December 31, 2007
Nashville-to-Cooperstown
New Year's Eve is a happy time of year for us in the Yasko household. On New Year's Eve, 2002, I proposed (we'll save that story for another time) at the original Starbucks in Pike Place Market in Seattle. She broke a clown's nose eighteen minutes after that. That's when I knew that I had made the right decision.
NYE07 was a life-changing event. It was our second year in Cooperstown, having flown to Houston Christmas/New Year's in 2006. We spent NYE06 at a Chili's in Albany, New York, drove to Cooperstown, and - on the way to get Gunther and Angus - at 8am January 1, 2007 - I got pulled over for Misdeeds at a Roundabout. Good start to the year.
My job description changed in 2007, so I had a lot of vacation time I needed to burn up - to the tune of almost three weeks. To fly to Texas from Albany, and put two dogs in a kennel for three weeks would have approached close to $2,500. And that's a good two weeks' worth of heating oil, so that was out. We quickly settled on driving to Texas, so that we could take G&A with us, and also have a car with us.
We left Cooperstown about 5pm and headed southwest. Kami asked about our route to Texas and I explained, "Turn right at Oneonta, left at Binghamton, right at Knoxville, left at Dallas." I still have no idea what Pennsylvania looks like. As far as I'm concerned, I-81 through Pennsylvania looks like the route to Hogwarts, because it was so foggy, I could barely see. We spent the first night at a hotel in Harrisonburg, Virginia, without incident. The next day we drove to Nashville, where we stayed with some friends, and was also the day that Miguel Tejada was traded to the Astros. The next day, Dallas, and Miguel Tejada was named in the Mitchell Report. The day after that, we drove to Houston via Austin (long story), and I read the Mitchell Report.
Total route distance: 2,025 miles. Total route time: 33 hours. But as we made our way, gas got cheaper and the temperature got warmer.
We had a lovely time in Texas, and proceeded to make our way back to New York on December 29, 2007, arranging to swing back by Nashville (where we thought, "We should live here. Like, now."). Checking the weather - because I'm a little OCD about the weather - I saw that a blizzard was going to sweep it's way up I-81 on December 30. Well, I'm not about to get stranded on the interstate in a blizzard. And it was about 45 degrees in Nashville, or, approximately 35 degrees warmer than it was in Cooperstown, so we stayed in Nashville an extra day, planning to make the whole drive back to Cooperstown on December 31 - 975 miles in one day.
Off we went.
Quickly, a list of the Worst Places I've Ever Been:
1. Meridian, MS
2. Terrell, TX
3. Bristol, TN/VA
4. Mandeville, LA
But Salem, Virginia holds a special place in my heart. I needed coffee. Bad. So there was a sign at the exit for Salem that said there was a Starbucks. Here's the thing, and this is true in Pennsylvania and Virginia: you cannot trust the exit signs. The Interstate will say there is a Starbucks at that exit, and it is technically true, but it's going to take 25 minutes to get to that spot.
So we meander off I-81 outside Roanoke for a 50-minute detour, and I get the biggest cup of coffee they'll give me, plus three shots of espresso. As I'm getting back in the car, Gunther & Angus are hopping excited (and cramped), and I take my spot at the steering wheel - where Gunther parkours himself towards my seat, knocks my scalding hot caffeine out of my hand, all over my arms, steering wheel, and crotch.
Myriad thoughts went through my mind, not the least of which included the scalding hot liquid all over me, and the squirming dog licking the steering wheel. In the middle of all this, I realized that we had been in the car for seven hours, and were not yet halfway home. Partially due to pain, mainly due to this realization, I started to cry. And I don't mean "sweet, gentle, touching tears." This was a complete and utter meltdown in the parking lot of a Starbucks in Salem, Virginia. The steering wheel and dashboard caught the brunt of this outburst, but I made sure not to lash out at Kami, or Gunther and Angus.
Still, it was alarming enough that, when I came to (six minutes had passed, apparently) there were people looking in my window like it was a funhouse mirror. Kami gently guided me to the passenger side, where I laid the seat back, cried a little more (Gunther and Angus decided that the back seat was less crazy than the front, and faced the seat) until I could pull it together.
30 minutes later, I resumed driving. Don't forget the date, however. It was December 31. New Year's Eve. Amateur Night for Aspiring Alcoholics.
We stopped for dinner at an Arby's in Scranton, PA. Angus had part of a turkey sandwich and threw up all over the backseat. We got to Binghamton as they were starting their fireworks display (11pm). We got to Oneonta about 12:30am. The drive from Oneonta to Cooperstown - 22-ish miles - is dangerous at the best of times. When every drunk nutbag is coming home from their New Year's Eve parties, it's like a bad day in Bosnia.
