter that makes you love someone even more.
And it didn’t stop there.
We also met Ed Harris and Julia Louis-Dreyfus!
Three extraordinary performers, all of whom were incredibly generous with their time and kindness.
I was absolutely thrilled.
After Wednesday night’s near miss, I could hardly believe it.
I’d come to New York hoping to see some great theater.
I certainly hadn’t expected to meet three of the people who made it so memorable.
And the best part?
My friends made it happen.
Of course they did.
They’ve been looking out for me for more than 30 years.
Why would Broadway be any different?
The Best Part of New York
Later, after Kim and Kim had finished their afternoon and dinner plans, we met up for drinks at their bar.
Nothing fancy.
No elaborate itinerary.
No famous landmark we needed to check off a list.
Just four old friends sitting together, talking, laughing, comparing our New York adventures, and enjoying each other’s company.
And for once, nobody suggested walking another seven miles.
Which may have been the greatest gift of all.
As I sat there, I kept thinking about how much life we’ve shared.
The young people we were when we first met.
The people we’ve loved.
The adventures we’ve had.
The difficult times we’ve helped each other through.
The countless things that have changed over the years.
And the things that haven’t.
Like the way we laugh together.
The way we understand each other.
The way it doesn’t matter whether we talked yesterday or a year ago.
We simply start again.
I’ve been fortunate to see some remarkable things in New York this week.
We’ve climbed to the crown of the Statue of Liberty, stood at the 9/11 Memorial, walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, explored extraordinary neighborhoods, and experienced the magic of Broadway.
And now I’ve met Allison Janney.
Which, let’s be clear, is a pretty significant development in my personal history.
Matt may have to renegotiate the terms of our marriage.
But when I think back on Saturday, what I’ll remember most isn’t just meeting Allison, Julia, and Ed.
It’s that two women who have known me for more than three decades knew exactly how much that moment would mean.
And they made it their mission to give it to me.
That’s love.
That’s friendship.
And that’s the sort of thing you carry with you long after the vacation is over.
By the time we called it a night, we’d walked roughly 11 miles.
Eleven miles.
At home, that’s practically a road trip.
In New York, apparently, it’s just Saturday.
Matt’s feet are demanding better working conditions, and I suspect tomorrow’s itinerary may require some negotiations.
We still have Chelsea, Greenwich Village, and the East Village to explore.
But I’m beginning to realize something about this trip.
The places are extraordinary.
The experiences have been unforgettable.
But the people are what make the memories matter.
Thirty-plus years of friendship, one very determined Broadway mission, and a Saturday I’ll never forget.
New York, you’ve been pretty spectacular.
And the week’s not over yet.