New York City, Greatest Hits

Cab Drivers
I get off the plane and step into a cab. I am in a huge rush. I have to get across Manhattan to Chelsea Piers in about 1 hour. The cabbie tells me that it will take 45 minutes -- perfect, right on time.

The beginning of the ride was calm. So calm, in fact, that I almost dozed off. It had been a long day so I was in the mood for a nap. As we entered the Midtown Tunnel I came to. As we ascended from the tunnel in Manhattan, the traffic gripped us.

For the next 1/2 hr, we lurched our way through side streets, up town, cross town and down town.

We're at a stop light and the van next to us wants to get out. So, instead of negotiating an entrance with my cab driver via a series of intricate, yet ultimately disgusting, hand gestures, he simply wedges his car between my taxi and the one in front of us.

As the light turns green, my driver refuses to let him in despite the atom-wide gap between the van and my taxi. The van and my taxi roll forward at the same pace hoping to end up in the same place. Finally, the game of chicken ends when my cab driver relents. He does so as kindly as can be expected:
"You f*ing idiot."
Now, once this van cuts us off, he stops in the middle of the intersection.
"Go you f*er."
"Mother f*er."
I'm trying to figure out the best way to exit the cab once it starts to go down. Finally, we are able to get around the cab and as we speed away, my cabbie leaves the van driver with this gem:
"You f*ing monkey!"

He turns to me calmly calmly says, "Welcome to New York." Welcome indeed.

As we rolled into Chelsea Piers, my driver began emphasizing that the fare was $45 plus tip. I had just witnessed this maniac's temper, so I recalculated my originally meager offering.

I was meeting Amanda at the Piers and as the driver pulled my bag from the trunk he heard Amanda yelling after me. He asked, "is that your girlfriend?" I said, "yes!" Then, as if rallying his fellow Hispanic cab drivers, he yells, "Aye Caramba!" while pumping his fist in the air!

Welcome to New York.

China Town
My mom and Aunt, were walking through Chinatown on Wednesday. My mom slips and grabs my Aunt for support. Aunt Patsy asks, "What's wrong?" Mom replies, "I slipped on a chopstick." Aunt Patsy sighs and says, "did you expect a fork?"

David Letterman
Because of the recent kidnapping threats, Letterman no longer accepts pre-orders for live-audience tickets. The only way to get a seat to a taping is to go on the morning on the show and register for the lottery. I was designated as the Letterman-ticket-getter. As such, I marched over on Thursday morning around 10:30. I was greeted by the interns and handed a form. I filled out some information about myself (for security) and then started to list those who would be attending with me. There was only space for my name and one guest. I asked the intern, "There are four of us in my group, where should I put their names?" He replied that I was only allowed to request two tickets at a time.

I immediately realized that I was in a no-win situation. I had to choose between:
1. My Aunt: She came from Florida to be with us, loves Letterman and has never seen a taping.
2. Amanda: Has been dying to see the show and has asked me everyday since I mentioned that it was a possibility almost two months ago. And,
3. My mom: Her merits stand in the name alone.

Well, I lose. Plain and simple. I started to panic. If I chose wrong, the next four days would be very long. The city is big, but not big enough to escape the wrath of three angry ladies!

I rationalized like this: I am absolutely the big loser if I try to pick my Mom or Amanda over one-another. So, the choice became obvious: Aunt Patsy is going to Letterman. I figured that equally left-out is better than unfairly included.

Despite my efforts to do the right thing, I was the loser that day. The sun has yet to set on the pain that I inflicted in Amanda and mom. The picture below should relate their obvious disappointment.

(coming soon)

For those of you who may have been watching Thursday's Letterman, Aunt Patsy and I were in the very back of the bottom deck. Billy Murray is a great guest, and Dave was wonderful and funny as always.

Next time, though, someone else is getting the tickets!

The Bathroom
The hotel room is about the size of my closet. With for people, that hardly leaves room to even turn around. If you were selling the hotel room, your real estate agent would necessarily use the word "quaint" in the advertisement.

As such, the bathroom is no bigger than the shower. One would expect that given such tight quarters, the hotel would be perfectly maintained. One would, however, be wrong!

On the ceiling of the bathroom was a giant blister of water. Apparently a pipe had burst on the floor above and water had collected between the ceiling and the wallpaper leaving a huge sack of water. Of course, I was tempted to poke at it until it burst. Except for the fact that I couldn't find something to poke it with, I would have lanced that blister.

As the water continued to accumulate in the sack, it began to drip. Did I mention that the blister was directly above the commode? Yes, well, it was! I was trying desperately to avoid the bathroom until the sack broke or we could find a different room. My intestines had different plans altogether.

I was sitting on the porcelain for no more than 10 seconds when I felt the first drip of water make contact with my body. Landing in the small of my back, that dribble of water felt like ice. Apparently the pipe that burst was carrying cold water not the luke-warm water that would have made the situation bearable. Reaching for protection, I immediately replaced the shirt that I had discarded -- I have to strip before I can go to the bathroom!

That was no good. The water quickly saturated that small portion of the shirt and rendered its safety void. So, I took off the shirt and grabbed a towel. I wrapped it around me like a shaw and shivered as I did what-I-had-to-do.

Needless to say, until you've done your business while being subjected to a cruel version of water torture, don't talk to me about inconvenience.