I was tidying up my kitchen a bit this morning when I noticed something that struck me as odd. Some while ago, more than a yearI'm sure but how much more I am not, I bought a matched set of salt and pepper grinders at Shopko. I also bought one jar each of sea salt and peppercorns as refills. Yesterday I finally used up the jar of peppercorns, but I still have over half a jar of salt. I always thought I used them in equal amounts, but apparently not. One thing about the sea salt is that I have noticed that it doesn't taste as salty as regular table salt. Any theories as to why that might be? The only ones I can come up with are that the sea salt isn't pure sodium chloride, or that the iodine added to table salt has something to do with it.
These are the sort of thoughts that occur when you are up all night with nothing to do. Be glad you have day jobs!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Max, update
When I got home from work Friday morning Max was doing much better, so much so that I decided he didn't need to go to the vet. He had eaten the food I had placed in his dish before I went to work that night, and when I put more food in it he ate all of that too. That whole day he did very well, and when I went to work Friday night (we had to work Saturday) I didn't give him any meds. He was even better when I got home Saturday morning. But I think he and I overdid things a bit Saturday. I was out shopping and picked up some pig ears for him, and gave him two. They, or all the food he ate must have upset his stomach. When I went to bed he was fine. When my alarms went off at 9:00 p.m. he was fine. I shut them off and went back to sleep. At 1:00 a.m. I woke up and he was shaking, and having another muscle spasm, though not a particularly bad one, I didn't think. But he seemed much more anxious than normal. I took him outside and he pooped. Then he pooped in the house. Then he wanted back out and pooped again. Back inside, he puked on me. He's sleeping now, on the floor of my computer room as I write this. When he wakes up I'll medicate him again, and make a note not to overdo things again, no matter how perky he seems to be.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Max, continued
I think Max made a little progress in the last 24 hours. Not a lot, but some. When I got home this morning I was a little concerned, because he was lethargic and hadn't eaten much if anything. Nor did he appear to have drunk very much. I tried to give him his medicine, hidden in bits of people food, but he turned up his nose at it. That worried me, because Max loves people food, even the smallest scraps. FYI, hiding his meds in people food is the only way I can get him to take them. With most dogs you just shove the pill down their throat, but Max won't have any of that. Fortunately he is easily duped (i.e. the pills in people food). So when the old trick didn't work...
I called the vet about ten minutes ago to make an appointment for tomorrow, to evaluate his progress and possibly get more meds for him. When I hung up, I tried once more to get Max to take his medicine. Of course, when I set the small plate on the ground, he was all over it. When that was gone I set him front of his water dish and he drank about half of it. Then he ate some dog food (and the raw egg I cracked into it). Not as much as I would like, but he ate some. I wonder if the meds (especially the 'anti-anxiety' stuff) are messing with his appetite a bit.
The vet I talked to Sunday, who was covering for the other local vets including mine (they take turns on weekends I guess), said Max might need two to three weeks of 'kennel rest' to recover fully. That's gonna be tricky because Max doesn't have and never has had a kennel. He doesn't even have a designated 'box' (bed) like my old Dachshund Samantha did. But I've de-jumped my house (couch blocked off, mattress on floor, and I carry him in and out to do his business. So hopefully, with time, he'll be fine. I certainly hope so, because the alternative is not something I want to think about.
I called the vet about ten minutes ago to make an appointment for tomorrow, to evaluate his progress and possibly get more meds for him. When I hung up, I tried once more to get Max to take his medicine. Of course, when I set the small plate on the ground, he was all over it. When that was gone I set him front of his water dish and he drank about half of it. Then he ate some dog food (and the raw egg I cracked into it). Not as much as I would like, but he ate some. I wonder if the meds (especially the 'anti-anxiety' stuff) are messing with his appetite a bit.
The vet I talked to Sunday, who was covering for the other local vets including mine (they take turns on weekends I guess), said Max might need two to three weeks of 'kennel rest' to recover fully. That's gonna be tricky because Max doesn't have and never has had a kennel. He doesn't even have a designated 'box' (bed) like my old Dachshund Samantha did. But I've de-jumped my house (couch blocked off, mattress on floor, and I carry him in and out to do his business. So hopefully, with time, he'll be fine. I certainly hope so, because the alternative is not something I want to think about.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Max
Sometime Saturday, while I was sleeping, Max jumped off my bed and hurt his back. At first I didn't realize that was what had happened. I thought he had eaten something that disagreed with him and had an upset stomach. I didn't twig to what was actually wrong until Sunday. I got him to the vet first thing Monday morning, and she put him on a six day regimen of oral steroids. I'm not sure that will be long enough. He was doing better Tuesday, but then had a bit of a relapse overnight tonight. He's sleeping right now, after an hour of pathetic whimpering and following me around, staring at me as if I could make everything better. I wish I could, because I hate to see him in any kind of discomfort. He seemed fine when I first got home, but after I put him out to do his business he had another back spasm. Not nearly as bad as the ones he had Monday morning, but not fun I'm sure. I gave him another steroid pill, though that throws off the Doc's plan a bit. She wanted me to give him two a day for two days, then one a day for two days, and then one every other day for four days.
When I had Max at the vet I asked if she could give me some tranquilizers, as Max is fairly high strung. She gave me four, with instructions to give half a pill at a time no more than twice a day. I gave him one this morning, and I'm guessing that is why he's zonked right now. I'll give him another before I go to work tonight, but hold off on the steroid until morning. The tranquilizer may do him as much good as the steroid, if it makes him sleep.
Funny thing, though. Normally Max will snarf down any kind of human food I offer him. This morning he refused to take it. Maybe he knew it had his medicine in it, but I doubt it. I think he was in too much pain to be hungry. But when I put the pill laden food on a plate and set it on the floor, he wolfed it right down.
When I had Max at the vet I asked if she could give me some tranquilizers, as Max is fairly high strung. She gave me four, with instructions to give half a pill at a time no more than twice a day. I gave him one this morning, and I'm guessing that is why he's zonked right now. I'll give him another before I go to work tonight, but hold off on the steroid until morning. The tranquilizer may do him as much good as the steroid, if it makes him sleep.
Funny thing, though. Normally Max will snarf down any kind of human food I offer him. This morning he refused to take it. Maybe he knew it had his medicine in it, but I doubt it. I think he was in too much pain to be hungry. But when I put the pill laden food on a plate and set it on the floor, he wolfed it right down.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
New York, Day Four
Tuesday, 16 Sept '08
Today was a big day with two of the things Chris and I went to New York to do. The day began with us partaking of the hotel's continental breakfast. That was a bit of an odd experience. For openers, it was set up in a special, and very small, room. The usual fare was offered: juice, ceral, bagels, etc. The toaster was of the conveyor type, and was set to such a high rate of speed that I had to send my bagel through three times to get it even a little toasted. For an other oddity,when I was done eating, instead to being allowed to enjoy my coffee, I was chased out by one of the staff, to make room for other guests.
