"You can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think" - Dorothy Parker

Monday I woke up early, with the energy of a thousand suns running through my veins. I took a lovely stroll up Broadway to a deli where I was given a free banana with my sandwich and the promise of free pasta salad next time I come back. I've been consistently surprised by New Yorker's kindness this last week, as I had been expecting the iconic harsh attitudes and constant rush that the rest of the world has projected onto them. But getting directions with smiles, witnessing kindness to homeless people on several occasions, and receiving free fruit has altered my preconceived notions about New Yorkers in a large way.

I met with the group to venture to lower Manhattan to see sites affected by 9/11. The new World Financial Center, though not yet finished, is massive and beautiful. St. Peter's and St. Paul's churches were ornate yet still personal, and the 9/11 memorial museum brought the entire experience to a real, emotional place.

Archways and chandeliers at St. Paul's.

Beauty and death in the St. Paul cemetery.

Ornateness at St. Peter's.

And yet more ornateness at St. Peter's.

After our scheduled activities were finished, we wandered around Tribeca, and Olivia and I grabbed some food (a bag of sweet cherries from a street fruit vendor for me) and kid-watched in the public park nearby, picking out which adorable children we'd most like to kidnap as our own (kidding, Robert, don't panic). During this time I missed a call from Sara, which resulted in me stomping around in a circle, cursing at myself. She left a 5 minute voicemail that I can't make out a single word of, but I heard her laughing a lot, and that made me feel a little better. God, I miss that woman.

After being stuck in rush hour traffic on the 1 for about an hour and a half, we rushed to the class movie night in the pub downstairs at I-house. We watched Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle, and I devoured two huge slices of pizza. The movie was truly great, and had me almost wishing I could have lived in the 20's and been a tortured writer, just like Dorothy Parker. Though the whole hacking wrists and getting abortions thing doesn't sound too appealing. The film follows the high rolling times of a group of friends who were all hugely influential writers and artists in New York City during the 1920's. They ate regularly at the Algonquin Hotel, swapping ideas and jokes.

After the film, Vanessa, Cara, Caitlin and I bought a huge bottle of wine and took it down to the pier. The others joined us in a bit, and it was another great night with some incredible people that I lucked into sharing this experience with.

This morning, in direct opposition to yesterday, felt like I woke up with concrete bricks strapped to my feet. We were rising early to make our reservation at the Algonquin for breakfast and discuss the film from the night before in the place where the events actually took place. Once the coffee (drunk from an incredibly classy white china cup that forced you to hold your pinky out at that odd angle you see rich people achieving in movies) hit my system, I was much more pleasant. The conversation at our table was appropriately enterprising, creative and witty, and I devoured a disappointingly mediocre $24 omelet. But! We did manage to find the elusive hotel cat, who was enjoying an incredibly cute nap.

Aw.

From the Algonquin, we walked past Rockefeller Plaza, where I gawked at 30 Rock, Radio City Music Hall and the Ed Sullivan Theater, where some of us would return later for a taping of the Letterman Show. We split from there, and I went with the group with gelato in their future. Right decision. We chose Grom, and I chose raspberry sorbet with milk and mint gelato. Holy. Sheet. It was too good.

If I could eat this for every meal, I would.

We sought shelter from the glaring sun at this point, as temperatures in the city rose to the mid 90's. Browsed through books and beauties at Borders and Anthropologie, and then headed back to the Ed Sullivan to claim our Letterman tickets. The show was funnier live, though this could be due both to dehydrated delirium and the firm directions we were given to laugh at every. single. joke. whether it was funny or not. Laughing always makes you feel like what you're laughing at is funny.

Tomorrow begins the onslaught of visits to art museums, and I couldn't be more excited.

Till then,

Kendra