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octalove · 4 years ago

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II: Blood and Ghosts

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader tries getting a clue. part one

“Typically, they steer clear of the Village, but that doesn’t appear to be the case as of recent. Oracle found out about an operation out of a Hadley’s Deli there- standard money laundering, but it also could’ve been linked to the shipment of cocaine that we found at the Yacht Basin.”

“Right. So what changed?”

“A better question would be what didn’t?”

A beat. The contrasting silence that followed jarred me from my thoughts as I glanced over and realized that Bruce was prompting me for an answer. Tim looked expectant and inquisitive, but that was sort of his default expression.

“Oh. Sorry. What?” I said apologetically.

“Maroni.” He said simply. Nothing came to mind. He didn’t express verbal disappointment as he turned back to Tim, but I knew it was there.

“Red Hood has been operating out of The Bowery. Maroni and Falcone are stubborn, but they’re losing. He’s pushing them north.”

“So moving to the Village isn’t expansion. It’s desperation.” Tim muttered thoughtfully.

“I believe so.”

“May I be excused?” I asked. Bruce glanced back to me, studying a moment. Scrutinizing every detail; not deciding whether or not to let me leave- rather, deciding why I wanted to. Then, he nodded. Seems he wasn’t in the mood to ask.

I swept up my laptop and phone, and ascended the stairs from the cave to the manor quickly, trying to escape the eyes boring into my back. Only when the cool, lemon-scented air of the manor filled my lungs did I breathe a sigh of relief. Alone. All I needed was few minutes alone. I scaled the marble steps to my room and shut the door.

I hadn’t told anyone that I saw him three nights ago. That I watched him murder a man in retribution for me. My alter ego, anyway. I don’t know why. Maybe because it would mean having to tell them I snuck away. Having to walk through every detail again; sights, sounds, smells. What Red Hood was wearing and what he sounded like, what gun he was holding and how he held it, what prompted him to fire, how many shots and how he acted when he did.

But if ever there was a time to be high-strung and anxious, it was when you were keeping secrets from Batman. And Oracle. And Nightwing. And Red Robin. And Robin. Damian in particular could smell a lie like blood in the water, and he wasn’t too polite to hold your gaze until he was certain you weren’t hiding anything. That, and the art of solidarity was still foreign to him- even if I did tell him in confidence, he would take it right to Bruce. Possibly the police. Maybe a news outlet or two just because it soothed his vindictive nature. I’d been avoiding him.

Evening bled into night, and I was barred from masked business on school nights, so I couldn’t even patrol to ease the anxious energy. Still, that meant less opportunity for Bruce to analyze my musculoskeletal ticks or whatever the hell he did to tell when I was nervous, so I decided it was a worthy trade-off and resigned myself to independent research.

Who the hell was Red Hood, anyway? Half of Gotham was looking for him, the other half was running from him. I opened my laptop.

His debut was The Viper House, a strip club in Little Italy that also functioned as a human trafficking hub when the owner, Renaldo, needed to buy his wife (or handful of mistresses) a new Blue Nile diamond. By the end, the building had to be gutted. There’s only so much crime scene clean-up can do with carpet.

Next came the kingpins. Blowing open a trafficking operation had a short grace period if you didn’t cut out the source. Italian mobsters, the Romani families, the crews that had built empires on drug and sex trade dropped like flies until they found that their numbers dwindled for the first time since Joker finally bit it. The dozens of loyal men on their payroll decided that empty pockets were better than a full grave, and when it came to the business of death, Red Hood was very persuasive. It went on like that for six months; he amassed men, power, weapons, and tech. Most importantly, a potent reputation. This was due in no small part to his creative footwork; he liked to send messages. One file covered an incident where Alphonso Kuznetsov decided to write Gotham’s new player an open letter in the evening column suggesting that if he decided to bring his business to Port Adams, he might find himself in a ‘watery grave’. Kuznetsov was found a week later when a fishing vessel drug an entire coffin from the bottom of the harbor, padlocked and full of water. He was bound, drowned, and gagged with a copy of the very paper that featured his message. Red Hood must have been in touch with his artistic sensibilities; it was all very Shakespearean.

Of course, these were all just words. Rumors and hearsay. All I knew of the Red Hood from my intimate encounter was that he had a quick hand, an incendiary temper, and he didn’t fucking like creeps. All the makings of vigilante, if you chose to see it like that.

I sighed. Two hours and none of my research gave me any indication of why me. Why the hell should Red 57-kill-count Hood care if some goon told me he like the way I looked in my suit? I may has well have been the veiled threats of Kuznetsov’s evening column for all my inconsequence to him.

But it all kept running through my mind. Backwards and forwards. The vitriol in his voice preluding the barbarity of his reprimand. The way he said little Batgirl, like the crime was that I’d been engaged at all. More than the memory, something was telling me to keep digging. Something dragging me back to Crime Alley with the current of the running blood through Little Italy’s gutters.

I had to do something. And if that something wasn’t going to Bruce, then school tomorrow would have to wait.

The morning went along as per usual. I woke up at six, dawned my Gotham Academy uniform, grabbed a muffin and coffee, completed a complicated and well-practiced secret handshake with Tim (that Dick was secretly jealous of), and was out the door at 6:30, keys jingling in Alfred’s hand.

He dropped me off outside the ornate gothic academy, and I waved goodbye as I skipped backward along the cobblestone walkway. Once his black Mercedes was a pinpoint on the horizon, I promptly turned heel from the front doors, heading East toward the Narrows. Catching the subway there would take me as far as the Knight’s Stadium, and from there it was a short distance to the Alley. I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous in my academy uniform- anyone who gave a shit could pretty confidently deduce that school was in session at 8am on a Tuesday, and no student native to the Alley could afford a private education, so I was bound to draw eyes. I hadn’t packed an extra outfit incase Tim or Alfred got suspicious- that was paranoia puppeteering. I wasn’t used to skipping school. I’d have to make due.

Crime Alley in broad daylight was a brand new experience. At night, at least the smoke unfurling from the sewer grates hit the flickering streetlights and offered an unconventional charm. During the day, it was like shedding light on a foul sin. I was starkly out of place, and even the lapdog-sized rats seemed to know it, scurrying back across gritty concrete when I passed by. I looked for familiar things I’d seen the other night- a run-down apartment complex, a gated liquor shop, a meager but menacing corner-store, busy with glaring laymen reluctantly dragging out their wallets for a pack of cigarettes. I caught the eye of a woman sitting on the curb with a paper-bag bottle for company, and she scowled.

Spurned by the rats, and now by the people, I was running out of options. Sticking close to the buildings that perimetered the square, I moved in tandem with the motion of the locals, so as not to draw any eyes by looking lost. It was an unnerving scape; too quiet for my liking, but just empty enough to feel safely underseen. I made my way past familiar landmarks until I finally stood before the warehouse where I’d been.

I listened; no sound from inside. Even henchmen have day jobs. Jimmying the rusty padlock was just a matter of brandishing a bobby-pin from my hair, and the heavy metal door swung open without much resistance. I cautiously picked my way around crates and boxes, unsure of what I was looking for. Clues, maybe. Proof that he was here and dropped a body in my name, amen.