There's a creepy little town at Goodyear Lake, where the road bends a little bit. At 12:45am
a car, swerving somewhat uncontrollably, passed right through us. There's no other explanation. There's simply no other explanation.
We arrived home at 1:15am, January 1, 2008, and were back at work on January 3. Happy New Year.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
The one where the iPod was on our dashboard in Tarrytown for five days
Christmas 2008
Various Places in New York
Yes, it's been a while. It's been crazy around Chez Yaskeaux, and yes, we'll talk about why at some point in the very near future. But not now.
Three years ago we were invited to come and spend a few days at the Roosevelt Hotel in Midtown Manhattan for a wedding my father-in-law was presiding over for the daughter of some of their best friends (follow that?). This is an incredible hotel (Kami's parents friends are incredible people - they have meant a lot to our family), and we stayed in a big-ol' suite with Kami's parents, and her brothers. Kami was pregnant (maybe we'll come back to that, as well), as was Kami's sister-in-law, and we chose to tell their family on that trip. But first we had to get to New York City.
Cooperstown is a good four-hour drive from New York City, and as I have an acute case of Road Rage, it wasn't a good idea for me to be driving in Manhattan. Not to mention that it costs approximately $9,214.89 per day to park. So what we decided to do was to drive to Poughkeepsie, the last stop on the Metro North that would take us in to Grand Central - easily my favorite place on earth - where we had about a two-block walk to the hotel. Things were going swimmingly.
We left Cooperstown so that we would arrive in New York right around lunchtime. It was cold, seriously cold. So cold that even Siberians would think, "Yeah I'm not working in that gulag today, you cossacks can go to hell." Cold that you never actually get used to, and why people continue to put themselves through that misery I'll never understand.
Anyhow, driving to Poughkeepsie took about two hours, and we listened to all sorts of really loud music, generally having a good time, and we arrived at the station about 10am. Problem was, there wasn't really a place to park, and we were going to have to leave our car for about five days. We did find a place on the street that looked like we could park there, but Kami wasn't sold. And if Kami isn't sold, then it's just not going to happen. So she said, "Let's just go to Tarrytown," - a cute little town better known for being the location of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Except it wasn't all that close. It seemed like it should be, but it just was a lot farther than it seemed like it should have been. Like Spring.
Anyhow, I cave (I always do, it's part of what makes our relationship great - and I don't mean that facetiously), and point the car farther south to Tarrytown. It takes about an hour and a half to get from Poughkeepsie to Tarrytown, and we're driving past the train as we both approach the station. I'm driving 35mph, the train is going about 25. From my quick calculations - you know, because I'm so good at math and word problems - we're going to have about four minutes to get up to the platform, buy our tickets, and get on the train. And that's if we can quickly find a parking spot.
We do not quickly find a parking spot.
I drive in frantic, hurried circles looking for a parking spot. And Tarrytown - like Poughkeepsie - is a commuter town, full of people who live "upstate" but choose to spend a significant portion of their day traveling to and from New York City. So there aren't too many parking spots to be had at noon on a weekday.
Ultimately, I find one towards the back of the lot, and pull in. I barely have the car in Park before Kami bails out of the car like MacGuyver to get our bags out of the backseat and hurry to the platform. I tell her to go, and I'll be right behind her. As I run about 50 yards behind Kami, I notice that there are little stickers on all of the cars parked in the lot. I hesitate to get a better look at the sticker, and yes, it's a permit to park. Then I see a sign that says, "No overnight parking." And that pre-diarrhea feeling steals the heat from my extremities as panic sets in. Kami is already up the stairs, and the train is approaching. Missing the train because I was dawdling would not go over well. So I just kept running.
I buy our tickets, and we get on the train. I just need to calm down for a second, so I look for the iPod in order to get three minutes of soothing Rage Against the Machine, and I cannot find it. Where was the last place I saw it? On the dashboard of the car that will now be in Tarrytown for five days and, oh yeah, the car is unlocked, having forgotten to lock it in my rush.
Evaluating the scenario, I realize there are a few different scenarios, and there is a corresponding likelihood of all these scenarios.
Scenario #1: iPod gets stolen. The would-be thieves could simply open the door, take the iPod, and I wouldn't have so much as a broken window to give to State Farm as evidence. Likelihood: 80%
Scenario #2: Everything gets stolen. Again, the would-be thieves could simply open the door, take anything they wanted, and I wouldn't have so much as a broken window to give to State Farm as evidence. Likelihood: 70%
Scenario #3: We get a ticket for parking in an unauthorized lot, due to the conspicuous absence of a sticker. Likelihood: 90%.
