It's been a few days since I posted, and I know I left off in the middle of the loooooooong, boring tale of the adventures of the mediocre set loose in the wilds of NYC, and I know that many of you are deeply upset at my disappearance. ;p

I have been busy ... that's my excuse, but not my only excuse ... I've been sick, too. I've heard there is some sort of stomach thingy going around; it stopped to visit me for awhile, but I've sent it on it's way (no one likes a guest who outstays their welcome) so keep an eye out, probably coming your way next, and it is YUCKY!

I have my suspicions about the cause of my ickness (I like that typo, it sums it up well ... it was not just sick, it was totally ICK!) the fact that this ickness affected mom, dad & me at the same time has raised the ugly thought that perhaps darling dearest STEVE is guilty of poisoning us! Yes, he claimed to have experienced the twinges of this himself, but what better way to throw blame off, than to inflict a bit of the same on yourself as well, hmmm? I haven't spent all these years watching Forensic Files not to know how that works.

What possible motive could he have for giving the Ick to his family? Hmmm. How about "all these years he's been hiding a sullen jealousy and if finally exploded one night while he was fixing Cajun Marinated Chicken Breasts ... and he added his own special ickness ingredient!" ;p

Nah, that would only be a good plot in a B-movie. He'd actually be more prone to blame me because he is the Favorite Son, while I am but the middle daughter. Heee-heee!

For those of you who have just tuned in, prepare yourself ... as soon as I feel better I will begin posting New York Story - Part III ... better hope I don't feel better anytime soon, because if that's the case, I won't be posting for awhile, and when I do, it will have been too long, and not a darn person will give a rat's butt (where the heck did that phrase originate from anyway?) what the heck I did on my trip to NYC, so I'll never finish it.

Have a good night all. Stay healthy and Ick-Free. :)

New York Story – Part II
Saturday - Evening & Late Evening


South Street Seaport was our dinner stop. We hopped back on one of the double-decker red buses, AGAIN having to sit inside because the top was filled before we could get on. Linda and I moved to the extreme rear of the bus where we were able to secure four seats together. We sat down, both us giving the old lady groan as we took a load off. Mom and Laurie plunked down next to us, followed by two very chummy women who were not holding hands, but looked like they might have been just moments before.

My naïve Mom says “are you two sisters?”

“No, we’re not, ” said one woman (let’s just call her Butch.)
“Really? You look so much alike!” gushed my mother, digging deeper into her hole.
“We get that a lot. Maybe because we have the same haircut,” smirked Butch
“Maybe, but I think it’s more than that…”

Linda and I were giggling uncontrollably and had to turn away because it was painful to watch anymore as Mom continued on and on with her questions. Luckily we only had to go one stop ‘til our dinner.

The tour guide on the bus was loath to let us leave. She kept asking everyone if they had any interest in stopping at the South Street exit and we kept yelling YES, but she didn’t acknowledge us, forcing me to hit the “STOP DRIVER” button. It was very effective, too; the bus halted almost too soon, and the tour guide kept asking the driver why he was stopping. We barreled down the aisle before she could make him take off again, trapping us on the bus.

We followed our leader (of course) through a little mall on the waterfront. She took us up escalators to the 3rd level, and we followed wearily on her heels. She finally led us to a wonderful restaurant called Sequoias. We have one of those in Washington, DC, too, but I had never been before. (In case you are wondering, it’s definitely worth the trip.) We all started with soups/salads. I had Manhattan Clam Chowder (when in Manhattan, you know…) Linda had Shrimp Bisque, Laurie had a Caesar salad and Mom had New England Clam Chowder. Food choices were difficult. I picked out about 5 things and had to do eeny-meeny to pick one. I finally decided on a sushi quality seared tuna steak with penne pasta, tomatoes, olives and bread crumbs; I could have licked the plate. Mom had one of the dishes I didn’t order: Pineapple shrimp skewers on a bed of rice. I don’t remember what Linda and Laurie had but they cleared their plates, too, so I know they liked what was delivered.

Between the food and the view, it was a perfect place to spend a few hours, which we did, watching harbor traffic pass us by. We saw a ferry emblazoned with “The Music Tour” (probably not as jolly as the name implied, though because not a very fun looking bunch on that one) saw a very large and very luxurious catamaran cruising with a privileged few lounging on the decks, water taxis zipping across back and forth while dodging fishermen in motorboats, (what they hoped to catch, besides Typhoid and other contagious diseases, was questionable) and even an intrepid Waverunner. Night was descending and finally we figured we should be heading along on our day of fun because we had hardly seen anything, and we certainly didn’t have room for desert, so what was the point of sitting there watching the dusk turn to twilight?