There was a dark, daunting stain on the floor where Hoffman’s body was. A phantom gunshot echoed in my ears, along with a nauseating sound of flat-back weight slapping concrete.

“Ain’t school in session?” I spun on my heel, meeting the red helm of a towering man draped in leather and armor. My mouth went dry. My right foot slipped back into a fighting stance before I remembered I was in cashmere and plaid, not kevlar. Not that I even stood a chance either way; but at least he seemed to harbor good will toward Batgirl. Wordlessly, I took a few steps back until I was standing over the blood and ghosts of Hoffman’s demise.

“P-please. Don’t- don’t hurt me.” I rasped.

I could play the rebellious, morose teenager and come up with something like it was a dare, or I could offer no explanation and simply cry.

Red Hood’s head tipped one way. His hands were empty- for now. Two heavy-looking glocks hung on his waist. I didn’t want to die on top of Hoffman’s blood stain. There was a level of symbolism there I was deeply unprepared to spend my final moments analyzing.

“Lookin’ for something, darlin’?” I swallowed- unable to say you.

“Wh-What do you want?” I asked.

He laughed, but it was humorless. Lacking whatever key component made laughs so appealing. As though the sound rung off the gravestones of uncanny valley before reaching my ears. “I think we’re both asking stupid questions.” He said. I was fucked. He outweighed me by a hundred pounds, and could out-draw me even if I had a weapon. I had no explanation for my being here that suited a civilian, and my phone was in my bag, meaning help was a world away.

But just as soon as he advanced a few paces, he stopped, and gestured to the crimson beneath my feet.

“Enjoy the show the other night?” He asked, before pulling something out of his jacket pocket and twirling it between his fingers with practiced ease. A batarang.

“You forgot somethin’.”

Cold, knife-like fear erupted in my spine, driven to the hilt. He knew. How did he know? What the hell was I supposed to do? My terror must have shown on my face, because he stopped fidgeting.

“It’s okay, babydoll. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“H-how-“

He moved again, slow, lazy strides until he was no more than an inch from me.

“Who are you?” I asked, figuring if I was gonna die, I should at least know that much.

His hands grabbed mine. The leather of his gloves was cool on my skin, but it barely registered for the closeness of him. I stared at the red bat symbol on his chest, jagged and angry looking. I blinked and looked down slowly as he closed my fingers around the cold metal of the batarang.

“Go home, little bird.” It was a cold, seething demand, his voice snagging on the scrambler to make it sound like a low growl.

“Tell Batman when he’s ready to stop sending his toy soldiers,” His hand went under my chin, tilting my head upward. My breath shook as I drew it, hitching, even though the man before me was faceless. Clean, red monochrome, glinting in the light.

“I’m getting impatient.” *

I walked through the manor door in a daze, the cold steel batarang searing my palm.

Bruce and Damian were in the living room, each invested in their own reading material. The grandfather clock ticked his steady tempo, and I inconspicuously adjusted the bag on my shoulder. Bruce had a steaming cup of coffee on the glass side table beside his leather chair.

“How was school?” He asked, not looking up. My paranoia convinced me it sounded rhetorical, but I shrugged anyway.

“Same old.” A glance, to see if my lie had landed.

Damian was the spitting image of his father. He, along with Tim, operated in the wake of being an only child, so he never did care about how I did in school, or much of anything else in my orbit. If at any point he did, he never thought to ask. Father and son looked like a matching set of dolls sitting there, cross-legged, with dark hair and gaunt eyes, both leanly muscular, and habitually poised; a consequence of being from the upper echelon of each of their respective backgrounds.

“Hey, um, are you going out tonight?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Can I come?”

“Are you certain you want to?” He still didn’t look up.

I blinked. “Um… yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been distracted since the last outing.”

Damian visibly tuned in.

“Oh. Sorry. I had a big paper I was worried about for school, but I turned it in today, so I’m good to go.” I threw him a thumbs up, even though he wasn’t looking.

A beat.

“Very well, then. Nine o’clock.”

I nodded, and headed toward the stairs.

��Y/N,” I stopped, and turned around. He was looking at me now, eyes blue and steady.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you did well?”

“…”

“On the paper.”

I threw him a smile. “The best.”

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karanna1 · 5 years ago

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Okay, hear me out:

A 30 minute short film starring Phoebe Tonkin.

- No dialogue.

- All women. Even the extras. She’s got a lot of female friends.

- She’s really physical with her friends and lovers. Lots of pushing and shoving and grabbing and carrying and dragging etc.

- Epic sweeping landscape shots because her character takes a vacation. So Phoebe on a mountaintop. Phoebe on a beach. Phoebe walking through a field of flowers. Phoebe in the desert. Phoebe swimming in the ocean. And so on Long road trips and various methods of transportation.

- Really cool long shots (like her in a city walking from an office to the subway to a deli to her apartment without ever cutting away).

- She falls in love with a woman. They’re adorable and really hot together.

- It’s like a month in a woman’s life and we just follow it, all the mundane and the exciting. From her falling in love and quitting her job and traveling to washing her face and sitting on the toilet while scrolling her phone and eating alone in her apartment shoving as many dumplings in her mouth as she can in one go.

- There will obviously be an epic soundtrack.

- One caveat to the utter normalcy of this world: any time a man appears in the frame, Phoebe goes animalistic and beats the ever loving shit out of him. I mean, a spectacularly violent (and well choreographed) fight scene every time a man shows up and she becomes a BEAST, all growls and yelling and grunting and beats him to a bloody pulp with the force of a raging typhoon. Then she walks away, usually with some blood on her, and normal life resumes. No explanation given. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just something she does. (call it magical realism).

- One time she’ll be walking with a friend and a man appears like 200 yards away and she growls in annoyance and runs off to pound him, but the camera stays on her friend who doesn’t move and just patiently waits for her to be done. The audience hears the violent fight taking place in the background with some glimpses here and there. When the fight goes on for a while, the friend gets bored and looks to Phoebe, pointing at her watch and Phoebe acknowledges her with annoyance, but rushes to finish the random dude off and runs back. They continue with their day as normal.

- At the very end, with ZERO DIALOGUE throughout the whole thing, something happens (I haven’t decided what) that makes her yell “FUCK!” at the top of her lungs in her Aussie accent. Why is she Australian in an American setting? No one will ever know. The movie ends. That’s the only word we ever hear from her.

Thoughts?

#phoebe tonkin

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primortravel · 3 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://primortravel.com/7-reasons-to-base-yourself-in-brooklyn/

7 Reasons to Base Yourself in Brooklyn

Williamsburg, Brooklyn (photo: Enzo Tica)

Brooklyn may not be the first place you think of staying when planning a trip to New York City; however, this borough has much to offer.

Located across the East River, Brooklyn covers a sprawling area three times the size of Manhattan. It boasts a larger population, too, at 2.6 million people.

The neighborhood of Williamsburg is as close to Lower Manhattan as you can get without actually being on the island.

It’s connected by the massive Williamsburg Bridge, which allows for cars, cyclists, and pedestrians.

Colombian coffee at Devocion in Williamsburg

I grew up in a suburb of New York City and have tried to visit friends and family annually for the last 20 years.

One year, I visited while my brother was living in Williamsburg, which gave me a chance to walk around this trendy area in person. Numerous Brooklyn coffee shops, bars, and restaurants caught my eye.