After breakfast I had a small domestic chore to take care of. Even though I had checked a bag, it wasn't a very large bag, and I was low on clean clothes. The hotel advertised that it had laundry facilities for the use of it's guests, but they were out of order. Fortunately in our wanderings around the neighborhood, we had discovered a laundromat just two blocks away. It was an interesting little establishment, complete with a Chinese couple to run it. It offered drop-off laundry service, and a lot of people seem to use it, but they also didn't seem to be in a big hurry to pick up their clean laundry, if the heaps of bags of clothes were any indication. The whole operation was about 15 feet wide and maybe 75 to 100 feet deep, with two dozen fron loading washing machines and half that many dryers. The washers cost $3.75. The dryers were $0.25 for seven minutes, so I ended up spending $1.00 for every load I dried. Soap was $0.50 a box, and dryer sheets $0.25 each. There were no chairs, and no entertainment of any kind. Good thing I brought a book and don't mind standing. Toward the end of my time there Chris called me. I was (and still am) so unused to carrying a cell phone that I didn't even realize it was ringing at first.
When I was done with the laundry I took my leather jacket, which I had brought along but never needed, to a local shoe repair shop that also handled leather clothing. All it needed done was to have a new snap fastener put on the right cuff and a tear in the cloth liner sewed up. The proprietor assured me it would be done at 8 a.m. sharp Friday morning, just in time for Chris and I to head for the airport. Handily the shop was right across Broadway from the 79th Street Station, which would take us straight to Penn Station.
While I'm on the subject of the subway, let me share a few observations about it.
The New York subway system is old, and it looks it's age. Steel or iron pillars hold up the various layers of each station, and ultimately support the weight of the street and all vehicular traffic thereon. That means there a lot of pillars. The ties that hold the rails are made of wood, no station has pristine tile work, and there is a lot of exposed wiring and piping.
Its dirty, too. There was trash on the tracks, on the platforms, basically everywhere. There wasn't tons of trash, but apparently the tracks don't get cleaned very often.
And hot. It was always warm, and sometimes very warm, on the platforms and elsewhere. Clearly, adequate ventilation was not a high priority for the designers, despite all the heat coming off electric motors and friction brakes.
Finally, the stations can be nightmarish mazes. Not all of them are, of course, but multi-layer stations where two or more lines meet are quite difficult to find your way around in. This is in no small part to woefully inadequate signage. The London Underground is, or at least was, vastly better in every regard. The New York MTA could take a few lessons from the Brits as far as I'm concerned.
Lunch today was at a favorite establishment of Chris', Frankie and Johnnies Steakhouse at 269 W. 45th St. It is an upstairs establishment with seating for sixty-six. If I had to describe it in one word, that word would be 'cozy'. Apart from Chris and myself there were just two other customers. The waiter was a elderly Cypriot gentlemen who was funny and engaging who sat down and talked with us after we were done eating. Chris had filet mignon with mushrooms and a glass of Johnny Walker Gold (fifteen years old), while I availed myself of a sirloin with au gratin potatos, chicken noodle soup and a glass of Gragganmore (sixteen years old). My potatos were a little unusual in that they were made with parmesan cheese instead of cheddar, but they were still quite good. And the whole affair set me back just $171.00, including the tip. Some lunch. It was very good, but I'm not sure it was worth that much. Still, I don't reget it.
How was my drink? It was scotch, which somewhat sadly says it all. I used to drink scotch when I was in the Air Force, but I lost my taste for it. Maybe I just decided that the trio of friends in the movie 'Mr. Roberts' were right about scotch. In that film they make a bottle of 'scotch' with water, medicinal alcohol, liquid shoe polish and iodine, and that's pretty much what all scotch tastes like.
After lunch we wandered around lower Manhatten, specifically Chelsea and Greenwich Village. Chris promisied me freak show, but few were to be seen. We later decided that it was too early in the day for the freaks to be out. While in Chelsea we stopped at the Chelsea Market, but didn't explore even a fraction of it. Doing a little research as I write this tells me that the market is in a converted Nabisco factory where the Oreo cookie was developed. I wish I had been paying more attention while we were in the area, because I also later learned that an abandoned elevated railroad called the High Line passes through the market and the neighborhood. I also learned (just tonight) that Iron Chef's Masaharu Morimoto and Mario Batali both have restaurants in the Market, and that Iron Chef America is filmed there. The High Line is of special interest because it is in the process of being converted into an elevated park and walking path.
The other highlight of this day was, of course, going up to the Bronx to see the Yankees play the White Sox. We took the Red Line down to Times Square, the Purple Line #7 to Grand Central Station and finally the Green Line #4 Express to Yankee Stadium. That is the offical name of the stop, by the way, and even though it's part of the subway system, the station and the tracks for a good way to either side are not only above ground, they're elevated. The Express was packed, naturally, and there was a nice crowd at the ballpark. The seats Chris had gotten us were quite good, about halfway up, along the outfield portion of the 3rd base line (in fact we were almost to the foul pole). We chatted with some of the people around us, who were uniformly nice.
I hadn't been to a professional baseball game in twenty years or so, and it was interesting to see one again. The Sox led off and quickly dominated the game. they made a few mistakes, mostly in trying to force plays when they had the lead, but they never lost that lead. Derek Jeter did manage to break Lou Gerhig's hit record at Yankee Stadium by tagging his 1,270th, but the most amazing thing that happened was pure chance. Yankee stadium had a strict ban on cameras and video cameras, but that rule was widely ignored, my myself as well. My new digital camera can also take video, and Chris asked to borrow it so he could make a short vid for a friend at work. So he takes the camera and starts filming, just as a Yankee batter hits a home run. Unbelievable.
Supper this evening was, as you might expect, hot dogs and beer at the game. Chris had a giant pretzel too.
The trip back to the hotel was much quicker and easier that the trip to the stadium. I happened to notice that the Green Line intersected with the Red Line just one station down from the Stadium, so we got off there and and took a much more direct, less crowded train back to the hotel.
Today was a big day with two of the things Chris and I went to New York to do. The day began with us partaking of the hotel's continental breakfast. That was a bit of an odd experience. For openers, it was set up in a special, and very small, room. The usual fare was offered: juice, ceral, bagels, etc. The toaster was of the conveyor type, and was set to such a high rate of speed that I had to send my bagel through three times to get it even a little toasted. For an other oddity,when I was done eating, instead to being allowed to enjoy my coffee, I was chased out by one of the staff, to make room for other guests.
After breakfast I had a small domestic chore to take care of. Even though I had checked a bag, it wasn't a very large bag, and I was low on clean clothes. The hotel advertised that it had laundry facilities for the use of it's guests, but they were out of order. Fortunately in our wanderings around the neighborhood, we had discovered a laundromat just two blocks away. It was an interesting little establishment, complete with a Chinese couple to run it. It offered drop-off laundry service, and a lot of people seem to use it, but they also didn't seem to be in a big hurry to pick up their clean laundry, if the heaps of bags of clothes were any indication. The whole operation was about 15 feet wide and maybe 75 to 100 feet deep, with two dozen fron loading washing machines and half that many dryers. The washers cost $3.75. The dryers were $0.25 for seven minutes, so I ended up spending $1.00 for every load I dried. Soap was $0.50 a box, and dryer sheets $0.25 each. There were no chairs, and no entertainment of any kind. Good thing I brought a book and don't mind standing. Toward the end of my time there Chris called me. I was (and still am) so unused to carrying a cell phone that I didn't even realize it was ringing at first.
When I was done with the laundry I took my leather jacket, which I had brought along but never needed, to a local shoe repair shop that also handled leather clothing. All it needed done was to have a new snap fastener put on the right cuff and a tear in the cloth liner sewed up. The proprietor assured me it would be done at 8 a.m. sharp Friday morning, just in time for Chris and I to head for the airport. Handily the shop was right across Broadway from the 79th Street Station, which would take us straight to Penn Station.