We got up, groaning and moved off to our next stop: Ground Zero. As we were leaving the area I noticed a newsstand that seemed to be selling lots of film. I decided to get a disposable camera so I could take some pictures at Ground Zero. As I went in, I noticed a wall full of batteries. Just for the heck of it, I pulled out my camera and asked the guy behind the counter to see if he had one. Amazingly enough, he did! I whipped out my wallet and paid the highway robbery price he was asking ($9.75) and danced gleefully out of the shop, waving my trophy triumphantly. Now they wouldn’t have to listen to me whine about no battery. J

The walk to Ground Zero was short, but very memorable. Lights lit up the sky like daylight and the ominous emptiness of that large area stood out noticeably, in a city where space is at a premium, and skyscrapers blocking out the sky are the norm. We followed the lights to the site, becoming somber as we got closer and the magnitude of the disaster became more apparent.

The site is much different than it was after September 11th, thankfully. The rubble is gone and now it looks like a massive construction site. It was hard to believe that the exposed slurry wall could hold back the river. The subway system hub that was under the Twin Towers site has already begun its rebirth. We walked around the site, peering through the chain link fence at the space below and reading the signs that are hung everywhere, celebrating the history of the area and remembering those who were lost. It was very tasteful and touching; the one discordant note were the vendors hawking their September 11th memorabilia and aggressively pursuing those who were there to mourn and remember.

We finally left Ground Zero, walking several blocks back to Broadway and the bus stop where we were supposed to be able to pick up our next hop-on, hop-off bus. As we approached Broadway, Linda happens to mention that she hadn’t seen one of the buses recently. With a funny feeling in my stomach, I opened my handy-dandy brochure/map and flipped to the section that talked about the tour we purchased. There in bold black print was the horrible truth: 8:00am – 5:00pm. We glanced at our watches in horror, noting the 7:50pm that it was. We were downtown, really far downtown, and our bus trip was over, had been over for hours. However, the evening tour, called the Night Loop, was now running from 5:30pm-8:30pm, but it didn’t offer hop-on/hop-off service, so we’d have to get on where it started. If we hurried, we could still make it, if we could get there in time. Taxi anyone?

Laurie showed she was up to the challenge by stepping to the curb; she raised her left arm in the universal hail and waited for results, which were not long in coming. With screeching tires and honking of many horns keeping time, a cab veered from the far right lane to the far left, cutting off the hordes of cars, buses and taxis that filled the road. Laurie prudently stepped back from the curb, look of chagrin on her face as she realized her powers were stronger than she’d expected. Linda stood still frozen on the curb, so Mom grabbed her and pulled her back, just in case one of the crazed drivers swerved onto the sidewalk.

The four of us tumbled into the cab almost before he had stopped, hoping to minimize the damage caused by the stop short maneuver this driver had just pulled. I started to get in the back, but my Mom grabbed my arm and pushed me out of the way, saying “I’m not sitting up front!” and then she jumped in the back, leaving me no choice by to take the death seat in the front. Park Tran, our driver asked where we were going. “To hell and back” would probably describe that ride. We went from Manhattan to Times Square and it was a harrowing trip. Lets just say that I think the ladies in the back seat left claw marks permanently embedded in the seats. Heh-heh-heh!

He got us to our destination, the Grayline bus visitor’s center, at 8:17, which was a minor miracle but it was closed up tight. We started to walk back towards Times Square, feeling very sorry for ourselves, walking with dragging feet, until suddenly, we happened to see one of the red-jacketed drivers of the Grayline tours and it looked like he was trying to sell passersby on the tour. We politely asked him where we could board the Night Loops tour and he pointed up a few feet up the street and we went hot-footing it that way. We made it!

Linda and I were adamant that we wanted to ride up top. That was all we wanted, a ride on top. There may have been a comment tossed out there along the lines of “every woman wants to ride on top…” ;p

We got our wish! It seems that every Night Loop tour is done with all of the passengers riding up top. If you ever get to New York City and you are limited in your money and not sure how best to spend it, let me recommend this to you --- the Night Loop tour was the best thing we did, even better than Ellis Island, because it was such a good, happy time, with tons of information, astounding sites, all the while you’re sitting on top of the world for two hours. Our tour guide got on and he looked just like Rudy Guiliani, and sounded like him too! What more could you ask for, a tour by one of the city’s most famous resident?

