Quote of the Day:

Stephen: Just when we thought all hope was lost, our noble saviors have arrived.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

Hamish: Where are you going? William Wallace: I'm going to pick a fight. Hamish: Well, we didn't get dressed up for nothing.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

Hamish: What in the hell are the Irish doing fighting with the English? Stephen: I wouldn't worry about them. Like I said, it's my island. William Wallace: Your island? Stephen: MY ISLAND. Yup.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

Narrator: I will tell you of William Wallace. Historians will call me a liar, but history is written by those who've hanged heroes.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

Royal Magistrate: The prisoner wishes to say a word. William Wallace: FREEEEE-DOMMMMMM.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

Argyle Wallace: Did the priest give a poetic benediction? "The Lord bless thee and keep thee..." Young William: It was in Latin. Argyle Wallace: You don't speak Latin? Eh, then that is something we shall have to remedy.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

Argyle Wallace: We'll stay here tonight, leave in the mornin'. Young William: But I don't want to leave. Argyle Wallace: You did not want your father to die either, but it happened.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

Stephen: I'm the most wanted man on my island. But I'm not on my island. [Laughs] Hamish: You're island? You mean Ireland. Stephen: Yeah. It's MINE.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

William Wallace: ...chaque jour j'ai pensé à toi.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

Nicolette: Englishmen don't know what a tongue is for.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

[Lord Bottoms has previously taken Morrison's wife as his own] Morrison: Do you remember me? Lord Bottoms: I never did her any harm. It was my right. Morrison: Your right? Well, I'm here to claim the right of a husband. [Kills Lord Bottoms]

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

Stephen: [To William Wallace] The Almighty tells me he can get me out of this mess, but he's pretty sure you're f***ed.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

William Wallace: Sons of Scotland, I am William Wallace. Young soldier: William Wallace is 7 feet tall. William Wallace: Yes, I've heard. He kills men by the hundreds, and if he were here he'd consume the English with fireballs from his eyes and bolts of lightning from his arse. I am William Wallace, and I see a whole army of my countrymen here in defiance of tyranny. You have come to fight as free men, and free men you are. What will you do with that freedom? Will you fight?

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

William Wallace: And if this is your army, why does it go? Soldier: We didn't come here to fight for them. Second Soldier: Home, the English are too many. William Wallace: I see a whole army of my country men, here, in defiance of tyranny. What will you do without freedom? Will you fight? Soldier: Against that? No, we will run, and we will live. William Wallace: Aye, fight and you may die, run, and you'll live... at least a while. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willin' to trade all of that from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take away our lives, but they'll never take our freeeedoooomm.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Quote of the Day:

Robert the Bruce: Lands, titles, men, power... nothing. Robert's Father: Nothing? Robert the Bruce: I have nothing. Men fight for me because if they do not, I throw them off my land and I starve their wives and children. Those men who bled the ground red at Falkirk fought for William Wallace. He fights for something that I never had. And I took it from him, when I betrayed him. I saw it in his face on the battlefield and it's tearing me apart. Robert's Father: All men betray. All lose heart. Robert the Bruce: I don't want to lose heart. I want to believe as he does.

- Dialogue from "Braveheart"

Today I got an email giving me two choices. I was already picked to be on a standing administrative separation board no matter what. Congratulations for volunteering in the greatest tradition of military volunteerism. For those that don't know, an admin sep board is a group of officers that decides if a Marine deserves to be administratively separated from the Corps based on something he did. These are usually less minor offenses like drug use or a series of other wrongdoings that when considered at a larger level, rates the Marine to get the boot.

So here was the deal. I was picked to be on the board for a year and they call me any time they need me. Or, if I act fast, I can volunteer to be a standing board member for courts martial. A court martial is the military equivalent of a trial so I would in essence, be a standing juror for a year whenever they needed me.

But I had to decide by the end of the day because there were only 4 slots left and if no one picked them, the General was going to choose tomorrow morning.

So I had a dilemma; despite my years as a legal officer, I didn't know which to pick. I had been exempt from all these kinds of boards because it was a conflict of interest for me to participate since usually I represented the "prosecuting" side, AKA: the Command. I had actually never sat in on an admin sep board nor a court martial. I had no idea which was the better deal so I tried to approach it logically:

There are more admin sep boards than courts martial so sheer quantity would point to CM. But I assume CMs last longer than ASBs so while I might be tapped for less of them, the CMs might last longer.

I would think that CMs would be more intriguing than boring admin sep boards. So for the sexy factor, sitting in on a murder case would be better than a kid who went UA a few times or smoked reefer.

I tried to ask around to see what other officers thought and I couldn't find any around because it was noon chow time. The ones I found didn't offer much insight so I went with my gut. Gut picked the court martial board and I sent in my reply.

What did I get back almost immediately?

In the eternal words of Sir Phil: no good deed ever goes unpunished.

Free Advice for Today:

“When you need professional advice, get it from professionals, not from your friends."

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

BLOG entry for this day from 1997

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Sunday, August 15, 2004

With a working computer set up yesterday, today I had to break it again. I was in a fragile state after losing my data drive and spending 36 hours reformating my main drive and setting everything back up. Now I had to pull the plug on my internet connection and try to set up the router. I didn’t know if I had it in me to handle the potential pitfalls of such a move.

Luckily, I did and the obstacles were minor. I followed the step by step instructions and before I knew it, I was going through my router and I had my wireless connection set up. It only took a couple of hours but that was only because I followed every single instruction to the letter and was methodical to an insane degree.

But the task was not complete. Like many things, the devil was in the details and while I had completed 90% of the computer setup, there was still the 10% I had to attack and it took most of the day. Stuff like setting up the macros in Photoshop that resizes all my pictures and them makes thumbnails for me. Or like the macro in Word that formats the screwed up text you see when someone has forwarded an email to you. The little things like that took a lot of time because by nature, they were created to save me time but since they were done once and a long time ago, it takes awhile to remember how to build them.

Then there was the Black Viper set up. This is a website that tells you all the tweaks you can make to your system to make it run faster and better. It seems Microsoft turns on all kinds of little processes in the background, most of which you don’t need but take up processing time and RAM space. So this site goes through and tells you how to turn these things off, and keep them off, thus making your system run better. It took a couple of hours to run through everything (with many restarts to make sure I wasn’t breaking anything) and make the necessary adjustments. The website is: http://www.blackviper.com/.

The last thing I did was set up my back up program. Breaking the rule of “if it works, don’t try to fix it,” I downloaded the beta version newer than the version I had been using. It had a different interface and it took a longer time than I thought it would to get things right. The initial backup took a couple of hours and then I had to tweak it around to make sure it was backing up everything that I wanted.

The end result was that I have my OS and all my data on my C drive. I back up onto an external hard drive every night. While this works, I would still like to separate my OS from my data but until I can get around to purchasing a new drive, this will be the set up.

I thought that I should just get a small hard drive to use as my OS and use the 120 as my data drive but since drives are so cheap (and I didn’t like the thought of having to set up everything on a new drive once again), why not just keep the 120 as the OS drive and buy a bigger data drive? I ran through all of the permutations and then just decided, screw it, I’ll just buy a big data drive.

By the end of the day, all was well. It was a serene landscape at the Grose house and I was content to have my computer back and tweaked to optimal use. Yes, I lost a 200 GB hard drive but that would be addressed later. They are only about $100 bucks these days so not catastrophic.

I was ready for the week ahead feeling that while I had lost my weekend I really wanted at home after being away, I was ready to get back to work.

I don’t know what I was thinking!!

Free Advice for Today:

“Be especially courteous and patient with older people."

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

BLOG entry for this day from 2003

BLOG entry for this day from 1997

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Saturday, August 14, 2004

The first thought that entered my head in the morning was: try to reformat the hard drive now that you have the OS set up.

I know, sad but at 0700, I shot up out of bed with one thing on my mind.

OK, AFTER going to the bathroom, I was intent on getting downstairs and spending some quality time with my “new” computer.

The first order of business was to get the internet up. Without it, I could not update anything else I put on so it was the first thing I wanted to tackle. I made some coffee and promised myself not to get angry. I had all weekend. Just get the net up FOR ALL THAT IS SACRED IN THIS EVIL WORLD GET THE NET UP. Ahem, I mean, it held a bit of importance for me.

But it had been a long time since I set up the original connection and I knew it would be potentially horrendous. The first thing I did was disconnect my router and just plugged in the computer straight to the internet. I could set up the router later an the important thing was to get the net (see above).

I plugged it in. The computer couldn’t have cared less. Nothing. So much for auto-detect.

I tried a few different automated wizards but nothing worked. After a few more flailings about, I decided it must be the network card since I was getting nothing. Simple, I would dig out an old card, replace it, and go from there.

Opening up the card, I received a lesson on how well I remember the inner workings of the computer I built. It had no network card. It plugged right into the motherboard.

I called Adelphia, my cable internet provider, and after walking me through a few things that didn’t work, it came down to the fact that XP was not recognizing the network card and I had no idea where the disk was for the drivers, much less the kind of integrated network card which wouldn’t have helped anyway because to download the drivers, I’d have to have an internet connection. Catch vente-dos.

So they told me I could either find the disk or go out and drop 10 bucks on a cheap card that had the drivers. I was not too happy with either choice.

Digging through the dilapidated cardboard box full of old computer stuff in the depts of my garage, I found a disk with no label. When I brought it in and put it in my computer, it just happened to be the drivers for the network card. I know, I used up all my luck I’ll ever have in one fell swoop.

I loaded the drivers, plugged in the cable, and POW! I had internet connectivity. A silent tear rolled down my cheek.

For the rest of the day, it was a matter of loading software, updating it online, and starting the computer over as I read “The Bourne Identity” in between steps. Everything, to include setting up the preferences for endless programs, went smooth and I learned once again that no matter how careful you are, there are little details that you just don’t back up (macros, etc) that have to be rebuilt.

I geeked for the rest of the day and by midnight, I had a reasonable facsimile of a working computer with all of the important programs back on and set up.

I also re-learned what I already knew: like a house fire, it’s a tragedy when the computer goes utters-up but afterwards, you only reload what you need and therefore clearing all the accumulated crap that infested the recesses of the hard drive. This results in a cleaner, leaner, and faster machine. Is it worth it? Probably not but that’s the only lemonade I can make out of this putrid lemon.

Free Advice for Today:

“Kiss your children good night, even if they are already asleep."

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

BLOG entry for this day from 2003

BLOG entry for this day from 1997

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Friday, August 13, 2004

New York, Day 5

I’ve been all over the city and the city has been all over me. It was time to leave.

When we got up in the morning, we were late and this didn’t manifest itself until we got on the road and I figured out that our late start would put us right in D.C. traffic on a Friday afternoon. We sure blew that one.

