Category: travel

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The final frontier

When asked what I drink, I usually respond, “Gin! Gin is my rocket fuel! Vodka, on the other hand, makes me explode on the launch pad.”

In that spirit, I’m pleased that Charles Krauthammer has joined me in celebrating astronauts who tip a few back before liftoff:

Have you ever been to the shuttle launch pad? Have you ever seen that beautiful and preposterous thing the astronauts ride? Imagine it’s you sitting on top of a 12-story winged tube bolted to a gigantic canister filled with 2 million liters of liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen. Then picture your own buddies — the “closeout crew” — who met you at the pad, fastened your emergency chute, strapped you into your launch seat, sealed the hatch and waved smiling to you through the window. Having left you lashed to what is the largest bomb on planet Earth, they then proceed 200 feet down the elevator and drive not one, not two, but three miles away to watch as the button is pressed that lights the candle that ignites the fuel that blows you into space.

Three miles! That’s how far they calculate they must go to be beyond the radius of incineration should anything go awry on the launch pad on which, I remind you, these insanely brave people are sitting. Would you not want to be a bit soused?

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Otto… parts?

(Oh, just go to the slideshow.)

I took the day off yesterday, so you know what that means, dear readers! Yup: I hustled around in traffic, walked all over the place, and sweated like Patrick Ewing! (I swear: I’m taking tomorrow off and have no plans on leaving the house. I might go all John & Yoko and not even get outta bed.)

I’d have written about it sooner, but I stupidly checked my work e-mail last night instead of waiting till this morning. I discovered that one of the eight speakers at our conference (7 weeks from tomorrow) has to cancel, which means I need to scramble to find a replacement. And, being a neurotic, I began to fear that every single speaker who hasn’t sent back his or her confirmation letter is going to cancel.

Which is to say, it should’ve been a Xanax night, but I stupidly decided to play it straight. So, I woke up at 4am this morning and began formulating backup plans. This should explain some of the following disjointedness.

Anyway, I spent yesterday in NYC and, while it wasn’t very humid, the 90-degree temps really sapped me. I probably started out on the wrong foot by heading over to the Strand Bookstore, which never has good air circulation. Roaming downstairs to look through review copies and the philosophy section, I thought I was going to pass out. Fortunately, I stayed conscious long enough to snap this pic:

it sure does

I’m lying about starting out at the Strand. I actually started at a parking lot on 17th St. and 5th Ave., around 11am. The attendant asked when I’d be back and I said, “Around 7 or 8,” figuring I’d take my wife out for dinner after she gets out of work. He proceeded to park the car, hand me the ticket, and then say to me, “We close at 7.” I stared for a moment, then just left for the bookstore.

Since I know you’re all dying to find out exactly what I bought at the bookstore, here’s the list:

From the Strand, I walked down to Otto, a restaurant just north of Washington Square and co-owned by Mario Batali, where I planned meet official VM buddy Elayne for lunch. Elayne was in charge of a pair of kids — early teenagers, I guess — who came down to NYC from Connecticut so they could see a concert at South Street Seaport by Korn. Elayne asked if I knew them. “Not really,” I said. “I think they did a cover of Word Up! by Cameo. And they spell their name with a K.”

“That would explain why I couldn’t find them online.”

On to lunch. It’s one of Elayne’s favorite places to eat. The menu had an amazing array of pizzas, and I felt bad about settling for the Quattro Formaggi, but I’m a boring man. With a camera:

They say quattro, they mean quattro

Elayne was more daring, ordering a pizza with potatoes and anchovies. At one point, she left for a smoke break, asking me to entertain the kids with a story about the time Dad handed me a shotgun “in case anything happens” during a business deal he was making.

When she returned, she said, “Mario Batali’s here! He’s in the other room and he’ll take a picture with the kids!” So the four of us got up and hurried to the front of the restaurant, even though the kids had no idea who Mario Batali is. We tried explaining the celebrity chef phenomenon, but they didn’t seem to know much beyond Rachael Ray. I, meanwhile, was holding out hope that Anthony Bourdain would be on hand, too.

Elayne made quick introductions, and I snapped a pic of Mario with the boys:

The camera does not add 10 lbs. in this case.