Rudy (who’s real name was Andrew) was knowledgeable, witty and had the typical New Yorker’s ability to zap you with a sassy comeback, as he demonstrated several times during our trip. One notable example: The bus stopped briefly next to a famous park that was, at the moment, filled with badly-dressed, drunk college boys. The boys evidently didn’t like having a busload full of gawking tourists looking at them while they were getting a drunk on, so they began yelling obscenities. At first Rudy continued to talk over them, but after one particularly loud boy yelled “SUCK MY DICK” he fired back with “That’s YOUR fantasy, not mine.” The entire bus exploded with laughter. I believe those of us on that side of the bus could be guilty of laughing and pointing (I know I was) and Rudy could hardly talk for laughing. The drunk boy tried to yell something else, but Rudy turned the volume up on his microphone and said “you keep forgetting … I HAVE A MICROPHONE and YOU DON’T!” As our bus pulled away the sounds of guffaws were still ringing in the air, and drunk boy hid behind a low hedge because all the pedestrians were laughing at him, too.

We drove through SoHo, Broadway, Greenwich Village, Brooklyn, Manhattan … all the while amused by the entertaining comments and information that old Rudy had for us. We got some great pictures of the NYC skyline lit up at night (yes, even me. I now had a working camera and 800 speed film, so I’m pretty sure my pictures probably came out … fingers crossed!)

At one point we stopped in an upscale Manhattan neighborhood. Our seats were level with the 2nd floor windows of the buildings around us. Linda and I glanced at the building to the right and saw a group of good looking guys having a get-together. One of the guys was standing up, getting ready to drink from a bottle of beer. He almost choked on it when he looked out of his window and saw probably forty people outside staring at him interestedly. To give him credit, he held up the beer and toasted us, while all of his friends got up and ran to the window, beckoning us inside with “join us!” motions. To be honest, they were probably trying to get LINDA to come in because she’s a hot mama! Heee-heeee!

The whole bus cracked up and I took a picture just to amuse them, because they were such good sports. Who says New Yorkers are stuffy?

We crossed the Manhattan Bridge on the way out and the Brooklyn Bridge on the way back. Heading into the wind got a little nippy, so we were glad to see the end of our journey, although it was definitely a highlight of our trip! And, just to show what nice people they were, the good men of the Grayline Bus company dropped us off at Penn Station so we didn’t have to ride with another scary taxi driver!

We trudged wearily into Penn Station in time to miss the 10:40 train, so we set our sights on the 11:00 train. Mom and Laurie went in search of ice cream while Linda and I propped against a pole, watching the signs to see what track our train would be on. Mom came back with yogurt in a fancy cone w/ chocolate and nuts, while Laurie had Haagen Das in a plain sugar cone. Believe it or not, food and drinks are allowed on the train! (That would explain the linoleum floor vs. our carpeted Metro in DC … no food is allowed on there!)

Lucky 19 came up so we joined the throngs of people streaming toward track 19 and the train to Lindenhurst.

We sat down wearied but happy. Our conductor for the return trip was a nice woman who cracked a few jokes (yes, at my expense … I was tired so I was giving her lots of ammunition) and then sashayed off. The trip back was fairly uneventful, except the power kept going out on the train. Suddenly all of the lights would flicker and go off, as would the A/C, but if they needed to do that to keep up the power to run the train, so be it. If my choice is to sit in the middle of the tracks, not moving, but with all the lights and air on, OR ride in the dark but get to our destination, well, I think it’s a no-brainer as to which I’d pick. The air conditioning, of course! ;p

New York Story – Part II
Saturday - Afternoon & Early Evening

I don’t know why it didn’t dawn on any of us that we would have to go through security checks, as would all of the holiday revelers, so lines everywhere were going to be unavoidable, so our plan to avoid the tourists was doomed before we put it into action, but, as they say, ignorance is bliss. :)

We didn’t get off at stops like Soho, Greenwich Village, Little Italy, Ground Zero, instead we rode the bus until we reached our destination of Battery Park and the ferries. We hustled over to “Castle Clinton” (a historic landmark that has nothing to do with contemporaries who unfortunately share the same name) and joined the line for the security check before boarding any of the many ferries.

Around that time I happened to glance behind and up and saw the most magnificent view of buildings, old and new, towering overhead. I squealed and pointed, grabbing for my camera so I could take my first memorable shot of my visit to New York City. Just that morning, before boarding the train to the city, I demanded that we stop somewhere for me to get film ($6.89 for a single roll!) because I had forgotten to pack any. I grabbed my roll of film and went to put it in … only to discover that the camera battery was dead.

What are the odds?

The last time I had replaced the battery was last January, while visiting sunny Puerto Rico. The battery died and they just happened to have the type I needed at the Historic Fort gift shop (believe me, it was obviously meant for me to find that battery, because they had almost nothing in that gift shop, souvenir & postcard-wise, so I really couldn't believe my luck when the one battery they had hanging on the shelf was the lithium demanded by my cute little Nikon.)