The trip home was uneventful but took an extra hour than it took to get to NYC. Then there was the matter of tolls again which didn’t help my mood but I was glad to head south and back to Virginia. Suddenly, all my complaints about Virginia dissipated and I actually looked forward to getting back to “rural” Virginia. Yes, the people drive slow but they don’t drive insane like New York. Yes, the service industry sucks but not as bad as NY. Yes, there are a lot of people but not elbow to elbow. I guess it’s all relative.

When we got home, I checked my email and spent a little time with my beloved computer. Flush with excitement over having email and internet, I got a little froggy and tried to move some files.

Then the trouble began once again. It’s bad enough that it froze up the computer when I tried but it also corrupted them as I went along. It was getting worse and worse and then I made the realization that my 200 GB data drive might be going bad.

As a test, I tried to copy files to the 120 GB OS drive and it worked. That proved it, my data drive was calling it a day, forever.

No problem, I have all of it backed up on my external 120 GB back up drive. I’ll just reformat the data drive which will identify the bad sectors and I’ll go from there, reloading the data back on.

Nope, it would not let me reformat because it said that a program was using the drive. So I shut down everything and even killed some processes but still, it would not format.

Next idea; erase all the data using the delete command and the one that won’t shut down is the one running. All I had was data on there so I couldn’t figure out what was “running” from it.

I killed all the data but I had the same problem: no thanks on the old format command. I had an empty 200 GB hard drive that won’t accept a format command. I felt stuck.

Grrrr. I dug out the diagnostic disk that came with the drive and ran it. It would not let me format it either but it did let me write all zeros to the drive (basically copying zeros to every memory space) which in effect kills all the data. That should do it.

It finished and I restarted the computer. Here is when it got weird: it didn’t even recognize a drive was there now. It was like it wrote over it’s identify to the computer. Now it was really dead and I once again tried the diagnostic disk to format it. No joy.

But there was a more serious problem: the internet didn’t work anymore. I thought this a glitch until I restarted many times and checked every setting. It simply had no reason for the internet NOT to work.

I ran up to Alex’s room and checked his connection and it was fine. That told me that the signal was coming in, through the modem, through my computer, through the wireless router, and through the air to his computer. It was my computer that didn’t want to display it.

I should interject at this point (and my family to include the dog can testify to this) that I was a raging maniac, yelling at my computer and talking to myself in a most unflattering manner. Buster was hiding. Carrie was telling the kids I was just having a bit of a meltdown. You know, the normal stuff.

I tried everything I could think of and I came to the only conclusion I had left: I would have to reformat the entire OS drive and reinstall EVERYTHING. So with a heavy heart, I proceeded to format the third computer in my house in as many months, vocalizing to the entire house that this would undoubtedly cost me the entire weekend to get set back up. I was not a happy camper and when I’m not happy, no one in my family is happy.

A flaw, you claim? I completely agree.

I made sure I had all the stuff I thought I’d need on the external back up drive. But I had a bit of a problem. The entire formatting process (running fdisk, killing the partitions, creating another DOS partition, rebooting, and only then doing a formatting command) involved a lot of steps I wanted to get right and after doing this twice before in the recent past, I knew the website I needed where it showed the step-by-step instructions. But I had no internet so I had to go upstairs and use Alex’s. His printer was on the fritz and it would have taken a ton of ink (screenshots were almost all black) so I just copied the instructions by hand: a situation that made me even more angry than I was already.

With data backed up and instructions at the ready, I slid the Windows 98 boot disk in the floppy drive, restarted the computer, and scraped my entire drive. For a few moments, I had a virgin drive.

I took out my Windows XP CD, put it in the CD drive, and restarted the computer.

“Non bootable disk. Please replace disk and hit enter.”

What?

I did it again. So did the computer.

Why?

I slid the Windows 98 boot disk back in to get a DOD prompt, changed the drive letter to the CD ROM drive, and did a directory command. There it was, a setup.exe file. I launched it.

“Cannot run file in DOS mode.”

I was livid again. I had a stripped system with no way to get an OS on it and I was wasting time on stupid problems while time ticked away; time I’d need to reinstall EVERYTHING back onto my computer.

I had no time nor patience to deal with this so I dug out my set of four Windows 2000 disks and the CD. I knew this would work because I had installed Win2000 on the other two computers.

Sure enough I got it installed and I figured once I got it on there, I could just upgrade to XP using the Windows XP disk I had. It’s how I did it originally anyway.

Next bonehead play: it asked me if I wanted to do a full install or an upgrade. For some reason unknown to me, I picked the full install and the result was that it put a full copy of XP on the C drive alongside the Windows 2000 OS which, if you’re keeping track, roughly doubles the amount of space needed for the OS, half of which I will never use but takes up the room nonetheless.

The good news is that I got the OS put on, it booted up, but it was 1:30 AM and I had a long day. I decided, quite brilliantly, to leave the rest for the morning. I had made a lot of progress but I still slipped into the bed with a pit in my stomach and no sense of accomplishment.

Tomorrow would be a full day of setting things up from scratch.

Free Advice for Today:

“Never give a pet as a surprise gift."

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

BLOG entry for this day from 2003

BLOG entry for this day from 1997

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Thursday, August 12, 2004

New York, Day 4

Vacation. Sleep in. Eat everything to excess. Yes, I fell into the vacation trap; sleeping, eating, and sight-seeing. I might have set my marathon training back by weeks.

We continued our sight-seeing for the day and I was starting to feel the stress. After last night’s frustrations and then my lack of PT, excess of sleep and food, I was not in a great mood.

I guess that accounts for my barking at Alex and making him feel bad. We went to the subway and had to swipe our cards. Carrie and Steph went ahead and Alex was in front of me. He swiped but I saw the way he did it and knew it wouldn’t take. He did it again and I was getting impatient so I just swiped mine and told him to go through. He did but then I was stuck because you can’t use the same card within 18 minutes.

Alex had handed his card to Carrie who held the cards and I told her to give me his. She didn’t know which was his so she handed me one.

“Card just used.” It told me.

She handed me another one, same thing.

This went on until all 4 cards somehow said they were just used but the fact remained that I was on the wrong side of the stall.

I was enraged.

Carrie wanted to give me $2 to buy another ticket but that only fueled my fire since we hade spent $180 for 3 days on the subway. But I had no choice, took the money, and went to the window.

The disinterested worker behind the glass just pointed to his right. I asked what he meant and told me I could only buy individual tickets from the machines. My rage ratcheted up a few notches.

When I got to the machine, I tried to put the dollar in it but it wouldn’t take it.

Ratchet.

I tried the other dollar. No joy.

Ratchet, ratchet

I stormed over to another machine. Same thing:

Ratchety-ratchety-ratch ... Total pegging of the Rage-O-Meter.

I snapped. I walked over to the stalls and said “I’m coming through because I have the tickets to prove it.” And with that I shimmied under the bar, barely squeezing through with my camera wedging along side.

When I got past, I barked at Alex “YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO SWIPE AGAIN THIS TRIP. I WILL DO IT FOR YOU.”

Of course my rage level was no excuse and I was reprimanded by my wife who shot back a just-as-lethal response and proceeded to comfort the boy. I was too mad to do anything but keep my mouth shut and hope that didn’t set the tone for the day.

I guess I’m lucky I didn’t feel a hand on my shoulder as I walked down the stairs toward the platform.

Things got better over the day and we got on the uptown tour. The tour guide this time was a woman and although she was better than the first guy (who wouldn’t be?), she managed to get etched onto my list. And it’s not the “I like you very much” list.

It started with her New York attitude which was not even pointed at me. Some guy at the back of the bus stood for a moment to get a picture and she very loudly reprehended him over the microphone about the dangers of standing. Then she reiterated it several times in that way that uses polite language but in a demeaning tone.

A few minutes later Carrie, who was sitting behind me, handed me my cell phone over my shoulder and told me I had a message. I had expected a call from OddTodd or even The Daily Show telling me the planets aligned and either I would be meeting up with OddTodd or I got tickets. I flipped open the phone and suddenly I heard over the loud speaker,

“SIR, PLEASE PUT AWAY THE CELL PHONE.”

This was not going to be pretty. I am very conscientious about talking on my cell phone and rarely do it in public or even while driving. So to be called out like this was a bad day waiting to happen.

Immediately, I yelled out “WHY!?” and it became immediately obvious that she was unaccustomed to being questioned on her bus. She bent her wrist and while still holding it, letting the microphone fall to the side. Her lids were half closed and staring at me. I stared right back.

Returning the mic to her mouth and without moving her lips she twanged in her rude New York accent “For the consideration of the other passengers…”

“I’m expecting a very important call and this is a public area. You have no right to tell me I can’t use the phone.” I got about half of this out when she interrupted me, taking advantage of her amplified voice even though I could hear her without it.

“If you need to make a call, you can get off the bus at the next stop.”

“It’s voicemail. I have a message.”

“Well, if it’s voicemail, you can listen to it but are not allowed to make calls.”

At this point, I was already on the phone and listening to the message. But inside I was seething. We had no more interaction at all and if it wasn’t for the fact that we were almost done with the tour, we would have disembarked and caught the next one (likely the first fat guy from yesterday.)

We got off the bus and decided not to fight the kids for lunch. There was a McDonalds and it was probably the cheapest thing around so that’s what we did because we had time before the Statue of Liberty tour.

I took the kids upstairs to get a seat and mellow out after the phone incident while Carrie ordered the food. Turns out, she had her own run-in with the New York service industry.

After getting the food, she asked for some catsup after watching the worker put in only a couple of packets in the bag. The worker said there was some in there and Carrie pointed out that a family of 4 needs more than a few packets. The worker then put in a few more, but still not enough. Carrie asked once again for more and the worker told her she can come back if she needs more. Carrie, rightfully so, told the worker, no, she’s not going to come back and since she KNOWS they will need more catsup, she wanted more packets now.

This is when the worker took an enormous handful and slammed them on the counter to which Carrie thanked her for in an irritatingly polite manner but followed up the response with something to the effect that she did not appreciate the attitude when simply requesting enough catsup that a customer should receive. The shift manager heard the entire exchange and rushed over, apologizing profusely. He asked if she needed any more catsup and then took the worker in the back for a little talk.

All this happened when I was upstairs and Carrie came back in a mood similar to my own. When I asked why half the bag was full of catsup packets, I opened Pandora’s Box and got the entire explanation.

I was getting more and more fond of the prospect of going home tomorrow.

Then it was time to see Lady Liberty. We got out tickets with amazingly little problem and stood in line to take the ferry. But before we were allowed to go anywhere, we had to go through security. We were searched, wanded, and our stuff dragged through the X-ray machine. Then after all that, it was time to go through the puffer. I had heard about this somewhere but don’t remember where.

It’s like a normal metal detector but you stand in the middle while puffs of air are blown from top to bottom. The air is then automatically analyzed to see if there are any traces of explosive. Once you are cleared by an electronic voice, you step out of the device.

Going across New York harbor, I took advantage of my first close up look at the Statue by snapping 5 times more pictures than was probably necessary.

When we got to the Liberty Island, we were once again searched and ran through a metal detector. After all that, we were not allowed to bring our backpack (that had been searched twice and X-rayed once) into the statue.

