Sorry, it's... Scrabble

Woke up today at 2:00 PM, slightly hung-over. Last night was a riot.

I wasn't even sure I'd do anything today, but I saw a friend of mine online, Dan, who lives here in New York. We agreed to meet up for dinner at this nice vegetarian restaurant called Zen Palate, down near 42nd street.

The vegetable dumplings and miso soup were fantastic, but the weird gaucamole bean wrap with minced spicy carrots and miniature taro spring rolls was a bit unusual. Dan didn't care much for his rose-petal slab of soy bean product with raspberry sauce and a sprinkle of ginger. I couldn't imagine why.

On the way downtown I caught a glimpse of a sign saying "Gay and Lesbian Community Center" at the 14th street station, which I thought was more than a little bizarre, and certainly unexpected. I made a note and after dinner Dan (who is also gay, but no, not an interest in that way) and I set off on a gayscapade to find this mysterious cent(re)(er).

Dan promptly got us lost.

"Is this Chelsea?"
"What?"
"That sign there, it says 'Chelsea'."
"Okay sure, it's Chelsea."
"Really?"
"How the hell should I know?"

And later,

"Where is Hell's Kitchen?"
"I have NO idea."

Now Dan's lived here for at least 2 years, but has a terrible sense of direction. After walking the wrong way, about-facing, continuing in an also-wrong-but-slightly-less-so direction, discovering we were right the first time, and repeating, Dan stops and raises his finger in the air, "Ahha, I've got a brilliant idea!"

So we're inside this magazine shop which has four thousand vacuous seeming fashion magazines if it has one, and Dan keeps muttering something like, "So many magazines, there's GOT to be one for New York!"

We find what we're looking for, not surprisingly, in a little nook at the back in the "Gay and Lesbian" section. I picked up some bed-time reading for myself. You know, gay literature, excellent articles, engaging perspectives. That sort of stuff. Totally intellectual. 100%.

Dan picks up this mag "Metro", which looks promising, has bunches of gay bars and restaurants listed. We head out to a little Parisian styled dessert cafe called "La Cafe Parisienne"... which is not actually its name but that's all I got. Dan gets an awesome crepe with chocolate sauce and bananas, I make a fool of myself speaking French to the waitress, and together we scan the mag.

20 minutes later...

We find the damn thing in a tiny advertisement near the back. 208 Something Or Other Street. Boom! Off we go.

We get about two blocks before getting lost again.

"I thought this city was supposed to be a grid!"
"Yeah, uhh, well..."

So the centre(er) turns out to be this four storey building with a big front desk and tons of conference rooms and shit. I liked the free condom bin, which unfortunately was empty. I mean, I liked it in principle, as an idea. A public service. You know. I didn't ACTUALLY like... LIKE it.

Upstairs we found a whole wall full of pamphlets and newsletters and events listings. They even had rainbow coloured "Fun Maps" for Vancouver, Montreal, Toronto, and.. of course.. Manhattan.

Success! *triumphant fanfare with a little prissy trill towards the end*

New York Gay Listings

20Something
Social group for LGBT New Yorkers in and around their 20s (ages 18-33).

Dan, 30, was thrilled about being reinvited into the 20s age group.

VEG-OUT
Vegetarian potluck (no meat/eggs/dairy) for LGBT and queer-friendly vegetarians and wannabees.

Dan: "No way I'm going to that one. I wouldn't eat anything New Yorkers make - there are some crazies in this town."

SCRABBLERS
All levels. Bring boards.

Turns out the scrabble was happening RIGHT THEN. So off we rushed into the bowels of the building. Four floors down, one elevator ride up, two floors down, one windy corridor, two floors down, one creepy pipe-exposed concrete cobwebbed basement, one non-functional fire exit leading to neatly tended veranda with ferns and benches, four flights of stairs up, and a door into a cramped, paint-peeling room later, and we found the scrabblers!

Hooray!!...

I open the door and one of the six people in the room turns to me, his face crestfallen and embarassed, and just says, all meek and apologetic: "Sorry, it's... Scrabble."

Oh New York.