My Delightful and Horrible Trip to New York

Both stories are true. Though neither are spell checked.



The Good Version

It was one of the nicest short jaunts to N.Y.C. I can recall. I got the chance to meet up with some new friends in Brooklyn - word. Eat some phat thai food. Penny and I were driven up to the lush greenery of Chapaqua NY to see some some college friends getting married. And the entire time wherever I was taken I was incredibly well fed for free. I even got in a day of house-I-grew-up-in-visiting, family visiting and some quality Grandma Hugging. The people in the city were doing things that nobody in LA does, like, sitting in the park and talking (to a live person), walking on foot (with their feet!) And I can't be 100% sure, but I think some of the people seemed were talking about topics other than themselves. The great energy in the air and weather and culture and ethnic food were inspiring and connecting with both old and new friends was a joyous and jovial experience.

The Bad Version

I was sick as a dog. Physically fatigued, sore muscles, and congested lead me into a depressed and miserable state of mind. It's really hard to appreciate the abstract art of the Chelsea Galleries when you're dizzy. FYI: It's probably a good idea not to buy art when you have some nasty flu. You're asthetic appreciation is definitely affected. I found myself making savvy observations such as "Wow that one has a lot of buncha colors in it." and "I bet that took a long time to do." and "That's an incredible sculpture. Oh, that's not art that's just some old lady." That night I got worse and I really knew I wasn't feeling well when I found myself pondering what it would feel like to leap from a 19 story apartment building and hit the concrete pavement. Would it hurt? Would it happen really fast? Good manners prevailed and I decided that as lousy as I was feeling it would be rude to committ suicide while staying at my aunt's lovely apartment. Also it would have really been a hassel for my wife to be left a newlywed widow with a mashed corpse to clean up. So etiquite told me leaping from the window ledge was a "no no." Later at the wedding upstate I had to pretend that I was feeling fine and dandy so that my friend could fully enjoy her wedding. You have to tough it out. I couldn't have said, "Sorry kiddo, I'm sick, but I'll be happy and celebrate the next time you get married." So in my delapidated oldmanish, nauseous state, I was forced to make polite chit chat with a table of strangers. Strange strangers. Then yes, I was selected via a rollicking game of hot potato to be the "volunteer" who was forced to do the Macaraena - Macariena... I don't know how to spell it, I just know it was uncool in 1997 and six years of sitting on the dork shelf hadn't improved it any.

So, I braved the open bar in an effort to kill the emotional and physical pain I was in. Now in hindsight I don't think that having a few stiff vodka drinks was the best course of action. I should add that it's also difficult to enjoy what was a lovely wedding ceremony on a gorgeous day with a lovely open bar and not too shabby buffet and music, an merriment when your wife who was taking care of you so you could get through the trip becomes far sicker than you.

And next week I am obligated to get dragged on a six hour drive to a cousin-in law's wedding, who I only ever refer to as "Penny's bitchy cousin."

Don't you wish you were me. Why couldn't I have been sick next weekend? Because then I wouldn't have had the chance to experience the searingly painful ear ache that accompanies a flight from NY to LA when you have a nasty head cold.

Thusfully, in my summation, I say for the love and health of our sweet baby Jesus, please cover your mouth when you sneeze. If some 4th grader can put me through a hellish four days then a few of your stray germs could create a Chaos Effect and bring about the long awaited and perhaps beneficial Four Horseman of the Apocalypse, galloping, fire and brimston spewing, hell on Earthy Armageddon.

Also I helped find a good home for an 8 week old kitten. (True)

So, if you see me or drop me a line you need not ask "How was your weekend?"