Now I understand there is a threat. As a military man, I can respect the procedures to a point but this was really overkill. At one point, a young lady was taking video as she walked into the security area. Nothing said she couldn’t do it but suddenly a big fat Latino woman security guard went on the rampage.

The guard had shaved her eyebrows completely and had a very poor representation of said eyebrows drawn over her eyes, ending in the middle with a squared off block at each end nearest the nose.

She rushed at the lady, telling everyone else to move ahead as the poor woman stood there unaware what was going on. The security guard just kept waving people by while telling her to stay put. Then she asked the lady if she had been taking video inside the security area and before the poor woman could answer, the security guard yelled out the name of another guard to come over there. When I left the scene, they were checking out what she had recorded.

When we got to Liberty Island, I was amazed how small the island actually was. We walked around it very easily and strolled in the grass while waiting for our tour to begin. I even got a quick nap in a bench while we waited and cooled off from the day’s rudeness which I discovered was the source of my fatigue and general funky mood.

Before we could go into the Lady (my, how bad that sounds), we had to rent a locker because despite the many layers of security we went through, no backpacks were allowed to go in. Let’s inject some common sense here, people. I think even a determined terrorist would have a hard time getting anything through everything we had passed through and not allowing backpacks just seemed like raw harassment. But what can I, Joe Citizen, do? If you complain, they cite security and then you are an enemy of the state if you point out there is a line between security and stupidity. And let's not forget it's yet another opportunity to suck out even more money from the tourist because they set up handy little lockers but, of course, for a fee. No choice here unless you wanted to throw away everything in your backpack. Nope, they don’t tell you a thing on the way over and then they spring this requirement on you when you get to the island. Smacks of trips to Tijuana. But I digress.

The neat thing about the locker was that it was keyless. It took a scan of your thumbprint and when you return, it scans your thumb which opens the locker. Wow, high tech extortion. I was impressed. Then I was charged an impression fee.

We got the tour and it was impressive. I learned everything I’d ever want to know about the history of the most famous statue in the world. We got to see the original torch which they replaced in the 80s. Of course I had to take a million pictures of it.

The museum was kind of neat and it led to an area where the regular ticket holders split with the special ticket holders who got to go up into the pedestal. I was one of these golden ticket holders and was awarded with a ½ wait in line for an elevator.

When we got up there, we could see into the statue but only the very bottom. It was dark and obscured and we only saw the bottom of the folds. Then we were allowed to go out on the balcony and look over the harbor. It really wasn’t all that special since you can’t go up into the crown or anything anymore. I don’t know, or want to know, how much more we paid to go up the pedestal but whatever it was, it wasn’t worth the cash.

At some point, the wind got the better of Stephanie and her hat went flying off. I thought to myself, “Man, that things GONE!” I told her we’d look for it at the bottom but not to get her hopes up. We’d have better luck finding Nemo.

When we headed down to the bottom, we inspected the perimeter of each level until we got to the bottom. The hat was hot pink so that helped but we hadn’t seen a stitch of it. Coming off the last little wooden bridge, I looked down and saw the hat. It was right under the bridge and when I got to the bottom, I noticed that there was nothing between me and the hat but a little wall, chest high. I was a little skittish about scaling a wall with all that had happened so I flagged down a security gourd and explained the situation to him. If he would have not helped or allowed me to get the hat (which his eyes hinted at as I explained), I’d be writing this blog long hand from the NYC jailhouse.

Luckily he obliged but I still thought it was stupid that he insisted on getting it rather than just giving me the go-ahead to retrieve it. It really wasn’t in an “unauthorized” area but just off the beaten path about 15 feet. But we got the hat and it was one of the few positive highlights of the day.

Looking up at the statue, I just couldn’t quite fathom it. The image is so burned into my mind that looking at it did no good. I couldn’t see the statue as a copper statue but only saw the icon. I tried over and over to look at it with “fresh eyes” but couldn’t. Especially when I was head on and got the typical view of the statue. I tried to contemplate what the statue meant, what it meant to so many people, what it symbolized, how famous it was, how many people had looked upon it. It was impossible. It was an icon.

Maybe this is why I attempted to get so many pictures of it. When I looked at it, it was so spectacular that I had to try to capture the mood. I tried to get non-standard views of her in an attempt to wrap my mind around the actual statue. It was tough and resulted in more than a few “weird” pictures.

I think the thing I liked most about it was the pose. The way she is holding that flame, leaning forward in earnest and holding that flame up high, it just conveys an urgency and a proud gesture of help. She is not only beckoning travelers, she is PROUDLY holding that flame up as high as she can and gesturing a universal meaning: come to the flame for safety and opportunity. I would like to think that the statue would be as moving even if I had never seen it before today. They captured a feeling in that statue and it resonates with my soul. I guess that’s why she is the Statue she is and why her appeal translates to all human beings.

Going from that explanation to the next, I know I’m being shallow but I had to make a decision: go to Ellis Island or go to a show. After sight-seeing so much in the last few days, I was about tapped out and although I’m not discounting the significance of Ellis Island, I just didn’t have it in me to spend any more hours looking at landmarks.

I had tickets to Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn. It’s a show that comes on right after The Daily Show so sometimes I end up watching it after my nightly ½ hour with Jon Stewart. Tough Crowd is basically a combination of improv, current events, and stand up comedy. Colin Quinn, who did Remote Control and SNL in the 80s and 90s, leads the show and 4 other comics sit around and argue, make jokes, and insult each other over the latest topics. I like the show but some nights the bickering is too much and I have to turn it off.

My cousin told me that it wasn’t hard to get tickets so I called and sure enough, I got tickets for yesterday but didn’t find out until it was too late. So I called them back and asked to get tickets for tonight which they set up.

Carrie wasn’t too “jazzed,” as she put it, to go and we had nothing to do with the kids since we had to be there at 5:00 and my cousin worked until 6:00. So we made the decision to split up. I would go see the show and Carrie would take the kids to Time Square and sell them for whatever she could get. Just kidding, they were to wander around until Jen got off work and then they’d go see The Princess Diaries 2.

Now normally, this would be a 2-fer deal. I’m talking about The Princess Diaries 2. Not only would I get massive points for taking the kids to a “kid movie” but two hours of looking at Anne Hathaway. I mean come on. Have you seen this woman? She’s an even better-looking version of Julia Roberts.

So I gave up my opportunity to see Ms. Hathaway’s gorgeous mug on the big screen to see Colin Quinn’s not-so-gorgeous mug live in person. OK, this would not be the first time my priorities seemed a bit skewed.

This is when I saw a different flavor of New York. We were gong to take the train from Battery Park to Times Square and then split from there. What I didn’t know was that we had to make a transfer to make this happen and we were informed of this by the conductor in classic, curt, confusing New York style. Then one of the passengers must have saw the confusion in my eyes and actually offered to help. He actually asked where we were trying to get to (in a civil manner) and, get this, listened to our response!! I know, crazy weird.

He told us that we had to run across the track at the next stop and hop on the other train. We thanked him and while we discussed my route to the studio, another polite man informed me that I needed to board yet a third train after the cross-platform transfer to get me closer. I was pushing the time factor so was very appreciative of the advice.

The first guy confirmed it and the four of us discussed it as they reassured me this was the best route. I was flabbergasted that after days of rudeness, this spontaneous display of patience and kindness, on the New York subway no less, took me by surprise. It almost put my faith back into New Yorkers. Almost.

The transfers went fine and I found myself on the Grid. New York has a simple street-numbering pattern in sequential order at 90 degree angles, collectively called the grid. All I had to go was go two blocks one way, and two blocks the other. Simple, right?

I went completely the wrong way to start out. I was on 8th and needed to go to 10th. I couldn’t orient my map (I know, from a Marine, that’s funny) and briskly walked until I hit 6th. Crap.

So I turned around and jogged back to 10th, turned right, and headed down the right way. I expected to see a big sign that New York is famous for but it’s also famous for little out-of-the-way places with nothing but a doorway to represent its presence. Luckily, there was a line along the street and the sign-less studio was readily apparent.

I got in line and was handed a ticket. When we got in, after the obligatory search of course, we got in another line to be seated. But I had to go to the bathroom and it seemed so did everyone else because even the men’s bathroom had a line. It was the topic of conversation as the ladies waited too. My joke about it having a sink therefore could handle more than one dude at a time hit with some, not so much for others.

Getting seated, I noticed that the audience area was really small. The good thing about this is that there really wasn’t a bad or obstructed view. I was a few rows back but since it was slanted up, it put me above the cameras, looking down on the show. It was extremely close and I had that odd feeling you get when you look upon a sight you have never seen live but is familiar through seeing it on TV. It was the Tough Crown set and just like when I saw Friends years ago, the end of the set marked the end of the illusion. It looked fake until the moment you hit the set area and then it resembled a real room. Where the cameras view ended, so did the set.

The warm-up comic was really good. He prepped the crowd and got us in the mood. He did some stand up and then interacted with the crowd. He was quick with his jokes and really showed his talent.

He did stuff like getting audience members to sing TV themes (Fresh Prince, Jefferson’s, etc) and one guy did a rap he claimed got him booed off the Apollo stage. He then played “Stump the Comic” by getting the audience to give a title and he’d sing the theme. He missed more than he hit but every time I missed the stumper got a shirt or a hat.

After awhile, he introduced Colin Quinn who came out and did a monologue. It was off the cuff and if you’ve ever seen Colin Quinn, you know that he can either be hilarious or fall flat. He was a happy medium tonight and it seemed he was making up things as he went along which is basically his act. But it was weird to once again see someone up close that you’ve seen for years on TV.

He introduced the comics for the night and they were the following:

Judy Gold
Dom Irrea
Artie Lange
Mark Maron

The show was pretty off-the-cuff and they shot it in three segments; just long enough to fill the time between the commercials. The big news, of course was that the New Jersey governor admitted he was gay and was resigning because of a gay love affair. With the way New Yorkers feel about New Jersey, you can imagine how this went over.

The show was pretty much like you see on TV with the obvious exception that you could watch anyone you wanted and not just who the camera was pointing at. This made it a little strange since you could see “off-camera” reaction and normal moments.

The one I was most intrigued with way Arty Lang. I remember that he was a cast member of Mad TV and kind of recognized him although I couldn’t pinpoint what sketches he was in. So when they offered the opportunity to ask questions during the commercial breaks, I raised my hand and asked him what his favorite skit or character he did on Mad TV. He said his favorite was MY WHITE MOMMA. It was a skit based on the terrible WB comedies where a white guy ran over a black woman, and she then possessed him. Then he thought he was the menthol-cigarette-craving black momma of Shequanna.

I laughed out loud and asked him to yell out the sound bite to where he belted out: "Don't make me break my foot off in your ass!!!"

The crowd applauded and I thanked him. It was a great moment and I remembered the skit perfectly.

