“They” tell you not to make eye-contact with people in New York and for heaven’s sake, don’t speak to people in the city or on mass transit. I say ‘bullshit!’ Don’t talk to the visibly deranged or those who obviously don’t want to be bothered. Otherwise, go for it. Who knows what interesting conversations and experiences you might be missing, sitting in your insular fear-cloud.
Here’s a picture which perfectly illustrates my point:
Click to embiggen.
If I hadn’t engaged him in conversation I could have said “I saw an interesting bike messenger on the train.”
Since I did, I had the pleasure of chatting with him for a bit and when I asked if I could take his picture, he struck this great pose. Just as you’d suspect from the photo, he was a very colorful and interesting character; one I never would have met if I’d listened to “them” and their “conventional wisdom”.
It’s been a busy few days. I drove to Connecticut to my little sister and brother-in-law’s Tuesday (the 12th). Due to the traditional late start, I didn’t roll in until 4AM Wednesday, which meant that Wednesday was basically a recovery day.
Thursday was DaveCon. I rode the train into NYC from CT, met up with all my a.f.l. pals and had a fabulous Late Show experience. Then we shot the Tony Mendez Show (starring Tony Mendez) and off to dinner. Tony joined us at dinner and, as ballet season hasn’t started yet (he’s a huge fan), this year he stayed all evening, eating, sharing behind-the-scenes gossip and shouting “no more pictures“. A more in-depth DaveCon trip report is in the works. (DaveCon photos, here)
Friday I again rode the train in and met Traci, Helen, and the no longer yella Brady for pie. Due to some bad directions I was a bit late and missed Micah and David Yoder. Helen and Traci were headed to see the new Trek movie at the I-Max theater and Brady was bound for points unknown. I headed out to shop and sight-see by bike. Once I got going I was so totally overcome with, and enamored by, the rush of slithering through traffic that I lost sight of everything else. I weaved my way up the East side, through Harlem, into and around Central Park then down through the theater district and Times Square. Basically the only stops I made were to grab a hot dog, a pretzel, a banana, a slice of pizza, etcetera, devour it, and jump back on the bike. Finally, spent, I made my way back to Grand Central Terminal. I thought I could take my bike on any off-peak train and so I bought my ticket and boarded the 8:04 train to New Haven. Along comes the conductor and informs me that no, I have to wait for the 8:35 train, so, dejected, I get off the train and wait. Not a big deal, Grand Central is a wonderful place to pass some time, I was just tired and ready to head ‘home’.
Saturday and Sunday were spent hanging with the family and the doggies and a wonderful home-cooked meal, complete with a Vermont Mystic Apple Pie (thanks, sis, and Danny, for finding the pie).
Monday was another day of riding in NYC. Pie for breakfast then another train ride into the city. The weather was a bit cool and threatening-looking so the wind breaker put in an appearance (all day). I was a bit more successful in my shopping endeavors, and had a delightful lunch/snack in Chinatown. I had some sort of mystery cake; a dense sponge-type cake, covered in crushed nuts and filled with banana creme. This, a cup of tea and a big slab of fresh-baked bread set me back the princely sum of $2.10. (Cycling Manhattan photos, here)
I really can’t overstate how much fun I had. DaveCon was, once again, everything I could hope for (well aside from not getting the tour or photo-ops at Dave’s desk. Curse you, Kevin Spacey! And a pox upon you too, “Survivors”).
Cycling in Manhattan was, quite possibly, the most fun I’ve ever had. Weaving and slithering through traffic I felt, quite literally, like some kind of super-hero. I really do love New York.
Special thanks to all those involved for making it the trip of a lifetime (you know who you are).
Tuesday I drove back home and got to see Pennsylvania by daylight for the first time. It’s a lovely state. I’m thinking of relocating to Sugar Notch, PA.
It’s me! As of 9 o’clock this morning. I don’t have to be back at work until 9 PM, Friday the 22nd. And yes, I have plans. Great big, scary plans. Stay tuned.
Posted by Greg Evans in general, travel Comments: Comments Off
I know this video is old-hat to the majority of my fellow netizens. But the MP3 player just shuffled up the song that the video is set to and I was moved to post this. Hopefully the one person out there who hasn’t yet seen it will, and will enjoy it as much as I do. The song, if you’ve ever wondered is “Praan” by Garry Schyman. One translation I’ve seen goes thusly:
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
If you’d like to purchase an MP3 of this magnificent tune, you can do so here: Praan.
Anyway, for whatever reason this really resonated strongly with me today, so I thought I’d pass it along.
In the time honored tradition of starting at the end and working back, I’m going to tell you bitch about my trip home. Just so you’re not totally in the dark, I will tell you that I went to visit my sister and brother-in-law in Connecticut and to NYC for DaveCon, to see The Late Show with David Letterman.