While I'm on the subject of the subway, let me share a few observations about it.
The New York subway system is old, and it looks it's age. Steel or iron pillars hold up the various layers of each station, and ultimately support the weight of the street and all vehicular traffic thereon. That means there a lot of pillars. The ties that hold the rails are made of wood, no station has pristine tile work, and there is a lot of exposed wiring and piping.
Its dirty, too. There was trash on the tracks, on the platforms, basically everywhere. There wasn't tons of trash, but apparently the tracks don't get cleaned very often.
And hot. It was always warm, and sometimes very warm, on the platforms and elsewhere. Clearly, adequate ventilation was not a high priority for the designers, despite all the heat coming off electric motors and friction brakes.
Finally, the stations can be nightmarish mazes. Not all of them are, of course, but multi-layer stations where two or more lines meet are quite difficult to find your way around in. This is in no small part to woefully inadequate signage. The London Underground is, or at least was, vastly better in every regard. The New York MTA could take a few lessons from the Brits as far as I'm concerned.
Lunch today was at a favorite establishment of Chris', Frankie and Johnnies Steakhouse at 269 W. 45th St. It is an upstairs establishment with seating for sixty-six. If I had to describe it in one word, that word would be 'cozy'. Apart from Chris and myself there were just two other customers. The waiter was a elderly Cypriot gentlemen who was funny and engaging who sat down and talked with us after we were done eating. Chris had filet mignon with mushrooms and a glass of Johnny Walker Gold (fifteen years old), while I availed myself of a sirloin with au gratin potatos, chicken noodle soup and a glass of Gragganmore (sixteen years old). My potatos were a little unusual in that they were made with parmesan cheese instead of cheddar, but they were still quite good. And the whole affair set me back just $171.00, including the tip. Some lunch. It was very good, but I'm not sure it was worth that much. Still, I don't reget it.
How was my drink? It was scotch, which somewhat sadly says it all. I used to drink scotch when I was in the Air Force, but I lost my taste for it. Maybe I just decided that the trio of friends in the movie 'Mr. Roberts' were right about scotch. In that film they make a bottle of 'scotch' with water, medicinal alcohol, liquid shoe polish and iodine, and that's pretty much what all scotch tastes like.
After lunch we wandered around lower Manhatten, specifically Chelsea and Greenwich Village. Chris promisied me freak show, but few were to be seen. We later decided that it was too early in the day for the freaks to be out. While in Chelsea we stopped at the Chelsea Market, but didn't explore even a fraction of it. Doing a little research as I write this tells me that the market is in a converted Nabisco factory where the Oreo cookie was developed. I wish I had been paying more attention while we were in the area, because I also later learned that an abandoned elevated railroad called the High Line passes through the market and the neighborhood. I also learned (just tonight) that Iron Chef's Masaharu Morimoto and Mario Batali both have restaurants in the Market, and that Iron Chef America is filmed there. The High Line is of special interest because it is in the process of being converted into an elevated park and walking path.
The other highlight of this day was, of course, going up to the Bronx to see the Yankees play the White Sox. We took the Red Line down to Times Square, the Purple Line #7 to Grand Central Station and finally the Green Line #4 Express to Yankee Stadium. That is the offical name of the stop, by the way, and even though it's part of the subway system, the station and the tracks for a good way to either side are not only above ground, they're elevated. The Express was packed, naturally, and there was a nice crowd at the ballpark. The seats Chris had gotten us were quite good, about halfway up, along the outfield portion of the 3rd base line (in fact we were almost to the foul pole). We chatted with some of the people around us, who were uniformly nice.
I hadn't been to a professional baseball game in twenty years or so, and it was interesting to see one again. The Sox led off and quickly dominated the game. they made a few mistakes, mostly in trying to force plays when they had the lead, but they never lost that lead. Derek Jeter did manage to break Lou Gerhig's hit record at Yankee Stadium by tagging his 1,270th, but the most amazing thing that happened was pure chance. Yankee stadium had a strict ban on cameras and video cameras, but that rule was widely ignored, my myself as well. My new digital camera can also take video, and Chris asked to borrow it so he could make a short vid for a friend at work. So he takes the camera and starts filming, just as a Yankee batter hits a home run. Unbelievable.
Supper this evening was, as you might expect, hot dogs and beer at the game. Chris had a giant pretzel too.
The trip back to the hotel was much quicker and easier that the trip to the stadium. I happened to notice that the Green Line intersected with the Red Line just one station down from the Stadium, so we got off there and and took a much more direct, less crowded train back to the hotel.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Doggie Ills Con't
Max seems to have fully recovered from whatever it was that made him sick, although he hasn't done much but sleep in the time since. Apparently being ill took a lot out of him. I just wish I could figure out what caused this in the first place: as I noted, he didn't have anything that he hasn't had before without getting sick as a result. I guess I'll just have to be more careful about how much 'people food' he gets from now on.
Doggie Ills
Max is sick, and I don't know why. He seems to have an upset tummy, if the nasty farts and explosive diahrrhea are any sign. Oddly though, he isn't puking. This sort of thing usually happens when I'm stupid enough to let him gnaw a steak bone, or eat too much fat (fat being the main culprit in these instances). But he hasn't had any fat. All he's had to eat besides dog food is a little egg goop (remains of yolk from fried eggs I ate) and a few tiny pieces of bread with margarine, neither of which has ever made him sick before. I hate seeing him like this, because I have no idea what's wrong. He just huddles on the floor, shivering, and though he seems better now (several hours having passed since the beginning of the illness) he's still not well.
All I can assume is that his digestion, always delicate, is becoming more so as he gets 'chronologically advantaged' (that's 'old' for you PC types).
All I can assume is that his digestion, always delicate, is becoming more so as he gets 'chronologically advantaged' (that's 'old' for you PC types).
Sunday, November 23, 2008
New York, Day Three
Monday, 15 Sept '08
Chris and I intended to never eat at the same place twice while we were in town, and today started off with us staying on course to that goal. We had our breakfast at a place called The Manhatten Diner a block up Broadway from our hotel. The food was tasty and the service was fast. I had a Denver omlette and got it less than five minutes after I ordered it.
Later we took the subway down to the south end of the Red Line, South Ferry Station. A curious fact about that station is that if you aren't in one of the first five cars you can't get out there.
While waiting for the next ferry to Liberty Island, Chris and I wandered around Battery Park. Of greatest interest to me was Castle Clinton, one of the forts built in the early 1800's to protect New York Harbor. Castle Clinton originally stood on a small island two hundred feet off the southern tip of Manhatten, and was connected to the shore by a bridge. A single-tier masonary work that mounted twenty-four guns, its military career lasted a mere ten years, and it never fired a shot in anger. Less than a mile away, on Governors Island is the much more impressive Castle Williams, a three-tier work that mounted 104 guns. It is open to the public as part of Governors Island National Monument, but Chris and I didn't get over to see it. Maybe if we go back to New York next year we'll have a chance.
The ferries to Liberty and Ellis Islands leave every half hour. We had to go through security to get on board, and we had at least a hundred companions , maybe two hundred. There were seats on the upper deck, and two enclosed decks, but Chris and I elected to stand outside at the bow. The voyage lasted perhaps half an hour, if that.