After the show was over, I was determined to get some pictures. They didn’t allow any pictures during the taping for obvious reasons but they said we could take some shots after it was over. So when they yelled cut (not really, it just kind of ended), I grabbed my camera and took some shots. Unfortunately, none of them turned out very well and either I was too far away in the darkened audience, or I repeated my often made mistake of zooming too much and getting jittery pics.

I made my way down to the floor and some of the comedians hung out on the stage. No one was shooing the late-hangers off so I walked around the stage waiting to talk to comedians. I shook Mark Maron’s hand and told him I liked his work. It always strikes me how animated they are on camera and how reserved they are one-on-one.

I made my way over to Artie Lange but he had a few people talking to him. Then they wanted a pic and I saw my opportunity to snap a couple of pics in the background. Afterwards, I came up to him and asked for his autograph. He ask me what I did and I told him I was a Marine who came down to see the show. He actually acted impressed and said “Oh! Really?” as he signed the autograph. I then asked if I could get a picture and he seemed psyched about it. I reiterated that I loved his work on Mad TV and that I was the one who asked about his favorite skit.

The crowd was getting thin and I was about to leave when I saw Judy Gold talking to someone. I waited patiently but two things started to piss me off. First, she saw that I was waiting there and didn’t give me so much as a look even though I know her peripheral vision told her I was waiting for her. Second, one of the seaters hovered around and with body language, made it clear it was time to go. I told her I was waiting for Ms. Gold and she said she was sorry but they had to clear the set.

I accepted that and started walking off but I noticed that Ms. Gold had heard the same thing and headed toward the exit. If she heard her, she heard me; that I was waiting for her but she still made no attempt to even say hello and instead kept talking to her friend.

I slowed my pace, thinking I might get a picture or at least a hello but she kept ignoring me and the thought occurred to me that I was acting an idiot. Why was I putting myself through this demeaning exercise just because she is on TV. I came to my senses and walked out of the studio.

Now I do have to take a step back and point out something from her point of view. She probably gets a lot of strangers coming up to her and from what I heard, she was discussing a break up she just had and she seemed a little distraught about it. So I was just some schlep to her and that’s what made me a bit put off.

Coming out of the studio, I saw two guys talking and they asked me if Artie Lange was coming out. I told them that I had just been talking to him and to my surprise it looks like the comics leave out the front just like the audience so they might be able to see him.

Sure enough, he came out and they talked to him. He was more than happy to talk to them and even get some pictures with him.

After this was done, the two guys pointed to another guy who was by the street between two cars smoking a cigarette. His back was to me. They told me he was an actor from the Chappelle Show who played the only white guy in a Real World skit where all the other housemates were black. His name is Christian Finnegan.

Here is something I found on the net about the skit (maybe a bit over-analyzed, though):

Perhaps the most fully realized sketch of all is from last season, a takeoff on MTV's The Real World. Instead of one African-American tossed in with "a bunch of crazy white people," a single white guy named (of course) Chad moves into a sprawling apartment filled with angry black people. (Chappelle's goal—to reverse The Real World's invidious racial alchemy—nicely expresses his retributive itch that, in interviews, he seems to mistake for a sense of justice.) The escalating abuses and misunderstandings climax when roommate Tyree, a feral ex-con played by Eddie Murphy's brother Charlie, stabs Chad's visiting father with a prison-style shiv. This sketch riffs off a black guy's view of a white guy's worst nightmare—the willful misunderstanding, the (literal) whiff of drugs and violence, the scalding indifference to white-bread niceness, the threat of sexual humiliation. Gentle and high-voiced, wide-hipped and pudgy, Chad arrives emasculated, and so, by the ineluctable logic of this nightmare, his cute and busty girlfriend ditches him to sleep with both Tyree and Tyree's prison buddy, Lysol.

In using this harmless eunuch as a foil, Chappelle vaults clear over any edifying satirical point about the way in which racism begets paranoia or whatever. Here, the animating sentiment is not disapproval or disappointment. It's contempt—not necessarily toward white people, but certainly toward white people as they appear in the black guy's view of a white guy's worst nightmare. Let's face it, Chad is a tool, and his dad, short and nice and preppy in a pink Ralph Lauren shirt, is virtually begging for a shiv. The sketch concludes with a Real World standby, the banishment scene, in which the black roommates boot Chad because they don't "feel safe" around him. He, incredulously, impotently, rejoins—as his girlfriend watches, laughing, from Lysol's lap—"But, Tyree, you stabbed my dad." This sketch is both hilarious and discomfiting. But if you find a redemptive satirical point in it, or some determinate subversive meaning, you put it there yourself.

Here is another little write up I found:

I haven’t even mentioned some of the true classics, like Chappelle’s take on “The Real World.” Upset because MTV always seems to cast one normal black guy with five of the craziest white people they can find (who inevitably kick the black guy out of the house), Chappelle explains the concept of the “Mad Real World,” in which one normal white guy, Chad, is cast with five ghetto, prison inmate styled black people. Over the course of the sketch, they force Chad to sit down while he pees, they steal his girlfriend, they sleep with her in front of him, they put Chad in a sleeper hold, rob and rape him while he’s unconscious, stab his father for having “crazy eyes,” and when Chad finally explodes, they have a “house meeting” to tell him they don’t feel safe with him living there anymore.

After we talked and got a couple of pictures, I bid my farewell and started walking down the street. It just so happened that Artie Lange and Mark Maron were talking nearby and had headed in the same direction I was going just moments before I started walking. The end result was that they were about 10 paces in front of me. It felt kind of weird because I had talked to both of them and now it looked like I was just a weird stalker now.

We walked about a block and they crossed the street and met Dom Irrea at a restaurant. There they were, just eating in the public place where everyone can see them and I guess this is one of the things you can do in NY even if you’re famous: hang out in public.

I called Carrie and she was just going into the movie and was surprised I was already done (after our 6 hour marathon at Friends years ago). I told her I would just walk around the city and wait for them to come out of the movie.

So let the freak show begin. I went to Times Square and talked to the Marine recruiter who happened to be a Lance Corporal there on recruiter’s assistance. Like me, he’s stationed at Quantico but for now, he was at the office that is smack dab in the middle of the street in the middle of Times Square. He told me they have to deal with a lot of freaks but recruiting is easy there.

I walked around and saw all manner of weirdness. As it got dark, I saw the spectacle of Times Square lit up in all its glory. I saw street performers, bums, tourists, cops, thugs, drunks, a nun, sailors in uniform, and even a dog or two. I kept busy just looking at all the unusual sites which made me feel better about myself. After all, I was doing better than a lot of people I saw.

When the family came out of the movie, my legs were shot. It had been a full day and I wanted nothing more than to just go back to the apartment and get some sleep. Oh, but there was something I wanted more: noodles. I got a craving for some noodles so we went searching for a Chinese place. Only I couldn’t find Chinese food in New York. We walked blocks and blocks before we stumbled across a place and we got it to go, wanting to get on the subway and head back.

I wasn’t the only one who had cravings. Carrie got her mind set on ice cream and the specialty shop in Astoria was open until 11:00 PM. We just made it and was the last customer of the day. Everybody got something and the bill came to $18. For ice cream. Let me say that again: $18 for ice cream.

I am so ready to go home.

When we got back to the apartment, it was not a pretty sight. I gobbled the noodles like they were my last meal on earth and when we opened up the second tub for Alex, he did his best too. But there was a lot and I was getting into my ice cream by then. After that was done, that half tub of noodles was just sitting there. There it sat. Right there.

I tried to ignore it. It just stared at me. I was full. There they sat. They were relentless.

Fine, maybe just a bite.

I downed the rest and my gut hurt. I have the self-control of a dog sometimes.

Now I was stuffed to the pork-belly, exhausted, and ready to make the trip home tomorrow. I barely made it to the bed where I didn’t go to sleep, I simply passed out.

Free Advice for Today:

“Don't confuse comfort with happiness."

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

BLOG entry for this day from 2003

BLOG entry for this day from 1997

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Wednesday, August 11, 2004

New York, Day 3

I think my wife is getting sick of me singing New York tunes such as New York, New York, and Broadway. I know this because I get “the look” when I start singing. Of course the New Yorkers think I’m just another loon walking down the street.

There is no litter laws in New York. If there are, a lot of people owe the city a whole lot of money. From a city that seems to take pleasure in fleecing the financial wool from the general population, this extortion opportunity would be vigorously enforced.

Where I come from, if you see someone throwing something on the ground, you give them the hairy eyeball but this would not get you very far in New York. I noticed this especially with cigarettes. And everyone smokes, even babies.

Everywhere we went, people would be puffing on a cigarette and then just throw in down on the ground in one sweeping movement as they walked off. And it seems that everyone was OK with this. The thought occurred to me you could probably do this right in front of a cop and there would be no problem.

It just adds to the whole trash problem that you would imagine a place would have that has people packed together like sardines. Trash was everywhere and even though there were a lot of trashcans and black plastic bags piled up on the street, the basic problem still remained: how do you deal with millions upon millions of people in a small area when each one produces prodigious amounts of trash?

Simple: use the streets.

The other reoccurring theme was construction. I’ve ascertained that they are rebuilding New York completely, during rush hour which happens between 12:01 AM until midnight.

Everywhere we went was construction. Classic NY construction workers tearing up the street, riding jack hammers, tearing up asphalt with back hoes, half out of view cranking on sewer pipes, etc. This hampered an already bad traffic scene and added to the noise pollution everywhere you went. If all the construction noise were to cease at once, people would stop in their tracks and wonder if this was the Reckoning. It was so noisy that we often had to yell at each other just to be heard and just when you got out of range of a noisy area, the next was taking over.

We finally found what is likely the ONLY good service in all of New York. My cousin lives in Astoria and we ate at a place called SoHo where they serve sandwiches, healthy stuff, and unhealthy stuff like fries that my family seemed to gravitate toward (myself included). The waitress did weird things like seating us promptly and took our order with patience and understanding. Then she really weirded out by bringing us our food quickly and get this, she actually checked back and was nice to us the entire time. The portions were huge, the food really good, and the cost was relatively cheap. It was like stepping into another world and once we left, we were back into the New York jungle. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted but it felt like a hallucination afterwards.

We got on the subway and were treated to one of the local sights: Goth Girl. She was probably a teenager with black everything to include hair, lipstick (with a lip ring), spaghetti-strap top, pants, boots, and of course, fingernails. The upper part of her chest was visible and had a huge winged tattoo of a skull and other intricate ink work to match various tattoos on her arms.

But the strangest and saddest thing about her was that she was actually pretty. I mean once you disregard the tattoos, Adam’s Family wardrobe, and death-pale skin, she had a simple beauty and I found it hard to not stare at the obvious gulf between her natural beauty and her manufactured look. In fact, I thought it would be funny if she got all dressed up nice for her boyfriend’s parents and then unveiled her true style once they had accepted her. Then I thought I could be that parent as the father of a 12-year-old who someday will bring home a girl. I shuddered and thought about something else.

