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August 06, 2006
W is my middle initial (and has been since the 2000 election)
It was an eventful weekend, including three visits to the W Times Square in four days, probably eclipsing the previous record set when Alexander lived there for 6 months last year.
My brother Kyle arrived in town on Thursday night, his first visit to New York. I didn’t want him to think that Times Square is entirely a tacky tourist trap for gawking goobers, so we swung by the W’s Blue Fin restaurant for dinner. Kyle also learned how much it sucks not having air conditioning when the high is 98 degrees; certainly I am looking forward to such modern conveniences when my new condo is finished.
Friday after work we ended up back at the W, this time among the lounge lizards in the Living Room, though they’re not quite as obnoxious on Fridays compared to the weekends. While there, I got a call that dad had been hospitalized for emergency surgery. (If you’re not familiar with this long story, read the short version in this press account.) Apparently his knee had become infected after surgery late last month. America’s health system isn’t big on preventative care, so it took a week to get him into the doctor, and by then it was so bad that the doctor performed surgery right away. We think he’ll be fine, but it’s another set-back on the road to running the Chicago marathon this fall.
Saturday we had a surprise Chicago office reunion. I called JW to tell him that RF had just moved to town and invited him to join us for Sunday Brunch (at the W—where else?). He did me one better: “Actually, RF and I are doing dinner tonight with a bunch of others from Chicago.”
Sunday was the third trip to the W, where the Sunday brunch is perhaps the best kept secret in New York hotel dining. For $28, including drinks, tax, tip, and toll, it’s really a steal. RF recently left the Firm and found herself the *perfect* job—strategy associate at Coach, the big handbag concern whose CEO once told me that I “had no vision.” (That’s because I turned down the opportunity to participate in Coach’s IPO, and the stock has since gone up to 11 times its IPO price.) The only downside of working at Coach: you can’t be seen in public with Louis Vuitton! There’s no word on whether Coach employees can drink Moet or Hennessey.
Meanwhile Tiffany continues in her second month on the ship, mostly in the Baltic Sea right about now. Although she says she’s paid to “look pretty,” the working conditions aren’t always ideal. The singers are randomly assigned jobs not related to singing, including assisting with embarkation, something that’s clearly not in the employment contract. But when your employment contract is governed by the law of the Marshall Islands, it’s not much different from martial law. (Among the clauses in the contract: the ship can throw overboard the body of any crew member who dies at sea.) The singers and social hostesses do have a bit better job than the other crew members: today Tiffany hosted the Captain and some of the corporate bigwigs for a big dinner in the private dining room. Her job was to look pretty, eat lobster, and make pleasant conversation. (If this whole singing/acting thing doesn't work out, she might have a future as a consultant.)
Posted by adrianjo at August 6, 2006 10:14 PM