Devocion was one of them. This Latin American cafe sourced their beans from Colombia, where I used to live, and first gained an appreciation for coffee.

The interior featured exposed brick and a skylight, allowing natural light to fill the space occupied with folks on their laptops. It was my kind of place!

Side note: a few years after I stopped into Devocion in Williamsburg, I came across a Devocion cafe in Bogota!

Other notable neighborhoods include Greenpoint, Brooklyn Heights, Prospect Heights, Park Slope, and Bushwick.

Beyond the hipster hangouts, cool cafes, and incredible eats, here are seven more reasons to base yourself in Brooklyn.

Why Brooklyn?

1. It’s More Affordable

I’ll just put it out there for the few readers who don’t already know. Hotel prices in Manhattan are insanely high.

Staying in Brooklyn is the more budget-friendly choice, thereby allowing you to keep your overall trip cost in check.

The NYC subway system is easily accessible, so you’re not losing anything in terms of getting around.

And, as you’ll see below, there are plenty of fun things to do in Brooklyn that won’t cost you much at all.

View of Manhattan from Brooklyn Bridge (photo: Ethan Bykerk)

2. The Brooklyn Bridge

An icon of New York City, the Brooklyn Bridge spans the East River, connecting Lower Manhattan with downtown Brooklyn.

This neo-Gothic suspension/cable-hybrid bridge took 14 years to build. It opened more than 138 years ago, on May 24, 1883.

Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge is a popular and free experience available to anyone visiting the city. The bridge is 6,000 feet long, or about 1.1 miles.

If you’re staying in Brooklyn, give yourself some extra time to explore the Brooklyn Bridge Park before your crossing.

Check out Jane’s Carousel, a fully-restored (and working) carousel that dates back to 1922.

Once you’re on the bridge, you’ll be treated to beautiful views of Manhattan, including One World Trade Center.

3. The Scenic Views

Manhattan has one of the world’s best skylines, yet it’s hard to appreciate when you’re in it.

Base yourself in Brooklyn, and you’ll be better able to enjoy the view. Beyond a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, you can take in views from the park and piers below it.

Plus, you’ll also be able to see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island too.

Mural in Williamsburg (photo: Nelson Ndongala)

4. Street Art and Galleries

If you like street art and monumental murals, then you’re better off in Brooklyn, where local artists brighten the streets with their thoughtful pieces.

Casual fans can soak up the artsy atmosphere as they go about their day, while those more interested in the local scene can try a self-guided walking tour or a paid one with a company like Graff Tours.

After taking a graffiti tour in Buenos Aires, I gained a much greater appreciation for these artists.

But, there’s more to Brooklyn’s art scene than what you see on the streets. There’s a thriving gallery scene, too.

Timeout highlighted 16 of the best art galleries in Brooklyn, so you can get a feel for what’s available.

5. The Brooklyn Museum

Located at the northeast edge of Prospect Park, the Brooklyn Museum is New York City’s third-largest museum by physical size and has a collection of 1.5 million works.

The Egyptian collection covers 3,000 years, while American luminaries such as Norman Rockwell, Winslow Homer, and Georgia O’Keefe are well represented.

General admission is $16 for adults and $10 for students (with a valid ID). Ticketed exhibitions are extra.

6. Prospect Park

Prospect Park is to Brooklyn as Central Park is to Manhattan. This sprawling green space includes the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, Brooklyn Museum, historical landmarks, and a lake.

Take a break from the city with a leisurely walk through the park. There are plenty of street vendors, or you could buy some food at a local deli and make a picnic.

7. Coney Island and the Beach

Visiting Coney Island is a quintessential NYC experience, especially in the summer when the beach is packed.

The amusement park is home to the famous Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest, held every July 4th since 1967. But you don’t need to eat 76 hot dogs to get a feel for it. One will do just fine!

When I visited Coney Island in my twenties, it was to get over my fear of roller coasters.

Coney Island is home to the Cyclone, the world’s second steepest wooden coaster, which reaches 60 mph. Not bad for a ride that opened nearly 100 years ago (in 1927).

The Coney Island boardwalk is home to the New York Aquarium. And if you keep walking east, you’ll hit Brighton Beach.

***

As you can see, there are plenty of good reasons to base yourself in Brooklyn when visiting New York City.

Each neighborhood has its own vibe and culture, and you could easily spend months (or years) trying to get a feel for them all.

______

This story is brought to you in partnership with Condor Hotel.

Last Updated on August 21, 2021 by Dave

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svu-stories · 8 years ago

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.82

For: @babydollvalens21 Characters: Amaro/Reader Warnings: None. Word Count: 1, 453 Note: Request was for a female reader.

“Why are you acting so weird?”

“Excuse me?” You stammered, shoving your hands in your pocket as you shivered against the cool spring breeze.

Nick shrugged, stopping under a streetlight and eyeing you curiously, “You’ve been quiet all night and tripping over your words. It’s not like you. Normally things are so,” he paused, pursing his lips. “Easy when we hang out.”

It wasn’t as though you had never spent time with Nick before. Your first meeting occurred several months prior when you started working the main entrance desk of the precinct. Signing in visitors, answering questions, and directing complaints hadn’t been your dream job, but you knew you had to pay your dues. Everyone did. Yours just happened to be a little less glamorous than some others.

Yet, Amaro made every day a little better. It started with a smile and good morning – he was always the gentleman. Then he knew your name. When he’d greet you, your name sounded sweet as honey on his lips. You didn’t know how or why, but you found him stopping first thing in the morning to make small talk about the weather. As the days passed by – rain, shine, snow, and wind – you learned a little about Nick’s family and revealed bits about yours. You came to know each other’s coffee preferences and which sandwich he ate from the deli down the street.

Eventually, you started to have him join you behind the desk after a difficult case and shared the gummy worms you always kept hidden in the bottom drawer. There was always the hope that a bite of the child-friendly treat would erase the all-too-painful wounds of fighting crime.

Tonight, you had gone out for drinks with the squad to celebrate closing a tough case – a case where you had gone through four bags of gummy worms and countless early morning coffee runs. Spending time with the SVU team was still becoming a new normal, but Nick had invited you repeatedly, and you realized that you couldn’t keep saying no. Besides, you wanted to talk. You wanted him to know where you stood.

And you hoped he stood somewhere on the same plane.

“I’m fine,” you shrugged, knowing the opportunity to recite the verses you’d practiced in your mirror. They were words that had been hanging on the tip of your tongue for months. Ever since you’d noticed the way his brown eyes held his expressions so vibrantly, always giving insight to the words he needed to hear. Ever since the time his hand brushed yours reaching for a pen and you felt goosebumps come alive atop of your skin and the butterflies try to make babies in your stomach. You knew you were like a pressure cooker, waiting as all of the steam has built up and was ready to escape.

You reached out, playfully looping your arm through his and tugging him forward, a bright smile adorning your face. You were only a few blocks from your apartment, walking on a nice night when you could have instead taken the subway to buy a few more minutes in his presence. “C’mon,” you insisted. “I’ll tell you more if you keep walking with me.”

Nick looked thoughtful, but nodded and let his feet carry him forward.

