Monday, March 27, 2006
New Yorkers will like to tell you that you can get ANYTHING here. As the center of the world’s Arts, Business, Finance, Publishing, you name it, the biggest and the best are here. But to get a dose of, say, a slower pace or life, friendly, sensitive people, and just some plain old comfort food, New York is more like the anti-world. It’s not just that they don’t exist here, their antitheses exist here: rushed, pushy, indifferent, and uncomfortable seem to be the law of the land. No wonder there exist people in the rest of the country and in places like Louisville, KY, where my friend Ryan lives.
Having lived in Washington for quite some time now, and hating it, he managed a transfer to our Louisville office recently. I went to visit over this past weekend. And the difference in culture was evident on the plane trip in when I sat down and the person next to me said, “Hello”. I almost didn’t know how to react. So I stuttered out: “Um. Hi. Yes, hello. Do you need money or something?” Thus began my transition to what I though was the civilized world to an uncivilized world – I was beginning to think it was the other way around.
The rest of the weekend was pretty debauched. And I couldn’t help but be impressed with all the niceties extended to us by complete strangers. It was sort of like their skyline. . . striking, omnipresent, and part of what made the city beautiful.
The hospitality came to a crescendo on Saturday night when we went to an Italian restaurant called, creatively, Little Italy. Walking in the display item at the bar was a machine gun in a violin case – I guess it was supposed to be homage, I assume, to Italian-Americans association with the Mob. How flattering (I’m sure the Italians were thrilled with that). We are then sat at our table where I look on the wall to what is perhaps the ugliest wall covering I’d ever seen: a rug made of skunk hides. Yes, this is the same Italian restaurant.
It gets better. Ryan asked the waiter, matrodee (Ms. Virginia) and what seemed like half the restaurant what he should order. He finally settled on none of their recommendations. Throughout all this, we were serenaded by a violinist. First she was playing Musetta’s Waltz, then Blue Grass, some Broadway shows. . . all off key. Finally she comes by our table and asked us what we want to hear. Ryan picks out a song and I tip here. She then starts to try to convince us to go to a church dance on Monday nights and explains that we can even play in the band. At this point it is clear that this woman is mildly retarded, but genuinely trying to help us out. She begins to play, the half through says “oops” (she’d made a mistake) and started over again.
Thank God, the waiter came by with more wine. I’m getting a little intoxicated. Finally the violin ends and we nearly run out of Little Italy.
It was like the twilight zone.
Having lived in Washington for quite some time now, and hating it, he managed a transfer to our Louisville office recently. I went to visit over this past weekend. And the difference in culture was evident on the plane trip in when I sat down and the person next to me said, “Hello”. I almost didn’t know how to react. So I stuttered out: “Um. Hi. Yes, hello. Do you need money or something?” Thus began my transition to what I though was the civilized world to an uncivilized world – I was beginning to think it was the other way around.
The rest of the weekend was pretty debauched. And I couldn’t help but be impressed with all the niceties extended to us by complete strangers. It was sort of like their skyline. . . striking, omnipresent, and part of what made the city beautiful.
The hospitality came to a crescendo on Saturday night when we went to an Italian restaurant called, creatively, Little Italy. Walking in the display item at the bar was a machine gun in a violin case – I guess it was supposed to be homage, I assume, to Italian-Americans association with the Mob. How flattering (I’m sure the Italians were thrilled with that). We are then sat at our table where I look on the wall to what is perhaps the ugliest wall covering I’d ever seen: a rug made of skunk hides. Yes, this is the same Italian restaurant.
It gets better. Ryan asked the waiter, matrodee (Ms. Virginia) and what seemed like half the restaurant what he should order. He finally settled on none of their recommendations. Throughout all this, we were serenaded by a violinist. First she was playing Musetta’s Waltz, then Blue Grass, some Broadway shows. . . all off key. Finally she comes by our table and asked us what we want to hear. Ryan picks out a song and I tip here. She then starts to try to convince us to go to a church dance on Monday nights and explains that we can even play in the band. At this point it is clear that this woman is mildly retarded, but genuinely trying to help us out. She begins to play, the half through says “oops” (she’d made a mistake) and started over again.
Thank God, the waiter came by with more wine. I’m getting a little intoxicated. Finally the violin ends and we nearly run out of Little Italy.
It was like the twilight zone.
# posted by otas : 11:38 AM