On Liberty Island itself the dock leads to a fairly large cluster of buildings, some open to tourists but mostly not. There was a guy in period costume who seemed to be leading a tour, and a couple of police types who appeared to be armed. Chris and I bypassed all that and walked across the island to the flagpole. From there we walked around the perimeter of the island. While the statue itself is quite impressive, its base is also. The base is as tall as the statue itself, and far more massive. The lowest level looks like an elaborate fortress. To actually enter the base we had to go through another, more rigorous security check. Instead of metal detectors, the machines blew puffs of air over us. They were chemical sniffers, looking for traces of explosives and the like.
Inside the base we had to climb rather narrow stairs that turned and doubled back a lot. Reaching the top we were met by a park ranger who gave a short lecture on the statue and answered such questions as were asked. The statue itself is closed to the public for safety reasons, mostly due to the fact that there is a single narrow spiral staircase leading up to the observation deck in the crown.
Moving on to Ellis Island, the museum there, located in the restored Main Hall, was extremely interesting. I was disappointed, though, to see that all of the other buildings on the island remain abandoned and neglected. Some efforts have been made to stabilize them, but that's about it. The ferry slip between the Main Hall and the rest of the island contains the remains of the pilings that once guided ferryloads of immigrants up to the docking building, though they have rotted away above the water. Also, there appears to be a sunken ship or barge in the slip.
Finally, if you ever go to Ellis Island, don't eat at the food court there. It serves crappy, lukewarm chow at inflated prices.
Back in Manhatten, Chris took me on a death march all over. We saw the Stock Exchange, Federal Hall, the South Street Seaport, the Brooklyn Bridge along with lots of streets and people. Between South Street Seaport and the Brooklyn Bridge was a neighborhood that was a cross between a warehouse district and small apartment buildings and shops. Probably left over from the days when Manhatten had more ship traffic than it does today.
After returning to the hotel to rest a bit, we went (with some difficulty-Chris didn't quite remember the way) to the Rockefeller Center for the short tour called Top of the Rock. Part corporate propaganda to gild the reputation of John D. Rockefeller, Jr., Top of the Rock allows you, for a fee and a not-mandatory-but-highly-recommended series of videos about Mr. Rockefeller and his buildings (the Center is actually a complex of nineteen buildings) to take an elevator to the observation deck at the top of 30 Rockefeller Plaze, also known as the GE Building. The elevator is fast, lifting you to the 67th floor in 47 seconds (so our guide said).
The observation deck has three levels that get smaller as you go up. The view of the city and surrounding area are truely magnificent. I'd guess we could see at least fifty miles, although the cityscape took the bulk of our attention. The sun was setting while we were up there, and as the twilight deepened and the city started to light up, it made quite a spectacle.
We had a bit of trouble getting out of the Rockefeller Center. We got down into the underground concourse that is part of the Center complex, and took a while to find our way to the street.
After a good but not great dinner at a Thai place near Times Square we walked through the Square and down to 14th Street in Chelsea looking for freaks...er, interesting people. While we did see a lot of interesting people, including a number of bums, I never felt even a hint of apprehension. In fact, not once during the whole trip, no matter where we went, did I ever feel I was in danger. The only flashing lights and wailing sirens I ever saw were on an ambulance heading up Broadway. After riding back up to 72nd Street, as we walked the three blocks to the hotel, we passed a guy sleeping on the sidewalk, sleeping bag, pillow and all. And New York is supposed to be a dangerous place.
Chris and I intended to never eat at the same place twice while we were in town, and today started off with us staying on course to that goal. We had our breakfast at a place called The Manhatten Diner a block up Broadway from our hotel. The food was tasty and the service was fast. I had a Denver omlette and got it less than five minutes after I ordered it.
Later we took the subway down to the south end of the Red Line, South Ferry Station. A curious fact about that station is that if you aren't in one of the first five cars you can't get out there.
While waiting for the next ferry to Liberty Island, Chris and I wandered around Battery Park. Of greatest interest to me was Castle Clinton, one of the forts built in the early 1800's to protect New York Harbor. Castle Clinton originally stood on a small island two hundred feet off the southern tip of Manhatten, and was connected to the shore by a bridge. A single-tier masonary work that mounted twenty-four guns, its military career lasted a mere ten years, and it never fired a shot in anger. Less than a mile away, on Governors Island is the much more impressive Castle Williams, a three-tier work that mounted 104 guns. It is open to the public as part of Governors Island National Monument, but Chris and I didn't get over to see it. Maybe if we go back to New York next year we'll have a chance.
The ferries to Liberty and Ellis Islands leave every half hour. We had to go through security to get on board, and we had at least a hundred companions , maybe two hundred. There were seats on the upper deck, and two enclosed decks, but Chris and I elected to stand outside at the bow. The voyage lasted perhaps half an hour, if that.
On Liberty Island itself the dock leads to a fairly large cluster of buildings, some open to tourists but mostly not. There was a guy in period costume who seemed to be leading a tour, and a couple of police types who appeared to be armed. Chris and I bypassed all that and walked across the island to the flagpole. From there we walked around the perimeter of the island. While the statue itself is quite impressive, its base is also. The base is as tall as the statue itself, and far more massive. The lowest level looks like an elaborate fortress. To actually enter the base we had to go through another, more rigorous security check. Instead of metal detectors, the machines blew puffs of air over us. They were chemical sniffers, looking for traces of explosives and the like.
Inside the base we had to climb rather narrow stairs that turned and doubled back a lot. Reaching the top we were met by a park ranger who gave a short lecture on the statue and answered such questions as were asked. The statue itself is closed to the public for safety reasons, mostly due to the fact that there is a single narrow spiral staircase leading up to the observation deck in the crown.
Moving on to Ellis Island, the museum there, located in the restored Main Hall, was extremely interesting. I was disappointed, though, to see that all of the other buildings on the island remain abandoned and neglected. Some efforts have been made to stabilize them, but that's about it. The ferry slip between the Main Hall and the rest of the island contains the remains of the pilings that once guided ferryloads of immigrants up to the docking building, though they have rotted away above the water. Also, there appears to be a sunken ship or barge in the slip.
Finally, if you ever go to Ellis Island, don't eat at the food court there. It serves crappy, lukewarm chow at inflated prices.
Back in Manhatten, Chris took me on a death march all over. We saw the Stock Exchange, Federal Hall, the South Street Seaport, the Brooklyn Bridge along with lots of streets and people. Between South Street Seaport and the Brooklyn Bridge was a neighborhood that was a cross between a warehouse district and small apartment buildings and shops. Probably left over from the days when Manhatten had more ship traffic than it does today.
After returning to the hotel to rest a bit, we went (with some difficulty-Chris didn't quite remember the way) to the Rockefeller Center for the short tour called Top of the Rock. Part corporate propaganda to gild the reputation of John D. Rockefeller, Jr., Top of the Rock allows you, for a fee and a not-mandatory-but-highly-recommended series of videos about Mr. Rockefeller and his buildings (the Center is actually a complex of nineteen buildings) to take an elevator to the observation deck at the top of 30 Rockefeller Plaze, also known as the GE Building. The elevator is fast, lifting you to the 67th floor in 47 seconds (so our guide said).
The observation deck has three levels that get smaller as you go up. The view of the city and surrounding area are truely magnificent. I'd guess we could see at least fifty miles, although the cityscape took the bulk of our attention. The sun was setting while we were up there, and as the twilight deepened and the city started to light up, it made quite a spectacle.
