I just went home to Raleigh for the weekend to visit the family. A great weekend all around. I can't believe my nephews and nieces are growing up so fast. They were loads of fun. All of them. And it was great having everyone in one place for a little bit to reconnect. I wish I'd had more time.
I felt a little different coming back this time. Moving to a new place is strange. Going back is sometimes the only way to realize how acclimated you've become. As I flew back in, I realized several things. One, this city looks awesome from a plane at dusk. Two, we almost always fly over my apartment (I can see it and recognize the street from the plane) and I half wonder if it would be easier to just parachute down, instead of having to take the M60 bus and then two train connections to get home from the airport (adding almost twice the time that the flight takes). Three, I'm comfortable here, at least more than I was. I had a blast in Raleigh but then I came back here to a fairly active social life and a full time job that will be starting soon. Right back into the swing of things.
It's nice. I'm still sitting here wondering if being full time is going to allow me to be as focused on composing as I want to be. I had all these big goals when I was freelance and I had the time to think (between worrying about bills). I guess I'll be able to finish them but I'll have to take a radically different approach. Perhaps just taking a week to set a pace and see how much I can get done on a project, a simple one, without thinking about a deadline. Then, with that in mind, I can get a better picture of what a realistic goal for how much work I can get done is for the next year.
I'm hoping to be able to post some music up here soon. Just some ideas. I should get back into the "Jams." I was composing, earlier in the year, short pieces of music that were, at least initially, composed on the spot. And then a week or so to really finish rounding them out and then spend the rest of the month tweaking and producing it. So, a song a month. I think I could knock that down to a song every two weeks. And maybe could eventually come up with longer versions of them.
I'm also planning on jamming with a composer friend pretty soon. He plays the violin among other things and we're both of the mind to create something innovative. So we'll see how that goes.
Meanwhile, my mind wanders to the question of what is home. I'm fairly grounded here but going "home" to Raleigh always gets me wondering what it really is to say, "home" when referring to a place. So many cliches have been borne of this topic so I will leave it at that without any attempt to add to the clutter of thought there.
It's good night for now. The new Avett Brothers album is pretty good.
Showing posts with label travelling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travelling. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
More Boston...
Now, where did I leave off. Oh yeah, Saturday night, after watching a bunch of ridiculous you tube vides we started to look over guide books for Boston. My friends hadn't seen much since they'd been there so they were up for just about anything. Taking into account some things we had missed the day before that we wanted to do, I made an itinerary for the next day that included the Mary Baker Eddy library and surrounding environs, the start of the Freedom trail, Quincy Market and whatever else we could fit in along the way.
The Mary Eddy Baker library was okay. The building and the surrounding plaza were pretty impressive but we weren't terribly interested in seeing the paid exhibits (except maybe the mapparium but I think you had to pay for everything to see the one thing...incidentally, this is an indicator of how cheap [or broke, depending on how you look at it] we are that we couldn't spring 6 bucks to see the mapparium and then ditch). Ditch we did, just like we did the Harvard Yard tour, so that we could move on to other things. Instead of grabbing the Green Line for Park Street we opted to walk up Huntington Avenue and through the Back Bay area until we reached the start of the Freedom trail near the Boston Common. Debating following closely behind a tour group or two, we grabbed some roasted nuts on the common and started down the Freedom trail.
I tried to keep straight all of the old buildings and captioned the photos as best as I could.
We breezed through Fanueil Hall and reached the Quincy Market where we waded through the absolute cluster of people until we decided on a place for lunch. Most of the restaurants throughout the place seemed fast foodish but a few seafood places looked good so we chose one that had a lobster bisque and New England clam chowder, grabbed our food and then pushed through the crowd to the outside. We ended up eating in a park close by that is situated right above where they dug the tunnel for I-93.
From there we followed the Freedom trail through the North End, my favorite part of Boston so far. Incidentally, passing this many pastry shops is, as some of you might agree, is damn near impossible without stopping, despite long lines and crowds of tourists. We found one that had massive cannolis and killer tiramisu (well Debbie made a face and said it tasted like Rum and not espresso cake) and munched while standing outside of one of the (or the, I can't remember) oldest Catholic churches in America.
Further on and further in, we wound up walking by the harbor until we crossed I-93 again and turned a corner on Canal Street and headed to Boston Beer Works where we whiled away the afternoon drinking local brew and eating probably the biggest plate of nachos I've ever taken part in. After that we headed back up the Orange Line to Wellington Station to pick up my stuff from their car and then it was off to the bus station to wait for Karishma.