Scenario #4: Our car gets towed for parking in an unauthorized lot, due to the conspicuous absence of a sticker. Likelihood: 70%.
Scenario #5: Variations of all of the above. Car gets towed after everything is looted. We get a ticket. Likelihood: 65%.
Scenario #6: Everything is fine. The nice people of Tarrytown channel their inner Washington Irving, and do nothing to our iPod or in-car possessions. Tarrytown's finest think, "You know, it's so close to Christmas..." run our plates, find that we are good human beings, and turn a blind eye - nay - protect our car, keeping it under close watch. Likelihood: 4%.
The whole time we're enjoying this amazing experience in New York City - including a trip to the Statue of Liberty that just happened to be among the coldest experiences I've ever had. As a side note, the passes we had for the Statue of Liberty could not be redeemed at the Statue of Liberty. You had to go to some place on 43rd Street (if I remember correctly), and get your tickets to the Statue of Liberty. We found this out after arriving at the Statue of Liberty, which was nowhere near 43rd Street. So Kami's brother and I jumped back on the subway, took it to get the tickets redeemed, and then went back to meet with everybody. It was an ordeal.
Anyhow, one of the very few things I could think about was, "What is happening to our car?" I'm an early-riser, typically getting up - especially with a pregnant wife - a couple of hours before Kami. Every morning I wondered if I could make it to Tarrytown, check on the car/sweep up the alluvial fan of broken glass I was sure was all over the ground. But I decided that I was having a fine time, and that I didn't want whatever horrific things had happened to our only car to bother me for the rest of our visit.
Consider this paragraph a preview of coming stories from this visit in which a drunken dentist puked a hockey puck of beef down his sleeve, I forgot my last name at Ellis Island (but was too embarrassed to admit it, so I just walked off), and we saw David Duchovny in the subway. That last one probably won't get written up, as it's just not all that impressive.
The morning arrived where everyone was going to the airport, and we just had to get the Metro North back to Tarrytown. All the Elliseseses took off back to Texas, and Kami and I made the silent trip north, each of us worried sick about what we would find. As we approached the station, we somehow got more silent, looking to the back of the parking lot to see if it was either (a) gone, or (b) on blocks.
There wasn't any glass on the ground. Our car was still there. I couldn't see how many tickets were under the windshield wipers, though. Scenario #6, the one where everything was fine, against all odds, proved to be correct. As I joyously, Sound-of-Music-ally skipped to the car, twirling and singing, I knew I didn't have to unlock it. I just opened the door, no tickets or citations were on the glass, our iPod - though frozen - was still sitting on the dashboard.
Kami and I drove off happily, our faith in humanity restored - at least our faith in the good people of Tarrytown.
Various Places in New York
Yes, it's been a while. It's been crazy around Chez Yaskeaux, and yes, we'll talk about why at some point in the very near future. But not now.
Three years ago we were invited to come and spend a few days at the Roosevelt Hotel in Midtown Manhattan for a wedding my father-in-law was presiding over for the daughter of some of their best friends (follow that?). This is an incredible hotel (Kami's parents friends are incredible people - they have meant a lot to our family), and we stayed in a big-ol' suite with Kami's parents, and her brothers. Kami was pregnant (maybe we'll come back to that, as well), as was Kami's sister-in-law, and we chose to tell their family on that trip. But first we had to get to New York City.
Cooperstown is a good four-hour drive from New York City, and as I have an acute case of Road Rage, it wasn't a good idea for me to be driving in Manhattan. Not to mention that it costs approximately $9,214.89 per day to park. So what we decided to do was to drive to Poughkeepsie, the last stop on the Metro North that would take us in to Grand Central - easily my favorite place on earth - where we had about a two-block walk to the hotel. Things were going swimmingly.
We left Cooperstown so that we would arrive in New York right around lunchtime. It was cold, seriously cold. So cold that even Siberians would think, "Yeah I'm not working in that gulag today, you cossacks can go to hell." Cold that you never actually get used to, and why people continue to put themselves through that misery I'll never understand.
Anyhow, driving to Poughkeepsie took about two hours, and we listened to all sorts of really loud music, generally having a good time, and we arrived at the station about 10am. Problem was, there wasn't really a place to park, and we were going to have to leave our car for about five days. We did find a place on the street that looked like we could park there, but Kami wasn't sold. And if Kami isn't sold, then it's just not going to happen. So she said, "Let's just go to Tarrytown," - a cute little town better known for being the location of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Except it wasn't all that close. It seemed like it should be, but it just was a lot farther than it seemed like it should have been. Like Spring.
