Mommy is excited. Because, tonight’s the night. Mozart’s Requiem. At Carnegie Friggin’ Hall. Yeah Baby!

Forever simply known as The Hall around the house.

You know, the Beatles walked through this entrance. Just sayin’.

And, there she is! Back row. Fourth from the right. Trust me.

A picture I totally stole from someone else who had already stolen it. Still, Mommy is in there somewhere. (Hint: Back row, fourth from the right.)

A lengthy standing ovation warmly greeted the performance. And as someone I know who knows about these things, they don’t just give out standing Os at Carnegie unless they are deserved. So, there ya go.

A few weeks ago, the wife and I began a discussion (in our patented Limited Verb® technique.)

It went (something) like this:

Me: Anniversary soon. 21st?

Lynn: Yes. 21st.

Me: Ideas?

Lynn: Maybe, New York.

Me: Interesting. But, can we kick it up a notch?

Lynn: Hmmm… Well, singing at Carnegie Hall.

Me: Carnegie? The Hall, right? Not, the Deli.

Lynn: The Hall. Yes. Not the deli. The actual Hall. Would that work?

Me: Yep… Notch officially kicked.

So, yes, the lovely and talented wife will be in a chorus performing Mozart’s Requiem this weekend for a couple thousand people. Which, ya gotta admit, is pretty cool. Even by jaded music-types, it’s pretty damn cool. Carnegie Hall!

The Fun Time hits the road.

Lynn (The Mommy at the Fun Time) has scoured the Internet looking for places to stay in New York City. And, she has come across Jose and Fabio’s apartment. Compared to local hotels, it’s a steal. It Is Perfect…. And, quite possibly, it’s illegal (something about renting a private residence that competes with the Hotel industry. To me, blah.) But this is New York, and that’s how they roll. If you don’t do something illegal, why bother going?

It’s a teeny, tiny NY closet. I mean “apartment.” Still, it is awesome.

We are three blocks from Times Square, 2 blocks from the subway, and immersed in New York City (real NY, not the tourist version).

Mommy rocks.

Oh, and here’s a picture. 10th Ave, between 43rd and 44th Streets. (If you’re looking for a place to stay, let me know. I’ll hook you up…)

I’m going to break one of the Cardinal Rules of Daddy/Daughter Fun Time: I’m turning it into a travelogue (which I usually have nothing but contempt for in the blogniverse. “First we did this, then we did that.”) But, the girls are in New York, and I haven’t been there in 15 years. Something funny has to happen.

Here they are, in 1938:

So, we take the subway to the bottom of Manhattan. But, here’s a heads up (and also, this is why you claim the Fun Time as a tax deduction): Elmer Fudd comes on the intercom and says something about Souf Fewwy Stop. Fuwst Vive Caws Only.

Here, let me translate this for you. If you want to get on the Staten Island Ferry, and you are on the Red subway line (from Times Square), the South Ferry stop is your place. But, the subway station is only big enough to accommodate the first five cars of the subway train. If you are in the sixth car… Sorry.

After parsing Elmer’s communiqúe, the tourists on board begin to panic. What car is this? Are we good? Should we move up one? Maybe two?

I read the faces of the regulars. They ignore the hullabaloo. They’re grizzled. These are Staten Island people. They offer no guidance, but everything you need to know is written on their faces: We’re in Car 4, assholes.

So, we get off Car 4 and take the ferry. It’s free, by the way. (A free boat-ride. In New York! Are ya kidding me?)

We head out on our trip. At first, the girls are Yay! Then, meh. Then, are we there yet?

Good God! There’s the Statue of Liberty!

Girls: Are we there yet?

Finally, we’re on Staten Island. Half way. (Honestly, it’s like 25 minutes. Please don’t bust my chops).

On the way back, Manhattan never looked so good…

(photo by me, by the way.)

We get back to our apartment, just as the sun sets. A Dunkin’ Donuts is across the street. Double chocolate. Ooooo. All in all… a good day.