We got to Times Square and my perception was that it was a pure spectacle. It’s a total assault on your senses: sight, sound, SMELL. You could walk down the street and in one moment say “Mmmm, what’s that smell?” and the next moment utter “Ewwww, what’s that smell?”

Everything is bigger than normal and there are lights everywhere. Big buildings with screens scrolling the latest news and huge billboards showing people as giants. It was really too much to take in and like Vegas, your attention is torn from one point to another constantly and therefore you can’t take it all in. You get tired just trying to pay attention to all the things that are vying for it.

The kids wanted to take us into Toys R Us and like everything else in Times Square, it was oversized and over-priced. We saw a full size Ferris Wheel and a full size Tyrannosaurus Rex. We saw the Land of Barbie (the kid theme, not the other kind. That was the old Times Square). We saw aisle after aisle of every kind of toy imaginable and oversized board games hanging off the wall such as Monopoly and Operation.

Needless to say, this was a kid’s paradise. If I would have seen this as a kid, I think my little kid brain would have just blown apart and my lifeless body just fallen over. My kids have been desensitized to such spectacles so their impressed scale, while almost fully pegged, did not jump the meter. The tug-boated us around the store, where my cousin had taken them last night, to show us what they were most impressed with. They played tour guide in a place where even adults are dwarfed by the sheer immensity of everything.

It was time to get on with the real sight-seeing. Instead of bumping around NYC on foot or in cabs, or worse in a car, we decided to drop the duckies for the double-decker bus tour through the city. Yes, you can get the downtown loop, you can get the uptown loop, or you can get the entire package for the low, low price of only…. I didn’t pay attention in order to avoid going insane but I think it was about $150 for the family. I believe I shall return to Virginia wearing a barrel.

So we mooed our way through the line, paid our money, and was randomly put on a bus with a tour guide that not only fit the mold of a native New Yorker, I think he created it. He was a big, fat, Sipowiz-looking guy who wheezed just climbing up and down the bus stairs. It didn’t take long into the tour before my patience was as depleted as his blood-oxygen level.

The first obstacle we had to conquer was the Cheater. Some guy was right in front of us and the standard order of the bus tour process was evidently beyond his abilities to follow. But I can see how thing can get screwed up, after all, he was expected to pay money to the vender, receive a ticket, and then show the ticket to tour guide. How are humans supposed to follow such complicated procedures?

I think he found the receipt on the ground and tried to sneak aboard. Evidently, the vender gives you a ticket and a receipt. Most people chuck the receipt and use the ticket (strange, I know) so this guy must have found the receipt and thought, hey, free tour. Well, the crack tour guide was too wise for this and got into an argument with the guy as we were all waiting behind him on the stairs trying to get by and into a seat. The guy tried to feign confusion which I don’t doubt abounded in his head but he just wasn’t acting like a guy who paid and then was not being let onto the bus. He acted like the guy who got caught and wanted to claim the receipt was all he got.

He finally got off the bus and then we had to listen to the tour guide conjecture everything that happened. It was the beginning of a long series of explanations we would have to suffer.

Here’s how it went; this guy had stories. These stories were funny to no one but himself. We paid good American money to learn of the historical significance of New York landmarks, not to listen to inane obviously-practiced puns and personal opinions of one guy. It was maddening and every once in awhile, he would interrupt his own personal history to point out a something of interest that we had passed when he was continuing with his own program.

As you can imagine, I had enough of this (too much in fact) after about ½ hour. The good news was that the tours came around every 20 minutes so if we hopped off, we could catch the next bus with hopefully a better tour guide.

So without much fan fare, we got off just past where John Lennon was shot and rested in front of Strawberry Fields until the next bus came. Carrie and the kids were taking advantage of the local ice cream stand when the bus pulled up and we hopped on.

The next guy was much better and actually pointed things out that we were interested in. When we drove by Harlem, I couldn’t stop thinking that we looked like protected viewers riding through a zoo and all the local people were the animals. I felt bad that they had to deal with people like me gawking into their lives as we passed through. But I also couldn’t shake the feeling that all outsiders feel about the reputation of a place like Harlem. For someone who only knows it by the movies and TV, it made me a little nervous to think just how dangerous it would be to get out and walk around those streets. I wasn’t about to find out, though.

We went by the Apollo Theater and it was a dump. I really expected to see it dressed up a little considering it’s such a famous landmark but it wasn’t. I know some people might ask what I expected since it was Harlem and to that I say that I thought it was more lore than truth that Harlem is a ghetto. I understand that it’s becoming more and more cultural and artsy but the truth of the matter is that it’s still an area where poor people live and the mean streets of Harlem are not to be underestimated. If you think that in 2004 that law rules in Harlem, you better be talking about the law of the street because if you think that you will be protected by civil statues against crime there, you’ll be in for a rude awakening.

On the brighter side, our tour guide pointed out that on a lot of the historic buildings, the environment produces a black substance that stains some of the exterior surfaces and the very scientific term for the substance, used by the local population, is “schmootz.” I thought this joke was absolutely hilarious and for the rest of the tour, I would point things out and comment on the schmootz. I think that once again, my wife got tired of the reference after the first 100 mentions.

The other humorous story was that a little school had no playground because it was in a building right in the middle of downtown. So during a certain time of the day, they rope off the street along the side and let the kids run around on the street for recess (only in NYC can they get away with this).

It seems our guide once got stuck inside and he said it was “horrible.”

“Kids were running around everywhere and throwing balls at my head.” (pronouncing it as “bwalls at my hed.”)

This just struck me as funny because of the accent but also because only in NY do you have kids audacious enough to wing balls at a motorists head while he’s trapped in his car. Classic.

Towards the end of the tour, we started to see that the clouds were forming and it looked like rain was coming. We were almost done and the guide told us that the Letterman studios, actually the Ed Sullivan theater, was two blocks away from our next stop. This piqued my interest for two reasons. Obviously I wanted to see where Letterman’s taped and secondly, I wanted to meet another celebrity.

So with threatening rain clouds on the rise, we disembarked the bus and headed two blocks over, getting the requisite pictures of the Letterman sign. Then it was on to find Rupert. For a decade I have seen Letterman walk out of the studio during the show and go over to the little deli where Rupert works and I was determined to find it.

We went around the building but couldn’t see a deli. The family was thirsty and had to use the bathroom so we ducked into a Subway and everyone exchanged liquids. We then got back on the street and it was getting dark at 2:30 PM. The clouds were rolling in and making night out of the day. It was eerie. I told Carrie that I wanted to try the other side of the studio but I was starting to think it was not to be because that side look deserted and the clouds were getting darker and darker.

Just when I was about to give up, I looked over and saw a little doorway as I passed and who was sitting there on his little perch but Rupert himself, just like I’ve seen him for 10 years.

I walked into the deli where there was 3 customers in the little area. Just as I did that, Carrie’s phone rang and it was my cousin calling to tell us of the thunderstorm warning. I tapped on the window from the inside to get her attention because I wanted her to take a picture once I got to the front of the line. When he waved me off, I got her attention again and motioned for her to send in Alex but by the time I got another couple of feet, Carrie had ended the call and squeezed her way in.

I was a little nervous because I didn’t know how sick this guy was of people coming in and talking to him about the show. I didn’t even know exactly what I was going to say but I knew that I wanted to get a picture and I didn’t know how this kind of behavior was received in typical New York interactions. After toxic exposure over the last few days, I wouldn’t have been too surprised if he refused and kicked me out into the rain.

When I came up to him, I introduced myself and shook his hand. I told him I was a Marine visiting the city and wanted to come meet him since I had seen him on TV for years. To my surprise, he was very gracious and genuinely pleased to meet me. I asked if I could get a picture with him and he was honored as I stood right in the spot I had seen him award platters of meat to contestants after some funny Letterman bit.

Then it happened. The sky opened up and it started down-pouring really hard. This resulted in two things. First, no one was leaving that deli in this rain so it gave me an excuse to hang out and talk to Rupert. Second, no one was coming in because they had already sought cover from the rain. So my family and I were the only ones in there and had the undivided attention of Rupert and his co-workers.

The funny thing was, they had more questions of me than I had of them. He wanted to know all about the Marine Corps and they all kept asking about the first Gulf War was like, living conditions, training, combat, etc. They asked question after question and I was glad to explain to them what they wanted to know.

The tidbits I learned from him was that the first time Letterman put him on the show, they didn’t even prep him; they just walked in with the cameras. It got some good laughs so they kept doing it and now they normally come down on a Tuesday of they are going to at all.

He told me that the “random” picking out of the crowd was fake. They have people that look for “talent” in the crowd and they tell him which one to choose but they make it look like Rupert is choosing.

I asked about the Snickers bars because Letterman is always commenting on the Snickers. Sure enough, there was a stack of them right at the counter just like I’m used to seeing on the show and Rupert tells me that they sell a lot of them after Letterman mentions them. In fact, Snickers sent him 3 cases one time after Letterman made a big deal out of them and Rupert says Dave knows what he’s doing. Anything he mentions gets a boost in sales even if it’s a negative comment.

We talked for a long time and he told me how Letterman likes the military and how he saw a difference in the Marines when they have all the services represented. A funny question came up about how easy it was to get out of joining the Marines since their mental and physical qualifications were so stringent. It was funny because it’s a mindset that he didn’t understand. I explained to him that it was not a matter of getting out of an enlistment, rather it’s a difficult process to get in. If you don’t want to join, you don’t have to fake anything to get out. Just step aside because there are plenty of others that are striving to just get qualified to join. We don’t beg you to join, we allow you the opportunity to earn it. It’s just one more thing that makes us different than the rest.

It stopped raining and I was getting another look from Carrie. Plus, people were starting to dribble in so it was time to say goodbye and leave. Rupert shook my hand again and I told him I’d come by and say hello the next time I was in town. He actually seemed happy about the conversation and I was impressed that I found a New Yorker, and a pseudo-celebrity, that treated me with so much respect.

We walked back to Times Square and walked around some more taking in the insanity until we finally had enough and headed home. We stopped at the local grocery and bought some water to replace the bottle and bottles we’ve been gulping. When we went to pay for the two 12 packs, it came to over $10 and I almost choked. Water is more expensive than beer in NY stores. So as a budding New Yorker jaded and angered by the price I went back to the apartment while schlepping a case of water (another New York term I heard a lot).

Tonight we had dinner with my cousin’s boyfriend. Mexican food was the one motif we had not sampled yet so off to the little Mexican restaurant we went after getting a phone call that he was waiting for us. Apparently, Jen thought we were meeting up at the apartment.

Her boyfriend was a native New Yorker, Long Island actually, and treated her good which was nice to see. Although who knows, maybe it was an act and he beats her around a lot. (Just kidding, hi Jen). If you knew my cousin, you’d understand she’s not the kind of person that would put up with that. He was a nice enough guy and we had a good evening over a decent Mexican dinner.

