Flesh Eating Diseases

There can be something quite wonderful about vacationing in the city you live in. You know the language and how to get around. Your own bed is waiting for you at home each night. If you miss something, there's always next weekend.
But when Christy came to visit me over the fourth of July weekend, she destroyed me. I was exhausted and sunburned and completely and totally out of money. And all this by Sunday.
Friday was the best. We rented a rowboat on the pond in Central Park, which is only ten bucks and hour. We saw turtles and ducks and a couple get engaged. For dinner that night, we met Joe at Devi, a fancy Indian food restaurant that was excellent, though I accidently ate a red pepper and declared I was going to die. No, that I was already dead. Then I decided it would be a good idea to go to the Russian Vodka Room and order their specialty, a "rack" of six kinds of iced vodka. The Peach wasn't so bad, but the Blueberry tasted like rotten fruit laced with lighter fluid. Everything else fell somewhere in between. They came in giant test tube-like shot glasses. By the time the three of us were halfway through, we weren't even that drunk; just sick. Around us Russian men leaned on the piano player, shouting songs that sounded rather passionate and angry--though I suspect everything sounds passionate and angry in Russian. Eventually Jen showed up, took one sip of Citrus Bitters Vodka and asked us why we hated her. We left without finishing.
This was the theme of the weekend. I get sunburned and dehydrated. I spend money on alcohol I can't drink. I get too little sleep.
We went to Coney Island the next day. The Cyclone, the famous wooden roller coaster, was a lot of fun. We had Nathan's famous hot dogs and ice cream. And then Christy talked me into going onto a ride that made me scream just looking at it. I dubbed it the Puke-o-Matic. I decided was just being a baby and I couldn't go on just one ride on Coney Island. But after we bought our tickets, I watched the people being flipped upside down over and overandoverandoverandover. I got tears in my eyes, but it was too late now. Once I spend money on something, that's it. It's a done deal. The beginning wasn't so bad. It was kind of fun when they hung us upside down forty feet above the ground (the harnesses were actually comfortable). But then they began to spin us. Even Joe and Christy thought it was for too long. When we got off, I staggered into some shade and someone got me a ginger ale. But I could see the shadow of the spinning ride and my stomach started to heave. They brought me into a gazebo by the beach, where I sat for about twenty minutes before the color actually returned to my face. Cold ice cream helped. From now on, I declare, I will not go on any ride that spins me around or flips me upside down. Period. I'm not scared. I have nothing to prove. I just don't want to puke. This also leads to thoughts of, what happens if you puke on the ride, forty feet in the air and upside down? Would it run into my hair before splattering to the ground? And would they stop the ride immediately? I hope so.
Sunday we saw "Sweet Charity" on Broadway with Christina Applegate. Cute enough. Then we went to Harlem to Dinosaur BBQ and ate some really superb meat. There were fried green tomatoes, grilled shrimp, potatoes, collard greens, brisket, and of course, the star, pulled pork. Definitely worth the trip up there.
The next day we rode the tram to Roosevelt Island and wandered around not really knowing where to go. It was used to quarantine smallpox patients in 1854 and had a lunatic asylum starting in 1829 because it was an island. The ruins are hard to see, but have a fun history. There is still more than one hospital on the island, and one out of every ten people you see is in a wheelchair. There's one bus that loops the island, and apparently the whole town turns out to go fishing on the Fourth of July. Yet it's technically part of Manhattan. Absolutely surreal.
Of course, it had to be upwards of ninety degrees that day. My equilibrium had not entirely returned and of course, I sprouted a nasty case of flesh eating disease, a painful heat rash I get all over my arms, chest, and anywhere else exposed to the sun (except, interestingly enough, my face). But I couldn't go home. We had to stake out a spot for fireworks on the FDR highway. It was shut down and thousands of people hurried up the exit ramps to get the best spot. There was plenty of room and everywhere on the highway had the most beautiful view of three sets of Macy's fireworks being shot from barges in the river. It's a half hour long and the finale makes the sky look like a solid sheet of sparkles.
And still we weren't done. I didn't have to work until 4 pm the next day, but I was actually looking forward to it. That morning we went to Governor's Island and Christy is pretty sure, and I don't doubt her, that the newest Amazing Race was there while we were, probably resting between challenges. She was having spasms of joy. I was having flesh eating disease.
It's hard to have someone with you all the time for days. And I didn't have that "WOW! I'm in New York City!" feeling because "Hey! I'm in New York City every day." So I kept wanting to go home, thinking I could do these things in the fall, when my face wasn't melting off. But I have such limited time with Christy that it's worth it all just to hang out with her. I hope she had fun.