I gotta say, I'm enjoying the fact that I live close to New England and all the many places therein that I've always wanted to see and/or further delve into. That's one good thing about New York City. It's close to so many places worth going, so there's always somewhere to go when you need to get away from the city. But of course, I was glad to get back home and, as I pointed out in my earlier blurb, there's nothing like seeing the skyline approaching from the highway at night (Or from an airplane for that matter).
The Mary Eddy Baker library was okay. The building and the surrounding plaza were pretty impressive but we weren't terribly interested in seeing the paid exhibits (except maybe the mapparium but I think you had to pay for everything to see the one thing...incidentally, this is an indicator of how cheap [or broke, depending on how you look at it] we are that we couldn't spring 6 bucks to see the mapparium and then ditch). Ditch we did, just like we did the Harvard Yard tour, so that we could move on to other things. Instead of grabbing the Green Line for Park Street we opted to walk up Huntington Avenue and through the Back Bay area until we reached the start of the Freedom trail near the Boston Common. Debating following closely behind a tour group or two, we grabbed some roasted nuts on the common and started down the Freedom trail.
I tried to keep straight all of the old buildings and captioned the photos as best as I could.
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| Boston Day 2 |
We breezed through Fanueil Hall and reached the Quincy Market where we waded through the absolute cluster of people until we decided on a place for lunch. Most of the restaurants throughout the place seemed fast foodish but a few seafood places looked good so we chose one that had a lobster bisque and New England clam chowder, grabbed our food and then pushed through the crowd to the outside. We ended up eating in a park close by that is situated right above where they dug the tunnel for I-93.
From there we followed the Freedom trail through the North End, my favorite part of Boston so far. Incidentally, passing this many pastry shops is, as some of you might agree, is damn near impossible without stopping, despite long lines and crowds of tourists. We found one that had massive cannolis and killer tiramisu (well Debbie made a face and said it tasted like Rum and not espresso cake) and munched while standing outside of one of the (or the, I can't remember) oldest Catholic churches in America.
Further on and further in, we wound up walking by the harbor until we crossed I-93 again and turned a corner on Canal Street and headed to Boston Beer Works where we whiled away the afternoon drinking local brew and eating probably the biggest plate of nachos I've ever taken part in. After that we headed back up the Orange Line to Wellington Station to pick up my stuff from their car and then it was off to the bus station to wait for Karishma.
I gotta say, I'm enjoying the fact that I live close to New England and all the many places therein that I've always wanted to see and/or further delve into. That's one good thing about New York City. It's close to so many places worth going, so there's always somewhere to go when you need to get away from the city. But of course, I was glad to get back home and, as I pointed out in my earlier blurb, there's nothing like seeing the skyline approaching from the highway at night (Or from an airplane for that matter).
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Chinatown bus goes to Boston...
Back from Boston now. Sitting at home relaxing with a beer and reflecting on the weekend. I like traveling, especially now that there's that added element of having to take all sorts of public transit so I feel that much lighter when I do travel. I packed up a duffel bag and carried just that and my shoulder bag to work that day so I could leave straight from, no car to worry about parking or fueling. Just as long as I could make it to whatever terminal I was leaving from, I'd be fine. And traveling solo can make you feel even lighter, but traveling with a companion can be just as fun. This trip was actually conceived because Karishma was planning on meeting a friend in Boston, just to get out of the city for the weekend and I realized that going with Karishma would be the perfect excuse to get out and go meet up with Jeff and Debbie for the weekend. I hadn't been to Boston since I was ten either.
I was planning on leaving straight after work for Chinatown to catch the Fung Wah bus, the oldest running Chinatown bus service between New York City and Boston. I met Karishma outside the Grand Street subway and, from there, we decided to throw out our plans of hitting a specific dumping shop, across the street and down a block, and, instead, to get dumplings at the first place that looked good. We opted for a hole in the wall on Chrystie Street, the name of which escapes me, ordered a good amount of food and carried it over to the place where we were to meet the bus. There was a little window in the side of the building with signs for our bus company all over it so we went up to the window to check in. After telling us to sign our ticket stubs she directed us to go wait down on the corner for the bus. So we went looking for the corner she was talking about and had to circle almost half the block before we actually found it. Confident we were in the right place, we promptly got out our food and began wolfing it down, Karishma with hers coated in too much hot sauce. An older Chinese man stopped on the sidewalk beside us and started to eyeball Karishma's dumplings, all cradled in styrofoam and piping hot. I thought he was going to ask her for some, but instead, he pointed out that it was good food we were eating and then launched into his life history, starting in some obscure town in China that was near India, and led through every other city in China, Hong Kong, Japan, Sydney, Australia and a bunch of other places I couldn't remember. I was too busy eating some awesome pork dumplings. A little pre boarding entertainment from yet another one of the city's characters.
