Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

We hauled our sorry Friday-dragging asses over to Pier 66, otherwise known as The Frying Pan. The Frying Pan used to be a greasy spoon diner, completely average except that it was located on an old boat hooked to the side of Pier 66. One day, The Frying Pan sank to the bottom of the Hudson. Eventually, they pulled The Frying Pan out of the grimy water along with its namesake-- an enormous iron frying pan with a circumference larger even than Jay Leno's ego. This twelve ton skillet was positioned cityside, right up front on Pier 66 and now both the pier and the boat are known collectively as The Frying Pan. At least, I think this is how it went down but as usual have not bothered to check. The scene was dark, lit by flickering gaslamps and the barge creaked on its chains and rotting wood and smelled like minnow-breath and old leather and kerosene. We walked across a plain of steel plates and pilings into a half tent/half ramshackle building that reminded me of one of those long hous...