Afterwards we decided to go back to Time Square and after weighing all the options, we concluded the best way to do it was to take our Saturn and let the boyfriend drive since he knew where he was going. So we all walked down to the car which was parked two blocks over due to limited parking and street-cleaning schedules. When we got to the car, Carrie pushed the alarms to disengage it but nothing happened. After trying a few times (and everyone trying to push the button just in case the other few people hadn’t quite done it right), I just used the key to open the door, hoping the alarm would not go off. It didn’t and as I suspected, the battery was dead. After making our way in the dark last night from the concert, we must have left the dome light on that we were using to see the directions.

This dictated the rest of the night. We weren’t going to Time Square but more importantly, we were stuck in New York with a dead battery.

Pete tried to call a friend but with no luck. We tried to ask a cop but they said they weren’t allowed to help out with a jump. Non-interference: thanks NYPD Blue.

My idea was to get the battery to a garage and have them charge it up tomorrow for the trip back to Virginia on Friday. Then Peter remembered he had a jump starter at home so he and I caught a cab to go get it while the women and children went back to the apartment.

I tried to put the best spin on it but I was a little miffed at no one in particular. I thought that at least I was getting a ride in a cab; almost a tourist attraction in itself.

But this was not the yellow cab you’d expect. It was a car with a Middle Eastern guy at the wheel but with no meter. I was not feeling too good about this and it got worse when Peter asked how much for a round trip to his place and the guy jokingly said $2000. Pete left it at that and the next question came from the “cabbie.”

“You don’t mind if I smoke?”

At least he had the window down.

We got to Pete’s house and he gave me the charger unit. He said it might have enough juice to start the car but if not, all I needed was an extension cord to plug it in overnight. From that statement, I knew two things.

First, that it wouldn’t have enough juice to start the car.

Second, that this little comedy was going to cost me because I wasn’t sure if my cousin had an extension cord and I’d have spend yet more money to buy one.

When I got back in the cab, I was telling myself to keep the chatter to a minimum and just maybe this guy wouldn’t realize I was from out of town and try to fleece me. Pete told me not to let him charge me more than ten or twelve bucks which told me there would be a problem since he made it a point to tell me. It didn’t help that Pete asked me questions about my visit, when I got there, when I’m leaving, while we were riding to his apartment. I knew the cabbie was probably frothing at the mouth.

Another problem was that I only had 1 $20 bill so I couldn’t just throw 12 bucks at him and leave. I had to wait for change so Pete told me to tell him to give me a ten back and then negotiate from there.

Of course, I was dreading the end to all this and blew it when we stopped and I asked how much.

“$15”
“Fifteen? How’s that?”
“$7 there, $1 for the wait, $7 back.”

There was not much I could do but hand him the $20. Yet another not-so-symbolic fleecing.

So now I’m walking down the street for 3 blocks in the rain with a 20 pound weight in one hand after being robbed. The thought occurred to me that you make one small error in NY and they make you pay for it dearly. One small oversight and it cost a cab ride robbing, a walk in the rain at night, possibly an extension cord you really only need once, and all this doesn’t even guarantee you that it will all work out. It’s possible that it might cost a jump from a cab ($15 is my guess) or a charging at a garage or even a new battery.

I was not in good spirits as I contemplated this while hooking up the charger to the battery in the dark and rain. Just then, the alarm went off. I fumbled for the keychain to turn it off.

At least the electrical system worked and the lights, radio, A/C, etc came on. I turned it over and all I heard was a clicking sound so I guess it didn’t have enough juice. Back to the apartment in the rain, schlepping the weight I went.

The first extension cord she gave me was a standard plug but the male connection on the charger was recessed and I couldn’t get the female end into the little alcove. I was not even capable of rage at this point.

As luck would have it, Jen had an old power cord from an A/C unit that fit and I plugged it in, knowing in my heart that despite all the aforementioned effort, there was going to be something else. I didn’t want to think about it. I was in the apartment, I was full, I was tired, I was pissed, and I was starting to have just about enough of NYC.

Free Advice for Today:

“Admit your mistakes."

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

BLOG entry for this day from 2003

BLOG entry for this day from 1997

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Tuesday, August 10, 2004

New York, Day 2

This morning, I awoke in New York City.

Our plan was to go with my cousin to the subway and she’d send us off from there. With 4 adults and 2 kids in a small apartment and 1 bathroom, I decided that a certain type of shower was necessary. Pronounced with the NY accent, I kept repeating to Carrie that I was set with a “hoe-wa’s” shower. She just rolled her eyes at me. This is a common occurance.

Our financial education on the New York scale continued. Because we would be using the subway today, tomorrow, and the next day, three $7 dollar day passes would run $21 each which is the price of a weekly pass. So $21 times 4 people came to $84 just to ride the subway. Yet another expense we really didn’t count on. But waddya gonna do?

The world-famous New York subway did not disappoint. There were your weirdoes, foreigners, normal, abnormal, and everything in between. I had to laugh when the conductor announced that the next stop was “City Huwalll” in classic accent. But there was no danger, gangs, urine, or graffiti so those stereotypes are hopefully a thing of the past and/or Hollywood. Or maybe they were putting on their best behavior just for us. Yeah, right.

We took the subway all the way to Manhattan and emerging out of the stairwell, the first thing we saw was the empty space where the World Trade Centers once stood. Without fanfare, we were suddenly standing at the very spot where the world changed on September 11th, 2001. Not much more than an empty hole surrounded my a metal gate, it reminded me of going to the Grand Canyon because there was nothing to see but the expanse of nothing. I just stood there imagining the size of the original towers and then imagining the spectacle of standing in that exact spot on that fateful day and watching airplanes plunge into the gigantic buildings. It was an image I think most of people there were trying to grasp along with me.

We lingered at the site for about a half hour and then set our sites on getting something to eat. Only I can be in the busiest city in the world and have a hard time finding something to eat. I didn’t want Burger King or McDonalds. We had pizza last night so that was out. The little stands on the road didn’t appeal to me because we had done a lot of walking and just wanted to sit down and relax. We tried a few different spots with no success and even went to the TGI Fridays which was a total “settle” only to find it was closed.

We ended up finding a deli with a little eating area up a staircase and I had, now hold onto hat, a turkey club sandwich. (It’s what I always get.)

After eating, we made our way down to Battery Park and saw the Statue of Liberty in the distance. The tip of the land mass is the closest point where you can see the statue and get tickets to get ferried out to Liberty Island. I know I’m pessimistic but the thought occurred to me that they planned it well to put the statue out on a little island, knowing people would have to pay to get ferried out there.

Of course the area was a spectacle. People were everywhere selling souvenirs and even had people dressed up like Lady Liberty complete with heavy green robes. It was the gaudy spectacle I’ve come to loathe around big attractions like this.

We didn’t intend to go out there today because tomorrow and the next day we are taking the bus tour of the city and figured we’d take the ferry out there tomorrow or Thursday. As we milled around, we heard over the intercom that they were sold out of the tours so we thought it might be a good idea to get tickets today for tomorrow or Thursday.

Here’s the irony. You have to call to make these reservations so we got the number and as we stood literally at the very place where the tour starts, we were talking over the phone to someone, possibly in another state, about getting tickets. Carrie got through most of the necessary process but then my phone dropped the line and she lost the reservation. Of course when she called back, the procedure to pick up where she left off (giving them our credit card numbers) was beyond their capability. She had to start all over while we sat in the ever-increasing heat but finally got the reservations.

We headed back toward the subway station and when we came to Wall Street, I decided to head down it just to say we were there. As we walked down the famous street, we heard shouting and a crowd up ahead. As we got closer, the shouting turned to chanting and I saw police holding back of people who were obviously upset about something. Whatever was going on attracted the local news cameras and I was surprised that the police were more interested in holding back the protestors than holding back spectators. So within a few moments, we were on the front line of this spectacle.

As I watched things unfold, I figured out that the protestors were, to my surprise, off duty cops. They were shouting “Never Forget, Already Forgot!” and when I asked a bystander what was going on, they told me the mayor was coming out any minute. I looked up above the exit where there were many Secret-Service-looking men cordoning off the crowd and realized I was in front of the Trump Building.

Things started happening fast. The crowd grew and the protestors started chanting louder than ever, now preferring “Run away, Mikey, Run Away!” Suddenly a group of men came out of the exit and I zeroed in on who seemed the center of attention and assumed he was the mayor. I had seen Mayor Bloomberg on TV but couldn’t pick him out of a crowd and I tried to take as many pictures as I could, not knowing if any of them actually turned out. I’ll find out when I get home and dump the pics on my computer.

It seemed funny to me that the New York City police would treat the mayor like this and ironically, being held back by on-duty police. And the odds of running into any one person in NYC, much less a famous person and much more less, the mayor, boggled the mind. What are the chances? It made for an interesting walk down Wall Street.

We caught the subway back to my cousin’s apartment to get ready for the concert tonight. A little shower, a little nap, a little rest, and a little quelling of the building excitement at seeing Sarah McLachlan in concert.

Free Advice for Today:

“Never buy anything from a rude salesperson, no matter how much you want it."

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

BLOG entry for this day from 2003

BLOG entry for this day from 1997

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SPECIAL ENTRY:

Sarah McLachlan Concert

We left in plenty of time to make it to the concert. In fact, we left in plenty of time to make the stage set up. I was not about to miss one moment of the concert and I was worried because we didn’t know where we were going, how long it was going to take, where we were going to park, and exactly where we were sitting.

OK, so I was a little paranoid but I insisted we leave at 5:00 PM for a 7:30 PM concert when the Mapquest directions I had said it was a 25 minute drive. Mapquest I trusted not. I didn’t want potentially bogus directions to be the unraveling of the Universe as I knew it if I didn’t get in to see this concert on time.

As we zoomed down the road, I said to Carrie (who was driving in order to stave of my pissiness), “Hey, we should’ve left a little later” to which I received the Look of Death. How was I to know the Mapquest directions would be dead on?

After stopping for gas, or as I call it, once again submitting to yet another New York intrusion into my financial stability, we got to the Coliseum with a couple of hours to spare. We found a sports bar and decided to get a quick bite and a beer before the concert.

It was a college town so there were plenty of sports bar nearby to choose from. We choose randomly and as you are likely surmising if you know my track record, we choose poorly.

The place was nearly empty and we went up to the loft area where we were alone and the music wasn’t blaring. It wasn’t long before the waitress came up and we ordered two beers and some chicken quesadillas. So far, so good.

As we were waiting, it happened.

Three girls were seated nearby and we were treated to the most stereotypical Long Island caricatures you could imagine. These Hispanic girls thought that the entire bar needed to be in on their stunningly ignorant conversation. As they were sliding into the booth, the first volley in a series of brilliant, ladylike statements emanated from the loudest one:

“Take my pic-cha cwas I’m awll sexy ‘n shit.”

As funny as it sounds, she was dead serious.

This became our running joke for the rest of the evening as I repeated it maybe a hundred times to Carrie over the course of the evening.

Another offering she had was a misuse of the term “serendipity” which she kept loudly announcing to her friends.