When the little ladies with the red shirts and the walkie talkies came around to check our tickets, they gave an approving nod and a proud look when they saw that we had already had them stamped and signed and we proceeded to board. When we got situated, our driver came over the intercom and assured us that he wasn't going to lie to us and that we were in for a long bus ride. He had seen the northbound traffic on I-95 on his way down and decided that we should avoid it, adding almost another hour onto the trip. We drove through the city to the Bronx instead of getting on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, and cruised at a decent speed for what was basically an uneventful four and a half hour trip. The lights of Boston were pretty impressive and I was surprised to see us plunge into an underground tunnel before coming up to the bus station. I had no idea before this weekend about the "big dig," the interstate being underground and all those other things that Jeff told me about associated with the Boston transportation system.
Jeff agreed to meet us at Davis Station because it was about as far for us from South Station as it was from his house in Medford. Sleepy Medford. It was a short ride to Jeff's place and we soon crashed after talking over what we might do the next day. I expressed a desire to take it easy and do mostly free stuff (except eating and drinking of course).
On the agenda for Saturday was to tour Harvard and then go into the city and try and tour the Harpoon brewery and if that was a bust we would just walk around the Back Bay area. Harvard was nice, we took half of a student guided unofficial tour and slipped away from the crowd around the memorial hall portion of the tour and then headed over to Harpoon which was off of the Silver line somewhere on the outskirts of downtown Boston. Karishma left us around Park Street to meet the friends that she'd be staying with for the rest of the weekend. Harpoon's tours were sold out so we checked out the bar area, used their restroom and headed back towards the Back Bay area and walked the Boston Commons area and on through the Public Gardens and down to the Boston Public Library, before heading back to Medford to let the Pug Lola out and eat dinner. That night we went out to Old Magoun's Saloon and had some tasty beers. Here are pics from Chinatown and the first day in Boston:
(The first three are in Chinatown NYC)
I'll write more about the second day and overall impressions tomorrow. I'm too exhausted right now.
I was planning on leaving straight after work for Chinatown to catch the Fung Wah bus, the oldest running Chinatown bus service between New York City and Boston. I met Karishma outside the Grand Street subway and, from there, we decided to throw out our plans of hitting a specific dumping shop, across the street and down a block, and, instead, to get dumplings at the first place that looked good. We opted for a hole in the wall on Chrystie Street, the name of which escapes me, ordered a good amount of food and carried it over to the place where we were to meet the bus. There was a little window in the side of the building with signs for our bus company all over it so we went up to the window to check in. After telling us to sign our ticket stubs she directed us to go wait down on the corner for the bus. So we went looking for the corner she was talking about and had to circle almost half the block before we actually found it. Confident we were in the right place, we promptly got out our food and began wolfing it down, Karishma with hers coated in too much hot sauce. An older Chinese man stopped on the sidewalk beside us and started to eyeball Karishma's dumplings, all cradled in styrofoam and piping hot. I thought he was going to ask her for some, but instead, he pointed out that it was good food we were eating and then launched into his life history, starting in some obscure town in China that was near India, and led through every other city in China, Hong Kong, Japan, Sydney, Australia and a bunch of other places I couldn't remember. I was too busy eating some awesome pork dumplings. A little pre boarding entertainment from yet another one of the city's characters.
When the little ladies with the red shirts and the walkie talkies came around to check our tickets, they gave an approving nod and a proud look when they saw that we had already had them stamped and signed and we proceeded to board. When we got situated, our driver came over the intercom and assured us that he wasn't going to lie to us and that we were in for a long bus ride. He had seen the northbound traffic on I-95 on his way down and decided that we should avoid it, adding almost another hour onto the trip. We drove through the city to the Bronx instead of getting on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, and cruised at a decent speed for what was basically an uneventful four and a half hour trip. The lights of Boston were pretty impressive and I was surprised to see us plunge into an underground tunnel before coming up to the bus station. I had no idea before this weekend about the "big dig," the interstate being underground and all those other things that Jeff told me about associated with the Boston transportation system.
Jeff agreed to meet us at Davis Station because it was about as far for us from South Station as it was from his house in Medford. Sleepy Medford. It was a short ride to Jeff's place and we soon crashed after talking over what we might do the next day. I expressed a desire to take it easy and do mostly free stuff (except eating and drinking of course).
