No, no sex. Sorry. This is the public blog.
I write from a Starbucks on the corner of West 63rd and Broadway, next to my hotel. Having stayed up to a dubious hour (1am anyone?) I am in need of the caffeine injection that is being served up, ironically, by a cup of decaf.
The city (or this tiny pocket of it, which is all I’ve seen of NY but for my cab ride between JFK and here — NY cabs always make me nauseous, I don’t know why) is much less odiferous then when I was last here. The combination of a rainstorm and mid-60’s weather makes it nearly clean, and I can see why some would choose to live here. Me, there’s no way: the sheer volume of people can be oppressive.
In true efficient business trip fashion, I’m here for slightly under 48 hours and expect to fly out in my cramped little Delta seat tonight. My only cultural brush was the view of the NY Philharmonic just outside of my window, which was nice. That, and catching Clash of the Titans the night before last while jetlagged.
Yes, business travel is soooo glamorous.
That said, on to the hotel review: The Empire Hotel, which is two doors down from my Starbucks at present. It’s a beautiful hotel, tastefully appointed, with a fitness room (recumbent bike only), meeting rooms, a restaurant (we didn’t eat there last night, opting for a Mexican restaurant with half-naked divers of GiJoe Action Figure size positioned side by side on a tile waterfall), and a lounge. We made good use of the lounge last night.
The individual rooms were purported to be small by NYC standards according to the reviews I had read, but I really didn’t find them so. (Rooms at the Paramount are small). The beds are very comfortable, I wish I had been able to enjoy them more but jetlag left me but six hours each night to actually sleep. Toiletries are Supreme Unleaded, with L’Occitane making them and you indeed smell like Froot Loops when you’re done bathing. This is not a bad thing in the city.