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Details of my trip to NYC.
Jan. 7th, 2003 11:47 pmSo, on a last minute urge I flew out to New York City. I figured it would make a wonderful surprise, and I could tell the wife about what everyone from Live Journal is like in real life. (She gets to hear about all of your antics all of the time. "How are your people doing?" she likes to ask. I usually just reply "What the hell are you talking about? My people? What people? Do you mean my Star Wars action figures? They are fine. I just took them out of the nativity pose and put them into the bring a good naked New Year home for Luke pose." She chuckles oh so merrily and says "No you stupid asshole. Your live journal friends. The ones you always drone about constantly while we eat dinner and make love and watch television and drive to work and birth babies." Her look of love at that moment is so amazing I don't think I need to go into what inevitably happens after.)
After clearing it with the old lady and the whip holder at work. I purchased tickets that left Friday morning from LAX and got into New York late in the afternoon.
Friday
I woke up Friday morning unsure about whether not I should make the trip out to the city that never doesn't not sleep. I have heard many bad things about the town. Apparently, there is a man named Ed Koch who prowls the streets at nights looking for victims. He bites their necks and chuckles merrily about how he LOVES New York. And how he LOVES your neck. If that isn't a violation, I don't know what is. After talking it over with Paul -- the skinhead who gave me a book about enlightenment at the airport -- I decided that it was good and proper to go to New York this weekend.
The plane ride out was uneventful. Some guy was arrested for pretending to poop on the stewardesses food cart. While, he merely vomited up his lunch and creatively made it look like fecal matter. I don't think he shouldn't be talked to about that. But, come on! he should atleast get some extra points for creativity. It was brilliant in execution and in style. I asked for his business card, but he just spit in his hand and said "This is what i think of business with the likes of you, Mr. Sawyer." I just walked on and wiped my hand on the dunce next to me's pants.
I landed in New York City. Really landing in New York is where I started my long string of mistakes. I should have told another doper that I was coming. I should have asked someone where New York was. I should have made sure that the guy on the airplane was correct when he said "New Jersey and New York are the same place. Just two different names. Kind of like some people call Los Angeles LA and other people call it souless festering hellhole."
Really, turning around and coming right back home would have been a proper move after the reception I got. I walked off the plane and up to the nearest ticket agent. As is customary for all Pan-Am flyers I said to her "Hey! How are you today? You look especially lovely. Can I ask you about a connecting flight?" She nodded her approval. THE APPROVAL WAS NODDED. "Tell me about trips to France." Then I proceeded to stick my tongue down her throat. I repeat, as is the custom for all Pan-Am travelers. Well. I have heard nicer things come out of a sailor's mouth after she pushed me to the ground and stuck a 12 inch heel on my neck. People don't have work ethic any longer.
I left the airport and had my baggage retrieved for my by a couple of very nice young fellows. I think the baggage theft problem has gotten worse in New York then ever before. These baggage men carried fire arms. I am glad to know my bags are kept safe by a man with a badge a gun and a tic. I told the cabby to take me to the dopefest. He looked back at me for five minutes and kept asking "Are you a cop? What the hell? What kind of place is that? Dopefest? Are you a cop?" I don't know why he thought I was a policeman. It might have been my cologne. The men in blue like to splash on a little Old Spice. After I sat there for five minutes and stared at his forehead (a trick I learned from Paul) he left the airport and took me to the fest.
Now. I don't know the New York dopers very well. So, I wasn't sure what was going on. But, the place the cabby took me didn't much look like a dopefest. There was no alcohol. No tables for Cecil. No knowitall bastards in shirts that were in style during the Hughes Administration. No. It was an alleyway with ten or fifteen guys. None of them looked very clean. In fact, one guy had a dirty pair of jeans a sweatshirt with the letters NYLPS on it and a look that said to me "Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Don't touch me. And, if you breathe for one more second I will remove your spleen and replace it with my cat." Of course, I thought that was![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mannyvision. Immediately, I struck up conversation.
In retrospect thinking that was Manny was something of a big mistake. Manny wasn't black when I saw him in Las Vegas. I should have realized that it would have been hard for him to change so drastically in such a short interval. This guy's name was Charles. He had no idea what the dopefest was. It was pretty late at this point, and seeing that Charles wasn't a doper, or an LJer. I was a little bit worried about wasting so much of my time without any good stories about my 'people' to take home. I will admit, I had a nice evening with Charles. He took me to dinner. He drove his own cab. Much nicer than the stupid cab the guy from the airport had. His cab didn't have any annoying words on the outside. So, I could travel incognito, without everyone looking in on my business. He also had a place were a radio went. But, it was empty. "I don't like that noise." he said. I paid him the 400 dollar New York cab fee and he left me off at the hotel. I knew things were expensive in New York City. I had no idea they were this expensive. I tried to show Charles my guidebook and the posted average cab rates. He would have none of it. "If I charged you less than 400 dollars. I would be taking food out of my daughter's mouth and betraying the science of inflation.", I happily gave him his money after that explanation.