On the agenda for Saturday was to tour Harvard and then go into the city and try and tour the Harpoon brewery and if that was a bust we would just walk around the Back Bay area. Harvard was nice, we took half of a student guided unofficial tour and slipped away from the crowd around the memorial hall portion of the tour and then headed over to Harpoon which was off of the Silver line somewhere on the outskirts of downtown Boston. Karishma left us around Park Street to meet the friends that she'd be staying with for the rest of the weekend. Harpoon's tours were sold out so we checked out the bar area, used their restroom and headed back towards the Back Bay area and walked the Boston Commons area and on through the Public Gardens and down to the Boston Public Library, before heading back to Medford to let the Pug Lola out and eat dinner. That night we went out to Old Magoun's Saloon and had some tasty beers. Here are pics from Chinatown and the first day in Boston:
(The first three are in Chinatown NYC)
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| Boston, Day 1 |
I'll write more about the second day and overall impressions tomorrow. I'm too exhausted right now.
Blurb #12
There's nothing like driving into New York City at night and seeing the skyline approach. That having been said, Boston was tons of fun too. A different kind of city with lots of history. I enjoyed myself and took a ton of pics. Saw the Harvard campus, tried to go to the Harpoon Brewery, walked some of the Freedom Trail, and hit Quincy Market, and then landed at Boston Beer Works before grabbing the Chinatown bus back to New York. But now, I'm back to work early and too exhausted just now to recount all the details. Pictures are forthcoming (of course), perhaps tonight. So stay tuned.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Upstate NY escape....
I'm only now getting a chance to write a blog since I got back from Coxsackie, NY. I first had to edit the 130 pictures that I took since I can no longer see my LCD screen and have no idea what the composition of any of my pictures looks like until I get them home. It's almost like shooting film again.
Anyway, so, Sunday morning, I rode the subway in to Bryant Park and took a leisurely walk over to Grand Central, opting not to take the 7 train crosstown to Madison Avenue. I wanted to enter the train station from the street level anyway for my first time taking a train out of the busiest train station in the world. There's something neat about walking through this area here:
I know. Old pic (from 2008 in the spring actually). I didn't want to stop in there and take a photo even though I had time when I arrived. It was busy even on a Sunday morning.
The train ride itself was worth a story. I'd heard it was a beautiful ride, right along the riverside the whole time once you're past Harlem and the Bronx for the most part. And since I was the last stop on the line, I could relax without having to worry about missing my station. At times I read but often I was watching out the window at the cliffs and the action on the river. Lots of peaceful scenery, much different than the city. For once, more trees and grass than buildings and concrete. The river was so close to the train sometimes, if you leaned back from the window, it looked as if the train glided over the water.
Arriving in Poughkeepsie, my aunt was there almost immediately so I jumped in and we headed out for the hour or so car ride for Coxsackie, stopping once for burgers and ice cream at a roadside grill and once to pick up farm fresh produce from a farm stand that was self serve. When we got to Gary and Sue's house, a 200 year old historic house which they are renting half of currently, we immediately hatched a plan to go down to the lake where they keep their boat so they could show me around. That was pretty awesome and the following pictures are mainly of the houses and the lake (with a few shots from 42nd Street in Manhattan, the train ride and at the station in Poughkeepsie...oh and one pic from Celebrate Brooklyn Saturday night).
The following day we intended to drive to Bethel, NY to catch the Woodstock museum and the performing arts center there. However, it was a little farther than we had bargained for and we had to be back at 430. So we opted to turn the car 90 degrees back to the north and head past Lake Minnewaska for a nice scenic drive and a walk through beautiful, yet fly-infested Lake Minnewaska state park.
The overlooks were the best here. The countryside up there is amazing. I haven't been up to this part of NY in a few years. I guess I had forgotten all of this was just a short ride away on the train. Anyway, that night we went to a nice dockside restaurant sitting on the edge of the Hudson river where we ordered steamed clams and just watched the boats go by. No pictures from here.
Tuesday was a little more planned and we wound up going first to Catskill, NY to take a look at the cats they have on display. There's a contest every year between local artists to decorate these fiberglass cats as creatively as possible.
They are placed around the downtown area and people can vote on several different categories. So we did a quick tour and had lunch and then headed up to Olana, Frederic Church's mansion overlooking the Hudson river. We had just enough time to walk around the grounds, tour the mansion and then head to Poughkeepsie so I could catch the train back.
Captions for the pictures are coming soon.