Anyhow, I cave (I always do, it's part of what makes our relationship great - and I don't mean that facetiously), and point the car farther south to Tarrytown. It takes about an hour and a half to get from Poughkeepsie to Tarrytown, and we're driving past the train as we both approach the station. I'm driving 35mph, the train is going about 25. From my quick calculations - you know, because I'm so good at math and word problems - we're going to have about four minutes to get up to the platform, buy our tickets, and get on the train. And that's if we can quickly find a parking spot.
We do not quickly find a parking spot.
I drive in frantic, hurried circles looking for a parking spot. And Tarrytown - like Poughkeepsie - is a commuter town, full of people who live "upstate" but choose to spend a significant portion of their day traveling to and from New York City. So there aren't too many parking spots to be had at noon on a weekday.
Ultimately, I find one towards the back of the lot, and pull in. I barely have the car in Park before Kami bails out of the car like MacGuyver to get our bags out of the backseat and hurry to the platform. I tell her to go, and I'll be right behind her. As I run about 50 yards behind Kami, I notice that there are little stickers on all of the cars parked in the lot. I hesitate to get a better look at the sticker, and yes, it's a permit to park. Then I see a sign that says, "No overnight parking." And that pre-diarrhea feeling steals the heat from my extremities as panic sets in. Kami is already up the stairs, and the train is approaching. Missing the train because I was dawdling would not go over well. So I just kept running.
I buy our tickets, and we get on the train. I just need to calm down for a second, so I look for the iPod in order to get three minutes of soothing Rage Against the Machine, and I cannot find it. Where was the last place I saw it? On the dashboard of the car that will now be in Tarrytown for five days and, oh yeah, the car is unlocked, having forgotten to lock it in my rush.
Evaluating the scenario, I realize there are a few different scenarios, and there is a corresponding likelihood of all these scenarios.
Scenario #1: iPod gets stolen. The would-be thieves could simply open the door, take the iPod, and I wouldn't have so much as a broken window to give to State Farm as evidence. Likelihood: 80%
Scenario #2: Everything gets stolen. Again, the would-be thieves could simply open the door, take anything they wanted, and I wouldn't have so much as a broken window to give to State Farm as evidence. Likelihood: 70%
Scenario #3: We get a ticket for parking in an unauthorized lot, due to the conspicuous absence of a sticker. Likelihood: 90%.
Scenario #4: Our car gets towed for parking in an unauthorized lot, due to the conspicuous absence of a sticker. Likelihood: 70%.
Scenario #5: Variations of all of the above. Car gets towed after everything is looted. We get a ticket. Likelihood: 65%.
Scenario #6: Everything is fine. The nice people of Tarrytown channel their inner Washington Irving, and do nothing to our iPod or in-car possessions. Tarrytown's finest think, "You know, it's so close to Christmas..." run our plates, find that we are good human beings, and turn a blind eye - nay - protect our car, keeping it under close watch. Likelihood: 4%.
The whole time we're enjoying this amazing experience in New York City - including a trip to the Statue of Liberty that just happened to be among the coldest experiences I've ever had. As a side note, the passes we had for the Statue of Liberty could not be redeemed at the Statue of Liberty. You had to go to some place on 43rd Street (if I remember correctly), and get your tickets to the Statue of Liberty. We found this out after arriving at the Statue of Liberty, which was nowhere near 43rd Street. So Kami's brother and I jumped back on the subway, took it to get the tickets redeemed, and then went back to meet with everybody. It was an ordeal.
Anyhow, one of the very few things I could think about was, "What is happening to our car?" I'm an early-riser, typically getting up - especially with a pregnant wife - a couple of hours before Kami. Every morning I wondered if I could make it to Tarrytown, check on the car/sweep up the alluvial fan of broken glass I was sure was all over the ground. But I decided that I was having a fine time, and that I didn't want whatever horrific things had happened to our only car to bother me for the rest of our visit.
Consider this paragraph a preview of coming stories from this visit in which a drunken dentist puked a hockey puck of beef down his sleeve, I forgot my last name at Ellis Island (but was too embarrassed to admit it, so I just walked off), and we saw David Duchovny in the subway. That last one probably won't get written up, as it's just not all that impressive.
The morning arrived where everyone was going to the airport, and we just had to get the Metro North back to Tarrytown. All the Elliseseses took off back to Texas, and Kami and I made the silent trip north, each of us worried sick about what we would find. As we approached the station, we somehow got more silent, looking to the back of the parking lot to see if it was either (a) gone, or (b) on blocks.
