Sojourn to the Far East

New York may have nearly 9 million people and hundreds of eclectic neighborhoods. But there's a little-discussed secret among the city's residents that most of us tend to live the majority of our lives within our own self-appointed boundaries. In a recent interview, Edward Burns told to the New York Post that when he and wife Christy Turlington moved to Tribeca (into John Kennedy Jr.'s old loft), they joked that they would probably "never go north of 14th Street." "Now we never go north of Canal," he admitted. Some are even more ridiculous, like Michael's and my friend John, who lives on West 21st Street and rarely ventures above 23rd. ("It's too far.") I'm guilty of this at times too, although I'm quite a bit more adventurous. Anywhere along the West Side is fair game -- I live between the A/C/E and the 1/2/3, so I have no good reason not to explore. And I'm also quite comfortable exploring Lower Manhattan -- the L train is our friend -- and we don't think twice about walking home from Veselka or Uniqlo.

Where we draw the line, however, is the Upper East Side, the city's most notoriously stuffy part of town. Aside from having relatively few places a young middle-aged gay man would need to go, it's a complete pain in the ass to get there. (Ditto for Midtown East.) So when I read that the Whitney Museum was having an Edward Hopper exhibition -- undoubtedly my favorite American artist -- I decided it was time be strong, pack a bag and go on an adventure.

Shakespeare in the park ... on ice

Although the Web site for the Whitney suggested we take the 6 train -- which would require that we take the L or 23rd Street bus to get to, hence the "pain-in-the-ass factor" -- Michael had a better idea.

Instead, we took the C train to 81st Street -- and then took a romantic walk through the park. The scenery was dazzling -- all that snow, but with high-rises in the distance! -- and all the kids laughing and riding sleds only added to our feeling of impulsiveness.

After we passed the notorious Rambles (we saw no action -- it seems gay men are not like mailmen), Michael introduced me to the Central Park Castle -- aka the Belvedere -- where we climbed to the top to take in the spectacular views. (That's Jerry Seinfeld's Central Park West building -- the Beresford -- above my right shoulder in the distance.) We couldn't stay long because the museum was only open till 6, plus the German tourists who kept having their uncoordinated 12-year-old daughter stand on the castle's top-story ledge to pose for pictures were stressing us out way too much.

Gas

Early Sunday Morning

Once through the park, we worked our way toward Checkpoint Charlie -- aka Fifth Avenue -- and then over for my first visit to the Whitney, where we were dazzled by the exhibition that had started this whole adventure, "Modern Life: Edward Hopper and His Time." (I was equally "dazzled" by the $18 cover charge -- WTF?!) It's always a thrill to view iconic works of art in the flesh, and this was no exception. (I'd have preferred even more of his work -- didn't realize the exhibit would include works by 10 other artists (that must be the "His Time" part) -- and the inclusion of Route 6, Eastham, Room in New York or House at Dusk would have been great, but you can't have everything).

South Carolina Morning

Seven a.m.
(Ironically, all four paintings represent things I do not believe in!)

Pose, struck

From the museum, we headed over to the Lexington Avenue in search of a slice and a Coke Zero. (Madison Avenue is very high end, so you have to "slum it" to get basics.) As we were walking north on Lex, Michael remembered that Madonna's new digs were nearby, and a quick search on my phone showed we were right around the corner.

Turns out the place is still a major construction zone -- and a huge one at that. With the exception of this three-townhouse-wide mansion -- complete with gorgeous new windows -- the block is pretty typical. But a new home decked out with a new floor added for a gym, two new master suites, a hair salon, a luggage closet and a wine cellar is anything but typical.

With Michael and Kevin but none of that famous salad

No sooner had we gotten home on Saturday -- crash! -- did we return to the East Side for Sunday brunch at the Waldorf-Astoria. My cousin Kevin and his partner, Richard, were in town from Pennsylvania celebrating their 23rd anniversary, and carved out time to get together with us. The Walsh family -- probably not unlike many others -- is filled with drama and heartache, and it's only been in the Facebook era that Kevin and I have really gotten to know each other, following a 40-year freeze-out of his family over issues that had nothing to do with either of us. (We weren't even alive back then!) It was so great -- and emotional -- spending time together. (I cannot wait to take him up on his offer to visit them in PA.) He surprised me with a ring that belonged to my Uncle Kenny (my dad's twin brother) -- and we both left with a better understanding of our family history that I hope was as healing for him as it was for me. All in all, it was a heartwarming ending to a wonderful weekend that unfolded in a land far, far away, that is a great place to visit, but not somewhere I'd want to live.