Anyway, so, Sunday morning, I rode the subway in to Bryant Park and took a leisurely walk over to Grand Central, opting not to take the 7 train crosstown to Madison Avenue. I wanted to enter the train station from the street level anyway for my first time taking a train out of the busiest train station in the world. There's something neat about walking through this area here:
I know. Old pic (from 2008 in the spring actually). I didn't want to stop in there and take a photo even though I had time when I arrived. It was busy even on a Sunday morning.
The train ride itself was worth a story. I'd heard it was a beautiful ride, right along the riverside the whole time once you're past Harlem and the Bronx for the most part. And since I was the last stop on the line, I could relax without having to worry about missing my station. At times I read but often I was watching out the window at the cliffs and the action on the river. Lots of peaceful scenery, much different than the city. For once, more trees and grass than buildings and concrete. The river was so close to the train sometimes, if you leaned back from the window, it looked as if the train glided over the water.
Arriving in Poughkeepsie, my aunt was there almost immediately so I jumped in and we headed out for the hour or so car ride for Coxsackie, stopping once for burgers and ice cream at a roadside grill and once to pick up farm fresh produce from a farm stand that was self serve. When we got to Gary and Sue's house, a 200 year old historic house which they are renting half of currently, we immediately hatched a plan to go down to the lake where they keep their boat so they could show me around. That was pretty awesome and the following pictures are mainly of the houses and the lake (with a few shots from 42nd Street in Manhattan, the train ride and at the station in Poughkeepsie...oh and one pic from Celebrate Brooklyn Saturday night).
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| Leaving NYC, Train ride and Coxsackie, NY |
The following day we intended to drive to Bethel, NY to catch the Woodstock museum and the performing arts center there. However, it was a little farther than we had bargained for and we had to be back at 430. So we opted to turn the car 90 degrees back to the north and head past Lake Minnewaska for a nice scenic drive and a walk through beautiful, yet fly-infested Lake Minnewaska state park.
 |
| Long Drive, Lake Minnewaska, Overlooks |
The overlooks were the best here. The countryside up there is amazing. I haven't been up to this part of NY in a few years. I guess I had forgotten all of this was just a short ride away on the train. Anyway, that night we went to a nice dockside restaurant sitting on the edge of the Hudson river where we ordered steamed clams and just watched the boats go by. No pictures from here.
Tuesday was a little more planned and we wound up going first to Catskill, NY to take a look at the cats they have on display. There's a contest every year between local artists to decorate these fiberglass cats as creatively as possible.
 |
| Catskill, Rip Van Winkle Bridge |
They are placed around the downtown area and people can vote on several different categories. So we did a quick tour and had lunch and then headed up to Olana, Frederic Church's mansion overlooking the Hudson river. We had just enough time to walk around the grounds, tour the mansion and then head to Poughkeepsie so I could catch the train back.
 |
| Olana and Rip Van Winkle Bridge |
Captions for the pictures are coming soon.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Blurb #10
A quick blurb before I head upstate to visit my aunt and uncle. Last night, instead of listening to the asshole with the Cadillac Escalade blasting his music directly outside of my apartment like he owns the block or something, I opted to meet Karishma and her friends in Prospect Park for the Celebrate Brooklyn Concert. The headliner: Kailash Kher. Great, great show. I haven't danced that much since, well Monica knows. Afterward, we walked up fifth avenue to Calexico to get some late night Mexican food and hands down the cheapest beer in Brooklyn (all beers = $3), only to be hassled by a poor 23 year old junkie who insisted on coming and sitting with us and making the whole scene a bright red shade of awkward. It's a story for another, longer blog entry. For now, I must go and make sure the cat has food and water for two days. Bye for now.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
A Brooklynite
The weekend was a disaster. The weekend went well. These are two vastly different ways of looking at what just passed. Strangely, both are pertinent and both have some truth to them. It was a disaster that went well. Or it was a well planned disaster. Or it was a disaster that ended well. I spoke of the inherent inability of anyone to plan anything and see those plans through exactly as they were laid. While there was a great deal of hassle and strife involved in flying to Raleigh, packing and loading my truck went fairly well. Driving it back to Brooklyn and unloading it was a different story altogether.
By the time I was in the air Saturday afternoon, I could feel a sense of foreboding as the plane rocked through turbulence and an impossibly blank white sky. The clouds never parted and we landed in a rainstorm that did not let up for the entire day. My friends pulled through for me and we managed to get a 400 pound piano into a 10 foot Uhaul truck sans ramp. Yes, it took four of us to lift it up three feet off of the ground.
