A Few Things I Never Thought I'd Do...

I spent last weekend in the Big Apple with some friends to celebrate the 4th of July, and get out of DC...by escaping to an even denser urban jungle (?). I know, when we stopped to consider it, it didn't make a lot of sense to us either...but then again...a lot of things happened this weekend that didn't exactly add up...

On the 4th of July we headed out to Coney Island. This was quite the experience. Coney Island hit its peak in the 1920s and, from what I can gather given our experience there, has gone dramatically down hill since then. The main body of the island is taken up by a run-down amusement park bordered by a boardwalk and the shore. It has been my experience that places with boardwalks tend to be inherently seedy (what it is about providing a planked walking surface next to eating establishments and sand that brings out the weirdos I have no idea...I'm still in the early stages of formulating a theory involving lead paint, pirate fetishes, and clowns...), and Coney Island's boardwalk is hands down the worst I have ever seen.

Perhaps I should back up...the reason we went to Coney Island in the first place was not, in fact, to solidify a theory on why creepy people have taken to inhabiting former gems of prohibitionist-era Americana, but to watch the annual Nathan's World Championship hot dog eating contest. Yep, that is the one activity that worked itself firmly into our agendas for the weekend. Not only did we choose to spend the birthday of our country watching strictly average individuals gorge themselves on highly processed psuedo meat products, but we went specifically to cheer on a JAPANESE guy. I'm not gonna lie...it was a blast. In truth, I do not have the words to adequately describe the full experience...luckily for you my friend Josh does. So I will refer you to Josh's Blog (no really...you need to read this) to get all the baloney-laden details. Suffice it to say, I have been astounding my co-workers with my newfound knowledge of the rules and regulations of competitive eating...and I am pretty sure I never want to see another hot dog again...not until next independence day, anyway.


Maybe it was the guy with the rattail haircut that he clearly hadn't touched since 1992, maybe it was the "Shoot the Freak" booth where for a small fee you can take out your aggression on a live target (read skinny, underpaid high school kids from the Bronx) with a paintball gun, maybe it was Madame Cha Cha's Cafe (not even gonna go there...), maybe it was the alcohol flowing freely at 10 in the morning, or maybe it was the tiny fluorescent Wal-mart bikinis on the leathery, tatooed biker mamas...either way as we wandered up and down the boardwalk trying to find something redeeming about this tragically decrepit slice of beach front, I suddenly felt like I was standing in the center of a particularly creepy Slipknot music video (don't google these guys...the picture should speak for itself).
I have to say, on some levels, it was a little sad...What was once a place of lighthearted fun and entertainment has turned into what can only be described as...well...let's just say if Dante had known about Coney Island Francesca and Paolo would have been out on their ears and hell would have had a new playground. Needless to say, we watched the hot dog eating contest (speaking of Dante...third circle anyone?) and hopped the train back to the blessed normalcy (?!?) of Manhattan.

We spent the afternoon sleeping off the whole Coney Island experience and got up to go to dinner on the outer edges of Korea town. This, or course, was fantastic (what did you expect?) and we indulged in a fantastic dinner of hansik while enjoying the most appropriate of dinner entertainment...Discovery Channel's "Dirty Jobs" playing on the flat panel TVs mounted to the restaurant walls...yeah...I didn't get it either. Afterwards we joined the masses for strictly so-so views of fireworks over the East River. We opted to duck out early and beat the subway traffic...stopping on our way home for gelatto and finishing the evening with a laptop viewing of "Talladega Nights." Shake & Bake.

Saturday was spent trying to beat the rain with my most bestest friend from college, Marne'. It was wonderful to see her and the latest edition to the Stott family, Ms. Aubrey. Aubrey is an angel and has completely shot all my expectations of how a child will behave when carted from one end to the other of a major urban center. Great.


After dropping off Marne' and Aubrey, we met up with the rest of our group for yet another phenomenal dinner at a Japanese grill. Again...I have no words. Afterwards we headed out to Queens to check out a Korean bath house and spa. I was in heaven. While this place had definitely been Americanized a bit (the better part of the bathing areas were coed, meaning swimming suits required...lame...) it was still a great way to chill out and relax. We stayed until midnight, drove home, and passed out...very full and very clean. It doesn't get much better than that.

In the past, when I have visited NYC I have always been very ready to get out after about three days, but on Sunday morning as we packed up, I found myself a little loathe to be leaving what had been something of an urban haven for us that weekend. Much laughing was done, much eating was pursued, and many memories were made. It was a great weekend, and when I returned to the office on Monday and my coworkers and I went for our morning breakfast run the question came up "So, what did you do this weekend?" all I could do was shake my head and laugh...

Something Funny Happened on the Way to the Mall...

Today Jane and I were on our way to the National Mall to take in a free jazz concert at the Sculpture Garden next to the National Museum of Art...well...that is not exactly true. We were on our way home from a failed attempt (got to love summer thunderstorms in DC) to take in a free jazz concert at the Sculpture Garden next to the National Museum of Art...but I was having a devil of a time trying to come up with a catchy title to that effect. Anyway...I digress...