After having that incredible luck with the Puerto Rico trip, I was doomed to disappointment in New York. So what's a girl to do, spend the rest of the day searching for a battery? You better believe it and I began my search right there at the vendors gathered at Castle Clinton.

Although I encountered various street thugs carrying briefcases filled with “rolex” watches of dubious authenticity, bags of sunglasses, bags of imitation handbags (Gucci, Fendi, Coach, Prada, etc) pictures, paintings, snowglobes with various New York landmarks inside, cheesey New York t-shirts and tons of other wares, no one had my battery. Everyone seemed to be selling disposable cameras, but I didn't want one of those, I wanted to take pictures with the advanced functions (on demand panaramic ... zoom, which I love! ... etc) of my very own Nikon.

So there I stood, the most beautiful view of the NY Skyline perfectly centered in the viewfinder, but no way to capture it, for want of a battery. It was a very sad thing for a slightly deranged shutterbug such as myself. All of my relatives tried to placate me with "we'll get doubles and you can have copies" but it just wasn't the same. I take pictures that others might think are slightly odd, but that's how I like to commemorate places I've been ... pictures of buildings, an architectural element, a scenic doorway with a hanging flowerbox, and such. Pictures that others probably wouldn't take and don't want, that's what I like! Humph. (Yes, I sulked. However, I did keep pointing out good shots to my cousins and mom so they could get a few in their rolls that I might like to have when developing time came around.)

We waited in line for approximately 45 minutes. It moved along at a pace I dubbed the “New York Shuffle” … that would be where you are pressed in a group with hundreds of others and you shuffle along looking up at buildings, perhaps pointing (a’la John Travolta “Saturday Night Live”style) which is not to be confused with the Hustle ---that was being done by the roving street vendors selling the watches, bags, and assorted fake jewelry.

As we were shuffling along, a younger black man with a fairly heavy Jamaican accent came around telling everyone to “double up the line” which basically meant that instead of being single file or perhaps two deep, suddenly we were 4 and 6 deep, with people that were about 50 people behind you now suddenly in front of you. When several people protested this (quite mildly too for New York, they must have been tourists) he said “I am just trying to do my job here!” making it sound as if he worked for the National Parks Service, the ones in charge of screening us, pre-boarding.

All too soon it became obvious that this man was a bit of an operator. He wanted to put on some sort of acrobatic stunt act and in order to have as many potential money givers around him as possible he needed to “double up” the lines.

He and “Yogi the Amazing Contortionist” proceeded to awe and amaze the crowd (I’m guessing they were awed and amazed, although I myself was not, due largely to the fact that I could not see anything but some very talented ducks in the harbor … they were sitting up and begging! Wiggling their little duck tails in the water like a mini prop and squawking loudly. They were definitely worth watching, unlike Yogi.) After he did his routine of flips and other tricks, he passed the hat in the crowd accompanied by a running stream of smart ass comments, as well as sending someone along the row that could see absolutely nothing (my row.) One man in front of me asked “are you paying us for this inconvenience? Thanks!” as he reached his hand towards the hat that was passing in front of him. I giggled at his little joke, it deserved a giggle and didn’t get one from the disgruntled hat bearer.


Finally, we were able to move past old Yogi and progress onwards to our goal of getting on a ferry. We were hustled through security with no problems (we even had to remove our watches, which was a new one for me.) However, as soon as we made it through we were hustled aboard a ferry that was rumbling and ready to go. My cousin Laurie hauled us along to the top deck of the ferry, where we would have a premium view of the Manhattan skyline, and a picture postcard perfect camera angle for the Statue of Liberty shots (for those who had a functioning camera, of course.)

The ferry was hot and stinky, not to mention the frolicsome bucking from the waves kicked up in the harbor. We weren't on it long enough for me to gain sea legs, so I wobbled my way down all of the stairs to use the bathroom. Quaint little signs stating "Water not fit for drinking" dotted the walls in the toilet area, making me wonder what may have happened to make the sign necessary ... After washing my
hands with water that wasn't fit to drink, I staggered back upstairs to the chaos that was the upper deck of the ferry. Mom and Laurie were demolishing hot dogs and drinking big old Cokes. I asked if this was lunch, but Mom said it was simply a snack because we were going to be heading to historic South Port to eat at a nice restaurant overlooking the water. Personally, if we were heading to a nice place, then I was going to wait it out and bypass the hot dog. Why fill up on the junk? Not me! I’m saving the pig-out for the good stuff!

Just then we came upon the green lady with torch and the entire right side of the ferry (is that the starboard side, or port?) Either way, the boat listed as all of the passengers rushed over there to get a picture. I figured I would add my weight to the left side to try to help balance us because otherwise we were going to flip over from all of the lucky touristas with functional cameras...