She continued using loud, crass language and I wondered how in the world any guy would ever be attracted to such an animal. To live with that voice, that attitude, and that personality for the rest of your life… well, it was just beyond my abilities to imagine. I cannot intentially produce such nightmarish Hellscapes.

Back at our table, we were having our own problems. The food took a very long time and the beer really didn’t taste like my beloved Coors Light I had ordered. I could overlook that but then she asked if we wanted a refill on the beer to which we said we did. But she disappeared on us and it became clear that we wouldn’t have time to finish the second beers and we were almost done with the food. Now it became important to get her to cancel the order and right as I was sliding out to find her, she came bounding up the stairs (after talking to Miss Long Guylun) sans our beer. She asked if everything was OK and then remembered our beer as she spoke. We cancelled the order and asked for the check.

Another 15 minutes went by and no waitress. We got up, went down to the bar to find her, and still couldn’t. I returned upstairs, wondering why I was trying so hard to find a crappy waitress so I could give her money. When I returned downstairs, Carrie had found her and gotten the bill.

Now we repeated the process trying to pay. Once again, we looked high and low but to no avail so I just went up to our table (which was now cleaned off) and dropped the leather holder on the table.

Once again, unacceptable service. I was peeved once again but I was determined not to let this ruin my perfect evening. We hopped in the car and went to the concert.

I own a motorcycle but I don’t exactly love the culture of motorcycle riders.

In the same vein, I love the music of Sarah McLachlan. But the average fan of Sarah McLachlan, well, she scares me. This was never as evident as when we parked and entered the coliseum. I tend to analyze my surroundings so I was interested in seeing others who shared my passion for Sarah’s music. With an obsession (yes, I admit it) like I have with her music, I’m accustomed to being a lone soul in this respect. The circles I run around with aren’t exactly known for their love of music like Sarah McLachlan sings and while I’ve never shied away from or hidden my preference, I’ve become accustomed to being rather unique in this aspect.

So I wondered what these people would be like. For so many years I’ve obsessed about her music and now I was going to be in a crowd that may or may not have the same deep feelings. What would it be like? Where would I fall on the fan spectrum?

Well, I found out something that shouldn’t have surprised me. Most of the people there were women who tended toward the beatnik side. Some were, um, a little butch but most were, and let me paint a picture here using sterotypes: tree-hugging, Democratic or Green Party, activists, men-loathing, flower dress wearing, granola eating, naturalists. Some were young girls with tight spaghetti-strapped tops and jeans. There were a few Long Island or Jersey princesses that were a walking comedy act. And then there were some people I would just call “normal” as I define it. Older couples or just people like us: mid-30s out for an enjoyable night away from the kids.

There were some boyfriends who had obviously been coerced into coming to the concert which I found unfathomable. Here I had dreamed of coming to this concert and they were “suffering through it.”

Carrie had to find a bathroom so I had plenty of time to analyze the crowd. I watched the different types of people and wondered how they really felt about being at this concert. I wondered if any of them had spent hundreds of dollars to travel hundreds of miles for this single event. I had taken leave, set up a trip to NY from Virginia, crashed at my cousin’s house, driven another 30 miles to the concert, and managed to get tickets to this one pivotal event.

When Carrie got back, we went to our gate and entered the coliseum. I had a familiar tingle in my stomach I recognized as pure excitement as we entered and were escorted down to the floor. As we were led to our seats, I was dumfounded to realize that we were closer than I had ever been at any concert in my life. I stood there, staring at the microphone, and realized that I would see my Sarah McLachlan RIGHT THERE. It was so close (19 thin rows back) that I knew I would be able to see details of her face.

It was about 7:00 so we and a half hour before the concert started. I waited like a kid at a candy store, so excited I couldn’t keep my feet still. I tried to read my book but it was no use. I was just too excited.

Looking around, I saw loads of people with cameras. I had asked Carrie before we left if she thought they would allow cameras and Carrie said she doubted it and we shouldn’t take it. I could blame it on her at this point but to be honest, I didn’t think they’d allow it either.

But the bottom line is that I was within spitting distance of Sarah McLachlan and everyone around me had a camera but me. Me, the guy who takes an disturbing amount of insignificant pictures with his digital camera knowing that he can erase the less-than-stellar ones. Me, the guy who would never again get so close to Sarah McLachlan and who a picture (or 100) taken from my vantage point would be coveted files on my computer and on my webpage for the rest of the time he drew air from this cold, heartless world.

OK, maybe I was a bit miffed at being caught camera-less so I’ll blame it on Carrie.

Way to go, Babe.

That’s OK, I’m sure I’ll get another chance to be 19 rows back at a Sarah concert. Not that I’ve waited a decade for this and it was a night that will rank disproportionately high for all of eternity to me or anything. No big deal. Really, I'm OK with it (as he rakes his arm with the blade of a knife).

The opening act was a woman named Butterfly Boucher. She has one song out on the radio called “Another White Dash” and when she came out, not even half the seats were filled. She’s an Australian artists who Sarah saw in a NY club and asked to open for her on her tour. What a break.

She was pretty good but she represented the only thing standing between me and watching Sarah in concert. I got a little irritated and anxious when she kept singing. I mean she was good but I was there for one reason and one reason only. Bring on Sarah.

After Butterfly (supposedly her real name) was done, they had to tear down her equipment and I watched in silence as they transformed the stage for Sarah. Every unveiling was an event for me and it was so bad that I felt a tinge of excitement when they unveiled the grand piano Sarah would be using.

The seconds ticked by. Slowly. My heart beat like a hummingbird’s.

The lights dimmed. My heart raced until it hurt.

The curtain dropped suddenly and everyone was on stage but in shadow.

The crowd went berserk.

The opening notes of a song began and I only heard it as though I was in a deep well. The deafening crowd didn’t even register as I stared at one figure on the stage. As she stepped forward toward the microphone, she was still in shadow but now more visible. I recognized the song notes as the biggest hit from her new album but the fact was dwarfed by the stunned state I was in.

I was staring directly at Sarah McLachlan. She was as near to me as a person across a room.

How many times has her music played as the backdrop of my life? How many hours have my ears heard her sing the loveliest sounds I know? How many hours of training has she been with me as I ran miles and miles in preparation for my marathons? And how many marathons has she been whispering in my ears as I persist past normal physical limits? How many times has she been that thin line back home when I’m deployed? When she represented everything I hold dear; home, family, love, comfort. Her music evokes strong memories of places like 29 Palms and Monterey when my life was shaped by events that make up the fabric of my life.

And now she was across the room.

And she commenced to flood my senses with those very songs that mean more to me than I can describe here. I was in another universe for the next two hours.

The stage was a treat for the eyes. They had two drum sets (one normal and one that look like a cross between big bongos and a Flintstone’s drum set), the piano I mentioned, keyboards, and the normal array of sound equipment.

The background was sheets that formed a screen and then there was an earthy motif with fake rockery. But the neatest things were the hanging tubes of cloth that looked a little strange but their effect was obvious once the lights dimmed. The inside was lit and the material was translucent and the overall effect was that it looked like solid glowing pillars of rock. It was a neat effect and matched some of the background stage dressing.

The play list was as follows:

	Fallen
	World on Fire
	Adia
	You Are My Sunshine
	Hold On
	Perfect Girl
	Drifting
	Push
	I Will Remember You
	Ice
	Wait
	Witness
	Elsewhere
	Answer
	Angel
	Fear (my favorite)
	Trainwreck
	Building A Mystery
	Sweet Surrender
	Possession
	Blackbird
	Ice Cream
	Stupid
	Fumbling Toward Ecstasy
	Dirty Little Secret

Sarah looked beautiful. I will not dwell on this fact because my wife would kick me in tender places if I went on too much about it but suffice it to say that she was as beautiful as she sounded. She was wearing a black top that showed her arms (I’m a sucker for beautiful arms) and a pair of jeans. Her hair was long and she had heavier than normal eye makeup which may be necessary for being on stage. Carrie though it made her eyes look small but I didn’t mind at all. She looked and sounded gorgeous.

I would say that Sarah was in rare form but the only thing I have it to compare to is the Mirrorball album and other live performances I’ve heard. But as I suspected, she sounded incredible and a lot like the original studio versions.

Another thing I liked was the variety of instruments they brought out for certain songs. If you “celebrate her entire catalogue” like I do, you know that Sarah has some exotic sounds in her music and instead of skipping over them, she included them in her stage performance. That really impressed me.

It’s frustrating but the stuck in my mind as impressive, I cannot remember exactly what song it was for. But the instrument was a rectangular box and the back end was a bellow like an accordion. It played the very familiar sound I was used to hearing for that song and I was amazed they didn’t just synthesize the sound.

The background singer was also impressive. I don’t know if “back up singer for Sarah McLachlan” is a full time job (seeing how she takes 5-year breaks) but the girl sounded like she was the same one who was on all Sarah’s CDs. Their voices really complimented each other and if she wasn’t the original back up singer, she really knew the songs and how to sing them.

I don’t need another reason to like Sarah McLachlan but she gave me many this evening. For one thing, she seemed genuinely appreciative of the audience. Remember, she had taken a five-year hiatus when she had a baby and her mother died. Normally a five-year absence in the music business means death to an artist but her fans (including me) waited with bated breath for her new album and when it came out last November, we came back to her in droves. This seemed to surprise her and she seemed surprised that so many people showed up to see her. And when we had such a loud response (spontaneous explosion before, during, after, and between songs) she appeared really touched and surprised.

Going back to the average fan, we had an up close and not-so-personal exposure to one worth mentioning. As the first song began, this woman jumped out of her chair and started the most painful looking and painful-to-watch dancing (and I use that term rather loosely) I’ve seen since Elaine on Seinfeld. She was gyrating in all manner of odd angles as the song progressed and as you can imagine, the fans behind her were none too pleased at her visual dry heaves.

She was the only one in our section, maybe in the entire coliseum except Sarah herself, that was actually standing and it didn’t take long before the people behind her started telling her to sit down in classic New York fashion. It couldn’t just be “Sit down!” but had to be “Hey, sit the F$%$% down you stupid b%$#$!!!!!”

This did not bode well with Beatnik Betty. She said something back to them and then was oblivious to the fact that she was the only one standing and pseudo-dancing. She ended up sitting for the second song (World On Fire) but the next one was “Adia” and up she shot up gyrating with a sense of urgency we had not seen during the first song. It was horrendous in its intensity and outdone only by its embarrassing display of human idiocy.

The crowd behind her once again barked out their displeasure on not only blocking their view but exposing them to such vulgar movements. This time, her reaction was explosive. She turned around and started incoherently yelling at them right back, but conveying the idea she was not going to sit down and when they told her they couldn’t see (again, adding the identifier of less-than-brilliant female canine) she was very adamant about indicating they should stand up then. She repeated the gesture in her own dancing way which had all the grace of a drunken three-legged giraffe. It was horrid.