There wasn't any glass on the ground. Our car was still there. I couldn't see how many tickets were under the windshield wipers, though. Scenario #6, the one where everything was fine, against all odds, proved to be correct. As I joyously, Sound-of-Music-ally skipped to the car, twirling and singing, I knew I didn't have to unlock it. I just opened the door, no tickets or citations were on the glass, our iPod - though frozen - was still sitting on the dashboard.
Kami and I drove off happily, our faith in humanity restored - at least our faith in the good people of Tarrytown.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The One Where I Carried A Tampon In My Pocket
Abilene, Texas
2005-ish
We've already mentioned the Wooten, aka the Coolest Place We've Ever Lived. That said, it wasn't all bubbles and sunshine, even though there was a sweet coffee shop/cigar store exactly halfway between the Wooten and The Grace Museum, where I worked.
Downtown Abilene was kind of a businessman/businesswoman's downtown. It was hopping between 8am and 5pm, and then there was nothing after that, unless the Paramount Theater was showing an old movie (which was mainly on weekends). Except for the Greyhound Station.
See, Abilene is right off of I-20, three hours west of Dallas, and about 21 years east of El Paso, but it's apparently a pretty major stop on Greyhound routes, and the station is about three blocks away from the Wooten. So we would get characters of the sort that some may call "unsavory" walking around downtown Abilene - not that there's anything wrong with that.
Except it was a good opportunity for some to run a little scam. There was one lady, in particular, who came up to me as I walked home after work, who we affectionately called "Bug Lady," because she was about 5'1", maybe 90 lbs, with big glasses. Was it kind? Of course not. Anyhow, she came up to me on my three-minute walk home and said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm on my way from Shreveport to El Paso, and we're here stuck at the Greyhound station for a few hours. It's my 'time of the month' and I don't have any money for....for...." and she whispered this, "tampons."
I recoiled in fear - being a male, and newly-ish married - reached in my pocket and in an unfortunately high-pitched voice said, "Oh, dear God, just take it and take care of..." (imagine wild hand gestures) "...that." I ended up giving her $5.25 and a tube of Burt's Bees.
Come with me, friends, six weeks later. I'm walking home from work, again, and Bug Lady comes up and gives me the same story. Now, I didn't know much about the feminine cycle, but I know that six weeks isn't a normal time frame for the Monthly Turmoil to get ramped up again. Wary, I politely say that I don't have any cash on me, but wish her the best of luck.
Because I'm smart, I now know she's running a scam. It's a good story, and that first time, she picked the right guy. But you have to watch your marks, I suppose, and she messed with the Wrong Guy. I wanted to get back at her, but not go to jail, or feel like a horrible Christian. So I took one of Kami's tampons (or, "candy bars," as we call it so as not to invite embarrassment if talking in public about hygiene products) and added it to the Things I Carry (keys, wallet, Burt's Bees. And now tampon.)
For a couple of months I carried said tampon in my pocket, and sure enough: Bug Lady came up one afternoon, told me the same Shreveport-to-El Paso story. The time had come - and I was prepared. I told her, "You know what? You're in luck! Because I just happen to have one of O.B.'s finest right here in my pocket!" She had her hand held out, waiting for whatever cash I had, so I plopped a green one right in her hand, said, "Have a great day!" and kept walking.
By the by, as I got home, I turned around to see if she was still there. She was, with her hand still out, looking down at how lucky she had just been.
2005-ish
We've already mentioned the Wooten, aka the Coolest Place We've Ever Lived. That said, it wasn't all bubbles and sunshine, even though there was a sweet coffee shop/cigar store exactly halfway between the Wooten and The Grace Museum, where I worked.
Downtown Abilene was kind of a businessman/businesswoman's downtown. It was hopping between 8am and 5pm, and then there was nothing after that, unless the Paramount Theater was showing an old movie (which was mainly on weekends). Except for the Greyhound Station.
See, Abilene is right off of I-20, three hours west of Dallas, and about 21 years east of El Paso, but it's apparently a pretty major stop on Greyhound routes, and the station is about three blocks away from the Wooten. So we would get characters of the sort that some may call "unsavory" walking around downtown Abilene - not that there's anything wrong with that.
Except it was a good opportunity for some to run a little scam. There was one lady, in particular, who came up to me as I walked home after work, who we affectionately called "Bug Lady," because she was about 5'1", maybe 90 lbs, with big glasses. Was it kind? Of course not. Anyhow, she came up to me on my three-minute walk home and said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm on my way from Shreveport to El Paso, and we're here stuck at the Greyhound station for a few hours. It's my 'time of the month' and I don't have any money for....for...." and she whispered this, "tampons."