We were informed that the Statue of Liberty was still closed, as it has been since September 11, 2001, so an executive decision was reached ... we would proceed directly to Ellis Island, smugly thinking we would avoid many of the tourists and have Ellis Island to ourselves. We stayed on the ferry (with the majority of tourists, who had obviously arrived at the same conclusion we had) disembarking with all of the other hordes of people at Ellis Island. First glimpse, it looked like a military fortress, which makes sense considering the property was built on the remains of a fort; red brick, gleaming black wrought iron, and fresh white painted trim. The entrance to the main building, THE building that all immigrants came to first, had a facade decorated with sweeping windows and soaring heights that gave the building the look of a palace. There were two bell towers (actually, there are 4, but we could only see 2 at first), peaked burnt-red roofs and so much cast concrete that you would swear the building was white. Elaborate wrought iron & bronze touches were everywhere: crowning the tops of the bell towers, lining the eaves of the roof, trimming the balconies. It was truly a spectacular sight; thank you Mr. Lee Iacoca for your fundraising efforts that led to this magnificent renovation.

We joined the line and filtered into the great hall, once again following Laurie the Intrepid One. She led us to the Park Service booth where we each purchased walking tour headphones and little walkman type devices with a keypad to select applicable recordings, based on the exhibit facing us. We each put our headphones on (with only a grimace or two for the thought of the many ears that had worn these before us ... UGH!) and sauntered over to begin the tour. All four of us spent the next 40 minutes or so wandering around, gazing around vacantly as we listened to the recorded tour. Like idiots we either gestured at things we wanted each other to notice (doing our best Mime impressions) or attempted to speak (ie, YELL) so that
the others of us could hear them over the loud noise in their own ears. We were very popular with the other tourists who had not elected to do the walking tour ...

What can I say about this tour? It was better than I ever expected. Made me get teary-eyed listening to actual immigrant recollections that were recorded as part of the tour. Made us all understand exactly how brave our immigrant ancestors were, because to come to Ellis Island was a truly terrifying thing. All I can really say is this is one of the best things about my visit to New York, AND my co-touristas agreed. I know they were just humoring me in my wish to visit and see the commemorative wall, but once they got there, I think it got to them, too. We all wandered around the grounds outside, looking at the amazing wall of ancestor names that stretches in a huge, undulating circle, filled with hundreds of thousands of names, all engraved with donated money, thanks to Lee Iacoca's vision.

I think I can safely say that we were all thrilled with this trip. And best of all, it was FREE! Two thumbs up, WAAAAY UP, for the Ellis Island Tour!

After Ellis Island we were all starving and it was starting to get a bit "dusklike" ... none of us knew how the day had slipped away, but it was fast approaching night-time, and long past dinner time according to my stomach.

New York Story – Part II
Saturday - Morning and Early Afternoon

Unfortunately, the weekend we picked for this trip was a holiday weekend for the US (Columbus Day), as well as Canada (Thanksgiving) so as you may have guessed, this did not bode well for lines in and around the Big Apple, although we were oblivious to that until we actually showed up to play on Saturday and found that everyone else was already there.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, and beautiful! We really lucked out and got a spectacular Indian summer day that was a little brisk, but not uncomfortable, for our first day into the city. The four of us had dressed for it with jackets and longer sleeves. Today's adventurers were the four intrepid women: Mom, Laurie, Linda and me. Danielle, Linda's daughter, was supposed to go too, but she bailed out at the last minute in favor of the boat party in honor of "seasonal boat closing."

We piled into Laurie's car and drove to the Long Island RR station to board the elevated train that would take us to Penn Station. As we drove up we could see a train in the distance. Turns out it was our train, so we had to run up the escalator. We made it in time, plunking down in our festive burgundy and blue seats. The floor of the train was linoleum, which was surprising ... for some reason I expected carpet. It was unbelievably clean too, although we later found out during a public announcement that they have a “clean train campaign.” Keep up the good work, Long Island! There was an actual conductor (can you tell I am a train novice who has only ever ridden the Metro in DC?) who came around to charge us for our trip. $18.00 each for our round trip tickets from Lindenhurst to Penn Station. Eeek! However, it was the best way to travel, stress free and very relaxing. All of us were filled with exhilaration about our trip and
we were bubbling over with excitement, discussing what we were going to see.

The first glimpse of the city skyline was thrilling and all too brief because then we went into the tunnel under the Hudson River and couldn't see anything. However, we were at Penn Station so it didn't matter!

We exited the train, followed our intrepid leader Laurie as she led us up to the street and our first stop ... the Grayline Bus Company's double-decker bus "loops" tour.