The rest of the loading was uneventful by comparison, except to mention that I was still loading things by myself up until 10 minutes of 10pm because of the unwelcome amount of packing I still had to do. Another item that I failed to incorporate into my genius plan. When I went to sleep, I slept. At 5am the alarm went off and before I knew it, with half a banana in my cheek I was on the road, Penny cat and all.
To deviate from the Google directions was never my plan but when I glanced over them and saw they were directing me through the center of D.C., I called my sister for a former D.C.er's best advice on how to circumvent the traffic (yeah, I know it was Sunday morning but I wanted to buy myself some time). Time that I would soon squander by neglecting to look on the directions for my next turn after Wilmington, DE. I have yet to look at a map to see what I actually did but somehow I missed getting on the turnpike so I had to call my dad for directions back across the Delaware River into New Jersey from Pennsylvania, where I was not supposed to be. My dad told me I'd get back on I-295 and merge with I-278 from there.
I drove up 295 searching and searching for signs for the turnpike and before I knew it, I saw a sign that said, “Begin 95 South.” South. I let out a hearty “WTF!?” and called pops back. As I was trying to get from him where I should go next, I was simultaneously maneuvering a full round about to get back on 295 South to find the exit for the turnpike I certainly missed. As much as I hated to turn back south in search of an exit which I had no earthly idea where to find, how far to look, within minutes of turning around, I started to see signs that said To 95/Jersey Turnpike. Apparently though, first, I had to get on I-195. Good information. Head spinning yet? Mine was. Once I was on track, there was no telling how far out of the way I had gone.
The Verrazano Bridge was a sight to see though and I was grinning from ear to ear. I even heard that Beastie Boys song on the radio that has the line in it, “NO...SLEEP...'TIL BROOKLYN!!!!!!!!” along the way. It was satisfying to say the least.
I called my moving crew, each and every one of them, when I reached Staten Island, before the Verrazano. I told them it'd take me 45 minutes to an hour to get there. I was wrong. I got there in under 30 minutes from when I made the first phone call. So there I was, arriving at my new apartment, unsure of whether I'd be able to park, and unsure of how I would do so without someone to direct me.
As I crept down 42nd Street searching for a parking spot, I saw one right in front of my building. I was so excited that I almost cried when I saw the fire hydrant standing there staring at me.
“To hell with it,” thought I. I'd be a short distance away from the truck if they needed me to move. So, I went for it and started to back in. I have never parallel parked anything that big, nor have I ever back something up that I couldn't see out of without someone standing behind me directing me. It was a miracle no one was killed. I was so excited that I did something monumentally stupid while getting out of the van. I failed to look where I was stepping and before I knew it, I was falling backwards out of the van, tumbling toward the cold pavement in front of my apartment. I hit the pavement, scratched my phone and began to laugh heartily. Someone must have seen me. The worst of it was over, though. The tolls, the botched directions, the mileage adding up (I was only allotted 611 miles and still needed to drive across town twice at least). And I was, at least, home.
All I had to do now was start moving boxes by myself and hope that everyone showed who said they would. It wasn't long before Mary Kate showed up, then Brian. Two others bailed on me but by the time Mary Kate and Brian showed up, I was nearly finished with the boxes and was down to big pieces of furniture.
Of course, the piano was the last thing out of the van, and the worst burden to move. Somehow, miraculously, (I wish you could have seen it), the three of us were able to get it in there. Across the pavement up five steps and across my living room floor without scratching it. It must have taken a half an hour. At one point, with one end of the piano propped up on the second step (one away from the top), I stopped to think, wishing we had a fourth person, then in a single movement, managed to lift up the lower end of the piano, to the astonished reactions of my friends who scrambled to get the other side up, just high enough to get it up the final step and into the hallway. I didn't even know what had happened until the 400 pound monster was sitting there, 10 feet away from, and finally on the same level as, the front door.
Once the piano was in, we brought the couch in, and then promptly sat on it and shared a couple beers.
Deep breath. More later on the hilarious debacle of getting the Uhaul truck returned.
By the time I was in the air Saturday afternoon, I could feel a sense of foreboding as the plane rocked through turbulence and an impossibly blank white sky. The clouds never parted and we landed in a rainstorm that did not let up for the entire day. My friends pulled through for me and we managed to get a 400 pound piano into a 10 foot Uhaul truck sans ramp. Yes, it took four of us to lift it up three feet off of the ground.