We had a bit of trouble getting out of the Rockefeller Center. We got down into the underground concourse that is part of the Center complex, and took a while to find our way to the street.
After a good but not great dinner at a Thai place near Times Square we walked through the Square and down to 14th Street in Chelsea looking for freaks...er, interesting people. While we did see a lot of interesting people, including a number of bums, I never felt even a hint of apprehension. In fact, not once during the whole trip, no matter where we went, did I ever feel I was in danger. The only flashing lights and wailing sirens I ever saw were on an ambulance heading up Broadway. After riding back up to 72nd Street, as we walked the three blocks to the hotel, we passed a guy sleeping on the sidewalk, sleeping bag, pillow and all. And New York is supposed to be a dangerous place.
Friday, November 7, 2008
The Target Conspiracy!
It has to be a conspiracy. There's just no other explanation for it. The only question's are: What is their motive? What could they hope to gain from their fiendish acts against decency and logic? Are the owners of the Target chain of stores the masterminds of this insidious plot against American civilization, or are they merely the puppets of some sinister cabal?
How do I know there is a conspiracy, you ask?
I went to Target today to by a new cooler to use as a lunch box for work. The first clue, the one that got me wondering, is the fact that at Target you enter through the left-hand set of doors instead of the right-hand set? What kind of diseased mind would twist the natural order of things so? Every time I go to Target, I always, always find myself heading for the right-hand set of doors, as any real American would, only to be brought up short by the baleful warning of the 'Do Not Enter' signs.
Later, in the Sporting Goods section, while studying the various models on display, I saw more evidence of a grand scheme to warp the moral values of society. It was subtly hidden in the capacity ratings of the coolers. The value was listed in 'cans' and we all know what that means: a twelve ounce aluminum can of your favorite beverage. But who buys a five pack? Or an eleven pack? Who, I ask you?
Finally, as I was heading toward the checkout area (and take note: there was no direct route from where I was. I was forced into a ciruitous path that led me past many 'impulse buy' displays!) I passed a side aisle and lurched to a halt. "It smells like Christmas here," I muttered. I turned, and sure enough, the side aisle was filled with festive decorations and wrapping paper. But what smelled like Christmas? The wrapping paper? No. Curious, I sniffed deeply. Pine needles! But nary a tree, real or fake, was in sight. They were using artificial pine scent to manipulate their customers! Very clever. But I'm on to them now!
So beware, Target Corporation! I won't rest until I uncover the true nature of your nasty little intrigue against all that is rightious in this world!
How do I know there is a conspiracy, you ask?
I went to Target today to by a new cooler to use as a lunch box for work. The first clue, the one that got me wondering, is the fact that at Target you enter through the left-hand set of doors instead of the right-hand set? What kind of diseased mind would twist the natural order of things so? Every time I go to Target, I always, always find myself heading for the right-hand set of doors, as any real American would, only to be brought up short by the baleful warning of the 'Do Not Enter' signs.
Later, in the Sporting Goods section, while studying the various models on display, I saw more evidence of a grand scheme to warp the moral values of society. It was subtly hidden in the capacity ratings of the coolers. The value was listed in 'cans' and we all know what that means: a twelve ounce aluminum can of your favorite beverage. But who buys a five pack? Or an eleven pack? Who, I ask you?
Finally, as I was heading toward the checkout area (and take note: there was no direct route from where I was. I was forced into a ciruitous path that led me past many 'impulse buy' displays!) I passed a side aisle and lurched to a halt. "It smells like Christmas here," I muttered. I turned, and sure enough, the side aisle was filled with festive decorations and wrapping paper. But what smelled like Christmas? The wrapping paper? No. Curious, I sniffed deeply. Pine needles! But nary a tree, real or fake, was in sight. They were using artificial pine scent to manipulate their customers! Very clever. But I'm on to them now!
So beware, Target Corporation! I won't rest until I uncover the true nature of your nasty little intrigue against all that is rightious in this world!
Monday, October 20, 2008
New York, Day Two
Sunday, 14 Sept '08
I slept for twelve hours, due in no small part to not getting much sleep the last two days. One strange thing is that I slept like a baby, whereas at home I wake up many times during the day. No doubt that was due in part to not having Max around, but it seems like there is something else involved. Maybe that I actually slept during the night, when people are supposed to sleep?
As soon as we got up Chris and I headed downtown to find a store where he could buy some pants. For some reason he only brought one pair with him. While wandering around looking for a suitable establishment, we stopped for breakfast at McDonalds. It wasn't your typical midwestern McDonalds, that's for sure. It must have been in a not-so-nice neighborhood. I say this because the only way to get behind the counter, which was walled off at both ends, was by going through a security door with a punch code lock.
After we at we continued our meanderings. We walked past Madison Square Garden, where we saw lots of cops. I don't know what, if anything, was up. Nothing obvious anyway. There were a lot of bums around as well, with all their worldly possessions in plastic bags or bulging knapsacks. There were street vedors too, lots of them, selling all kinds of cheap junk: handbags, umbrellas, watched, shoes, pretty much anything you could imagine. I don't remember for sure if Chris got his pants this day or not. If he did I didn't make a note of it in my trip diary. I do remember stopping at a K-Mart, the first multi-story department store I'd been in in a good long while. The menswear area was two floors below street level, and I think there were floors above the ground floor as well.
I was surprised at the number of local markets as well. Every four or five blocks it seemed there was a little grocery store.
We had lunch at Connolly's, an Irish pub. I had bangers and mashed, while Chris had fish and chips. Bangers and mashed is just sausages with mashed potatos and gravy. A simple dish, right? At Connolly's the bangers and mashed comes 'plated', like it was some kind of gourmet meal, complete with garnishing. Continuing the trend of ethnic mismatches, although Connolly's was an Irish pub, there wasn't an Irishman (or woman) in sight. Our server's name was Masha. I thought she was German based on her accent, while Chris guessed she was eastern european.
After lunch it was back to the hotel clean up before heading back downtown to see our Broadway show. That show was 'Wicked' at the Gershwin Theatre on West 51st Street. 'Wicked' is a musical based (rather loosely) on the novel of the same name by Gregory Maguire. I knew very little about the show, other than it existed and was supposed to be very good. We were seated in the mezzanine and had an excellent view of the stage. The seats were a bit farther away than I might have preferred, but considering Chris paid $86.00 apiece for them, I wasn't going to complain.
The set was impressive, with lots of wheels and gears and levers. Quite industrial looking, and topped off by a huge mechanical dragon. Without giving away the story, 'Wicked' tells the tale of Elphaba, who would become the Wicked Witch of the West, and her college friendship with Glinda, who later became the Good Witch of the North. The songs were excellent, and often very moving. The dancing was just as good. I don't remember a single goof, anywhere. In short, a superb performance by a fine cast and crew. It was the fastest three and a half hours of my life, and I gave serious thought to seeing it again before we left. Afterwards, I picked up a copy of the novel, which I read over the course of our stay.
That night we had dinner at a place called 44 SW Ristorante. I had a veal dish that was excellent. The best part, though, was watching the people passing by outside (we were seated by the windows). Typical New York bumper to bumper traffic, and lots of pedestrians. One of them was an odd fellow who seemed a bit off his rocker. He walked past us, then reappeared going the other direction, and then came back on his original heading.
