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living New York City, take two: Scenes to last a lifetime By Charlotte Safavi, For The Inquirer Updated: Friday, January 26, 2007, 1:20 PM 'What does New York mean to you?" I ask my husband,jordans for cheap, as we sit in a knot of traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike. He stops drumming the steering wheel. "Seinfeld, Saturday Night Live, Woody Allen," he says, then pauses and adds, "Walt Whitman." My 6-year-old son's introduction to the city comes from Stuart Little and A Cricket in Times Square. So captivated was he by authors E.B. White and George Selden that New York was number one on his list of places to see. Then, in the distance, emerges a dense mass of brick and concrete, steel and glass. "There it is," I say. My husband and son have never been here before. Neither of them can find the right words. To me, New York runs like grainy clips from an old home video. I am buying tickets for an Henri Matisse retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art from a scalper in a knit hat,cheap jordans, his breath billowing in the cold air. I am entering a nightclub with a girlfriend, done up in my Azzedine Alaia dress. I am crossing Park Avenue uptown on a wet day, pausing breathless at the beauty of the rain-washed brownstones rising on both sides of me. Visiting New York when I was single and living in Los Angeles was different from what I was about to experience with my husband and son. It is the day after Christmas. My family and I, fresh in from suburban Washington, D.C., barrel down 52d Street in our SUV, which we keep parked during our stay, apartment-sitting in Midtown. We pass a day-late Santa furiously pedaling a tricycle and neon lights stubbornly glowing in the theater district in broad daylight. We drive between buildings reaching for the sky. "Look both ways, as well as up," I say. The broad one-way streets layering Manhattan show the horizontal scope of a city defined by verticality. "Oh, I forgot, Breakfast at Tiffany's," says my husband as we cross Fifth Avenue. We finally pull up just shy of the East River at our destination, where smartly uniformed attendants help us with our luggage. In the lobby,cheap air jordan shoes, a menorah glows as brightly as the ornaments on a Christmas tree. After unpacking, we head out to eat. Early dinner in the neighborhood works best with a young child. We are turned away by an empty, elegant eatery once the maitre d' catches sight of the 6-year-old hugging our knees. Despite this, all our restaurant experiences are good, starting with our first at Pasta Presto on Second Avenue, where we tumble into a candlelit booth with crayons and a bottle of Chianti. We eat succulent mussels in a rich tomato broth and ravioli plump with walnut pesto. Another night, we grab grilled-cheese sandwiches at the Nations Cafe. Our favorite meal is at the East Japanese Restaurant on 44th Street, where grill specials are half price the night we go. We sit at the grill bar, much to the delight of our son,cheap jordans online, and in addition to standard grilled fare,cheap retro jordans, we devour skewered delicacies such as meaty ginkgo nuts and delicate quail eggs wrapped in slivers of bacon. Pacing our sightseeing during the day is as important as eating near home at night. Our first activity is ambitious. We have purchased advance tickets for a trip to Liberty and Ellis Islands. After a brisk walk up 42d Street, we ride the Lexington Express from Grand Central Station to Battery Park, both subway ride and train station fascinating to our boy. Less interesting