Seven

Today I was taken on a tour of Flushing, home to some of my favorite sitcom characters--the Costanzas on "Seinfeld" and the nanny on "The Nanny"--as well as real-life home of a much larger version of Manhattan's Chinatown. Sam convinced me to try a fried turnip cake (very tasty) and tofu rolls in curry (couldn't quite get past not liking curry). I made the mistake of ordering Westerner's Special ("vegetarian stirfry," I think) which resulted in us both being handed forks.

All told, a fabulous trip to the country (because, you know, everything other than Manhattan--Chicago included--is the country), though I have mixed feelings about the 7 train. No, not for the same reasons as John Rocker--I just wasn't a fan of the escalator ride from the 7 up to the 4-5-6 at Grand Central. It struck me as the worst place in the subway system to be in the event of anything terrorist-like happening, aside from the always-empty but way-too-far-underground 63rd and Lexington station. My official position on taking public transportation in this post-9/11 world is that I'll just keep taking it as always, but I strayed a bit from this position today, getting out of the subway before my stop. Claustrophobia won, hands down, over not letting the terrorists win.