Another interesting item was the deliveries. Square footage was at a premium I guess, for this place took its deliveries curbside and sent them down into the basement through a steel door covering steep, narrow stairs. Based on the number of such doors I saw during the trip (and what I saw down them if they were open), a lot of places in New York have the same problem.
After dinner we strolled around Broadway and Times Square just enjoying the fact that we were in the Big Apple, before heading back to the hotel.
I slept for twelve hours, due in no small part to not getting much sleep the last two days. One strange thing is that I slept like a baby, whereas at home I wake up many times during the day. No doubt that was due in part to not having Max around, but it seems like there is something else involved. Maybe that I actually slept during the night, when people are supposed to sleep?
As soon as we got up Chris and I headed downtown to find a store where he could buy some pants. For some reason he only brought one pair with him. While wandering around looking for a suitable establishment, we stopped for breakfast at McDonalds. It wasn't your typical midwestern McDonalds, that's for sure. It must have been in a not-so-nice neighborhood. I say this because the only way to get behind the counter, which was walled off at both ends, was by going through a security door with a punch code lock.
After we at we continued our meanderings. We walked past Madison Square Garden, where we saw lots of cops. I don't know what, if anything, was up. Nothing obvious anyway. There were a lot of bums around as well, with all their worldly possessions in plastic bags or bulging knapsacks. There were street vedors too, lots of them, selling all kinds of cheap junk: handbags, umbrellas, watched, shoes, pretty much anything you could imagine. I don't remember for sure if Chris got his pants this day or not. If he did I didn't make a note of it in my trip diary. I do remember stopping at a K-Mart, the first multi-story department store I'd been in in a good long while. The menswear area was two floors below street level, and I think there were floors above the ground floor as well.
I was surprised at the number of local markets as well. Every four or five blocks it seemed there was a little grocery store.
We had lunch at Connolly's, an Irish pub. I had bangers and mashed, while Chris had fish and chips. Bangers and mashed is just sausages with mashed potatos and gravy. A simple dish, right? At Connolly's the bangers and mashed comes 'plated', like it was some kind of gourmet meal, complete with garnishing. Continuing the trend of ethnic mismatches, although Connolly's was an Irish pub, there wasn't an Irishman (or woman) in sight. Our server's name was Masha. I thought she was German based on her accent, while Chris guessed she was eastern european.
After lunch it was back to the hotel clean up before heading back downtown to see our Broadway show. That show was 'Wicked' at the Gershwin Theatre on West 51st Street. 'Wicked' is a musical based (rather loosely) on the novel of the same name by Gregory Maguire. I knew very little about the show, other than it existed and was supposed to be very good. We were seated in the mezzanine and had an excellent view of the stage. The seats were a bit farther away than I might have preferred, but considering Chris paid $86.00 apiece for them, I wasn't going to complain.
The set was impressive, with lots of wheels and gears and levers. Quite industrial looking, and topped off by a huge mechanical dragon. Without giving away the story, 'Wicked' tells the tale of Elphaba, who would become the Wicked Witch of the West, and her college friendship with Glinda, who later became the Good Witch of the North. The songs were excellent, and often very moving. The dancing was just as good. I don't remember a single goof, anywhere. In short, a superb performance by a fine cast and crew. It was the fastest three and a half hours of my life, and I gave serious thought to seeing it again before we left. Afterwards, I picked up a copy of the novel, which I read over the course of our stay.
That night we had dinner at a place called 44 SW Ristorante. I had a veal dish that was excellent. The best part, though, was watching the people passing by outside (we were seated by the windows). Typical New York bumper to bumper traffic, and lots of pedestrians. One of them was an odd fellow who seemed a bit off his rocker. He walked past us, then reappeared going the other direction, and then came back on his original heading.
Another interesting item was the deliveries. Square footage was at a premium I guess, for this place took its deliveries curbside and sent them down into the basement through a steel door covering steep, narrow stairs. Based on the number of such doors I saw during the trip (and what I saw down them if they were open), a lot of places in New York have the same problem.
After dinner we strolled around Broadway and Times Square just enjoying the fact that we were in the Big Apple, before heading back to the hotel.
Friday, October 10, 2008
New York, Day One
Saturday, 13 Sept '08
Chris and I were roused from our beds at five a.m. by both alarm clock and wake-up call. After the usual morning preparations we were off to the airport. By the way, Chris drives like a total maniac, even in city traffic. I was in fear for my life several times during a trip that was barely two miles, if that.
I have to say that going through security is much faster and easier when you're a first class passenger. The actual process of going through the check-point takes the same amount of time, but you get to cut to the head of the line, while the plebes of coach class glare hatefully at you.
I'm making that last bit up. If the people in line that day were anything like me when I was standing in the coach line, they barely noticed us.
As breakfast was to be served on the flight, we went straight to the gate, and didn't have long to wait before boarding was announced. As you are well aware, the seats in first class are much roomier than coach seats: wider and farther apart, so you can actually be comfortable. There was one little detail that caught my eye: the seat arms all had ash trays in them. Smoking has been banned on domestic flights for at least a decade, right? If not longer? Tells you how long it's been since that jet had it's interior overhauled. I had a good view of the galley as well, which was quite interesting. It was very compact, naturally, barely the size of a closet, but it had at least two ovens, a coffee maker, several compartments whose functions I couldn't figure out (probably just storage), a counter, and two carts underneath that. I had barely got my carry-on bag stowed and myself seated when one of the stewardesses (I know, flight attendant is the PC term, but I don't remember the last time I saw a male flight attendant) came around asking if we wanted anything to drink. She served me coffee while the coach passengers were still filing through the first class cabin!
One odd thing about sitting so far foreward in a plane is the difference in the sound of the engines. It's hard to explain, but it was as if I was hearing only the sound of the big high bypass fan at the front of the engines, and maybe the whistle of the intakes, as opposed to the roar of the exhaust that you get when sitting farther aft. It was a little unsettling, to be honest. This is because I have a tendancy to try to guess what the pilot is up to based on what the engines are doing: "We're still in our climb out from take-off, why did he cut power?" and so forth.
Take-off was accomplished without difficulty, and once we reached cruising altitude, meal service began. It might be twenty years since I last had a hot meal on an airplane. Regardless, breakfast was very good. We had scrambled eggs with sausage and potatoes, fruit, and a bagel with cream cheese. The eggs and sausage were especially tasty.
By the time breakfast was over the pilot was on the intercom telling us that we were less than an hour out from the Big Apple. I would normally watch the approach with great interest, but we had a nearly solid undercast the whole way, and I only caught a few glimpses of the city as we came in.
JFK was an airport, not much to tell there. The part we were in was rather drab, actually. Baggage claim was the usual boring wait. The AirTrain, as it is known, was more entertaining. Our tickets were five or ten bucks (can't remember) and included a ride into the city on the Long Island Railroad. From the AirTrain we got a good look at the airport, and saw a lot of relics from the Silver Age of air travel (the sixties and seventies), namely the British Airways Terminal, the Delta(?) Terminal and others. Some were in the process of being demolished (the old Pan Am Terminal), while others were being built or remodelled.
I should mention that the AirTrain was packed that day, so I didn't have the best all around view, but once we got away from the airport proper the scenery changed for the worse. Still on the airport itself were large areas that seemed to be abandonded, followed by industrial/commercial areas with their typical scatterings of abandonded machines/junk, weeds, etc. When we reached residential areas things improved, but I was struck by how old all the houses were. Block after block was nothing but run down two stories in desperate need of remodelling or outright replacement. There were window air conditioners everywhere, and I couldn't help but wonder how much energy got wasted in that neighborhood alone, just because the houses weren't properly insulated.
