Vanilla.

For the past couple of years, whenever I went to an ice cream shoppe, I told people I was on a never-ending search for the most sublime vanilla known to man. That search ended tonight. And it ended in, of all places, Brooklyn.

Actually, that's not so surprising. But before I can get to Brooklyn, I have to take you through the rest of the week leading up to it. As you may have noticed down below, this week was our magazine workshop. There were far fewer hours required than the book workshop, and it was much less intense, but the frustration level was considerably higher, due to the fact that this was one project, compared to six, and we had to make it absolutely precise. Being the men's magazine group, we decided to walk the fine line between Maxim and Esquire: beyond frat boys, but still irreverent and with boobs. Thus 'Wingman' was born, with an idea towards being Men's Health, but for dating & sex. Anyway, it was never a problem to design (as you may have guessed, I was the art director; one of the few this year to complete the designer sweep for both workshops), but it was a problem to pin down the idea; Wednesday night I made six different covers–three sets of two each–that set out different visions of the magazine. Once we picked one, I was on my way. Though I battled against the Jenny McCarthy photo until the last possible moment.

The workshop ended, for me anyway, early Friday afternoon, but I didn't do anything the rest of the day beyond going to the Rec. That's because I was really deep into The Fountainhead. Now I know, I know; I've had a love-hate relationship with Ayn Rand, especially when love in this context means hate. But since I started designing in the book workshop, I could not get that book out of my head. Last weekend, when coming back from my museum trips, I stopped and bought a second copy of Fountainhead and started reading. During the week I would steal 10-30min. during meals and in the mornings to read it, and finally finished it last night. It remains one of my most favorite novels ever, and like any of her works, it will be cause for a lot of thought about what I do and why I love it so much.

Yesterday morning I woke up determined again to have a great weekend. I took off for the tip of Manhattan with umbrella in tow; it was overcast and ugly all day. I took the subway down to Chambers St., farther south than I've ever been in this city. Arriving about 30min. later, I stepped out and walked down Broadway until I reached the World Trade Center site, which I walked past with great tenderness, until I saw the street vendors with their t-shirts and their hologram pictures. Then I seethed and walked away, looking straight ahead until I crossed Vesey Bridge to the other side of West St. and the World Financial Center, which has been made into about as much of a mall as you're likely to find in NYC. The WFC sits at the north end of Battery Park City, a planned park and private development on top of the landfill from the construction of the Twin Towers back in the 70s, and it is the site of some of the newest, 'greenest' apartment buildings in New York, which you wouldn't know if you hadn't visited the Skyscraper Museum in the south end of the park (as I did). Walking along the Hudson Shore, I came around a corner and saw the Statue of Liberty standing against a grey sky. It was magnificient nonetheless.

Dodging the sudden rainshower, I walked around the area where all of the ferries and boat tours launch from, and going nuts from the sheer horror of tourist traps run amok, I headed back towards the WTC site as a wayfinding measure to get to the rest of Lower Manhattan. Deciding that I was already down here, I walked around, trying to divine my way towards Wall St. and the New York Stock Exchange. That area of Manhattan is really neat to walk through; I've never been to an old European city, but I've seen them in the movies, the narrow alleys of odd, one-way streets that start and end in the wrong places with buildings shooting up practically from the sidewalks. That's how the Financial District is; I ended up walking past the NYSE by a block, when I should've known to turn when I saw the huge gold lettering for 'Trump Building.' (Because he doesn't have enough of those in this city. Hmph.) Anyway, I walked past the Exchange and Federal Hall up the street where G-Dub (as in 'I cannot tell a lie, which means I never invaded a nation because I needed an excuse to win an election that I couldn't possibly have won otherwise.' That G-Dub) was inaugurated. By this time I was getting hungry, and set out to find a place to perhaps get some Chinese food, but pasta was a second choice. I happened to pass by a Borders, and though it contained no food, I spent a good 45min. in there anyway. I was really very hungry, and settled for spaghetti and chicken parmigiana. Full of bad pasta and tired of walking around on this crappy day, I headed back to the subway, defeated by the city yet again.