At street level the very first impression I received of the city up close was of billboard after billboard, everywhere billboards! I felt the grandeur of the city take over and was filled with awe. The buildings
were so tall and beautiful, with architectural elements that you just don't see anymore; flaring rooflines, corner brackets, engraved plaques and scrollwork, cast iron curlicues and elements that reminded me of the all too brief studies of the columns to be found in Greece---Doric, Ionic and Corinthian. The window dressing, the likes of which I hadn't seen before, was but a hint of the splendor to follow as the Christmas holiday approached. It was a feast for the eyes!

I walked in almost a daze, eyes darting upwards towards the sky, then down to my feet so I didn't trip. Then a quick glance to make sure I wasn't going to get knocked down by a hurrying pedestrian or hit by a speeding taxi. The streets were teeming with the yellow cabs. Every single cab I saw the whole weekend was yellow. At one point it seemed like every cab in the world was in the city for the weekend.

Suddenly, around the corner of the immense Macy's building I saw it ... the Empire State Building! This was one of the things I had desperately wanted to do while in NYC --- go up to the observation deck and see the city from 86 floors up!

Somehow, we managed to get to the Grayline bus stop, even though we were gawking like hayseed countryfolk. We purchased our tickets ($71.00 per person) for the Essential New Yorker passes. This
included 'Hop-on/Hop-off' bus priveleges for 48 hours, tickets to the Empire State Building, tickets to the Seaport Museum, Evening Lights Tour and tickets to Ellis Island/Staten Island Ferry. It was almost too much! I was so excited that had I not just visited the potty I would have needed to right then and there! ;D

We finally managed to get on a bus, after about 8 buses passed us by ... had I mentioned that this was a holiday weekend for the US and Canada? ... and we had started to doubt the intelligence of our decision to pay for this bus tour. We squeezed into “standing room only” spaces and spent the next 10 minutes bent over and craning our necks sideways to see up and out of the windows as the bus tour guide pointed out interesting tidbits about the things we were passing.

Laurie called a quick council of war and we unanimously decided to go straight to the Ellis Island/Staten Island Ferry stop so we could do that early, before all of the other holiday visitors followed us there. Little did we know they were already in line and waiting for us... (to be continued more)

New York Story – Part I

NYC in the Fall. Doesn’t that have a magical ring? I thought so too, so I called my cousins and we arranged a trip.

My cousins are all native New Yorkers, but not a single one of them has ever played tourist in their own city. Why is that? I live just outside Washington, DC and I’ve covered almost every square inch of it over the years. Then again, I could be a professional tourist, so maybe I shouldn’t be counted in this survey…

Anyway, back to the New York City in the Fall trip planning details:

Friday Night:
My cousin’s kids could not wait for their cousin Sharondarella to arrive so they could take me to the local fire station, which was hosting their annual Haunted House fundraiser. I agreed to go, but when we arrived, two things changed my mind:

1. It cost $10 to go in (I think I may have already mentioned somewhere in my posting that I am cheap, but in case not, I am incredibly cheap)

2. There was a man dressed up with a mask on like a character from Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

I am not afraid of horror movies, in fact, I actually like some of them. However, slasher/gore films are not lumped in with the ones I like. Texas Chainsaw Massacre was actually very stupid, and it wouldn’t bother except for an unfortunate Halloween experience that traumatized me for life. Years ago my brother and I went Trick or Treating with a group of friends. We went to a house that was set back from the street, surrounded by trees with a circular dirt drive that wound back into the darkness; it was always dark and hard to see through all of the overgrown trees. The house itself was quite imposing, large and looming menacingly through the trees. The leaves had fallen off the trees, making a shuffling crackling that sounded like small animal bones crunching under our feet as we walked. The house was almost completely dark, with just a single candle sputtering on the front porch.

I had suggested we go to the next house, but my brother and friends were determined to go to every house, thereby maximizing the candy take. By the time we got close to the house we were all feeling a little uneasy, but being kids, we all pretended bravado none of us felt. One of the boys was in the lead when suddenly a tall man with stringy hair and a bushy beard jumped out from behind a tree. He yelled and threw his hands up, showing us the axe he was holding, swinging it over his head. We all screamed and started running away from him, down the other side of the circular drive. As we rounded the corner, man with axe hot on our heels, we saw another man hanging from a tree where the psycho must have hung him. To say that we almost wet our pants is an understatement. Just when we thought we had escaped ANOTHER man started chasing us, this one with a chain saw screaming at us.

Years later I can look back on this and realize that the guy who lived in this house was of a “frat boy” mentality as were his friends; they obviously thought this out beforehand, staged their scenes and then proceeded to scare every child for miles around. Their plan was successful, too, because for years afterwards they were not bothered by girl scouts knocking on their door selling cookies, or paperboy’s delivering their newspaper, nor did they have to buy candy for Halloween. I, like many others in the neighborhood, never felt comfortable about Halloween again, and to this day do not like people who jump out at me, especially when they are wearing a mask of any sort.

