Ella wasn’t hungry and Jack said he would only eat a hotdog. Only a hotdog. Mark was hungry and so was Tom but Seth and Mary were not hungry. So we canceled our lunch reservation at the place across the street and walked to the closest hotdog joint - Chelsea Papaya.
In a wild coincidence, Chelsea Papaya occupies the exact former location of my grandfather’s furrier manufacturer business. So we felt right at home, even though the furrier manufacturers lost their lease sometime prior to 1950. We ordered a vat of deep fried nitrates. Turned out, Jack didn’t want a hotdog at Chelsea Papaya. He wanted a dirty dog from a midtown food truck.
At the bar table by the window, Uncle Tom played a fun game called “talking about the tourists on the sidewalk but not pointing at them.” It’s harder than you’d think. With no need to waste valuate time eating anything, Jack practiced holstering his finger for the duration of our stay. Unfortunately, he takes after Grandma Tan in the finger department, so he needed the extra time.
|Holster that finger! |
At Chelsea Papaya.
Back out on the sidewalk, it took us something like two hours to walk 20 blocks to the Lion King. We stopped eight or fourteen times for bathroom breaks, water, tea, coffee, a bag of nuts, M&Ms, a small amount of fruit from a fruit bar and a greeting card. I only bought the greeting card because we were waiting for Jack to pee in Whole Foods and I knew we were looking at logistical and distance delays. Finally, Jack got his dirty dog on the corner of 40th and 7th Avenue. I’m sure it was delicious.
The Lion King is a big show. Big. The kids didn’t know what to do with their eyeballs. Red damask wall paper, red carpet, chandeliers, high ceilings, windows overlooking Time Square, a huge huge curtain across a massive stage. An orchestra with a conductor. Drums in alcove in the wall.
|Row H at the Lion King. Great Seats!|
Despite Jack’s tiny hieny, he took full advantage of his entire seat. Cheeks to the left, to the right, up, down, two bounces. Repeat.
Ella stuck her face between the seats in front of us. Luckily a little kid was up there so she didn’t breath on anyone’s neck.
Meanwhile, I was at full medical alert. If the lights flashed, I needed to slam my palm across Jack’s face. I hope the people sitting next to us knew Jack had a concussion. Otherwise they probably wondered why every now and then my nephew found himself in a headlock. There were a number of unnecessary pre-emptive strikes. This may or may not have caused my occasional attacks to appear random and very odd.
As we were walking out, I asked Jack what he thought of the show. He was mostly fixated on the standing ovation. Uncle Tom asked Ella what part she would play, if she could play any part in the performance. She said she’d like to be a plant. Mark kept his thoughts to himself. He’s almost a pre-teen.