I recoiled in fear - being a male, and newly-ish married - reached in my pocket and in an unfortunately high-pitched voice said, "Oh, dear God, just take it and take care of..." (imagine wild hand gestures) "...that." I ended up giving her $5.25 and a tube of Burt's Bees.
Come with me, friends, six weeks later. I'm walking home from work, again, and Bug Lady comes up and gives me the same story. Now, I didn't know much about the feminine cycle, but I know that six weeks isn't a normal time frame for the Monthly Turmoil to get ramped up again. Wary, I politely say that I don't have any cash on me, but wish her the best of luck.
Because I'm smart, I now know she's running a scam. It's a good story, and that first time, she picked the right guy. But you have to watch your marks, I suppose, and she messed with the Wrong Guy. I wanted to get back at her, but not go to jail, or feel like a horrible Christian. So I took one of Kami's tampons (or, "candy bars," as we call it so as not to invite embarrassment if talking in public about hygiene products) and added it to the Things I Carry (keys, wallet, Burt's Bees. And now tampon.)
For a couple of months I carried said tampon in my pocket, and sure enough: Bug Lady came up one afternoon, told me the same Shreveport-to-El Paso story. The time had come - and I was prepared. I told her, "You know what? You're in luck! Because I just happen to have one of O.B.'s finest right here in my pocket!" She had her hand held out, waiting for whatever cash I had, so I plopped a green one right in her hand, said, "Have a great day!" and kept walking.
By the by, as I got home, I turned around to see if she was still there. She was, with her hand still out, looking down at how lucky she had just been.
Monday, May 9, 2011
The One Where I Became a Vegetarian
Chicago
January 2008
Lately Kami and I have been considering going back to being vegetarians. Which, for those of you currently aghast, means no meat. Not even turkey (one exchange we had with an older friend about vegetarianism:
Him: You want some turkey?
Us: We're vegetarians
Him: Yeah, but it's just turkey! That's okay, right?
Us: Tell you what, you show me the plant that turkeys grow on, and I'll eat that crap like my life depended on it.)
Anyhow, Kami had been a vegetarian for about eight years. For the last eleven months of those eight years, I joined her. Here's why:
Martin Luther King Day weekend, 2008. We lived in Cooperstown, and I was to fly out to Chicago with two other people in the Education Department early on Saturday morning for the Cubs Convention, where the Hall of Fame was doing some programming and hosting a panel discussion with various Cubs Hall of Famers.
We were on the 6am flight out of Albany, which is a 90-minute drive on the sunniest of days. This meant that, in the middle of January, we were going to have to get to the airport at 4:30am to go through security. You may be asking, "Why not get a hotel room?" And I would show you my pay stub, and that would clear up your confusion. It was cheaper to just get up at 2:30am, take a shower, and be out the door by 3am in order to drive to Albany and get on the plane.
Which is exactly what we did. So it's cold. Real cold. Ungodly cold. And we get on the plane in Albany and the pilot comes over the PA and says, "Just a quick weather update for Chicago. The air temperature is currently -2, with a wind chill of -50." I turned to my co-workers and said, "Did he say -15?" And like he heard me, the pilot reiterates, "-50." And if I could put numbers in all caps, that's what it sounded like.
So clearly God had abandoned Chicago.
Arriving, I quickly realized that I had never been as cold as I was at that moment in my life. Because we left so early, and got a time zone back, we got there at something like 8am, and we went off to find breakfast and a huge cup of coffee, preferably scalding hot, so I could pour it down my pants.
That taken care of, we checked in at the Cubs Convention (and as an Astros fan, Cubs Convention is the physical equivalent of the Absence of Faith emotion), saw where we were going to be on Sunday, and went off to check in to our hotel.
We had an intern in the Education Department the previous summer who went to school in Chicago, so she was going to help us with the programming. She was at work near Wrigley Field, and went to meet up with her. I'll shorten this part of the story, but we were there for about four hours waiting for her shift to end, whereupon we all went to dinner.
The restaurant was called the Raw Bar in Wrigleyville, a Persian restaurant, if I remember correctly. Now I am notorious - and Kami will attest to this - about not reading the entire description of the entree. I saw a dish called Koubideh, which was a lamb dish, and from the first few words, it sounded wonderful.
What came out looked like two turds on a bed of rice. And I'm not sure if you've ever been in this scenario before, but I actually got about halfway through it (after all, I'm a cosmopolite, I'm not going to disparage a Persian dish. It's apparently wildly popular in Persia.) before I realize that I had made a very serious mistake.