So, back to the New York fire house:

I refused to go in. My cousin’s kids begged me, but heartlessly I told them no. Their parents were going with them, I was sure that would be good enough (and it was, as it turned out)

I stood off to the side, waiting for them to come out, and watching as the Texas Chainsaw masked fireman snuck around scaring the bejesus out of some kids standing around unaware. Even worse was when the black draped gauze lifted at the doors to the firehouse and several figures dressed ominously in black emerged, and sneaked up on several people who were laughing at others being scared by Chainsaw mask guy. I finally putting my back up against a telephone pole so that no one could approach me from behind without my knowledge because if any of them tried to surprise me I’d probably start swinging and screaming, which might prove embarrassing to me. ;D

I watched in amusement as couples, children and various cocky teens came tumbling out of the black draped firehouse, screaming, as a clown in a black cloak chased them with a chain saw. Yes it was a real chainsaw, although it didn’t have any chains on it. Still, the noise that was horrifying enough.

I decided to take my $10 and spend it on raffle tickets (36” Flat Screen Sony Wega) for my cousin. Just as I was leaning over to pick up my tickets, I felt someone behind me. I jumped slightly as I turned, but it was just a fireman who had a mask with an extra head growing out of his hair. Not too scary. I was relieved, but only for a second, because just then my cousins came tumbling out of the fire house with 3 of the masked people chasing them, one with the chain saw, another with a knife and the third with a scary look on his face. I would have laughed, but it just wasn’t funny enough.

I grabbed them up and hustled them off to the car before the kids could start clamoring to go back in. Too late. We didn’t even make it to the car before they started in. I must have heard “you should have gone, it was great!” at least ten times, but I remained adamant that I hadn’t missed anything, and was glad they had fun.

My cousin’s son convinced his father to take him and a friend back to the firehouse on Saturday night. The son of my cousin is 10, but he likes to pretend he’s all grown up. However, he reverted back to childhood as he was chased, screaming and borderline hysterical, by 4 robed/masked men on Saturday night. I wanted to say “I told you so” but hey, I’m not that kind of person. Heee-heee!

Check back tomorrow for New York Stories - Part II

Okay, I wrote this last week, but I kept losing it when I tried to post it on the BLAHG, so let's just pretend today is October 5th:

Today is the one year anniversary of the infamous sniper shootings in
Northern Virginia and Maryland by Malvo and Muhammad, two of the most
despicable criminals "M's" since Manson. What I don't understand is why
they are getting a trial?

They have admitted what they did, heck, they BRAGGED about it.

So, why waste millions of dollars to move the trial down to Chesapeake Virginia, giving them years longer to live while their fate is deliberated by a group of decidedly more lenient minded people? They didn't give their victims
that consideration. I say we cut to the chase ... let's execute them today.

What could be more appropriate for the 1 year anniversary, to help with the healing process of the families of the victims? I know it would make me feel better to know
they are no longer breathing, if they had taken someone I loved.

Last year, on the night of the shooting of Linda Franklin, (the FBI Analyst
who was shot at the Home Depot in Falls Church) I found myself caught up in
the backlash of the nightmare drama:

There was a big project due at work, so I was putting in a late night,
alone, in the big, scary, empty building that was my home away from home
(aka, The Office.) My office was about a mile from the 7-Corners Home
Depot. As the shooting was taking place, I was innocently working away.
Next thing I know, my father calls and tells me that there has been another
shooting, and this time it was right near where I was.

I have to admit, I didn't take it seriously. The M.O. of this sniper
seemed to pretty much be "smash & grab" styles favored by all cowardly
types. After he shot at someone he would leave the area, making great
haste, it seems. I didn't think it could impact me at all. I reassured my
father and continued to work until about 12:00am. I was well-stocked with food, too, in case I had to stage a siege ... we had a lunch meeting and had ordered up a load of Chipoltes Burritos, and there were extras I had stashed in the fridge. With those in reserve I knew I could last for at least a week, if I had to. ;) Luckily, I didnt have to put that theory to the test because it was all quiet and normal looking out there so I was able to leave.

When I left the comfort of the building and began to walk to my car I couldn't get over how DARK it was; it's easy to forget, especially since it was so warm during the day and still felt like summer. I remember feeling very creeped out as I got in my car. I even did the "serpentine" duck walk move as I made my way over to my car (all of us were doing it ... especially at gas stations.) I passed several gas stations on the way home, several of them bearing tarps, which had become a common sight ... used as a line of sight barricade against potential sniping. The road was eerily empty of cars.

