Runaway Future

For the past four days and change, I’ve been in New York.

Like last year’s trip to Buffalo, we got in the van and headed south for sports, escape and tomfoolery.

We left Thursday evening, the usual stop at the X-celerator. I drove through New Brunswick. Crossing the border was a helluva lot less troublesome then last year. We just showed IDs and off we went. We travel with a GPS unit that we soon nickname Bitching Betty for her insistence to repeat instructions as we go and almost scold us if we don’t listen to her. The words “Shut up, Betty!” are ones that are often repeated in the van, both on the way to New York and back to Halifax.  Maine and Mass. took forever again. We stop in Berlin, a small town in Mass. at a grocery store. The clerk tears me apart for buying some fruit. “What you want that banana for? You want to eat it or you want it for something else?” I take insults from all sides. Conn. was even worse and we hit it at morning rush hour for more traffic. Finally got to New York and found the hostel. Can’t check in until 4:30pm. It was 10am.

We take the subway out to Yankee Stadium. Get a tour done by Larry, a moustached marvel of a man with a love for all things baseball. “Larry our tour guide eats tacos for a living.” Get to see Monument Park, sit in the dugout, all that jazz. I buy a Yankees hat, because…well when in the Bronx. On the way back to the Upper West Side, we see a guy dressed in full samurai garb waiting for the train. Bizarre.

Still have plenty of time to kill, we go off in search of a bar. We wander the streets and finally find one, appropriately named: Dive Bar. The name is no reflection of the interior. A nice little spot with a fish tank, cheap pitchers and Guiness on tap. Everyone is happy and we’re even happier when we get a free order of mussels, because apparently that’s their standard deal on Friday. We even meet the owner.
We finally check into the hostel. We’re in a room with eight other guys. The hostel is bigger then Buffalo and not as clean. It’s alright…I guess. We shower and head out for New York pizza, finding some at Famiglia. After stuffing our face, we find that…low and behold…next door is the infamous Dive Bar. After booking a hotel in Jersey for the next night, we settle down at the Dive Bar, ogle the wait staff and clientele and polish off some more cheap pitchers.

Waking up the next day is a slow and difficult process. We meet Shannon and Kerri on some street and take the subway to Times Square. Eat at Dallas BBQ, have terrible service but huge beers in goblets. Wandered around in the rain and found the Rockefeller Centre and Radio Music City Hall. Took the subway down to Ground Zero. It’s basically a huge construction site right now with some signs up. Very odd feeling, everyone seemed quiet and subdued. There were some 9/11 conspiracy types handing out brochures, but they left after a while.

We check out of the hostel, into the hotel in Jersey and get back to New York in time for the Rangers game. Plenty of drinking, there’s this blond sitting in front of us, chirping us and the Leafs. She shuts up right fast after the Leafs tie that game at 1-1. Is even quieter when the Leafs go up 2-1. When the game ends (4-1 final), she basically runs out with her boyfriend trailing behind. Allegedly, we were on TV. Make friends with the guys sitting behind us and meet them at Local, a nearby bar after the game.

At Local, we meet a saint of a New Yawker named Mikey. A mountain of a man, he insists that as guests in “his city”, he had to show us a good time. He buys the drinks and we down them like mad. Talking it up with a bunch of people at the bar, Mikey then takes us down the street to another bar. Not even sure of the name of this one, we’re there til what feels like the wee hours of the morning, meeting Teri and Jacqueline, two sisters who, like us, are travelling. Stumbling out of the bar, we go to a McDonald’s. A Ranger fan that I’m talking to starts mentioning HF and HFBoards, so I drop my own name and strangely enough, in the middle of New York City, I’m recognized. Hahaha.

Wake up the next morning in the hotel (which is crazy improvement on the hostel). We head to a local diner in Hoboken. There’s a bit of a wait, so after putting our name down, Jarrett goes to get the van while Murf, Derek and I “hold” a free parking spot in the diner’s lot. Jarrett’s at the corner to come in and then a car full of university-aged girls starts to pull in. We try to explain the situation to them, pointing at Jarrett and so on. They point at us with their middle fingers and start to threaten us. Derek heads inside, Murf and I face them down. They say they’re going to run us over. We hold our ground. The car beside the open spot pulls out. Situation averted, everyone gets a parking spot and we have a laugh about it afterwards.