Your friendship was effortless. Uncomplicated, even, and you knew this could change it all, but you had decided that the risk was worth it.

“So, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while,” you breathed. Your voice shook slightly, but you tried to hide it as you leaned into his upper body. “I just… I really appreciate our friendship, you know?”

“Me, too,” Nick agreed, looking only forward as he spoke.

“And I know that we can tell each other anything, like that time I admitted to you that I had been the cause of the clog in the women’s bathroom on the first floor of the precinct, but called it in like I had just found it? Do you remember that?” You asked quietly.

Nick chuckled. His laugh lit up your world like the stars lit the night sky in the middle of an empty field. You longed for that kind of openness somewhere in the city. Perhaps a blanket under the moonlight would make your confession easier. Instead, you settled for a leisurely walk down crowded, messy streets with car horns blaring.

“I do,” he finally nodded. “You were so embarrassed and felt so bad you helped clean bathrooms for a week. But what does this have to do with tonight?”

“I-I’ve never really had anyone I could talk to like you,” you admitted, your voice quiet and sheepish. “There’s not been a Nick Amaro in my life before.”

“I should hope not,” Nick mumbled. “The only other option would be my father, and you’re not allowed to ever meet that deplorable excuse of a man.”

You sighed, shaking your head and squeezing his arm tighter, immediately regretting your words. He’d only let you in to the slightest details of his childhood, but you’d heard the rumors around the precinct when Nick’s father was in town. You looked up at him softly, “I wouldn’t want to.”

“Good.”

“What I mean is that I’ve never really had someone where things were so easy.”

“Then why are you making tonight so hard?” Nick asked, guiding you around a grocery cart and homeless man. Nick gave him a nod as you passed, and you wondered momentarily if there was something you could do to help him, but you were ushered forward.

It was probably for the best.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you,” you blurted awkwardly, eyes wide as you yanked your arm from his and shoved your hand back in your pocket. Without a second thought, you side stepped, increasing the distance between you as your feet picked up pace, wanting more than anything to hide away in the depths of your apartment.

You cursed yourself for making a mess of the rehearsed confession. The words were supposed to be poetic and gentle, honest and heartfelt. Not sudden and jarring, leaving him to process the statement like he would of a spontaneous uttering from a perpetrator.

As your feet carried you faster, Nick’s seemed to slow in the streetlights, cars whizzing by as he stared at you. You stopped, turning to look at him, eyes filled with fear and embarrassment.

“You never said anything before,” he said quietly.

You shrugged, sucking your lower lip into your mouth and biting down hard. You were waiting for the end – the moment when he turned and sauntered away, the gentle dismissal of your feelings, the offer to get you home and then the fade away as he slowly stopped texting and calling, stopped bringing you coffee in the mornings or stealing moments of your time with puns and pathetic jokes. You could feel it in your bones – no more small talk over weather or bumping of hands over shared gummy worms.

“What do you want?” He finally asked, breaking several moments of perceived silence as the world moved around the scene in which you were seemingly frozen.

You swallowed hard, voice cracking as you answered him, “I don’t know. But I don’t want to lose my friend.”

“You won’t,” Nick murmured, taking a few large steps to close the distance that had grown between you. “Do you want more than a friendship, though?”

“What do you want?” You countered hesitantly.

“I want to take this to your place for a nightcap and a discussion like adults,” Nick said quietly. “Because I think we’ve both known this for a long time, but neither of us wanted to say anything, but the middle of the street isn’t the right location for this to happen.”

You pursed your lips, looking up at him thoughtfully before offering one small nod, “Are you saying…”

“That I feel the same?” Nick questioned, finishing your thought before you could get it all the way out.

“Yeah,” you swallowed hard, your single word more of a question than a statement.

“Yes,” he breathed.

You held your hand out, palm up, eyes trained on the shadows the streetlamps were producing around you. Nick smiled softly as he reached out, lacing your fingers together with a squeeze. You turned, leaning into his side again as the last few blocks were traversed in silence, minds turning and hearts racing.

Perhaps it was the start of a new adventure.

One filled with gummy worms and coffee, with kisses and gentle hugs, with unforeseen squabbles and tender I love yous.

It was an adventure under the stars and in the streets. An adventure you would take together.

#nick amaro #amaro imagine #svu fanfiction #law and order svu #svu #fulfilled request

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sserpicko · 6 years ago

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‘If Beale Street Could Talk’ Offers a Tour of a Lost New York

The film, directed by Barry Jenkins and nominated for three Academy Awards, was adapted from the 1974 James Baldwin novel and shot largely on the city’s streets.

If you ask even a longtime New Yorker for directions to Minetta Lane, you will likely be met with a blank stare.

The quaint one-way street, nestled in the heart of Manhattan’s Greenwich Village between Sixth Avenue and Macdougal Street, is only a few blocks from the wonderfully frenetic Washington Square Park, but it remains largely unknown. Still, it feels timeless.

For Barry Jenkins, director of the film “If Beale Street Could Talk,” which was adapted from the 1974 James Baldwin novel and tells the story of love and injustice in 1970s New York, largely in the African-American cultural mecca of Harlem and what was then a more rough-and-tumble Greenwich Village, capturing the New York City of yesteryear was paramount.

“I knew this was going to be an intimate film,” Mr. Jenkins said in a recent interview. “This is a period piece about New York. It’s James Baldwin’s sometimes acrimonious love letter to New York, but a love letter nonetheless.”

New York has, of course, changed dramatically since the 1970s. Local institutions like B. Altman and Horn & Hardart are no longer part of the landscape. Entire neighborhoods have become denser and more vertical. However, on foot, remnants of the past still stick out, providing a sensory overload that is distinctly New York.

While many of the rough spots in Greenwich Village have been smoothed out over the years, many scenes in the film were still shot there, and other neighborhoods — within walking distance or an easy subway ride away — were able to stand in. Throughout the city, narrow streets, urban parks and restaurants that have seen better days give a sense of the time and place that the novel and the movie sought to convey.

To visually reflect the richness of Baldwin’s prose, Mr. Jenkins worked closely with the film’s production designer, Mark Friedberg, and Samson Jacobson, the locations manager, both native New Yorkers.

“I leaned on those guys to not only try and find what places are organically part of the world of our characters, but also are New York, in all caps,” Mr. Jenkins said.

In the film, a pivotal scene between main characters Tish (KiKi Layne) and Fonny (Stephan James) at the intersection of Minetta Lane and Minetta Street, reflected such a sentiment and revealed New York as a place of promise, despite the many obstacles that both characters would soon face.

“The Minetta scene was interesting because it was pouring rain,” Mr. Jenkins said. “This wasn’t our intention in the script, but on the day of filming these two young black actors who are unfamiliar to many people were just walking down the block on the night of essentially their first love and the skies have opened. It’s so picturesque, like 1950s Hollywood Americana.”

If you visit Greenwich Village now, you’ll see a mishmash of boutiques and local restaurants, especially on the side streets like Charles Street and Greenwich Avenue, roads that don’t adhere to the uniform Manhattan street grid. Longtime music haunts like Village Vanguard and the Bitter End remain.

In the novel, Greenwich Village is richly narrated in Tish’s voice, who observes not only the layout of Washington Square Park, but the eclectic people who have defined its existence.