I drove down Rt.7, usually a busy road no matter the time of day, but that night I was the only one on the road. As I drove down Rt. 7, I could see police cars at almost every intersection, setting up blockades so that it looked like exotic yellow stick flowers were blooming everywhere. I began to think that maybe there was a reason no one was on the road, except for the police.

As I approached the intersection near the Culmore Shopping Center, I saw a police car with a barricade set up across the road, blocking traffic in all directions except one, forcing me to go 'that way' ... "Or Else" was sort of implied, so I went 'that way'. I drove through the dark neighborhoods next to and behind the 7-Corners shopping center, (some of them were pretty questionable too, especially at almost 1:00am.) I felt a little scared, but hey, fear can do that. Crossing over Rt. 50/Washington Blvd. helped because it suddenly seemed 7-Corners and all of the traffic problems caused by the blockades were behind me.

Unfortunately, I was a bit optimistic.

As I was driving I noticed police cars were pulling up behind me, sealing off the road that I was on, leaving me no choice but to continue heading the direction I was already going. Good thing this was towards home.

Just when I thought I had made it, I crested a hill and came upon a most horrific sight: orange cones and yellow barricades. Didn’t look so damn exotic anymore, either, especially pressed up against the nose of my truck, halting me in my forward progression. For a brief second I played with the idea of driving right on through, because why have an SUV if not to jump a curb once in awhile, or to muscle through a few cones and saw horses? (Ask OJ Simpson; he had a Bronco. He can tell you what it felt like.)

Unfortunately, I have been raised to respect authority (at least while there is someone around to observe you) so I put my car in park and shut it off. I decided I would approach one of the nice (and nice looking) policemen diligently guarding the intersection. I was sure they would let me through so I could get to bed at a decent hour sometime that night.

I got out of my car and picked a really cute policeman to talk to. Just in case, I kept my hands visible and out of my pockets (I don’t think I look like a felon, but I seem to get searched quite a bit, so maybe I don’t look quite like I think…) as I walked up.

“Officer, what are the chances of me getting you to move a few of those cones so I can get home?” I gave him my best smile.

“Not a chance, ma’am.” (Ma’am? Excuse me, I just gave you a great smile and you call me ‘Ma’am’ … young punk. He was probably gay.) This time I smiled at him pityingly, because being a man in uniform and in the closet has to be a terrible thing.

“How am I supposed to get home? Can’t you just check my license, search my car (strip search me) and then let me go on my way?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” (AGAIN with the ma’am. I didn’t think he was so darn cute anymore.) “This is a joint effort with police representing different jurisdictions. I don’t have the authority to let you through because I’m not in charge of this operation. We were told to block this intersection and let no one through. How did you get here, anyway? That street was supposed to be closed off.”

“It is ... behind me. Which means I can’t get back that way, either. What do you suggest?”

“I think you’re going to have to go back the way you came.”

Realizing I was getting nowhere with the good-looking (but obviously gay, since my smile didn’t work) policeman, I dragged myself back to my car. If I didn’t get home soon and get some beauty sleep I was going to turn quite haggish come morning. I started my car and yelled to the person in the car behind me that we needed to back up because they weren’t going to let us through. She nodded (yup, two women, out in a bad neighborhood at 1:00 in the morning, with only a gay cop to protect us) and put her car in reverse so she could backtrack.

She turned right at one of the first cross streets she came to, while I continued straight. I got to the next intersection and my heart sank at the sight of the now familiar yellow blockage and the merrily marching orange cones. The police officer at this intersection didn’t look very friendly (and he wasn’t very good looking) so I didn’t get out to ask him for advice. Instead, I turned up the service road and backtracked the way I had originally come.

Long story longer, I finally got home at around 2:30am. I had to go all the way back to work and ended up taking 395 and the beltway (guess they can’t close THAT as easily as everything else) in order to get home, but at least I finally got there. I called work and left them a message that I was not coming in to work at my normal time because the hag syndrome was well on its way, and in order to reverse that I would need a few extra hours of sleep. At least I got the chance to whimper and whine about how tired I was; the victims of the cowardly fools that called themselves “snipers” didn’t get that chance.

I say let the victims’ families have the deciding of punishment. Turn them over to the brothers, fathers, husbands, uncles and cousins of the victims, and then we’ll check to see if there’s anything left to prosecute after an hour. Cold-blooded and heartless of me? Perhaps. In some cases there is still a call for some good old-fashioned vigilant ‘Eye for an Eye’ justice, and this is one of them.

OOOOOOOH! I just lost the BEST POST! :( Blah-Blah-Blahg is EATING EVERYTHING I Enter! DAMN. And what really stinks is it was REALLY FUNNY. Anything I try to recreate is just not going to be as much fun.