Then we'un's headed down to Choate, where I found a deeply introspective mood, a quarter century after leaving the place. On visiting the library to donate some of my books, we were directed to Mr. Warren. He looked at me as I walked up to his desk and said, "Mr. Lake, 1982 or 1983, you went to Texas."
I was utterly floored. And then some. Had a nice chat with him, dropped by the office of my old housemaster (he was out), then we headed to New York.
I'd forgotten how aggressive and deliberately rude drivers are up here in New York and New England. We have our share of goofballs behind the wheel in the Pacific Northwest, and then some, but I can drive every day for a year and not encounter the total number of incidents I experienced in the two hours between Choate and our hotel. Then it took me almost fifteen minutes to drive around the block from the hotel's front door to the parking garage. (Note to self: be sure to visit NYC about once a decade to remind me why I stay the hell away from that place the rest of the time.)
Once checked in to our hotel, we walked over to Cafe 28 on the recommendation of the doorman. I was quite impressed with the place. While eating there, maryrobinette walked up to lasirenadolce and me. There are 8 million stories in the Naked City, but here our tales were crossing paths far outside of our home turves (the Upper West Side and Portland, OR, respectively). Everyone involved was somewhat croggled.
Apparently it's my day to be recognized. Like Elvis, I am everywhere.
Off to the Aussie reception shortly.