Gimme Gimme Gimmie I Need I Need I Need

I woke up Friday morning around 8AM and proceeded to get ready for my journey to Mecca. So after scurrying around making sure that D and Skinny were up and ready to go, we piled in the car and drove to the train station about 3 miles away. We got there in plenty of time to start acting like total goofs. I often take pleasure in having conversations that reference obscure facts and other whatnot in public. Mostly it makes people look at me strangely and shake their heads. I could just stand there like a drone, or I could talk about how my portfolio is doing and maybe try to get strangers to think I am successful and rich. That is no fun. I rather they be laughing or scared. So the banter was fun on the platform. Finally the train arrived. We boarded and paid our fare. The train then proceeded to stop at every platform on the way to 30th Street Station. It wouldn’t have been so bad if there weren’t a gigantic band of hippies already in our car. The hippy to sane person ratio would not have been bad if no more hippies got on the train. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Hippy after hippy kept getting on. And they all knew each other (that or they were all high), and started hugging. I was waiting for some one to start passing out daisies.

We finally get to 30th and attempt to get tickets for the train that is departing in 10 minutes, but no. Not this day. There was a line, and every dope has to be in front of me. One of my favorite artists whom I’ve mentioned before, Hank, on his Think Tank release talked at great length about waiting in the airport, I felt somewhat similar to him today. Maybe it is how he put it “the mentality of lines”. You could be a PhD, or a Wall Street guru. But you put that person in a line, and they are reaching in their diaper and playing with their own poop. Of course every one of those persons was in front of me. We finally got our tickets, and waited about 30 minutes for the next train to arrive to take us to NJ. I may have mentioned how much I hate the Garden State. It shouldn’t be called the garden state, it should be called "The Oil and Petrochemical Refinery State" . But I guess that is hard to fit on a license plate.

Anyway, I hate NJ. I recognize its existence, but don’t like it. The odd thing is I love The Sopranos. Maybe it’s because I know the Jersey mentality, and I get a kick out of these “Jersey” mobsters and their wacky escapades. Prolly more the fact I love mafia related movies and books and have even gone so far as to read The Psychology of the Sopranos, and I understood it, I think. Why do I hate Jersey? That is another story, for another time.

Back to the trip to Trenton. We get there and get right onto our next train to take us to Penn Station NYC. We get on and get situated. There is an announcement from the conductor, saying that the train across the tracks is an express train and it will get us to NYC faster even though it is leaving 15 minutes later. After a brief discussion, we decided to take the “express” train. We got off and walked to the other side of the tracks. This is where we met up with the conductor and driver. They both asked why we were coming (along with about 120 others) to this train. I explained what the announcement was on the other train, and as I was explaining, the conductors face began to register a look of disgust. He explained to me that, indeed this train was going to NYC, but it WILL NOT get there any faster. At that point he left the platform and as he explained to me later on the train, he went to the manager’s office to relate this incident. To say that I was upset would be an understatement. Furious, would be closer to the truth. I might have had a Michael Savage moment and wished that the other conductor “would get AIDS and die!!!” I don’t think those were the word I would have used, but if I could have laid my hands on the conductor from the first train, he would have landed on the 3rd rail and not gotten up. The conductor from the train we did end up taking was cool about giving us the NJ Transit complaint number. I’ll be nice and post it: 1.800.772.3606 We did make it to Penn Station. We did find our subway, again getting a metro card, was hampered by the fact that not all the kiosks were functioning, and the lines. Oh how I hate lines. So we get our cards, get in get on our sub and make it to the stadium exit.

I really can’t put into words what it is to see Yankee Stadium for the first time in person. I think I could have cried, I think I got misty. I had arrived at the Promised Land. Then hunger kicked in. We all got a cheap hot dog for a buck. The thing I noticed was that the vendor was wearing gloves. That made me feel safer about eating the hot dog, but I kept scanning his cart for some type of hand sanitizer, but I didn’t see any…oh well. I’m alive and that is what counts. We proceeded to the stadium and tried unsuccessful to dump D’s extra ticket, but couldn’t. Tough break. I was desperately wanting to get in to see Monument Park. So of course there would be lines and checkpoints and general disarray (and I know that security had to be tighter on a holiday). Thru the checkpoint, thru the turnstile, and making a dash to Monument Park entrance. As we arrive, the announcement: “the line to Monument Park is closed.” Dammit!!! Five minutes earlier, and I would have made it. Why did I have to have that hotdog?! I could have waited and paid eleventeen dollars for sweet sweet lips and asses in the stadium. I wanted to strangle the attendant who wouldn’t even register that a human being was in front of her. But the thought of Sipowicz’s ass, made me rethink my instinct. So we headed up to field level to see the end of Red Sox bp. I see that there is an area that we can get to and kinda get a look at Monument Park from an angle. I make my way thru the crowd and Skinny follows, I believe that D was looking for No-MAH. I got some pictures, and Skinny got some pics of me in front of the lawn.

We walked around the lower seats. I stopped every 100 feet or so just to look around. Just to soak it in. I just wanted to breathe in where Ruth built a record. To look out where Mickey and Joe played as part of a dynasty. To look to the outfield where Mr. October crushed so many to the history books. And to see where Donnie Baseball never reached as high as Derek did in 14 seasons, and walked away head held high. It was a bit overwhelming. The strains of our travel mishaps faded away. I absolutely love the Stadium. I love its history. It didn’t matter to me that the hated Red Sox won that day. It didn’t matter that I was literally surrounded by Bo Sox fans. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was there. I had a great time. I had my friends there to share it with. We had an adventure that day. A day at the park is better than a day at work or watching at home (which is what D and I did Saturday). Our trip back was fine, and had no trouble, just a lot of waiting for the train (no dopes in front of me), and one drunk guy on the train that hassled me for my Yankees garb. I told him to go mate with himself if I recall correctly. That aside we got back to D’s place in Brookhaven around 12:45 AM. Not too bad overall. The story could have been worse if we had driven that day…

Saturday was spent recovering from our journey, watching TWIB, the Boston/NYY game, and going to the Vet to see the Phillies smashed by the Marlins, with a fireworks show to boot. I left on Sunday morning, to come home and rest…. I think I’ll do this again next summer...

NP: Bruce Springsteen - The Rising: Let's Be Friends (Skin to Skin)
- posted by TundraBoy @ 5:34 PM