Greetings, Thursday. All of this excitement and passion and intense love for Manhattan has gotten me good and sick. It seems the garden variety summer cold, but it has me down, so I'm bunkering today and tonight and doing some work and trying hard not to be tempted by all the fun.
A friend of mine told me about the closing of the Oak Room at the Plaza, whose final night open for business was last evening. Yes, it became a tourist trap for those that were schlepping the family of four to see where Eloise lived, but it was an elegant New York room and an absolute institution of New York grandeur. The New York Observer described it as the "gimlet-eyed Oak Room" which I find apt. Amid talks of lawsuits and civil rights violations (?), the place had to go. It was a lovely place to have a martini, let's not kid ourselves. Yes, the general thought of going above 14th Street is nosebleed worthy, but there is nothing like Central Park and the Plaza and the old world New York that is lovely and lyrical and important to romance. Cole Porter and such, I suppose. Oh and very "As Time Goes By". Needless to say, I loved it.
But more proof that nothing is forever was the shuttering of the Mars Bar, who heaved its last whiskey soaked breath right around my birthday (fitting). What's amazing is that this place was where no Plaza type would be caught dead- if you ever frequented the Mars Bar, you know what a treacherous, disgusting, beautiful dive of a bar this was. And if you ever had to pee there, ooh, let's not talk about their bathrooms so early in the morning. I myself count the shuttering of Mars as more symbolic of a New York gone by- of a grit, a rock and roll, a fuck you to the establishment lets get drunk kind of thing- it's way, way more of a bummer that this place went down, and that the East Village is becoming super high end. That in itself is kind of bullshit, but what can we do about it? New York is a resilient place, and everyone got over CB's closing and becoming a Varvatos store (I must admit, it's a great stab at keeping the integrity of CB's, even though it's high end clothing and boots intended to look aged), so I am sure the end oft the Mars Bar is a mere blip in the radar for most, but a sign that NYC has lost an indelible edge. The Mars sheer shittiness was the stuff of legend, and if you ended up there for the evening, you were guaranteed a sort of Bukowskian on high doses of hormones kind of experience coupled with a slight element of fear. Needless to say, I loved it.
Oh, well. Doesn't matter really because you can just pop over to the High Line and distract yourself with the sheer force of urban gardens and insanely beautiful views of the city- edgy, fussy, or otherwise. And the Tom Colicchio joint/food truck spot under the girders is fabulous and filled with up for it, adorable New Yorkers just hanging out. There's still plenty of fun to be had here, whether you're more pink and green prone than black and blue.
And that's what's up this tail end of an amazing trip to New York from my current perch on Central Park West. I'll be back soon, both sides of my punk and posh soul- of this I remain devoted and know to be true. XO