I was able to hold it together until I got back to the hotel, where it was still -40, and I fall asleep. For about ten minutes. Sparing you many horrific details, we can just leave it at the fact that I would sleep in 10-15 minute segments, and then have to race to the bathroom to utilize said facilities in one of two ways - and sometimes both at the same time.
Except there was one 15 minute segment where I was able to get some sleep. I had a dream - an incredibly vivid, terrible dream - in which I woke up next to a dead prostitute. I woke up screaming, and scurried to the corner of the room. Ultimately I checked the bed, under the bed, the closet, the bathroom, the hallway, looking for clues. Immediately relieved not to have committed murder, I thought, "Carrots don't make you do this." And I vowed to give vegetarianism a try.
Incidentally, as you can imagine, I looked like the very gates of hell the next morning. I was relieved of my duties for the Cubs Convention. I sat in the back and tried not to look homeless. After the program had ended, I went backstage to get my suitcase and hat/coat/scarf. I got all ready to go, and Ernie Banks was getting ready to leave, as well. I was standing off to the side, trying not to pass out. Mr. Banks was almost out the door when he said, "Has anyone seen my scarf?"
About ten people wandered around the room, and he follows up, "It's blue and brown, kind of a plaid pattern." A sick feeling came over me, and for the first time in about 13 hours, it wasn't due to sullied lamb. I retreated to the corner, and made sure that my coat was zipped up all the way because, yes, I had accidentally grabbed Ernie Banks scarf and put it on.
Put yourself in my shoes. What would you do? Unzip your coat, take the scarf off, and say to one of the greatest baseball players of all time, "Whoops! That was an accident, here's your scarf, sir." Especially looking like I did? No, you wouldn't. You would do what I did, and keep your mouth shut. And whenever you wear this scarf, you think of Ernie Banks. Fondly.
January 2008
Lately Kami and I have been considering going back to being vegetarians. Which, for those of you currently aghast, means no meat. Not even turkey (one exchange we had with an older friend about vegetarianism:
Him: You want some turkey?
Us: We're vegetarians
Him: Yeah, but it's just turkey! That's okay, right?
Us: Tell you what, you show me the plant that turkeys grow on, and I'll eat that crap like my life depended on it.)
Anyhow, Kami had been a vegetarian for about eight years. For the last eleven months of those eight years, I joined her. Here's why:
Martin Luther King Day weekend, 2008. We lived in Cooperstown, and I was to fly out to Chicago with two other people in the Education Department early on Saturday morning for the Cubs Convention, where the Hall of Fame was doing some programming and hosting a panel discussion with various Cubs Hall of Famers.
We were on the 6am flight out of Albany, which is a 90-minute drive on the sunniest of days. This meant that, in the middle of January, we were going to have to get to the airport at 4:30am to go through security. You may be asking, "Why not get a hotel room?" And I would show you my pay stub, and that would clear up your confusion. It was cheaper to just get up at 2:30am, take a shower, and be out the door by 3am in order to drive to Albany and get on the plane.
Which is exactly what we did. So it's cold. Real cold. Ungodly cold. And we get on the plane in Albany and the pilot comes over the PA and says, "Just a quick weather update for Chicago. The air temperature is currently -2, with a wind chill of -50." I turned to my co-workers and said, "Did he say -15?" And like he heard me, the pilot reiterates, "-50." And if I could put numbers in all caps, that's what it sounded like.
So clearly God had abandoned Chicago.
Arriving, I quickly realized that I had never been as cold as I was at that moment in my life. Because we left so early, and got a time zone back, we got there at something like 8am, and we went off to find breakfast and a huge cup of coffee, preferably scalding hot, so I could pour it down my pants.
That taken care of, we checked in at the Cubs Convention (and as an Astros fan, Cubs Convention is the physical equivalent of the Absence of Faith emotion), saw where we were going to be on Sunday, and went off to check in to our hotel.
We had an intern in the Education Department the previous summer who went to school in Chicago, so she was going to help us with the programming. She was at work near Wrigley Field, and went to meet up with her. I'll shorten this part of the story, but we were there for about four hours waiting for her shift to end, whereupon we all went to dinner.
The restaurant was called the Raw Bar in Wrigleyville, a Persian restaurant, if I remember correctly. Now I am notorious - and Kami will attest to this - about not reading the entire description of the entree. I saw a dish called Koubideh, which was a lamb dish, and from the first few words, it sounded wonderful.