I’ve heard the saying “Dance like no one is watching” but I think in this case, the rule of thumb can be amended. Beatnik Betty should avoid all public display of self-expression. For the love of the public, I would count this as a favor to mankind.

After Adia, Sarah broke out into a strange choice but I liked it. She had her guitar and then sang “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when I am sad, you’ll never know dear, how much I love you, don’t take my sunshine away.”

She led right into “Hold On” but I don’t know why she sang the sunshine song before it. The only thing I can guess, and that if true, I appreciate, was that the little ditty showcased her range. She sang a few octaves above what any other singer I know could do and her high pitch version of this song was absolutely gorgeous. It reinforced my statement that I’d enjoy listening to her sing Happy Birthday or the ABCs.

I hesitate to admit this but I didn’t immediately recognize the one song I wanted to hear above all the rest. I brought a little memo book and a pen so I could write down the song order and often found myself trying to scroll out song titles in total darkness. After each song, I would have the pen in my mouth and the book tucked in my armpit as I clapped. Then I would spend the first few moments of each new song trying to remember the title of the song and despite being an aficionado, I could often recognize the song but not recall the actual title. There was not a song she sang all night I didn’t know but I did find myself writing a lot of lyrics when I couldn’t recall the title. I figure I would look them up later when I get access to my webpage back and can look them up. (I have all the lyrics on my webpage).

So when my very most favorite song of all time started (“Fear”), I was fooled when the people behind me yelled out “Possession.” That’s what I wrote in the book. Then when she said the first line “Morning smiles, like the face of a newborn child,” I almost choked. It was the one song I had hoped she would sing but doubted if she would.

Because I listen to all her music, I have lost the ability to know which were actually commercially popular. I doubted if Fear was a commercial hit because I had never seen a video for it. Also, it’s a very difficult song that showcases Sarah’s incredible voice. She hits notes in the song that are simply unbelievable and for these reasons, I didn’t think it would be on the list of what she admitted as “songs I love to sing” which was her explanation of what songs she was going to cover tonight. There are dozens she would not be able to get to and one that’s technically hard would probably get the ax.

So when I realized she was singing it, fulfilling the deepest prayer I had for the evening and fulfilling the one thing I "feared" the most about the concert if she didn’t sing it, I was stunned into silence and a big smile. What made it more special is that not only did she perform the song, she nailed it. She hit the notes too high for most artists to hit in a studio and she belted out tropospheric notes live in concert with grace, power, beauty, and perfection.

During Building a Mystery, she has a line that I turned to Carrie and asked if she was going to say it. The original version goes:

“You’re so beautiful, a beautiful fucked up man…” but on the radio version, they would normally bleep it out the obvious. For a long time I never paid attention to it and one day I heard the line jump out at me. I called over my wife and asked her what she thought the line was. We listened to it over and over and our conclusion kept coming back to one interpretation. But my pure Sarah couldn’t possibly put something that vulgar into her song, especially her most commercially successful one. So it was off to the internet to see what it was and sure enough, my pure Sarah was not all that pure.

So in concert tonight, I asked Carrie if she thought she would actually say it and when the moment came, sure enough, she said it with vigor, stressing the wicked word.

I will only complain about the most minor aspects but I want to publicly announce that this was the very best concert I’ve ever been to. Every single song was sung beautifully and I knew every nuance of every note. But I wouldn’t be me if I couldn’t find something and this one was a minor one.

I hate the fake ending and comeback. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I was hoping she would not play this little game but I guess it’s just too entrenched in the music business to ignore.

After Trainwreck, she thanked the crowd and left. Everyone knew she wasn’t done because she hadn’t even introduced her band and they didn't bring up the lights. Sure enough, she came back and continued the concert. Must we play this? But I overlooked it because I’m, you know, obsessed. Anyway, I don’t think she could have made it out of the building without coming back because she had a lot of songs to sing.

Then she left after Possession but came back to start with Blackbird. At this point I knew when she left again, we wouldn’t see her again. I was dreading the moment and when it came and she was gone, the small pit in my stomach that earlier was excitement turned to sadness even though I was satisfied overall with the number of songs she sang. We all got up and our section had almost cleared completely out. She had come back twice so we knew that was it but the lights had not come up and we were in the aisle when I looked up and saw a spotlight light up a spot behind the piano and saw jeans running back up on stage. Then the roar of the crowd told me that Sarah was back and I was floored she was coming out yet again. Impossible!!!

I don’t know if she had planned to do this last song but she very well could have decided to come back as a result of our enthusiasm. Since it was just her and her piano, she could have treated us to a dozen other songs if she wanted but the fact that she did this really touched me. It was as though she read my mind about yearning for one more song and she came out to deliver. She sang Dirty Little Secret and I managed to get about 50% closer to the stage since we were on our way out. I stood there with a big smile on my face with my wife behind me with her hands around me. It was a wonderful moment and felt like a personal act from Sarah herself in response for my feelings for her music.

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Monday, August 9, 2004

New York, Day 1

Traveling from Fredericksburg, Virginia to NYC; this is not a free prospect. If I’m not mistaken, I pay my share of taxes. If I understand it correctly, those taxes are used in part to pay for, oh, let’s say, building and maintenance of common items for the society at large. The last time I checked, roads fell in that category.

So with all of that said, why in the hell was I extorted out of $25 getting from Virginia to NYC? It seemed that every time I turned around, there was a toll. $2 please. That’ll be $5, thank you. $4 per car. Gimme 6 bucks or I’ll break your face. Can you tell I was getting nearer to NY?

It took about 4 hours to get from where we started to the city. Then it took 3 hours to get through the city to my cousin’s apartment.

I called The Daily Show before I left because with it being so popular, I knew it would be snap to get tickets on just a day or two notice. Remember, I’m special and NY must bow to my whims and they are known to be very accommodating in this regard.

The recording told me they were taking requests for January, February, and March. Maybe they weren’t so accommodating. But they said if I call at 11:30 on Friday, I have a shot at cancelled tickets. That does me no good but I left a message with my name and phone number just in case Pluto’s moons align with Alpha Centuria just right, I might get a call. Heck, while we’re fanaticizing, maybe they’ll call and want me to be on the show.

I also pulled another cheesy move. I left my name with my military title just in case that had any pull. Maybe they were doing a military appreciation thing or something. Cheeseball, I know but I was desperate.

I also called OddTodd, the humorous out-of-work dot-bomb victim with a hilarious web site that got me interested in Flash cartooning. He is somewhat of a celebrity, at least on the web, but I emailed him anyway offering to take him to lunch when I was in town. Haven’t heard from him all day either, despite sending him two emails and leaving a phone number.

Mapquest might have saved my bacon on more than a few occasions over the years but its knowledge of NYC is about the same as mine: 0 degrees Kelvin.

I was doing OK, until we got into the city and then it wanted us to take a mysterious 21st street exit. Well, folks, two passes proves there is not a 21st street exit off of 495. But we did get to experience the Lincoln Tunnel at rush hour. Yes, we traveled hundreds of miles just to hit afternoon traffic jams in NYC. It was so special.

We were at a dead stop going into the Lincoln Tunnel. It was so backed up that we literally sat there in park with the emergency brake on for ½ hour. I grabbed a book and started reading while listening to the wonderful thumping gansta rap of the two Hispanic gentlemen in the car mere inches away from ours.

The Lincoln Tunnel was a special joy. First, we had to wait a half hour. Then we got to pay a toll. (Wait to pay: it dave me a warm feeling inside). Then there was about 6 paying lanes funneling down to two lanes and this was my first exposure to classic NY driving. No one paid any attention to established lanes. People made there own and inched to cut you off both angles. It really didn’t matter that we were all going the same direction or that if we all bunched up to get in, no one would move. It reminded me of everyone jamming an exit and no one able to get through. Collective stupidity at its finest.

I can now see why there are so many fender benders, why there is white-hot road rage, and why I would never subject myself to this environment permanently. Hell, if I had a gun at that point, I might have...

Then, when we finally got going, Fate decided I needed to be in the slower of two lanes and I’m not talking just regular slow; I’m talking the traffic in the other lane was zooming while we stood perfectly still or merely inched. So I had enough and whipped over in that lane and we were flying while the other lane sat. I bet you thought I was going to complain about that lane stopping and the lane I just got out of going. Nope, for an undetermined reason, one lane sat and one lane flew. I was getting over at it was scary.

Mapquest took us right down the gut of New York City. We found ourselves on 32nd street and passed names like Park Ave, Broadway, etc. We passed Macy’s. But the main draw was the people on the street and in the cars.

First, there was the cabbies and everything you’ve ever heard about them is true. They really don’t give a s*&&. Then there are the other drivers who will attempt to ram you and as you are making an evasive maneuver, they will take advantage of your predicament to zoom ahead of you. Then there are the bicyclists who don’t seem to care that a few thousand pounds of metal versus a two-wheeled bike will result in them losing the battle very painfully. They cut in and out and it’s up to you to make sure disaster is averted. Lastly there are the pedestrians. The street are mere extensions of the sidewalk, crosswalks are suggestions.

When we got to my cousin’s house, I found out she not only doesn’t have an internet connection, she doesn’t have a computer. So my plan of dumping my pictures on her computer to leave room for more pictures as the days go by is null. I have a finite amount of room on my memory stick so I will have to be frugal. I will have to be more selective in how many pics I take since I only have about 500 to work with.

The first thing we had to do is get something to eat and pizza not only sounded good, it seemed to be the NY thing to do. So we walked down the street and found a restaurant where the only English the employees knew was the menu. We got a pie the size of a truck tire and I had two pieces that stuffed me to the gills.

On the way back, we stopped at Blockbuster and got two old movies for the kids (Jumangi and Final Destination 2). Back home, these old selections would run $1.99 each but here in the land of "Gimme All Your Money," all DVD rentals are $4.50. Ouch.

The trip to the Eckards was just as painful. We got a few snacks and things which added up to a whopping $30 for “things.” I don’t even want to start actually keeping track of our costs. It’s just too painful.

We talked for most of the night. Together with an internet connection, she has no cable so the kids were forced to deal with the movies we got them at Blockbuster while we gabbed the night away with my cousin and her roommate.

Her apartment, by NY standards, is huge. By Jason standards, it was a long, tiny apartment wedged on the second floor between a Mexican restaurant and a Greek nightclub. Two interesting aspects of this place is that the Greeks pay $300 of her rent because it’s cheaper than getting fined from the police every time my cousin calls to complain about the noise. Second, her landlord makes money the old-fashioned way: through “Family Connections” if you know what I mean and when the noise got too loud once and they complained, the landlord (or I imagine some of his “guys”) gave them a visit and things quieted down after that.

We got a taste of the noise tonight when we went to bed, the sound of the music filtering up as we tried to get to sleep. It wasn’t enough to stop me from falling into a deep, restful sleep but Carrie said she had a rougher time of it.

Free Advice for Today:

“Clear your calculator after using it."

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

BLOG entry for this day from 2003

BLOG entry for this day from 1997

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Sunday, August 8, 2004