I wanted to take a second one, just to show that he really does walk around in bright orange Crocs, but thought it’d be rude.

Back at the table, I said to the kids, “You guys don’t like REM, right?” They made faces and shook their heads. I mentioned that Batali’s good friends with Michael Stipe, and they laughed.

Elayne proceeded to tell the story of her very first NYC celebrity sighting: Carrot Top. “Pre-steroids?” I asked.

There’s not much more to tell about the day. I meandered with Elayne & the kids for a bit, then headed out to my wife’s office. It was good to finally see it, since I find it so difficult to visualize other people’s spaces. Now that I have some idea of what her workplace is like, I think I’ll find it easier to send goofy e-mails and IMs.

Anyway, I headed back into the city till her workday ended. Having left my books at her office, I needed to pick up something else to read for a bit. I stopped in at Shakespeare & Co. on 23rd St., only to find that the main floor is gutted and there’s just a small store downstairs while renovations are done. I picked up a copy of Winter’s Tale (30% off everything in the store), read/sidewalk-gawked in an Au Bon Pain near Union Square, and then headed back to her office.

As it turned out, we were both too stuffed from our lunches to want any dinner, so the parking lot situation worked out. We grabbed the car, made a surprisingly quick dash to the Lincoln Tunnel, and got home with plenty of time for me to worry about the conference!

(The photoset has a bunch more pictures that I didn’t post.)

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More with the getaway!

Time for another day off, dear readers! Although I have tons of vacation time remaining (14 more days, by official count), I can’t realistically take much time off till November (except for our mini-vacation around Labor Day weekend), because I self-centeredly believe the world will grind to a halt if I’m not in the office.

So I’ll take today and Thursday off before guilting myself into lots of office-time! Thursday will likely consist of yardwork, once I figure out how best to trim forsythia. There probably won’t be any chainsaw pix.

Today’s “vacation” will involve a drive into the busiest city in the world, as I roll into NYC to see friends, shop for books, comics and records, and take pix of whatever neighborhoods I visit.

Which means yet another slideshow. Put up with it.

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Body and Soul

(Ah, just enjoy the pix)

Every driving choice I made on yesterday’s trip to Philly turned out wrong. I avoided the Parkway by going to the Turnpike out by the Meadowlands. . . only to discover that there was a multi-mile backup forming on the Turnpike. Back to the Parkway. . . where more traffic awaited for the first 20 miles. Once I connected to the Turnpike, I followed standard operating procedures — just like I always 9-seed over the 8 in all 4 brackets, regardless of who’s playing — and took the bus and truck lane. . . and a semi rear-ended an 18-wheeler, creating a 25-minute backup. Getting into the city, I picked the wrong bridge and had to drive extra miles to get downtown. Then, instead of heading straight for the lot behind Drake’s building, I thought I’d overshoot it to look for street parking. . . and spent another 10 minutes waiting at lights to get back to the lot.

And then I greeted my buddy Robert Drake and realized that at least I’d made one correct decision that day. (For a little more on who Drake is, how he got queer-bashed nearly to death, and why I always feel like a heel for not visiting more, here’s an early post I wrote about him. Now you can check out his new site, too!)

We spent some time catching up. His life seems to be more about living and less about recovery (although he still does rehab, exercises, etc.). It’s sometimes hard to figure out everything he’s saying, but I don’t exactly make it easy for people either. Also, we repeats ourselves sometimes, but I don’t have any brain-injury to blame.

We had lunch and took a stroll through downtown Philadelphia. I was nervous that his wheelchair was going to tip back when we were going up the sidewalk, but he laughed. That thing’s pretty darn stable.

We went to a Borders and goofed on some of the lamer books. Being gay as can be, Drake checked out Tennesse Williams’ Notebooks. He also opined that this book should replace the “and” with a comma. He can be such a bitch. And he can look like Rowan Atkinson when he mugs for the camera:

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Anyway, we had a nice time for a few hours. I got him back to his apartment, then hit the road. Rather than go back via the Turnpike & Parkway, I thought I’d take the longer, but more scenic and less traffic laden path: 95 North to 206 through Princeton and on to 287. So I took 76 across town to 95. . . which was standing still for miles.