So, Jane and I had gotten on the metro and take a seat amongst the other passengers, not thinking much about it. Jane was telling me about her day at work and how her crabby and rude co-worker had said something that really upset her. She was telling me how it had been really hard with this particular co-worker lately, as she was always saying really rude or mean things to Jane. I, of course, was advocating some sort of confrontation to tell the crabby co-worker to take a long walk off a short pier, out the window, to the bottomless depths of he...okay, you get the idea. Anyway, we were talking about constructive ways (come on, give me a little credit) that Jane could approach the crabby co-worker.

Just as Jane was giving yet another explanation of some of the angsty antics of this particularly nasty employee, the train was stopping at one of stations. The man behind us (who from the brief glance I managed to sneak of him as he exited, appeared to be a decently dressed white haired man in his late 40's or early 50's) leaned forward as he was getting up to leave and said (not in his temple voice)

"She's just jealous because you're gorgeous."

And then he walked away. That's it. Just walked out. Jane and I just stared at each other and then burst into fits of laughter. Had that really just happened? Amazing. This guy didn't even look like a nutjob.

Now don't get me wrong, there is no reason this sort of thing shouldn't be happening to Jane on a regular basis. Any guy would be so lucky to get close enough to give my gorgeous six foot tall red-headed friend such a complement. If guys knew what was good for them, they would be throwing themselves at her feet. Anyway...I digress...Again.

The point is, people just don't do things like that. I'm not saying they shouldn't...I think it just took us both by surprise. But as Jane and I were walking home discussing the event, we decided maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing.

So, I've decided. It's time to start giving people more compliments. I know that nothing makes my day like when someone gives me an unexpected and wholly unsolicited compliment. I've decided maybe it's time that I tried harder to maybe make someone else' day.

Because there is no doubt that this guy definitely made our night...

Armchairs, Kidnapper Vans, and Other Misadventures…

It’s a good thing to love your car. In a day and age where our society focuses a lot on the material, it’s great to be not only satisfied with one of the cheifest of our material positions, but to love it all encompassingly; this is how I feel about my car. My 2005 Honda Accord has never failed me and I do not get car envy. However, two weeks ago, I learned that an all encompassing love for ones car can lead to an overestimation of its capabilities, and, in turn, certain…misadventures.

Two weeks ago Jane (see photo of greatest friend ever) and I went to Ikea in Woodbridge, Virginia (a 22 miles trek) so I could purchase a big comfy armchair and ottoman. In classic Ikea style, both the chair and ottoman were advertised as requiring some home assembly and being packaged in 2 boxes each. I assumed that because the boxes would contain only PARTS of the chair/ottoman, the size would be manageable, and the whole purchase would fit nicely into my unconquerable little car. We picked up the required slips for the furniture and headed to pick up the boxes at the designated spot in the warehouse. When the employee brought out the dolly with my furniture, I instantly realized that we had a serious problem. Unlike most Ikea furniture, the chair was fully assembled; the “box” was the entire chair with big fatty cushions wrapped in plastic. The second “box” contained only the white canvas slipcover for the chair. I took one look at the chair, and knew we were in trouble. (See photo of troublemaker chair)
Being the optimist (read delusioned, depth perception challenged hard head) that I am I decided we might as well give it a shot, so I bought a length of rope, and figured if nothing else we could stuff the chair in the trunk, tie down the roof as far as it would go and drive home in the slow lane. We tried it frontways, we tried it sideways, we tried it diagonalways, upsidedownways, and every other way we could think of. It was clear that there was no way we were going to get that chair in the trunk of that car in a way that could possibly survive the 22 mile trip home. I realized that I had severly overestimated the capabilities of my little car…It was a sad moment.

That moment, however, lasted about 5 seconds because the bottom line was I had to get the chair, Jane, and myself home, somehow. Luckily, Ikea maintains its own Enterprise Rental Car desk for just such occasions. So, we headed back upstairs to the desk and I arranged to rent…wait for it…a 17 foot long white cargo van (see van).


Now, anyone who has watched CSI, Without a Trace, Law & Order, or any other TV series involving kidnappings or death will be familiar with just such a van (usually maintained by the perpatrator); 17 feet long, white, no windows. The lady at the desk hooked me up and promised this was the “latest” model. Awesome. It was tricked out with multiple cigarette lighters, nondescript white paint job, manual windows and door locks, and dual sliding doors for easy on/off loading of cargo/victims. So, Jane and I loaded the chair into the back and took off for home.

With wheels like these, who wouldn't consider a life of crime?

We spent the half hour ride making repeated jokes and references to how we were preparing for future events that would make it necessary for us to begin a life of crime (See photo of me as criminal). We played all kinds of games, like “Count the Kidnapper Vans” and sang much beloved road songs like “100 Duct-Taped Jr. High Kids.” Anyway, you get the picture. We made it home without any major incident, except being checked out by two forty year old men in their very own kidnapper van. I dropped off Jane and the chair, and headed back to Woodbridge.

Turns out, I learned a few things from this experience. First, Jane is great. Not many friends would find as much humor in having to drive home in a kidnapper van because her best friend thought her car had magic powers equivalent to Mary Poppins’ bottomless bag of tricks. Second, a kidnapper van WILL do 70 mph if you treat it right. It may or may not stop. Third and final, while those kidnappers do have dibs on sweet wheels, I think I will keep my cushy government job, and appropriately modest 4-door sedan.