“We passed Minetta Tavern, crossed Minetta Lane, passed the newspaper stand on the next corner, and crossed diagonally into the park, which seemed to huddle in the shadow of the heavy new buildings of N.Y.U. and the high new apartment buildings on the east and the north. We passed the men who had been playing chess in the lamplight for generations, and people walking their dogs, and young men with bright hair and very tight pants, who looked quickly at Fonny and resignedly at me. We sat down on the stone edge of the dry fountain, facing the arch.”

Fonny tells Tish that he used to occasionally sleep in the park. Filming for the Washington Square Park scenes actually took place at Stuyvesant Square Park near the Stuyvesant Town-Peter Cooper Village development on the East Side of Manhattan.

Washington Square Park, with its 1892 triumphal arch, remains a magnet for chess players and social activism. Its large size allows it to thrive as a universal meeting place of sorts, while Stuyvesant Square Park, located between East 15th and East 17th Streets and bisected by Second Avenue, is a much smaller park.

“Washington Square Park doesn’t look at all like their Washington Square Park,” Mr. Friedberg said. “It looks like Versailles right now compared to the Washington Square Park that Fonny slept in. We ended up shooting in Stuyvesant park, which was also nice, but had the old benches and wrought iron.”

Tish, who was employed in a department store, worked tirelessly through her pregnancy. Bergdorf Goodman, the luxury retailer on Fifth Avenue and 57th Street, allowed scenes to be filmed in their store, but with a caveat.

“They were really cool about us shooting there, but we had to get there when they closed and be out of there before they opened,” Mr. Friedberg said.

After a lot of prodding, Mr. Friedberg was able to film in El Quijote, the Spanish restaurant at the Hotel Chelsea which operated for 88 years before it closed last year. (There are tentative plans for the restaurant, at 226 West 23rd Street in the Chelsea neighborhood, to reopen after a renovation.) In the film, El Quijote stood in for El Faro, a long-gone Spanish restaurant that was located at the corner of Greenwich and Horatio streets in Greenwich Village.

Fonny has a basement apartment on Bank Street in the West Village, which was extensively designed by Mr. Friedberg on a sound stage to resemble an older apartment, complete with a bathtub in the kitchen. In the novel, Tish is accosted at a market on Bleecker Street by a deranged man, which resulted in Fonny defending her and subsequently being framed for rape by a racist police officer; the filming for those dramatic scenes was completed on location in the Bronx.

On Arthur Avenue, the “Little Italy” of the Bronx, located south of Fordham Road, a few minutes from the Fordham Road station (B and D lines) and the Fordham Metro North station, excellent pizzerias, delis and bakeries remain a way of life. It is a perfect stand-in for 1960s-era Greenwich Village.

“The area still has the last bit of its Italian commercial culture,” Mr. Friedberg said. “Also, like Greenwich Village, the streets don’t perfectly line up in that area.”

From 1958 to 1961, Baldwin himself lived in an apartment at 81 Horatio Street in Greenwich Village. However, he was born and raised in Harlem, the cultural nexus of the novel and the film. (From Greenwich Village, Harlem is an easy ride uptown on the New York City subway, with express service on the A and No. 2 and 3 lines and the 125th Street stations serving as gateways to the heart of the neighborhood.)

Tish and Fonny first meet as children in Harlem. On film, we see them as adults, walking in Riverside Park, with the Hudson River and the sounds of the Henry Hudson Parkway in the distance. When Tish finds out that she is pregnant and is comforted by her mother, Sharon Rivers (Regina King), her family invites Fonny’s family to their apartment to tell them the news about the impending baby. The apartment scenes were filmed on location in Harlem, in a townhouse near St. Nicholas Park, which runs alongside St. Nicholas Avenue from West 128th to West 141st Streets.

When Daniel Carty (Brian Tyree Henry) runs into Fonny on Lenox Avenue near 123rd Street, it feels like a family reunion of sorts; it goes back to the theme of Harlem as this unifying force for African-Americans. They were in a neighborhood filled with brownstones and grand avenues that also produced Baldwin and was at the heart of the Harlem Renaissance. While Harlem experienced a high level of urban decay in the 1970s, which Baldwin details, it still is seen as a force more positive than not throughout the film.

Reflecting on some of the most memorable film locations in the city, Mr. Jenkins honed in on the Showmans Jazz Club on 125th Street near Convent Avenue in Harlem, which featured a scene with Joseph Rivers (Colman Domingo) and Frank Hunt (Michael Beach), two fathers sitting at a bar, trying to figure out how to save Fonny from a jail sentence. The bar impressed Mr. Jenkins during the film preproduction, and made it into the film.

“Showmans is a place where I would go to unwind if I lived in the neighborhood,” he said. “It’s one of my favorite Harlem locations because it’s still there. The essence and spirit of your work really comes alive when you can get a lot of the city into a film.”

John L. Dorman: nytimes.com

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middlerice79-blog · 6 years ago

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New York City's Best Holiday Dinner Alternatives - Forbes

It’s a magical time of the year in New York City: Rockefeller Center’s giant tree is all lit up, the streets are bustling with happy shoppers and it’s not unusual to see a group of Santas on the subway. New York’s food scene is notorious for its abundance and variety, but it can be challenging to find restaurants that are open on Christmas. What to do? Why not forego tradition, skip the classic roasts and puddings and instead embrace the city’s amazing ethnic eateries? It’s the perfect way to indulge in some spectacular meals, while trying something a bit different. Below are several of my favorites.

Indulge in a dim sum platterHakkasan

The classic Chinese meal elevated

Discretely tucked in the theatre district, Hakkasan has created a fabulous Cantonese inspired menu and a sleekly decorated dining room. Fan favorites include the Peking duck (which can be topped with caviar, if you are so inclined), steamed bass in royal soya sauce, and rib-eye, stir fried in merlot. Our table was particularly fond of the steamed dim sum platter that included scallop shumai and prawn and chive dumplings, as well as the smoky chicken fried rice. There are also a surprising number of vegetarian and gluten free options. Black sesame and chocolate dumplings and homemade sorbets are the perfect way to end the meal. (Eleven worldwide locations, including New York, London, Las Vegas, Miami, and Shanghai; open Christmas Eve, Hakkasan.com.)

The welcoming dining roomAlmayass

Elegant Middle Eastern food

Middle Eastern hosts are well-known for their incredible hospitality and Almayass does the perfect job of welcoming guests with an expansive menu and an elegant dining room. The Armenian-Lebanese menu includes many expected favorites, such as hummus, but here it is served in multiple permutations and offered with fried cauliflower, Spanish pine nuts or diced Australian lamb. It's impossible to choose between the multiple appetizers, so one of the tasting menus is the really the best way to savor the mantee (beef dumplings), the dolma made with eggplant, the kebbe and more. Entrees are generous and my family loved the cubed filet mignon and bronzini. In my mind, the meal must end with mint tea and baklava, but a vermicelli treat topped with halva is also quite good. (Multiple locations include, New York, Doha, Dubai and other Middle Eastern locations; open Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Almayass.com.)