The rest of the loading was uneventful by comparison, except to mention that I was still loading things by myself up until 10 minutes of 10pm because of the unwelcome amount of packing I still had to do. Another item that I failed to incorporate into my genius plan. When I went to sleep, I slept. At 5am the alarm went off and before I knew it, with half a banana in my cheek I was on the road, Penny cat and all.
To deviate from the Google directions was never my plan but when I glanced over them and saw they were directing me through the center of D.C., I called my sister for a former D.C.er's best advice on how to circumvent the traffic (yeah, I know it was Sunday morning but I wanted to buy myself some time). Time that I would soon squander by neglecting to look on the directions for my next turn after Wilmington, DE. I have yet to look at a map to see what I actually did but somehow I missed getting on the turnpike so I had to call my dad for directions back across the Delaware River into New Jersey from Pennsylvania, where I was not supposed to be. My dad told me I'd get back on I-295 and merge with I-278 from there.
I drove up 295 searching and searching for signs for the turnpike and before I knew it, I saw a sign that said, “Begin 95 South.” South. I let out a hearty “WTF!?” and called pops back. As I was trying to get from him where I should go next, I was simultaneously maneuvering a full round about to get back on 295 South to find the exit for the turnpike I certainly missed. As much as I hated to turn back south in search of an exit which I had no earthly idea where to find, how far to look, within minutes of turning around, I started to see signs that said To 95/Jersey Turnpike. Apparently though, first, I had to get on I-195. Good information. Head spinning yet? Mine was. Once I was on track, there was no telling how far out of the way I had gone.
The Verrazano Bridge was a sight to see though and I was grinning from ear to ear. I even heard that Beastie Boys song on the radio that has the line in it, “NO...SLEEP...'TIL BROOKLYN!!!!!!!!” along the way. It was satisfying to say the least.
I called my moving crew, each and every one of them, when I reached Staten Island, before the Verrazano. I told them it'd take me 45 minutes to an hour to get there. I was wrong. I got there in under 30 minutes from when I made the first phone call. So there I was, arriving at my new apartment, unsure of whether I'd be able to park, and unsure of how I would do so without someone to direct me.
As I crept down 42nd Street searching for a parking spot, I saw one right in front of my building. I was so excited that I almost cried when I saw the fire hydrant standing there staring at me.
“To hell with it,” thought I. I'd be a short distance away from the truck if they needed me to move. So, I went for it and started to back in. I have never parallel parked anything that big, nor have I ever back something up that I couldn't see out of without someone standing behind me directing me. It was a miracle no one was killed. I was so excited that I did something monumentally stupid while getting out of the van. I failed to look where I was stepping and before I knew it, I was falling backwards out of the van, tumbling toward the cold pavement in front of my apartment. I hit the pavement, scratched my phone and began to laugh heartily. Someone must have seen me. The worst of it was over, though. The tolls, the botched directions, the mileage adding up (I was only allotted 611 miles and still needed to drive across town twice at least). And I was, at least, home.
All I had to do now was start moving boxes by myself and hope that everyone showed who said they would. It wasn't long before Mary Kate showed up, then Brian. Two others bailed on me but by the time Mary Kate and Brian showed up, I was nearly finished with the boxes and was down to big pieces of furniture.
Of course, the piano was the last thing out of the van, and the worst burden to move. Somehow, miraculously, (I wish you could have seen it), the three of us were able to get it in there. Across the pavement up five steps and across my living room floor without scratching it. It must have taken a half an hour. At one point, with one end of the piano propped up on the second step (one away from the top), I stopped to think, wishing we had a fourth person, then in a single movement, managed to lift up the lower end of the piano, to the astonished reactions of my friends who scrambled to get the other side up, just high enough to get it up the final step and into the hallway. I didn't even know what had happened until the 400 pound monster was sitting there, 10 feet away from, and finally on the same level as, the front door.
Once the piano was in, we brought the couch in, and then promptly sat on it and shared a couple beers.
Deep breath. More later on the hilarious debacle of getting the Uhaul truck returned.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Sitting in a Public Place Lounging
I’m standing in a public place, my shoes are off and my pants are falling off without a belt. There’s a lady about my age telling me I have to dump out my water bottle and that I can’t have my shampoo. Where am I? I’m in the airport of course. I’ve had the worst morning this morning.