OK… so, I was supposed to fly out of White Plains, NY at 5:29 PM yesterday (Monday), change planes at Washington Reagan Airport, and arrive home at 8:49.
5:29 came and went. They kept coming on the PA and reassuring us that the plane was on its way and had just been delayed by weather. The plane finally lands and they promptly herd us out onto the tarmac, across a couple of hundred yards of said tarmac, and onto our plane. Everyone gets seated, the flight attendant does her little safety puppet show, then the captain comes on. The plane’s weather radar system is broken. They had hoped to fix it while on the ground but couldn’t, so we will all need to exit the plane, head back to the terminal, and make other arrangements. Melon Fever!
We are directed back to the ticket counter, where they have two people working; frantically trying to find all of us alternate flights while also taking care of everyone else who’s checking in and what-not. After many very tense minutes, they find me a flight connecting in Philadelphia which is boarding… right fucking now. So, I’m off to security, where, thanks to the fact that I’ve been outside on the tarmac, I now have to go through not just regular security, but the whole everything-but-the-cavity-search-shebangabang. I keep setting off the metal detector, in my haste I’ve forgotten the various items I moved from my bag to my pockets after I went through security the last time.
I gather up my crap, not even taking the time to put my laptop back into the bag, and run for my plane. I make it, they pull the steps away and close the door as I’m settling into my seat.
And then we wait, and wait… then wait some more. Finally we’re airborne for the short hop to Philadelphia.
In Philadelphia my flight to Dayton was (predictably) delayed as well. Late boarding and delayed enough on takeoff that they actually served us beverages while we waited to take off.
Anyway… by the time I arrived in Dayton it was nearly midnight. The good news (apart from making it at all, in one piece) was that they did manage to get my bag off of the broken plane and onto the correct plane, so my bag did arrive when and where I did.
All in all, a perfectly crappy way to punctuate what was, otherwise, a fantastic trip. More on that later.
As of right now, I’m on vacation (it’s actually the first time off I’ve had this year and not been sick). Tomorrow it’s off to the airport where I’ll catch a flight to an undisclosed location. I’ll be back in a week with tales to tell and photos to share. Stay tuned!
I hang out in the news group Alt.Fan.Letterman occasionally a lot. Over the years I think some of ‘the regulars’ over there have begun to begrudgingly accept me. Imagine my delight when I received a package (I’m considering it a birthday gift) in the mail from Kath, my favorite Australian.
Note the clever (and no doubt, intentional) misspelling of my name, lest I get too cocky.
A lovely card inside.
Signed by people I don’t know, at least one of whom seems unnaturally interested in seeing my pigeon-chest.
My Dingo! My Dingo!
The flip-side, showing Fraser Island, the dingo’s supposed home. I can’t imagine how they ever find a baby in all that sand! No wonder the poor thing looks so hungry!
Einstein (with whom I happen to share a birthday) was right vis-à-vis the relativity of time and space, and I have proof.
As you drive from Indianapolis, Indiana toward Dayton, Ohio on Interstate 70 there’s a sign not too far from the Ohio border that says “Dayton 40″ (miles). Roughly 1 mile later there’s another sign; this one says “Dayton 39″. So far so good. 5.2 miles later, after crossing into Ohio, there’s a sign. This one reads: “Dayton 40″. Not 34, not 35… 40!!!
Richmond, Indiana (right on the state-line) has always made me vaguely uneasy, now I know why!
Ok, maybe it doesn’t prove the theory of relativity, but it certainly proves something!
Posted by Greg Evans in weird, travel Comments: Comments Off
Upon arriving back at Mom’s house in Indianapolis, I received a very warm welcome from my mother and her two kittens. My cat had elected to be sequestered in a room by herself, having decided she wanted no part of anything involving kittens or any people who weren’t me. Cali (Caldonia if she’s misbehaving) had a lot to tell me. Either she was extremely happy to see me, or she thought she’d been abducted by aliens, it all sounds the same to me.
Anyway, after much kitty-petting, socializing with Mom, tamale eating, and a good night’s sleep it was again time to hit the road. The cat seemed happy when she saw that I was gathering not only my things, but hers as well. I took this as a sign that she would behave herself for the drive home, as she had done for the drive to Mom’s. After loading my bikes, clothes, cd’s, assorted accoutrements, the cat’s food and toys, and 10 dozen tamales (sharing ain’t all it’s cracked up to be) I came for the cat. She was quite docile about going into the carrier, which I took as another good sign. She started to meow, (or more accurately to howl) as I carried her to the car, but this wasn’t a point of too much concern, she had done this before but had quieted down fairly quickly once we got in the car.