Endless dessertsSigne Brick

Celebrate Swedish Julborg

In Sweden, the holidays are celebrated with Julbord, An especially elaborate Smörgåsbord meal, served only during the Christmas season. Aquavit has created the most spectacular version of Julbord, with a table that is filled with Scandinavian treats, including twelve types of herring, four types of salmon, and cabbage that is creamed, caramelized and glazed. Other Scandinavian specialties include Swedish meatballs, rack of lamb, roast beef and wild game sausage, to name just a few of the many dishes. Lobster and caviar are also available and the dessert table is filled with Swedish princess cake topped with marzipan, chocolate cake, gingerbread loafs, multiple cookies, and Swedish Christmas candies. This two-star Michelin restaurant cooks every dish to perfection and the small dining rooms give the impression of spending the holidays in a very lovely home. (Julbord is available all day on Christmas Eve and on Saturdays in December, Aquavit.com)

Lovingly made deli treats2nd Avenue Deli

A great Jewish Deli

For sumptuous deli food, head to the 2nd Avenue Deli where the menu supplies the best deli favorites. This is the place to indulge in matza ball soup, chopped liver, house made pastrami, and some very large knishes. If you come with an appetite, as my 15 year old son did, you may be able to tackle the three decker sandwich where combinations include brisket and turkey or corned beef piled with salami and corned beef. Desserts feature homemade babka that was just about perfect, as well as rugelach and other sweets. Dinner ends with a mock-egg cream that is served in a shot glass and that tastes just like the real thing. (The restaurant is kosher). For a cool vibe on the classics, the 2nd floor Bar & Essen is all atmosphere and features tasty cocktails, cozy leather booths and the Jewish version of tapas—an elegant meat board, veal pelmeni and a gefilte fish croquette. (The second floor is open on Christmas Eve; the main restaurant is open Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. 2ndavedeli.com).

Delicious Indian KulchasChristopher Villano

Fabulous Indian food

Indian Accent, located in the Parker New York hotel, serves some of the city’s best Indian food with multi-course options and a wonderful staff who can explain it all to you. Diners can choose from a five course tasting menu or pick three or four options that include appetizers, mid-course, main courses and dessert. Some of my favorites are the mathri (pancakes) filled with eggplant and duck, perfectly cooked tandoori lamb chops, chicken malal tikka in a lovely green chili cream and perfectly seared scallops and crunchy shrimp. The breads are superb and the naan stuffed with butter chicken was so good, we ordered seconds. Desserts are beautifully crafted and the barfi (milk custard) that was turned into a treacle tart was a super sophisticated version of the barfi I had in India several years ago. An excellent wine pairing is also available. (Open Christmas Eve, indianaccent.com).

Source: https://www.forbes.com/sites/sherrienachman/2018/12/10/nycs-best-christmas-dinner-alternatives/

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rutisup-blog · 8 years ago

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Spring Skiing with the Silver Surfer

04/29/17 – Bed, Fort Badass. 5:40 AM

The alarm clock fills the room with FM radio, waking me up–It’s time to get dressed quickly, I have a ride to Tahoe picking me up at 06:00 AM. It’s my friend and co-worker Rachel, someone who tells coders what to do. As expected, she’s on San Francisco time…that is, she’s running late. I’ve anticipated this, one of the many characteristics you develop after moving to California.

She arrives around 06:30, and she’s overshot it a little down the block–no worries. In the mean-time I have eaten breakfast–Siggi’s plain skyr style yogurt with a handful of almonds. I lug my board, boots, backpack, and duffel bag down the sidewalk, loading it into her boyfriends Gray Nissan Altima. There’s an extra California license plate in the trunk, caked with years of accumulated dirt. We’re both tired, loading my gear in the back.

“I forgot my pass, we need to swing by my place” says Rachel, looking sorry. I don’t mind, I always expect delays in SF. I direct her to Townsend Street via the ol’ under the freeway 13th Street route and once we arrive, her boyfriend drops off her forgotten items. Time to rock.

We hit the road, and soon we’re over the Bay Bridge and headed east to Tahoe. The sun’s rays streaks through the girders on the outsides of the lower deck of the bridge, hitting the car like a strobe light as it’s rapidly obscured by the girders. I search Rachel’s pack for her sunglasses, finding a hip pair with wooden arms–nice.

We’re getting close to the Carquinez Bridge when we realize we need coffee. “Pull off here” I say, quickly getting us lost. My sense of direction is pretty awful sometimes. I pull up Google Maps, and navigate back to the freeway, driving through some farmland and past some sort of carbon plant–whatever the hell that is. We’re in the boonies.

“You’re not bringing me out here to kill me, are you?” asks Rachel, somewhat joking but not 100% certain. Five minutes later we’re rolling through the Starbucks drive-thru for some joe–two black coffees. Rachel offers me some of her croissant as we motor on east–it tastes delicious.

I cringe as we drive past Folsom, realizing that I’ve just missed the last Chic-Fil-A on the way to Tahoe. Fuck. Placerville is the next and only stop for decent chow. We try to stop at the In-N-Out besides Schlotzysky’s Deli–the one on Hi-Lo Drive–to find both sadly closed. Sad!

We settle for the Carl’s Jr. in the strip-mall across the freeway, where I grab a jalapeno thickburger. Rachel branches off to grab a veggie sub from the Subway across the parking lot. There’s this cool motorcycle with a sick sidecar parked in the lot. I emerge with a Carl’s Jr in hand and return to the car, but find no one there.

I walk up to the Subway, swinging to door wide open. My nose is blasted with an assault of the dreaded ‘Subway smell’ of yeast particles floating through that place like some sort of bread power particle accelerator. I quickly switch to mouth-breathing.

Without shame I sit down and start chowing down on my thickburger as I wait, but I only got two bites in before she approached with her sandwich in hand. “I don’t mind if you eat in the car” she says tactfully, so we jump back in the Nissan and hit the road, the foothills coming upon us as we clear through “Old Hangtown”.

All there is to see is pine trees on either side of the road as we drive up up up into the mountains. This is the all too familiar ride to South Lake Tahoe on US-50. Soon, the majestic beauty of the Sierra Nevada Mountains would be upon us. The air thins out as we climb up into the mountains, the speakers of the Nissan filling that empty space with the sounds of house music.

Some more banter and office politics talk, and next thing you know we’re driving through the mountain pass, a steep drop-off over the side to a forest of pine trees. Snowy mountain-tops span off into the distance. We round a curve on the pass to behold the beauty of Lake Tahoe in the background, and an airstrip down below near the foot of the lake, surrounded by a forest of pine trees.

“I’m gonna get my wings soon. Someday I’ll be landing on the airstrip” I remark, blue eyes wide as I dream big and talk bigger. No joke though, I will land there someday.

Whatup

We get to South Lake and park in the back lot of Harrah’s. I put on this amazing silver morphsuit my roommate Jonny lent me, and then start to gear up. We walk over to the gondola and wait 5-10 minutes to get on a gondola up the mountain. It’s me, Rachel, some raver chick, two other raver dudes, and some older guy wearing a Heavenly uniform that is an off-white shade–I’ve never seen this uniform before.

PSssscchhhh, the sound of a beer being opened echoes through the gondola a few seconds after we lift off out of the depot–raver dude has cracked a beer.