We arrived at the end of the line for the AirTrain, the LIRR's Jamaica Station, where we transferred to a train headed into the city. It was even more crowded than the AirTrain had been. It was a fairly quick trip, maybe half an hour tops, with only one stop before the end of the line at Penn Station. Again, the scenery was interesting, mostly from a "look at how old and dingy everything is" point of view.
At Penn Station we purchased subway passes. Actually I bought them, two seven day unlimited passes for $25 each. There was a large crowd of people at the automated ticket machines, but they were mostly crowded in front of the ones that took cash. Hardly anyone was using the debit card only ones. Odd. With our passes in hand Chris led me to a Blue Line train for the ride to the hotel. The New York Subway system is very old, dating to the late eighteenth century, and it looks the part. Of all the stations I visited, most looked like their decor dated from the 1930's. Most stations have four tracks, two express and two local, and at least two levels. As the lines run under the streets for the most part, you can hear traffic above and trains below, all on platforms supported by thickets of steel (or maybe iron) posts. The platforms are lit fairly well, but look out and it's dark and gloomy. And hot. It was hotter in the tunnels than it was outside, which tells me that the people who designed the subway over the years didn't give a lot of thought to ventilation.
Getting off our train at the appropriate station Chris and I hiked a good long way to the hotel. We stayed at the Milburn Hotel, on 76th Street a half block off Broadway. The Milburn is a very nice hotel, and our room was quite nice. The only drawback in my eyes was that the bathroom was tiny. We also learned that there were two Red Line stations on Broadway, one four blocks south, one three blocks north, that were much handier than the Blue Line. This is because blocks in New York are rectangular: two or even three times longer east-to-west than they are north-to-south, and the Blue Line runs under Central Park West, three blocks east of Broadway.
We had lunch at restaurant called Niko's Mediterranean, at the corner of 76th and Broadway. I don't remember what I had, but it was tasty. After Lunch we went downtown. We went to Ground Zero, but there wasn't much to see. For whatever reason the Liberty Towers construction site is mostly screened off from easy viewing. We also took in Battery Park City, a very nice neighborhood on the Hudson River, Times Square, and the Great White Way (Broadway between 42nd and 53rd Streets). As evening wore on it began to sprinkle, gradually intensifying. To escape, Chris and I ducked into a hole-in-the-wall pizza place (run by Arabs, or a people of similar ethnicity (Pakistani? Persian?)) and had supper for less than twenty dollars, the second cheapest meal I would buy in NYC. After that we went back to the hotel. I was exhausted, and went right to bed.
And my cheap cell phone, which I had purchased specifically for this trip, still wasn't working.
Chris and I were roused from our beds at five a.m. by both alarm clock and wake-up call. After the usual morning preparations we were off to the airport. By the way, Chris drives like a total maniac, even in city traffic. I was in fear for my life several times during a trip that was barely two miles, if that.
I have to say that going through security is much faster and easier when you're a first class passenger. The actual process of going through the check-point takes the same amount of time, but you get to cut to the head of the line, while the plebes of coach class glare hatefully at you.
I'm making that last bit up. If the people in line that day were anything like me when I was standing in the coach line, they barely noticed us.
As breakfast was to be served on the flight, we went straight to the gate, and didn't have long to wait before boarding was announced. As you are well aware, the seats in first class are much roomier than coach seats: wider and farther apart, so you can actually be comfortable. There was one little detail that caught my eye: the seat arms all had ash trays in them. Smoking has been banned on domestic flights for at least a decade, right? If not longer? Tells you how long it's been since that jet had it's interior overhauled. I had a good view of the galley as well, which was quite interesting. It was very compact, naturally, barely the size of a closet, but it had at least two ovens, a coffee maker, several compartments whose functions I couldn't figure out (probably just storage), a counter, and two carts underneath that. I had barely got my carry-on bag stowed and myself seated when one of the stewardesses (I know, flight attendant is the PC term, but I don't remember the last time I saw a male flight attendant) came around asking if we wanted anything to drink. She served me coffee while the coach passengers were still filing through the first class cabin!
One odd thing about sitting so far foreward in a plane is the difference in the sound of the engines. It's hard to explain, but it was as if I was hearing only the sound of the big high bypass fan at the front of the engines, and maybe the whistle of the intakes, as opposed to the roar of the exhaust that you get when sitting farther aft. It was a little unsettling, to be honest. This is because I have a tendancy to try to guess what the pilot is up to based on what the engines are doing: "We're still in our climb out from take-off, why did he cut power?" and so forth.
Take-off was accomplished without difficulty, and once we reached cruising altitude, meal service began. It might be twenty years since I last had a hot meal on an airplane. Regardless, breakfast was very good. We had scrambled eggs with sausage and potatoes, fruit, and a bagel with cream cheese. The eggs and sausage were especially tasty.
By the time breakfast was over the pilot was on the intercom telling us that we were less than an hour out from the Big Apple. I would normally watch the approach with great interest, but we had a nearly solid undercast the whole way, and I only caught a few glimpses of the city as we came in.
JFK was an airport, not much to tell there. The part we were in was rather drab, actually. Baggage claim was the usual boring wait. The AirTrain, as it is known, was more entertaining. Our tickets were five or ten bucks (can't remember) and included a ride into the city on the Long Island Railroad. From the AirTrain we got a good look at the airport, and saw a lot of relics from the Silver Age of air travel (the sixties and seventies), namely the British Airways Terminal, the Delta(?) Terminal and others. Some were in the process of being demolished (the old Pan Am Terminal), while others were being built or remodelled.
I should mention that the AirTrain was packed that day, so I didn't have the best all around view, but once we got away from the airport proper the scenery changed for the worse. Still on the airport itself were large areas that seemed to be abandonded, followed by industrial/commercial areas with their typical scatterings of abandonded machines/junk, weeds, etc. When we reached residential areas things improved, but I was struck by how old all the houses were. Block after block was nothing but run down two stories in desperate need of remodelling or outright replacement. There were window air conditioners everywhere, and I couldn't help but wonder how much energy got wasted in that neighborhood alone, just because the houses weren't properly insulated.
We arrived at the end of the line for the AirTrain, the LIRR's Jamaica Station, where we transferred to a train headed into the city. It was even more crowded than the AirTrain had been. It was a fairly quick trip, maybe half an hour tops, with only one stop before the end of the line at Penn Station. Again, the scenery was interesting, mostly from a "look at how old and dingy everything is" point of view.
At Penn Station we purchased subway passes. Actually I bought them, two seven day unlimited passes for $25 each. There was a large crowd of people at the automated ticket machines, but they were mostly crowded in front of the ones that took cash. Hardly anyone was using the debit card only ones. Odd. With our passes in hand Chris led me to a Blue Line train for the ride to the hotel. The New York Subway system is very old, dating to the late eighteenth century, and it looks the part. Of all the stations I visited, most looked like their decor dated from the 1930's. Most stations have four tracks, two express and two local, and at least two levels. As the lines run under the streets for the most part, you can hear traffic above and trains below, all on platforms supported by thickets of steel (or maybe iron) posts. The platforms are lit fairly well, but look out and it's dark and gloomy. And hot. It was hotter in the tunnels than it was outside, which tells me that the people who designed the subway over the years didn't give a lot of thought to ventilation.