It all starts when I arrive at the US Airways terminal and one of their customer service people points out that my ticket is for a flight leaving from Raleigh-Durham, not from LaGuardia. Great. To change the ticket I’d have to pretty much buy a new one. How much? $220 or a changing fee of $150. I thought about it for a minute and then decided, you know what? #$%^ US Airways. I went to the Delta terminal after calling my parents to see if they could book a ticket for me and wound up getting a ticket for $80 at 1pm. Then those sneaky bastards told me there was an earlier flight (one that didn’t appear when my dad searched online) and that if I wanted it, it was an additional $50 changing fee. Still better than I would have ended up had I gone with US Airways. Let that be a lesson to you all.
Finally, ticketed and prepared to go through security, my half full water bottle in my shoulder bag prompts a full-on search of my suitcase which reveals that I’m carrying all kinds of contraband…which I knew would happen as soon as I realized they had found the water. And, subsequently, I knew that my huge bag of toiletries would get found. I know the rules people, I do. But who the hell wants to check a carry-on size bag when it costs $15 to do so.
Some terrorist gets a clever idea and, even though his plan is thwarted, he still wins some sort of satisfaction, knowing that he’s made the entirety of the flying public constantly inconvenienced while they have to kick off shoes, bag up their toiletries, take out their laptops and remove their coats. Well, I’m sure in the grand scheme of things this is such a tiny inconvenience that would probably have not seemed like such a hassle had it not been for the nature of this weekend. The TSA is just doing their job.
US Airways and Delta however, are trying desperately not to go bankrupt while simultaneously turning off as many customers as they can to flying.
All of this got me thinking about how well you can plan for something. My Zen for the day is this: You can’t plan for everything and sometimes you can’t plan for anything.
I’ve spent the last few weeks obsessing over getting everything just right. I would get frustrated when I didn’t plan well enough and I wound up in Manhattan having to kill time before whatever engagements I had because it didn’t make sense to go home to Queens. And I planned every detail of this weekend, right down to measuring my apartment’s dimensions so I wouldn’t end up bringing something up that wouldn’t fit. And everything was falling into place. Except for the fact that I was too quick about purchasing the ticket and I didn’t check the itinerary close enough. Hopefully, this is the only thing that will not go as planned. Because I have a short amount of time in which to move everything up. And I still don’t know how I’m going to park the truck when I get back up here to New York. Maybe I’ll leave that one hanging.
Posted by Dad
It all starts when I arrive at the US Airways terminal and one of their customer service people points out that my ticket is for a flight leaving from Raleigh-Durham, not from LaGuardia. Great. To change the ticket I’d have to pretty much buy a new one. How much? $220 or a changing fee of $150. I thought about it for a minute and then decided, you know what? #$%^ US Airways. I went to the Delta terminal after calling my parents to see if they could book a ticket for me and wound up getting a ticket for $80 at 1pm. Then those sneaky bastards told me there was an earlier flight (one that didn’t appear when my dad searched online) and that if I wanted it, it was an additional $50 changing fee. Still better than I would have ended up had I gone with US Airways. Let that be a lesson to you all.
Finally, ticketed and prepared to go through security, my half full water bottle in my shoulder bag prompts a full-on search of my suitcase which reveals that I’m carrying all kinds of contraband…which I knew would happen as soon as I realized they had found the water. And, subsequently, I knew that my huge bag of toiletries would get found. I know the rules people, I do. But who the hell wants to check a carry-on size bag when it costs $15 to do so.
Some terrorist gets a clever idea and, even though his plan is thwarted, he still wins some sort of satisfaction, knowing that he’s made the entirety of the flying public constantly inconvenienced while they have to kick off shoes, bag up their toiletries, take out their laptops and remove their coats. Well, I’m sure in the grand scheme of things this is such a tiny inconvenience that would probably have not seemed like such a hassle had it not been for the nature of this weekend. The TSA is just doing their job.
US Airways and Delta however, are trying desperately not to go bankrupt while simultaneously turning off as many customers as they can to flying.
All of this got me thinking about how well you can plan for something. My Zen for the day is this: You can’t plan for everything and sometimes you can’t plan for anything.
I’ve spent the last few weeks obsessing over getting everything just right. I would get frustrated when I didn’t plan well enough and I wound up in Manhattan having to kill time before whatever engagements I had because it didn’t make sense to go home to Queens. And I planned every detail of this weekend, right down to measuring my apartment’s dimensions so I wouldn’t end up bringing something up that wouldn’t fit. And everything was falling into place. Except for the fact that I was too quick about purchasing the ticket and I didn’t check the itinerary close enough. Hopefully, this is the only thing that will not go as planned. Because I have a short amount of time in which to move everything up. And I still don’t know how I’m going to park the truck when I get back up here to New York. Maybe I’ll leave that one hanging.
Posted by Dad
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