I was torn. Turn around and stay in Philly for the evening, or make one last stab at getting home by hitting the Ben Franklin and hooking up with the NJ Turnpike? For once, I made the right call, getting to NJ and rolling up the Turnpike in short order. I called Amy and headed to the train station to pick her up, so she wouldn’t have to take the bus back. . . and her train broke down and was delayed over an hour. Fortunately, I’d stopped at a nearby comic store and had the new Love & Rockets to keep me company for a while.

Ultimately, we made it back home. . . and discovered two cop cars and an ambulance blocking our street about a half-mile from home. A few minutes before 10, we walked in the door, and my “vacation” day was over. Enjoy the slideshow.

* * *

And that’s one side of the day. The other is the conversation running through my mind, the one between who we are and who we can be.

I look at Drake and I see a man who was viciously beaten, an emblem of the evil man can inflict on his fellow man.

But I talk to Drake and I find a man who’s capable of forgiving others for their trespasses against him, even a trespass that robbed him of nearly everything he had.

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Getaway

Work is under control: the July/August issue landed on my desk yesterday, the Top Companies report’s website is live, our conference enrollment is rolling along, and our September issue looks like it’ll be a big one. So I’m taking a vacation day!

I’m heading down to Philly to visit a friend of mine (Drake, not Butch) for a while. No worries, dear readers: I’ll have my camera with me and will likely end up somewhere where I can take some neat pix. Maybe I’ll meander downtown in Philly or visit the suburbs near Swarthmore where I used to live. Or I could stop in Princeton on the way home and stop in at the campus art museum (and the Record Exchange, of course).

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Cleveland Rocks

The Cleveland slideshow — goofy captions and all — is up at flickr, dear reader! Enjoy!

It was a hurried trip, landing at noon on Friday and departing at noon on Saturday. But I got to sample a little of the nightlife and took a ton of pix in the morning. The city is trying to rejuvenate its downtown area, but I don’t know what factors are at play in determining its success. When my hostess mentioned “University Drive,” it struck me that I couldn’t think of any universities in Cleveland. There’s an arts scene, but I’m not sure how that gets sustained without college kids everywhere.

Anyway, there were, of course, weird moments:

  • The woman across the aisle on the flight to Cleveland trying to hit on me despite my lack of interest, my wedding ring, and my oversized Bose noise-canceling headphones. It was the latter that really should’ve dissuaded her.
  • The van that passed me on 480 W, in which the driver brandished a crude cross at me; he did the same thing with the next car he passed, so he was either trying to convert us or he was afraid that there was a plague of daywalkers.
  • The 18-wheeler beside me that had to brake suddenly, filling my car with the smell of burnt rubber as it fishtailed and nearly smacked my rental into another lane of traffic.
  • The number of youngish women who wore evening gowns to the hipster restaurant where my host & I went for dinner.
  • And finally, an example of missingthepoint.com: a brand-new Ford Expedition sporting the bumper sticker, “Don’t let the car fool you, my treasure is in heaven.”

In all, I had a good time, but my sleep has been so erratic lately that I’ve been running on coffee and experiencing tension headaches that feel like my occipital lobe is trying to escape my skull.

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Another Saturday Hike

(You can always blow off the writeup and go straight to the slideshow!)

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Another gorgeous Saturday, another hike! My just-about-lifelong buddy Jon-Eric and I were supposed to meet for lunch on Saturday, but on Friday Amy pointed out how absolutely fantastic the weather was going to be (75, clear and dry), so she proposed a hike instead. Since Jon-Eric’s the guy who turned me on to the great hiking in NJ/NY, I knew he’d be all for it. As it turned out, she couldn’t accompany us, but Jon-Eric came up with a great one near Cold Spring, NY, off our Eastern Hudson Trails map.

When we got to the small Loebell parking area, there was one car and three bicycles there. A man and a woman were sitting in the car, and we checked with them to make sure we were at the right trail point, since we didn’t see any blue trail blazes. They confirmed that we were in the right place, and so we got our backpacks on and prepared to hike.

Then the woman said, “If you see three disoriented-looking people while you’re up there, can you point them toward this trail to get them back down here?” We laughed and said we would. “They’re supposed to be trail-running, but I doubt they’ll be running at this point.”