After breakfast, we find a liquor store run by a friendly guy who stocks all the beer we could ever want. Heading out to Giants stadium, we find parking, take a bus to the stadium and start tail-gating. After wandering through Jets-land with our Bills gear on, we find the Buffalo pocket of fans. There’s beers all over. Jarrett, Shannon, Kerri and I get initiated into Bills nation, taking a shot of 100-proof, 50% alcohol cherry liquer from a bowling bar, followed by eating a cherry and blowing a horn. These fans are incredible.

Insider, the game is pretty boring exception for a Losman TD throw to Evans that seals the deal. Bills win and we’re 4-0 on these road trips. We walk back to the van and sooner or later are on our back home. Stop at a Denny’s so Murf can have his mini-cheeseburgers. I almost run the van into a guardrail in Maine, taking a corner at about 80 klicks. Crossing the border is no issue, and sooner or later we get back to Halifax. Man, I’m tired.

In a word, the trip was awesome. Even moreso then Buffalo. Had more time to experience the city and it was worth it. Only scratched the surface of what NYC has to offer, I can’t wait to go again sometime. The stereotypes of New Yorkers being cold seemed far from the truth with so many friendly people around. Although, at times, the underbelly rears up, the subway isn’t the cleanest and we drove past what we think was a shooting victim on the way back to Jersey after the Leafs game. Driving wasn’t always the easiest, especially in Manhattan, but thankfully Jarrett took care of all that. The subway was the way to go, once you could figure it out.
I’m scared to look at my bank account. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. Taking an extra day off work is a good good idea. I need a haircut like crazy and a shave. I need normal food, good sleep and regular cleanliness. But what a ride.
…

Other news, that I hopefully will give proper attention and a good number of words to (tomorrow?): Peter Oliver passed away, alas alas. I’m going to do NaNoWriMo and who knows if I can see it through. Hockey season is in full swing and I’m only getting deeper. Work is work, play is much better. The documentary that was filmed was released. Curling starts soon.

Actual panhandler signs seen on Halifax Streets:

Pinguins [sic] killed my family. Need change for revenge.

Seagulls stole my sandwich, need change for pellet gun to get my sandwich back.

That’s all for now, just more so I can say I didn’t skip the month of September. Travelling all weekend and next week. Plenty of stuff to say, time is the real issue. A weak excuse, but all I have.

vacation was pretty good, a lot of drinks and a lot of red meat. We stayed up til the wee hours of the morning watching the sky rip itself apart over the lake during that lightning storm. The time off ended with my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary, which was a nice way to cap everything off, seeing the whole family. I need to take more meaningful time off.

My dog died while I was on vacation. A month to the day from when she was going to be 11 years old. From what I understand, she fell on Wednesday night and broke some ribs and maybe punctured a lung. When my folks took her to the vet on Thursday, they also found a previously undiscovered tumor. Unfortunately, the tumor was inoperable and that, in combination with her other injuries, forced the hand and she had to be put down.

Our new house in Sable River (well Mom and Dad’s house, not really mine as I have a dwindling number of possessions left there) has these stairs that go into the basement family room. They’re wood and lacquered and kinda steep and the dog, with her bad hips (like Labs are prone to having) had a hard time getting up them at times. Often you’d have to sort of support her back legs, because the stain on the stairs was too slippery for her paws or something. She couldn’t balance herself. I don’t know if that’s where she fell, but…well, I blame those steps.

When Mom and Dad showed up at the cottage on Thursday, as soon as I saw them I knew something was up. As silly as it sounds, I remember thinking that I was a bit relieved that it was just the dog, as the mind has a tendency to race and jump to conclusions at times.

Everyone has asked me if I’m ok, because well…she was a member of the family. If you know my family, you know how much we loved that dog. The quickness of this all, the shock of it, it’s almost cauterizing, cutting off the nerves because it was so fast.

Out of everyone, Mom and Dad will take this the worst. Hell, Mom’s eyes welled up every single year on the first day of school when my sister and I would leave the house for the bus. She still does it when they leave us after a visit here in Halifax, or when we leave them in Sable. The dog really replaced my sister and I when we moved out, making the house a little less empty. Spending Sunday night at the house, it now is empty. Everything seems sterile and quiet. At the same time, a lot of the decorating and knick-knacks around the house are yellow Lab related, like wall hangings or a cross-stitch or a door stop. It’s…well not really morose or creepy…just sad. An empty house filled with constant reminders.