“Hey, come on. You can’t drink that on the Gondola.” says the old Heavenly dude. I notice his uniform again, it’s such a different color than the Helley Hansen jackets, and it looks barely worn. His name tag says Pete and he’s been ‘serving great experiences’ since 1984. He’s gotta be about 50, looking clean-cut with a cleft chin, helmet, and brand new white ski-boots.

“Ahhh..Come on man, it’s already cracked! “No.” the Heavenly guy responds. “Ah man…Hey, what do you do at Heavenly?” “I’m the Chief Operating Officer here at Heavenly” he says, nearly deadpan. “Oooohhh shiyyyyyeeeeetttt tighhhtt helllaa” say the raver kids, laughing at their dumbass friend.

I realize I was onto something with that peculiar jacket. The situation is somewhat awkward, but we get by, asking questions about Heavenly. Myths were shattered on that ride. We were sharing a six person gondola with who could be the true king of the mountain for all anyone could be concerned.

“Yo this is the last weekend because it’s a lease from the forest service right?” “No, we close in May because that’s just because people stop coming” responds The King. “Oh shit ok, but then that’s why Bo Real closes” “Bo Real…Oh Boreal? Nope, that’s not why they close.” “Oh man I thought that’s why” “No, people just stop coming…”

Well that settles that myth. We also find out after some probing that electricity is the biggest cost on the mountain–cool. We’re making our way up the face of the mountain now and the raver chick is totally enamored with the view. Raver dude seems to see his second chance.

“Ah so man, lemme drink this ya know, so it’s not looking like I’m coming off the gondola with a full beer you know.” “Dooonn’t Do it! chimes in one of his friends” “No.” responds The King “Come on man, it’s the _mountain_ man” says raver kid, bringing the can up to his lips “Don’t do it” he says, the seriousness echoing through the gondola. “Ah ok…”

The gondola comes up to the sky deck lookout point, and the King encourages the troublesome trio to check out the view if they’ve never seen it. Sly. They disembark, and I have a little freak-out as I can’t find my snowboard. Luckily I look behind our gondola and see it’s just in the one behind us–phew.

As the gondola pulls out of the sky deck stop and hurdles towards the top, we all breathe a collective sigh of relief to be rid of those three. “Some people don’t think. They just do. And unfortunately it’s usually those people that end up getting into trouble on the mountain” remarks the COO.

A few minutes later the gondola cruises into the station, and we disembark. I’ve really got to take a piss now. I walk into the bathroom, shuffling over to the urinal and opening the fly of my snow over-alls. I try to pull the dragon through the fly and then realize that I’m wearing a morphsuit. There is no fly. Fuck.

I can’t reach the zipper on the back of my morphsuit, hanging out in that awkward space between your shoulder blades. I ask a stranger to help unzip my morphsuit for me. I laugh at the oddity of this situation. I’m taking a piss now in the toilet as my newfound assistant is unloading a gnarly shit in the stall beside me–time to get out of here. Can’t even wash my hands with this suit on.

Okay, ready to rock. We descend the tall metal stairs from the gondola station, our boots making a sweet slushy crunch sound. I’m back on the snow. We go up Tamarack lift, ride down to Dipper. The snow is a little icy right now. I end up going through this shitty icy bowl near the lift. I realize I’ve entered the yard sale corridor, an area you often see skiers losing their skis as you ride up the lift.

I get some good air on some jumps in the woods, and I realize it might already be time to ditch the jacket and pants and just go full silver body suit. We go up dipper and I take the sleeves off my jacket. We do milky way bowl and it is just OK. Rachel has skis and is definitely faster than me. The only way I can remember to recognize her is by her orange socks. After a few runs on Dipper we go down Comet like 4 times.

Snow is soft, conditions are good. I’m doing lots of jumps, fuck yeah. We take a break to ditch some layers down at East Peak Lodge, and find the scene electric. There’s a snowcat mobile DJ booth set up, and they’re playing the hits of the 90’s. Tons of people hanging out in deck chairs in the snow, many people tanning… It’s gotta be like 65 degrees Fahrenheit. At this point, we both realize that we want a beer.

Naturally, there’s a big line at the bar. No beers on tap, three bros tending to the bar.

“What do you have on tap” asks a patron

“Mmm…” says the bartender, kind of looking quizzically at the taps, and then with a sweeping motion of his hand over the handleless taps and a coy smile he says “None!”

These lads were having a grand ol’ time. I get a Guinness while Rachel gets a dirty snowman, the bartender saying “Okay, but there’s no snow for me to go roll around in outside”. The next bartender confirms her order, asking “One inappropriate snowman?” What a bunch of jokers.

Finally, we’re back outside. The tunes are pumping, and there’s like fifty or so plastic deck chairs just hanging out in the snow, full of people drinking, tanning, and generally being merry. We grab two chairs and then cheers, taking that first sip of that sweet alcoholic nectar–ahhh. So good. I take a taste of her dirty snowman and realize that it’s fucking awesome, my new favorite hot drink.

So we sit there a while and have some banter, getting a pretty decent buzz off of just one drink–that altitude will get you. I peel off my morphsuit and just tan there bare-chested in the sun, laying back in the chair and using my goggles as sunglasses. I’m careful to keep the strap low on my head, so that I don’t get a weird tanline on my bald head. Rachel has a tank-top or something like that and considers going down to a sports bra but wusses out. I share stories about my former workplace and the moral dilemmas of working with 90% females. Whenever I went out to eat with them they never finished their meals, they would just push their half eaten plates towards me and expect me to finish them.

It’s like 13:45 now and I decide it’s time to shred the mountain full morphsuit. Now it’s just me in a full silver morphsuit, sparkling in the sun. People get a nice show of my butt as I struggle to get my feet back in my red riding boots. This old couple takes photos of me, and apparently a lot of people were doing the same. I was getting a lot of attention and I liked it.

Full silver surfer mode now, I stashed my jacket and pants behind the outdoor bar, looking pretty obvious. You tend to stick out when you reflect the sun. We go up Comet like five time, some nice runs down Comet, Orion, Aries Woods, and others. We meet some characters on the lift ride up. There’s two old Tahoe dudes who have a pipe, weed, but no lighter.

“Heyyy man, silver surfer!! Can you reflect the sun to light our bowl!?” says one, laughing in his old hippie way

They offer us some, but four of us were on a lift and none of us had a lighter. One of those moments that makes you questions just what the hell you think you’re doing with your life. I talk about motorcycles with them the whole ride up. Those guys were cool shit.

On the next lift up we meet this old salty dog, he’s got to be one of the most jaded people I’ve ever met on a lift. “Dating is more fun, I’ve already been married twice.” he says, looking off into the distance to ponder the Sierra Nevada Mountains. He goes on a tangent about having sex with the lights on or off. “You should have your own dating hotline man” I tell him, somewhat joking.

We shred some gnarly slush until about 15:00 and then decide to get one last epic run in and then call it. We ride over to the milky way bowl, and then decide to hike up to the top. I barely ride up it much before I have to unstrap and start hiking. I walk for ages, taking a few breaks. I look back to see an amazing view of Lake Tahoe, and a long row of footprints from what now seems like so far down below. We stop near the top where it gets all rocky.