I don’t know if it was because it was dark (unlike the trip coming) or if it was because she was still freaked out about being left for 2 weeks+ with two somewhat obnoxious (but thoroughly adorable) kittens, but whatever the case, she was inconsolable - howling, panting, and just generally caterwauling non-stop. I thought that if I opened the carrier (aka cage) and petted her, she would calm down (as she had done previously). This was not to be, however. Instead she immediately made a bee-line under my seat, where she continued to serenade/berate me as loudly as possible. You would think I was torturing the poor thing, from the sound of it. Upon realizing that I couldn’t simultaneously reach under the seat to pet and comfort the cat and see the road, I opted to put on a CD, turn the volume up loud enough to drown out her impassioned howling, and make haste getting home. During the brief pauses between songs, I tried to calmly reassure her (through gritted teeth) that we would be home soon.
Indeed we were home soon but she had apparently decided that she was going to take up permanent residence under the seat. “Fine”, I thought. “I’ll carry in a load of stuff; a few minutes alone in a cold car should change her mind”. Upon my return, she was still hiding under the seat. I attempted to extract her from the front of the seat, which proved quite impossible. I’m not sure how she managed to squeeze under in the first place. Thankfully the space under the rear of the seat is larger and I was able to drag her out. She didn’t put up a struggle as I re-inserted her into her carrier, though she did resume howling as I carried her inside.
As soon as we got inside and I let her out, she was transformed. It was as though nothing had happened at all; business as usual in kitty-land.
If only I, too, could go from total screaming freak-out to docile tranquility so readily, life would be so much easier.
Posted by Greg Evans in cats, travel Comments: Comments Off
So, it was with a heavy heart and 20 dozen tamales packed in styrofoam coolers that I left Midland, on my way to Mom’s house in Indianapolis to pick up my cat and part with some of my beloved tamales before the short jaunt from there back to Ohio. I was a bit concerned that I was leaving several hours later than I had planned and that shortly after awakening I felt as though I hadn’t had enough sleep. No worries, though; after all, sleep is for sissies!
Having renewed my vow never to return to the state of Oklahoma, my chosen return route was; Fort Worth, Dallas, Texarkana, Little Rock, West Memphis, then north along the Mississipi river on I-55, across the SE corner of Missouri, to I-57 into and across Illinois, to I-70, then through Terre Haute, and on to Indianapolis.
I was quickly approaching Fort Worth and making very good time. A group of trucks seemed a little too eager to move aside and let me pass, but I chose to ignore the alarm that this sounded in the back of my mind. A little while later, I’m about 5 miles west of Ranger, Texas (Not to be confused with “Walker, Texas Ranger”, the worst TV show ever made. Well one of them, anyway.) when I crest a small rise while passing another group of slower traffic. As soon as I come over the top of the hill, “Shit!” the median just ahead comes to life with headlights and flashing blue lights. I glance at the speedometer, which is now swinging down toward 80 (the posted limit was 65) as I signal my lane change back to the right, frantically hoping it’s not me he’s after. Alas, there is no one else, it has to be me. I’m filled with a heart-pumping, sick to my stomach rush of adrenaline, but I can’t help smiling just a bit as my mind replays the tape of Johhny Depp as Hunter S. Thompson in “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” saying:
Few people understand the psychology of dealing with a highway traffic cop. Your normal speeder will immediately panic and pull over to the side. This is wrong. It arouses contempt in the cop heart. Make the bastard chase you, he will follow.
Ignoring the good Doctor’s words, I immediately panicked and pulled to the side. Texas Highway Patrol officers don’t mince words, as soon as he stepped up to the passenger’s side window he told me who he was and why was stopping me.
Texas Highway Patrol. I pulled you over for exceeding the posted speed limit.
Of course, I’m very contrite and apologetic, explaining that I’ve had to leave my father, who’s very ill, back in Midland and that I guess I was a little distracted and got to going faster than I intended. You know, basically pleading for mercy without coming right and begging (and not really expecting it to work). He asks for my license and proof of insurance. I promptly hand over my license but can only find expired insurance cards. He suggests I continue to look while he checks my license. When he reapproaches the window he asks, “Did you find that?”
“Yes sir, it’s right here”, I reply, shakily handing the current insurance card over.
He glances at it, hands it back, then reaches back in with the dreaded pad and pen. I am positively dumbstruck as he tells me that he’s giving me a written warning, I feel as though I’m having some sort of out of body experience. I sign where he tells me, and hand it back saying, “Thank you, officer.” I’ve never uttered those words with more conviction in my life… I really meant it.
He tells me to be safe and keep my speed down, then sends me on my way.
I’m not sure if it was divine intervention, mercy on his part, or dumb luck (perhaps brought on by the figure of Señor Misterioso glowing atop my dashboard), to which I owe this good fortune, but believe you me, I am immensely grateful and thankful.
Posted by Greg Evans in travel Comments: Comments Off