The man added, “And, uh, if they need water or first aid or anything. . .”

We laughed a little more nervously and headed out.

We encountered the “missing three” soon after. They were on the right trail, so we just let them know that the other guys were waiting with their car. They all had numbers on their shirts, as if they were in a race. They weren’t running.

As we trekked along, Jon-Eric asked, “What was on the t-shirts those people down at the car were wearing?”

I said the shirts had “NYARA” on them. I told him I’d never seen that acronym and I’d look it up when we were home. We kept on the trail. I misread one turn, but Jon-Eric corrected me, and we began to climb up Bull Hill. The trail ascended 500 feet in pretty short order, but it wasn’t a scrambling climb. It was just a steep trail that showed no signs of leveling off. It was early in the hike, and a cool day, so we weren’t too taxed by it. Which isn’t to say I wasn’t sweating like Patrick Ewing, but I do that when I’m driving, so hey.

Eventually, we reached the crest of Bull Hill and stopped off at the first of many scenic points. A hyper-friendly dog named Nebbie greeted us, accompanied by her (?) owners. We shot the breeze with them for a few moments while taking in the scenery. Then another group joined us at the point: the man and woman from the car.

“Did they take a helicopter?” I asked Jon-Eric. “How’d they catch up with us?”

He pointed out that we’d taken the longer route up, and that they must’ve gone on the Split Rock trail, which we’d be taking at the end of our route. Still, they were awfully quick.

They greeted us and said that they hadn’t gotten a chance to go on the trail, so they wanted to see some of the points on the hill before leaving. Jon-Eric asked them what NYARA is. We discovered that it’s the New York Adventure Racing Association and that the couple from the car were helping run the association’s adventure race, a.k.a. The Longest Day.

What does The Longest Day entail, you ask? Kayaking, mountain biking, trail-running and orienteering, over 12-15 hours. “That’s one long-ass day,” I muttered.

Our friends on the scenic point were volunteers up from Philadelphia. The top three teams in the NYARA event qualify for the USARA’s national event in November, which appears to be sponsored by a brand of whiskey. The trio we encountered on the trail were, unfortunately, coming in last.

As we meandered on up the ridge, we laughed over the idea of entering an adventure-race, but I think Jon-Eric would’ve been all over this idea, if we were 10-12 years younger.

From there, we continued along the ridge, stopping for all the great views. We discovered that we could see NYC from one of the points. The horizon was really hazy, but I just barely captured the sight with my camera (you’ll need to hit the “all sizes” button and check out the largest version).

As we sat down for some water at one of the points, we were greeted by a hiker who was coming from the other direction. He told us about some of the amazing views just off the trail, which were tough to find now that the leaves we so thick.

Back on the trail, Jon-Eric commented about the etiquette of hiking: “It’s funny that someone will just talk to you on the trail, and tell you about a great scenic point, or just say hello and start a conversation, when you’re up here. Because if a stranger tried talking to you in the city, you’d just run away or ignore him.” I thought about Borat.

On the way down from the ridge, we got lost a bunch of times due to crappy trail blaze placement, but that became a point of fun as we goofed on our inability to see the color yellow. The bad blazes reached the peak of absurdity when, we found this one. “I don’t think that one should count,” I said.

I’m sure I’ve written before about the friendship Jon-Eric and I share, and this hike was another episode in the loose, easy conversation we have on our hikes (previous installment: Sterling Forest on New Year’s Eve day). It’s awfully good to have friends you know well enough to talk with in shorthand.

And when we don’t talk, it’s usually either because we’re enjoying the silence, or totally out of breath and trying not to show it.

(Yeah, yeah. You wanna go see the slideshow.)

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You can’t build a house on anger

Jonathan Capehart of the WaPost visited New Orleans expecting to find anger and resentment:

And then I got my feet on the ground in New Orleans. The anger I was ready to embrace never materialized, because the people I met were moving beyond it.

He found people trying to build their homes. I find it a little weird that he was “ready to embrace” the anger of the locals, but we all project, right?

Meanwhile, we have a little bit of Louisiana right here in Ringwood, because one of our neighbors wasn’t as lucky as we were in that storm last week, and took a little roof damage from a fallen tree. Amy waves at the blue tarp on their roof when we pass it.