Saturday
I did some sightseeing on my own all day Saturday. Things have changed in New York since I last watched Midnight Cowboy. I was in bathrooms across the city, and the best I can say for myself is that my hands are really clean. Before I knew it, I had seen most of the sights and it was time for the big fest.
Again, my failure to plan ahead bit me in the ass. I asked everyone where America was. The people who didn't walk away quickly, punched me in the stomach as hard as they could. I have strong stomach muscles, so that really wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to me. Still, it wasn't pleasant. Not like washing your hands is pleasant.
I was never able to find this America place. So, I just started watching guys playing Three Card Monte. I spent hours studying their technique. I knew were that 6 of Hearts was. I could find it in my sleep. I stepped up to the table and laid my 20 dollars down. "Gentlemen. I am ready to make you cry." I said in my best Fats Domino voice. (Which ironically, sounds very similar to Riptide's Boz when he was trying to tell Joe Penny about his latest travails with the vice squad.) The man put down the three cards. And I picked up that 6 of hearts and did a dance of pure victory and joy. The dealer man tried to take my money. But, I complained loudly. Knowing that the 6 of hearts is the winning card. I banged on the table. And jumped up and down. They tried to scare me with one of those combs that looks like a pocket knife and some cheap candy corn gun. But, I was not to be swayed. Finally, he said, "Ok. here is what I can do. Double or nothing?" Now. I had the taste of victory in my mouth. Why should I stop? I was a champion Three Card Monte player. I agreed to this bet. And he laid down the three cards. I picked up my card. It felt wrong once I touched it. I knew it was bad. It was the Queen of Clubs! What the hell? What was I thinking. THE HOUSE ALWAYS WINS. And yet again it did. Those two guys had run away before I got a chance to thank them and give the dealer a proper tip.
After this excitement, and a guided tour of the puddles of the New York Subway Sytem. (An interesting tour. In front of each puddle the tour guide would say "You know. It doesn't rain down here.") I went back ot the hotel for a night of sleep. I dreamed of meeting up with some of my LJ friends the next day at the brunch that was being held. Well. Actually, that's not what I dreamed of at all. My dream involved a woman with a tight fitting skirt who walked by on my way into the hotel. But. The less information I give about that dream. The less embarassed you will be to look me in the eyes come my 5th Wedding Anniversary Party.
Sunday
Let me end the suspense. I did not meet up with anyone on this day, either. I looked for the brunch. I figured it would be easy to find. How many apartments in Manhattan would be having a brunch on this specific Sunday? Well. I never did get an accurate count. But, I did find out how many times you have to knock on someone's apartment door before it is considered harassment. 9.
I am sorry I was unable to meet up with anyone in the city of big saggy shoulderpads. Next time I will give out a cell phone number and maybe find out some of your name's. I hope everyone was able to have a great time without me!
After clearing it with the old lady and the whip holder at work. I purchased tickets that left Friday morning from LAX and got into New York late in the afternoon.
Friday
I woke up Friday morning unsure about whether not I should make the trip out to the city that never doesn't not sleep. I have heard many bad things about the town. Apparently, there is a man named Ed Koch who prowls the streets at nights looking for victims. He bites their necks and chuckles merrily about how he LOVES New York. And how he LOVES your neck. If that isn't a violation, I don't know what is. After talking it over with Paul -- the skinhead who gave me a book about enlightenment at the airport -- I decided that it was good and proper to go to New York this weekend.
The plane ride out was uneventful. Some guy was arrested for pretending to poop on the stewardesses food cart. While, he merely vomited up his lunch and creatively made it look like fecal matter. I don't think he shouldn't be talked to about that. But, come on! he should atleast get some extra points for creativity. It was brilliant in execution and in style. I asked for his business card, but he just spit in his hand and said "This is what i think of business with the likes of you, Mr. Sawyer." I just walked on and wiped my hand on the dunce next to me's pants.
I landed in New York City. Really landing in New York is where I started my long string of mistakes. I should have told another doper that I was coming. I should have asked someone where New York was. I should have made sure that the guy on the airplane was correct when he said "New Jersey and New York are the same place. Just two different names. Kind of like some people call Los Angeles LA and other people call it souless festering hellhole."
Really, turning around and coming right back home would have been a proper move after the reception I got. I walked off the plane and up to the nearest ticket agent. As is customary for all Pan-Am flyers I said to her "Hey! How are you today? You look especially lovely. Can I ask you about a connecting flight?" She nodded her approval. THE APPROVAL WAS NODDED. "Tell me about trips to France." Then I proceeded to stick my tongue down her throat. I repeat, as is the custom for all Pan-Am travelers. Well. I have heard nicer things come out of a sailor's mouth after she pushed me to the ground and stuck a 12 inch heel on my neck. People don't have work ethic any longer.