Getting off our train at the appropriate station Chris and I hiked a good long way to the hotel. We stayed at the Milburn Hotel, on 76th Street a half block off Broadway. The Milburn is a very nice hotel, and our room was quite nice. The only drawback in my eyes was that the bathroom was tiny. We also learned that there were two Red Line stations on Broadway, one four blocks south, one three blocks north, that were much handier than the Blue Line. This is because blocks in New York are rectangular: two or even three times longer east-to-west than they are north-to-south, and the Blue Line runs under Central Park West, three blocks east of Broadway.
We had lunch at restaurant called Niko's Mediterranean, at the corner of 76th and Broadway. I don't remember what I had, but it was tasty. After Lunch we went downtown. We went to Ground Zero, but there wasn't much to see. For whatever reason the Liberty Towers construction site is mostly screened off from easy viewing. We also took in Battery Park City, a very nice neighborhood on the Hudson River, Times Square, and the Great White Way (Broadway between 42nd and 53rd Streets). As evening wore on it began to sprinkle, gradually intensifying. To escape, Chris and I ducked into a hole-in-the-wall pizza place (run by Arabs, or a people of similar ethnicity (Pakistani? Persian?)) and had supper for less than twenty dollars, the second cheapest meal I would buy in NYC. After that we went back to the hotel. I was exhausted, and went right to bed.
And my cheap cell phone, which I had purchased specifically for this trip, still wasn't working.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
New York, Day Zero
I'm always paranoid about having forgotten something whenever I go on a trip, heck even when I go to work. I can't tell you how many times I've stopped as I was backing out of my driveway, so I could double check that I'd shut and locked the side door, or left the coffee pot on, etc. I guess I have a touch of O.C.D.
Anyway, I got off work at 6:30 a.m. on the morning of Friday, 12 September, went home, and commenced with last minute laundry, packing, cleaning, and so on. I'll bet I counted the contents of my suitcase three times that morning and early afternoon. The same held true for my carry on bag (or my man-purse, as my brother Chris likes to call it).
At about 3:30 p.m. Chris showed up, we threw my stuff in his car, along with Max. I did one last walk around to make sure I had left nothing undone, and we were off.
First stop, The Animal House, the kennel where I board Max when I go on trips. Chris and I jokingly refer to it as 'the death camp' since Max always seems to lose weight and shed like there's no tomorrow every time I put him up there. Once Max was safely dropped off, Chris and I were off to Minneapolis.
I've made that particular trip so many times that the only entertainment I get is to note how and what kind of new buildings there are at certain points along the way (mostly between Owatonna and Faribault, an area of apparently vigorous economic development). I did get and give into the urge to check one more time that I had brought my wallet with me, and I had.
Chris and I get to Minneapolis, find a hotel near the airport and get a room. It was a Comfort Inn, or something like that, with an attached Outback Steakhouse. Naturally we had dinner there. When it was over, since I had agreed to pay for all meals during the trip, I get out my wallet. Only to discover that it was the wrong wallet!
You see, my dear father had insisted that I take a smaller 'travel' wallet to New York, and had given me a couple that he had lying around. At first I just took them to humor him, but eventually I decided that it might not be a bad idea. I certainly didn't need to take everything I normally keep in my wallet to New York. All I really needed was my driver's license, First Citizen's and Bank of America debit cards, my Visa card, my insurance card, the number of the kennel, and a little cash. I made up such a travel wallet, and stuck it the pocket of the lightweight coat I was planning on taking along. When it came time to leave, while I was double checking, I grabbed my old wallet off the desk in my computer room, and forgot to bring my coat.
To make a long story short (too late, I know), I went back up to the room and checked all of my bags. No new wallet. Chris called home, thinking that our father could run over to my house, get the wallet, and bring it up or at least meet us part way. Unfortunely, Pops was out of town attending his high school reunion, and Mom didn't have a key to my house. So Chris and I drove back to Mason City (a two hour trip), snagged my wallet (and the coat) and went back to Minneapolis. We got back a little before midnight, hit the sack, and were up and on our way at 5 a.m. the next morning.
That was the one glitch for the entire trip, and it's a good idea Chris wanted to go up the night before, else I might not have discovered my mistake until I was at the airport.
Of course, this whole affair will no doubt make me even more paranoid as I get ready for future trips, but I'll just have to cope. And oddly, I don't suffer nearly as much, if at all, when I'm getting ready to make the trip back home. I just throw my stuff in my bags, take a quick last look around and walk out the door without a backward glance. Weird, huh?
Anyway, I got off work at 6:30 a.m. on the morning of Friday, 12 September, went home, and commenced with last minute laundry, packing, cleaning, and so on. I'll bet I counted the contents of my suitcase three times that morning and early afternoon. The same held true for my carry on bag (or my man-purse, as my brother Chris likes to call it).
At about 3:30 p.m. Chris showed up, we threw my stuff in his car, along with Max. I did one last walk around to make sure I had left nothing undone, and we were off.
First stop, The Animal House, the kennel where I board Max when I go on trips. Chris and I jokingly refer to it as 'the death camp' since Max always seems to lose weight and shed like there's no tomorrow every time I put him up there. Once Max was safely dropped off, Chris and I were off to Minneapolis.
I've made that particular trip so many times that the only entertainment I get is to note how and what kind of new buildings there are at certain points along the way (mostly between Owatonna and Faribault, an area of apparently vigorous economic development). I did get and give into the urge to check one more time that I had brought my wallet with me, and I had.
Chris and I get to Minneapolis, find a hotel near the airport and get a room. It was a Comfort Inn, or something like that, with an attached Outback Steakhouse. Naturally we had dinner there. When it was over, since I had agreed to pay for all meals during the trip, I get out my wallet. Only to discover that it was the wrong wallet!
You see, my dear father had insisted that I take a smaller 'travel' wallet to New York, and had given me a couple that he had lying around. At first I just took them to humor him, but eventually I decided that it might not be a bad idea. I certainly didn't need to take everything I normally keep in my wallet to New York. All I really needed was my driver's license, First Citizen's and Bank of America debit cards, my Visa card, my insurance card, the number of the kennel, and a little cash. I made up such a travel wallet, and stuck it the pocket of the lightweight coat I was planning on taking along. When it came time to leave, while I was double checking, I grabbed my old wallet off the desk in my computer room, and forgot to bring my coat.
To make a long story short (too late, I know), I went back up to the room and checked all of my bags. No new wallet. Chris called home, thinking that our father could run over to my house, get the wallet, and bring it up or at least meet us part way. Unfortunely, Pops was out of town attending his high school reunion, and Mom didn't have a key to my house. So Chris and I drove back to Mason City (a two hour trip), snagged my wallet (and the coat) and went back to Minneapolis. We got back a little before midnight, hit the sack, and were up and on our way at 5 a.m. the next morning.
That was the one glitch for the entire trip, and it's a good idea Chris wanted to go up the night before, else I might not have discovered my mistake until I was at the airport.
Of course, this whole affair will no doubt make me even more paranoid as I get ready for future trips, but I'll just have to cope. And oddly, I don't suffer nearly as much, if at all, when I'm getting ready to make the trip back home. I just throw my stuff in my bags, take a quick last look around and walk out the door without a backward glance. Weird, huh?
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