This NY Love & Hate Relationship

I made my way, early this afternoon, to Manhattan to indulge in a facial at FineLiving New York, purchased weeks earlier from Lifebooker Loot. Enthused to redeem my deal and have my face soothed from winter's harsh effects -- especially at a place so focused on a holistic, all-natural approach -- I tried to block the cold from seeping into my thoughts and my fingertips as I briskly walked along 14th St. Then, literally out of nowhere, right by Union Square, a man kicked my leg, suddenly appeared by my side, glared at me and growled, "Don't you EVER walk up behind me like that again!"

Completely taken aback, my heart pounding from the realization that I had so suddenly and quickly been mildly accosted and assaulted, I literally froze. I saw the man cross the street and disappear. My instinct was to dial 911. After an aggravatingly long talk with the operator -- "You're where exactly? It happened where? You want to meet the police, where?" -- I stood in the exact spot where the man had so quickly appeared and then evaporated, waiting for police officers to show up. Then I saw a man with a "Union Square" work-related jacket, and I asked him if he had seen what had just happened. I wasn't hurt from the incident at all, but I was -- and am -- more shaken up from it than I had expected to be. He seemed mildly concerned for me but said he hadn't seen anything. There obviously were witnesses -- streams of people were walking all around me -- when the incident happened, but in characteristic New York fashion, not a single person stopped to offer their sympathy, ask if I was okay or offer to be a witness.

The only descriptors I have for the man are vague: he was black, about my height, of unidentifiable age, and wearing a leather jacket. How infuriatingly, maddeningly stereotypical. I realized that I should have opened up my phone and snapped a picture of him with it, if I would've even had time for that. At this point, my plan to stay relatively immune to the cold before I reached my destination had proven unsuccessful, and police were still nowhere to be seen, so I simply continued my walk, trying -- unsuccessfully -- to recompose myself.

Finally, once at my ayurvedic spa, I managed to fully calm down and sink into facial-inspired bliss maybe 10 or 20 minutes into the treatment. Poor, disempowered, possibly mentally ill and/or drug-addled man, and heck if I was going to let someone as desperate and angry as him make me not feel safe or become angry and vengeful because of one ignorant, angry act. And so I made myself forget about him for awhile and relax into my little afternoon pampering session.

Ironically enough, when I returned home, I found in my mailbox the newest issue of New York Magazine: "Reasons to Love New York". The last reason given, Reason #59, "Our Most Notable Recent Exile Can't Stop Thinking About Us," quotes author Jonathan Lethem. Here is an excerpt of what Lethem had to say: "I love and hate, disgorge and devour, exalt and revile my old-and-always home just as fiercely and the same way each time I've fled, only to find it stalking me around my mental corner."

Sigh. New York.

Manhattan Bastille Day Festival

So, the Bastille Day Festival in Manhattan yesterday, July 13th, was both very cutesy French chic and kind of a run-of-the-mill street fair at the same time. The "block party" spanned 60th Street from Lexington St. to Fifth Ave. and featured a disparate mix of French-language booths, from cuisine to spa products to informational cultural booths. However, intertwined with these booths were also the generic, omnipresent street fair vendors with their freshly-made juice smoothies and such.

Of the many crepe booths at the festival, several were the kinds you see at any street fair, and one had to question the authenticity and quality of these more street-oriented vendors. I arrived at the fair with my friend at around 3:00 pm, exactly mid-way through the festival, and it was in full-swing. Navigating our way through the crowds and the heat, we eventually decided to purchase food: I had my eye set on a crepe while she had hers set on a Belgian waffle. After arming ourselves with orange-flavored French Volvic water, we scouted for the best options, bypassing several of the more "authentic"-looking crepe vendors because of the long lines and high prices (a savory crepe here was priced at $9). I settled on, yes, you guessed it, a street-oriented "creperie," where I purchased a $6 mushroom-and-cheese crepe after being informed that they were out of spinach. Already setting myself up for disappointment after not having my first option available, having to wait to order as the chef chose exactly that moment to begin preparations for the following five crepes, and seeing the very scantily filled crepe, I somewhat skeptically began nibbling on my freshly-made crepe as I waited for my friend to purchase her own meal. Ok, I decided, swiss and mushroom was a winning flavor combination, if not as nutritious or complete of a meal as I had fantasized about for my crepe.

I held off on eating my food as my friend, waffle purchase in hand, and I went in search for some warm, savory food for her. She eagerly headed towards Le Souk, a restaurant and club featuring Northern African cuisine. Very shortly afterwards, with purchase in hand -- a heaping plate of rice, vegetables, chicken and spices -- we went to sit with other festival-goers on a sidewalk curb to enjoy our meals. Her meal, the same cost as mine, presented the opposite predicament for her: it was entirely too much food. So our problems were both easily solved as she scooped some of her food onto my plate and we settled into our meals. Having been to Le Souk several times for dancing and drinks (and even once sharing a group's hookah with them), but never for a meal, I have always been impressed by it as a very posh, chi-chi sort of place that even occasionally features live drummers and/or belly dancers as part of the evening's entertainment. Now, having tried a very well-priced sample of their cuisine, I am even more enthusiastic about this place. Visit it sometime, for a meal, a drink, a night of dancing, or just to pop your head in. Le Souk is located on Ave. B between 3rd and 4th Streets: www.lesoukny.com. Now, stuffed but refreshed by the food and the water, we continued our browsing.

My friend and I probably stayed here no longer than an hour. The highlights of the festival, besides my friend's delicious food, included such sights as the delectable French pastries, the accordion player, a booth devoted to the French Metro system, and the general sense of cheer and cultural pride. I succumbed slightly to the dessert offerings, though I was continuously tempted to buy other fancy pastries. My purchase was two chocolate bouchons, a steal at only $1 each, which were as delicious as they were enticing (see above picture). There was also also a stage with performances, though we missed seeing anything, as well as a $5 wine and cheese tasting at the French Institute (originally advertised on the website as $12 for non-members and $10 for members). All in all, I think this Bastille Day "block party" was worth it as an experience, and at its best had hints of something truly special.