I stick my board in the snow and start to pant a bit. Wow, I’m fucking exhausted. I hear a plane flying by loudly, and I look around trying to find it. And then I realize that it’s flying right by, but I’m looking up instead of down. We’re higher up than the plane is flying–how fucking cool is that. I sit down in the snow and just take it in, watching the plane cruise through the Heavenly Valley headed eastbound through Nevada.

True beauty up here. I get my phone, needing to lick my silver morphsuit fingers to let the haptic sensor register my finger–welcome to the future. I take a snap and see that I’m at 9,964 feet right now–wow. It’s breathtakingly beautiful up here. I realize that this is the most beautiful view of Lake Tahoe I have ever seen. You see the snow and that beautiful basin that is Lake Tahoe to the left, and then to the right it drops off all the way down to no snow and the flatlands of Nevada. It gives a true perspective of how Tahoe is just this weird big basin of water at high altitude. The Dipper lift runs off in the distance.

We’re sitting in the snow taking it all in, the beauty of Lake Tahoe, the snow, the Heavenly Valley. That idyllic beauty of it all. The sounds of the mountain–or lack thereof. Just a light breeze, warm sun, and sparkling blue lake. You can see the frost line visibly on the mountains right by the lake–it’s true beauty.

My silver bodysuit reflects the sun, and now that I’ve spent about three and a half minutes enjoying the beauty of nature, what else is there to do but have a photoshoot? You can take the boy out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the boy. Rachel gets some action shots of me as I pose in front of the lake.

“Work it, work it” she says jokingly, although I’m taking it quite literally. Goggles on, goggles off, board and no board, just generally having some fun with the four accepted wardrobe changes in the paradigm of snowboarding photos. I end with a blue steel pose, and then really jump the shark and put the morphsuit hood over my head and do some creepy zombie crawling towards the camera. At this point Rachel’s had just about enough of my shit and gives me back the camera.

She clips in, I strap in, and then we ride down the huge bowl–it’s steep and crunchy. I’m still in love with the fact that my silver body suit is still providing me enough warmth. We get back down to East Peak Lodge and everything is closed up–what a bummer. I was hoping to listen to more 90s music and drink a beer. I run down to the outdoor bar and lean all the way over the counter to grab my jacket, snow pants, and other stuff I stashed. It’s all there–phew. We’re desperately in need of a beer at this point.

We’re the very last people to get on the chairlift out of East Peak–we closed ‘er down. There’s a bunch of Japanese tourists asking us to take yet another iconic Heavenly photo. They do a few poses, and then we’re ready to get that final run in for the season. I’ve balled my snow pants up with my H&M Hawaiian t-shirt, carrying this big bundle of clothing in my left hand. I try to do some tricks, but realize that it’s really hard to do that when you’re off balance. I have a nice ride down to the gondola.

The music is pumping outside of Tamarack Lodge, and everyone’s trying to get a last beer in. Alright, let’s do this. We find a slanted metal picnic table in the sun, and leave our stuff on the table. It’s a bit of a madhouse here, so Rachel gives me her ID and credit card and holds down the table while I order. “What is this, the East Coast? I’ve only needed multiple IDs in New York” I say as I walk towards the lodge. “I’ll have an IPA” says Rachel as I walk inside.

“Space man!!!” “Silver Surfer!!” “Take me to outerspace!” “I love your suit!”

I’m known by many names at this point, but everyone inside is loving my outfit. They’re probably a little drunk to be fair. Three large lines snake out from the bar, everyone trying to get one last beer in. By the time I get to the front of the line, I realize that it’ll be slim pickings. All that’s left are some dark beers–a milk stout and a porter. I grab two of each, and I’m surprised to see that they want to see the other ID for the other two drinks–Rachel was right.

We enjoy the last drinks of the season out there infront of Tamarack Lodge. At some point an Australian comes up to the table and enthusiastically says “Oy! You’ve got a nice dick. She’s a lucky girl”. I nod my head and say “Thanks bud”. Not sure why everyone thinks we’re a couple, but I’ll take the dick compliment. I realize at this point that my tight silver suit probably gives a pretty good outline of my package, but I don’t really care.

Soon we’re once again the last people drinking. Everyone has left, but I resist the herd mentality and just relax and enjoy my beer. Eventually they shut the music off and we decide it’s a good time to bounce. In the meantime the gondola line has dwindled from a 30 minute wait to a zero minute wait, and I’ve got a nice altitude buzz again–that’s called doing it right. We’ve closed the lodge down–AGAIN. Infact, we closed the whole mountain.

I enjoy a nice scenic gondola ride down to lake level, and then we walk over to the back lot. Ahah, the shirtless hippie crew is hanging out by their shiny restored VW bus, drinking Sierra Nevada and playing guitar. A bohemian couple cuddles in the grass. It’s kind of weird to think that I was walking in the snow 10 minutes ago, and now it’s all lush green grass down here. One of them got me with a snowball earlier on the mountain–he had a great arc on it.

We pack the our gear into the car, and it feels nice to get out of the silver surfer suit. I could eat a horse at this point. Basecamp Pizza is like a whole five minutes walk away. “Would you judge me if we drove a minute to get that much closer to Basecamp Pizza” asks Rachel. I thought she would never ask. We drive down the block, finding an easy parking spot. It was pay to park, but the meter was broken–perfect.

The Heavenly village is fucking LIT. There’s a bunch of 18 year old couples walking around in Tahoe prom attire–interesting. We see the crew in the four gaper suits breaking it down on the outdoor dance floor of some bar Oh man, I just want to stay here and rage with the old people. ‘The craic is 90’ as an Irish person might say. Suddenly I worry that there might be a wait for food.

We wade through throngs of people, seeing a many lingering near the entrance of the restaurant. “I’m not completely married to eating at basecamp” says Rachel tactfully. Just then the White Sea seems to part as we walk up towards the entrance and it’s only a five minute wait for a table outside–fuck yeah.

Two beers in, both of us really need to pee. The quest for bathrooms begins, and we walk past some tables with absolutely delicious looking pizzas on them–man this is going to be great. After taking my first pee without a spandex suit on, I return to the hostess and our table is waiting for us–perfect. I order a ‘Java the Hut’ coffee drink, while Rachel gets the Deschutes Pine Drops IPA. Damn, I was thinking about getting that. I give it a sip and it’s pretty tasty, but I still think I prefer the Freshly Squeezed IPA. More hops, less pine drops. I guess that explains the name.

We split a small Greek salad and a medium veggie medley pizza. It’s fucking DANK. Rachel’s eating slows down, and I know what’s coming next. “Have some more pizza” she says, ever so slightly pushing the pizza towards me. “Aha, see! I told you, girls never finish” I retort. I had reinforced my story from earlier in the day.

We hit the road right after, getting back to San Francisco at 11:15 PM. I grab my stuff out of the Nissan and wave goodbye. I drop it all off in my room and them immediately head over to a housewarming on Sharon street. They had a bunch of cheese and crackers out–fuck yeah. No meat though.

I didn’t want to point it out, but you’re not supposed to eat fine cheese with crackers. It hides the taste and feel of the consistency of the cheese in your mouth. It’s better to use fruity or crusty bread.

It was a a pretty ‘epic day’.

Spring Skiing with the Silver Surfer was originally published on RUT-IS-UP

#California #Heavenly #Lake Tahoe

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