They buried Tasha in the field beside the house. Dad showed me the plot when I was home. Then he got choked up. It was only the third time I ever saw my Dad cry.

Just a few quick things:

Tried to make me go to rehab….. The ironing is delicious. Too easy to make a joke.

The Baiji (or Yangtze River dolphin) is being listed as fundamentally extinct. Way back when, Douglas Adams wrote about the dolphin and efforts to save it in his book, Last Chance to See. Here’s an excerpt from that.

Apparently Eastlink is upping their High Speed from 10mps to 15mps. Allegedly at no extra cost, even though my bills just starting showing up with an extra three bucks on them.

I got (“borrowed”) a subwoofer for my office. Spent all afternoon on Friday making the windows rattle.

The Rhino party is making a comeback. Gotta wonder about any lawsuit filed as Satan versus Her Majesty the Queen.

This might not be the most important news item about Global Warming, but it’s interesting nonetheless. A small error and a lot of the stats that are being continuously brought up aren’t completely correct. “5 of the 10 warmest years on record actually occurred before World War II.” Be interesting to see if that story has legs and who uses it.

I really need to start running again. Soccer’s been a good replacement, but I miss the run. Maybe even the gym once and a while.

I’m considering NaNoWriMo. I could do it, maybe. Depends on my other writing obligations.

Vacation next week!

Almost a month ago, I posted about my own fear and dangers of Facebook (wow has it been a month, this summer is going too fast and yet, I look forward to the stability and familiarity that the autumn always brings, and then suddenly, it will be spring again and we’ll repeat it all anew, or maybe this time everything will be different.).

As is always the case, something has come along to solidify those concerns further. As everyone knows, the next US presidential election race is heating up and so we have tired imagery of 9/11, freedom and terrorism being trotted out once again to scare the voters into voting one way or another (just recently, the boys and I played a drinking game, watching CNN and drinking each time terrorisim, 9/11 or freedom were mentioned. Then a bridge collapsed and suddenly we were out of booze).

Anyway, sadly as part of the political rhetoric and blatant tragedy hijacking that goes on as part of any presidential campaign, we have this curious story. It even made it’s way all the way to the BBC. For those to lazy to read, Rudy Giuliani (former NYC mayor during…guess what…9/11) is a top candidate for the Republican presidential nomination. His daughter joined a Barack Obama Facebook group(aka the other side of the US political coin, some might even call the Democrats the ‘heads’ side of the political coin, I just wonder if they give you a coin to flip before you go into the voting booth). Alright, ignore the fact that his daughter is only 17 and can’t actually vote and ignore the fact that she’s fundamentally estranged from her (there’s a reason she uses her mother’s last name and it’s not just for privacy). Wait, back up a second…privacy. Yeah, one of Slate’s reporters apparently goes to Harvard and because Guiliani’s daughter is going to Harvard soon, the intrepid reporter snooped her on Facebook and wrote a story about it.

Naturally, as soon as the daughter got the email from the reporter (no she was that cheesy that she tried to get a comment from the daughter using the Facebook messages), the daughter got out of the group and apparently her account is gone altogether now. Absolute crazy invasion of privacy, political posturing and making a story where there isn’t one.

Thankfully, the general public agrees and the Fray (Slate’s comment box) thread on this article is particular expressive. It even has a little comment from the Fray Editor:

Whoo, boy… you’re not happy about this article. A representative sample of feedback from the Fray follows.—G.A.

Alright, so there’s the story. Invasion of online privacy, making a story where there isn’t one, exploiting a teenager who has a strained relationship with her father to make some sort of stupid point. But there’s more.

Ready for it?

Here’s the rub: Facebook allows you to search for people. Any people. Any people on Facebook pretty much. So the author’s name is Lucy Morrow Caldwell and she apparently goes to Harvard. Type that name into Facebook and no one who goes to Harvard shows up. Same with Lucy Caldwell or Lucy Morrow. Get the punchline?

Someone either removed her Facebook profile or made it invisible for people to find on Facebook. Or maybe writes by a penname. Why? Well privacy, we have to assume. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the state of journalism today.