[Bonus story! Last night I went out to get some Chinese while doing laundry, and while waiting for my take-out order of orange chicken and white rice to come out, I was staring absent-mindedly out the window towards the intersection of Amsterdam Ave. and 106th St., which is a major intersection (two ways, both ways). All of a sudden I saw a taxi come through and sideswipe a huge 15-passenger van that already mostly through; the taxi came over to the side with some front bumper damage, the van had been turned 90 degrees in the intersection with damage to its left side, but the right side, when it turned, slammed into a car service sedan. The front of the restaurant flooded with the cooks from the back yelling in Chinese about what happened, but I just watched it all with bemusement while hoping this wouldn't postpone my order. I quickly got it and walked out and across the crowded intersection, between the vehicles involved; the sedan, which I hadn't seen yet, got the brunt of it, it seemed like: the entire rear of the car was obliterated. Which is now my new favorite word. Mom called while I was walking down the block, and I told her that I love a city where car crashes are themselves a spectator sport.]

Enter this morning. I woke up after 10am and after getting a good measure of food for breakfast and lunch at the market, and a Sunday New York Times, I spent about three hours in the lounge reading the paper and watching Tiger Woods win the Open Championship like the bad-ass that he is. I came up to my room to do some reading for a few hours, and then decided that if I was ever going to go to Brooklyn to see the skyline of Manhattan, this was the time to do it: it was warm, it was sunny, it was perfect. After eating another of the slices that dare not speak their name, I got on the subway and 45min. later, I emerged on Clark St. in Brooklyn Heights. Immediately, walking through the streets, I was in love. Brooklyn was everything I liked about Lawrence, but ratcheted up about a dozen notches. The tree-lined roads with few stoplights at the intersections, the brick buildings and townhouses, the cafés and bars that just appear out of nowhere, they were all amazing. My goal on this particular trip was to stay there long enough to see the skyline at night, all lit-up. To facilitate this, I set out to find the Brooklyn Ice Cream factory. In a word, unbe-fucking-lievable. The Factory sits on a pier almost under the Brooklyn Bridge, from where you can see the buildings of Lower Manhattan to the left, and the buildings of Midtown, to the right underneath the span. Add to this the bluest sky I've seen in quite some time, and I was enchanted. Enchanted enough to spend 25min. in line for ice cream. And when I got the counter, they were out of the vanilla chocolate chunk. So I took a scoop of vanilla instead.

I never thought ice cream could be as smooth, mellow and transfixing as this was. Had I not had to wait another half an hour I've gotten another scoop; damn myself for only getting *one* after all that time in line! But seriously, it was great, and I walked back up through the Heights and found the Promenade, where one can stand and overlook the same vista, but with the added bonus of Lady Liberty in your sightlines as well. It was getting to 7:30pm, but I didn't want to wait another hour to see the skyline at night, so I headed back to the subway, falling even more in love with Brooklyn with each turn onto another, not-crowded street. This, I could most definitely get used to.

It was probably 50min. back to Manhattan on the subway, but I neglected to transfer from the 2 to the 1 at Times Square; the 1 goes straight up the Upper West Side underneath Broadway and stops right at Columbia University at 116th St.; the 2 branches off at 96th St. to curve underneath Central Park and come out at 110th and CP-North. I didn't know this. I emerged from the station, and knowing it was not far to get back to Columbia (indeed, I'd be making the same trek tomorrow morning to go for a run before class), I had to decide between going ahead and coming back to the dorm, or trying to see at least some skyline at night, which I could by going to the north edge of the Reservoir to look at Midtown. My sister had called while I was on the subway, so I talked to her while I hiked it through Central Park, a little lost at some points in the dark, but promising Sheree that I would not step off the main road (absolutely not; I'm reluctant to even go into the woods in the daytime) and eventually got to the running track.

If it was my favorite spot in New York City in the daytime, then for the love of God you must see it at night. Even better, it wasn't fully nightime yet, so you get all of the lights of the buildings plus the dying sunrays of dusk illuminating the clouds, and reflecting all of it, the calm waters of the Reservoir. I'm in love with this place all over again. Now I just need a camera.

I came back to Broadway along 97th St., and then walked the 18 blocks back up to Columbia where I've been typing this for literally the past hour. I've downed a thing of Gatorade and some fruit to balance all of the stuff I've eaten this weekend. Like I said, tomorrow morning is my return to Central Park; I think we have Victor Navasky, the former editor/publisher and now the owner of the Nation, at 10am. That should be interesting. I'm gonna try to come up with an Ayn Rand-themed question.