December 19, 2009
Monday night was magical. My sexy girlfriend and I (she’s a model) took a limo into the city, ate a fabulous dinner at a fancy restaurant, saw a Broadway show, and spent the night in a luxurious mid-town hotel. At least that is what I’ve been telling people.
Truth is I did no such thing. Well, I did go into the city, I did eat a meal, and I sort-of saw a Broadway show. You see, I tend to stretch the truth. Makes me feel like a big shot.
In reality, my brother and I took the train into the city to see the Rangers, AKA “The Broadway Blues” at MSG. So I say I did see a “Broadway show.” Sue me.
We started our Mid-Town sojourn at one of the greatest gifts Manhattan can bestow: Mid-Town Comics. They don’t need me to plug them but for the sake of taking up space in this blog I’ll do it. If there is something comic book related, they have it. If they don’t have it you don’t need it. They have two floors full of stuff that just compels the money out of your wallet. You don’t even know it. Walk in and ten minutes later you are standing at the register behind a pile of stuff Webster couldn’t see over while the guy behind the counter calls in your credit card and asks for a credit line increase. It is that good. There must be some magic in that old silk hat they found, how else to explain all the people buying $100 Wolverine busts?
If Mid-Town Comics has a problem, it is the one thing they don’t have and desperately need: a way in. As I said, they are two floors of the best stuff a comic book nerd could ever want. Trouble is, the two floors are the second and third floors of a building. The first floor is taken up by souvlaki stands, fake Rolex shops, the World’s Smelliest T-Shirt Shop, and an unmarked door guarded by a large bald man in sunglasses and a leather coat that must have taken the combined hides of four cows to make.
To get to the comics shop, you have to climb up a staircase to the second floor, a long straight climb without a landing. I assume there is a handicapped entrance somewhere- maybe the bald guy is guarding it. Aside from the long climb, the main trouble with the staircase is that it is too narrow. I hope no building inspectors are reading this. The staircase is too narrow for two people to pass. If someone is walking down and you want go up, you have to wait for the person to get to the bottom. Even if the guy going down the stairs is 96 years old, takes the stairs one step at a time and then waits to catch his breath, you’re stuck waiting.
I stepped on the bottom step to go up at the same time as someone stepped on the top step to go down.
We stopped.
I stared up.
She stared down.
I squinted at her, Larry David style.
She kept staring.
My brother said “oh this is bullshit!” and pushed past me and went upstairs. I followed along, and when we got to the top the woman kept staring at me. Who cares? I was where I wanted to go.
A lot of people have a wrong idea of comic book readers. They expect fat guys in Fantastic Four t-shirts and old baseball caps. Nothing could be further from the truth. Mid-Town Comics was crowded with men in business suits, guys in casual office wear, women in smart skirts. In fact, the only fat guy in a Fantastic Four t-shirt and an old baseball cap that day was me.
I spent about $80 to stimulate the economy (including a George Perez JLA collection and a hardcover of The Return of the Sinister Six. I tell you this in case you were going to get me either of these as a Christmas present.) and somehow managed to avoid the allure of the $100 Wolverine busts. We went to go back down the stairs and damn if there wasn’t a 96 year-old man coming up the stairs one at a time, catching his breath at every step.
Twenty minutes later we were down the stairs and on our way to eat.
TO BE CONTINUED
Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride 
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