I left the airport and had my baggage retrieved for my by a couple of very nice young fellows. I think the baggage theft problem has gotten worse in New York then ever before. These baggage men carried fire arms. I am glad to know my bags are kept safe by a man with a badge a gun and a tic. I told the cabby to take me to the dopefest. He looked back at me for five minutes and kept asking "Are you a cop? What the hell? What kind of place is that? Dopefest? Are you a cop?" I don't know why he thought I was a policeman. It might have been my cologne. The men in blue like to splash on a little Old Spice. After I sat there for five minutes and stared at his forehead (a trick I learned from Paul) he left the airport and took me to the fest.
Now. I don't know the New York dopers very well. So, I wasn't sure what was going on. But, the place the cabby took me didn't much look like a dopefest. There was no alcohol. No tables for Cecil. No knowitall bastards in shirts that were in style during the Hughes Administration. No. It was an alleyway with ten or fifteen guys. None of them looked very clean. In fact, one guy had a dirty pair of jeans a sweatshirt with the letters NYLPS on it and a look that said to me "Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Don't touch me. And, if you breathe for one more second I will remove your spleen and replace it with my cat." Of course, I thought that was
mannyvision. Immediately, I struck up conversation. In retrospect thinking that was Manny was something of a big mistake. Manny wasn't black when I saw him in Las Vegas. I should have realized that it would have been hard for him to change so drastically in such a short interval. This guy's name was Charles. He had no idea what the dopefest was. It was pretty late at this point, and seeing that Charles wasn't a doper, or an LJer. I was a little bit worried about wasting so much of my time without any good stories about my 'people' to take home. I will admit, I had a nice evening with Charles. He took me to dinner. He drove his own cab. Much nicer than the stupid cab the guy from the airport had. His cab didn't have any annoying words on the outside. So, I could travel incognito, without everyone looking in on my business. He also had a place were a radio went. But, it was empty. "I don't like that noise." he said. I paid him the 400 dollar New York cab fee and he left me off at the hotel. I knew things were expensive in New York City. I had no idea they were this expensive. I tried to show Charles my guidebook and the posted average cab rates. He would have none of it. "If I charged you less than 400 dollars. I would be taking food out of my daughter's mouth and betraying the science of inflation.", I happily gave him his money after that explanation.
Saturday
I did some sightseeing on my own all day Saturday. Things have changed in New York since I last watched Midnight Cowboy. I was in bathrooms across the city, and the best I can say for myself is that my hands are really clean. Before I knew it, I had seen most of the sights and it was time for the big fest.
Again, my failure to plan ahead bit me in the ass. I asked everyone where America was. The people who didn't walk away quickly, punched me in the stomach as hard as they could. I have strong stomach muscles, so that really wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to me. Still, it wasn't pleasant. Not like washing your hands is pleasant.
I was never able to find this America place. So, I just started watching guys playing Three Card Monte. I spent hours studying their technique. I knew were that 6 of Hearts was. I could find it in my sleep. I stepped up to the table and laid my 20 dollars down. "Gentlemen. I am ready to make you cry." I said in my best Fats Domino voice. (Which ironically, sounds very similar to Riptide's Boz when he was trying to tell Joe Penny about his latest travails with the vice squad.) The man put down the three cards. And I picked up that 6 of hearts and did a dance of pure victory and joy. The dealer man tried to take my money. But, I complained loudly. Knowing that the 6 of hearts is the winning card. I banged on the table. And jumped up and down. They tried to scare me with one of those combs that looks like a pocket knife and some cheap candy corn gun. But, I was not to be swayed. Finally, he said, "Ok. here is what I can do. Double or nothing?" Now. I had the taste of victory in my mouth. Why should I stop? I was a champion Three Card Monte player. I agreed to this bet. And he laid down the three cards. I picked up my card. It felt wrong once I touched it. I knew it was bad. It was the Queen of Clubs! What the hell? What was I thinking. THE HOUSE ALWAYS WINS. And yet again it did. Those two guys had run away before I got a chance to thank them and give the dealer a proper tip.
After this excitement, and a guided tour of the puddles of the New York Subway Sytem. (An interesting tour. In front of each puddle the tour guide would say "You know. It doesn't rain down here.") I went back ot the hotel for a night of sleep. I dreamed of meeting up with some of my LJ friends the next day at the brunch that was being held. Well. Actually, that's not what I dreamed of at all. My dream involved a woman with a tight fitting skirt who walked by on my way into the hotel. But. The less information I give about that dream. The less embarassed you will be to look me in the eyes come my 5th Wedding Anniversary Party.
Sunday
Let me end the suspense. I did not meet up with anyone on this day, either. I looked for the brunch. I figured it would be easy to find. How many apartments in Manhattan would be having a brunch on this specific Sunday? Well. I never did get an accurate count. But, I did find out how many times you have to knock on someone's apartment door before it is considered harassment. 9.
I am sorry I was unable to meet up with anyone in the city of big saggy shoulderpads. Next time I will give out a cell phone number and maybe find out some of your name's. I hope everyone was able to have a great time without me!