What came out looked like two turds on a bed of rice. And I'm not sure if you've ever been in this scenario before, but I actually got about halfway through it (after all, I'm a cosmopolite, I'm not going to disparage a Persian dish. It's apparently wildly popular in Persia.) before I realize that I had made a very serious mistake.
I was able to hold it together until I got back to the hotel, where it was still -40, and I fall asleep. For about ten minutes. Sparing you many horrific details, we can just leave it at the fact that I would sleep in 10-15 minute segments, and then have to race to the bathroom to utilize said facilities in one of two ways - and sometimes both at the same time.
Except there was one 15 minute segment where I was able to get some sleep. I had a dream - an incredibly vivid, terrible dream - in which I woke up next to a dead prostitute. I woke up screaming, and scurried to the corner of the room. Ultimately I checked the bed, under the bed, the closet, the bathroom, the hallway, looking for clues. Immediately relieved not to have committed murder, I thought, "Carrots don't make you do this." And I vowed to give vegetarianism a try.
Incidentally, as you can imagine, I looked like the very gates of hell the next morning. I was relieved of my duties for the Cubs Convention. I sat in the back and tried not to look homeless. After the program had ended, I went backstage to get my suitcase and hat/coat/scarf. I got all ready to go, and Ernie Banks was getting ready to leave, as well. I was standing off to the side, trying not to pass out. Mr. Banks was almost out the door when he said, "Has anyone seen my scarf?"
About ten people wandered around the room, and he follows up, "It's blue and brown, kind of a plaid pattern." A sick feeling came over me, and for the first time in about 13 hours, it wasn't due to sullied lamb. I retreated to the corner, and made sure that my coat was zipped up all the way because, yes, I had accidentally grabbed Ernie Banks scarf and put it on.
Put yourself in my shoes. What would you do? Unzip your coat, take the scarf off, and say to one of the greatest baseball players of all time, "Whoops! That was an accident, here's your scarf, sir." Especially looking like I did? No, you wouldn't. You would do what I did, and keep your mouth shut. And whenever you wear this scarf, you think of Ernie Banks. Fondly.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
The One With the Sweet Apartment
(Please note: these posts are a collaborative effort a-twixt Kami and myself. She’s here, too, I just happen to be the one who signs in and posts these).
Abilene, TX
May 2004
Foreshadowing alert: I moved back to Abilene after nine months in Nashville, so that I could be with Kami. Five months after moving back to the home of my alma mater, Kami and I were married. We’ll save the story of our first apartment for another time, but in May 2004 we moved into what is still probably the coolest place I’ve ever lived.
I worked at The Grace Museum, in downtown Abilene. Two blocks up from The Grace was an old hotel – the Wooten – that was being renovated by a firm in Austin and turned into apartments, three to a floor. As a professional development treat, the staff was invited to tour the building as it was in the process of the renovation. Before I had toured one apartment – which was all still steel beams and drywall – I was on the phone to Kami saying, “We HAVE to live here.”
On the way out of the tour I asked for an application, and we filled out all the paperwork – the first ones to do so.
When we got everything approved and whatnot (like they were going to turn us down – we were begging to almost triple our rent for a 700-square foot apartment), we were assigned Apartment #1201, but it was going to be a good six weeks before we could actually move in.
Prior to that, however, we decided to paint the living room red, the bedroom this sort of sand color, and the bathroom and kitchen green. It wasn’t the easiest thing we’ve ever done, because the ceilings were 14’ tall, or something like that, and I’m not the most patient of cats at the best of times. Kami is clearly the one in the relationship blessed with visual artistry. And patience.
So, painting done, we were ready to move in. They had an elevator – thanks be to God – so we wouldn’t be carrying things up twelve flights of stairs. But there was one problem, however: the key didn’t work. No matter how hard I tried, how dangerously close to breaking the key off in the door I came, I couldn’t open it. So I went down to the office and explained that my key to #1201 did not work. After checking our paperwork, it was determined that something had gotten messed up somewhere, and we were actually in #1101.
The key worked on this apartment, and the moving in commenced, early in the morning. The view was absolutely breathtaking, you could see forever. Our apartment faced north, and at one point we could see a storm rolling in that didn’t actually arrive until two hours later. From our best estimates, we could see for fifty miles.
Having moved in – which the process of moving is the closest thing on earth to what hell will feel like (Sweat, Frustration, Weeping, Despair, and Eternity, all rolled up into one process) – we realized that we were the only ones who actually lived in the entire building. For one night, at least. There was a doctor moving in the next day.
The way that the apartment building was laid out, we had the smallest apartment size they offered. Come on, I worked at a museum and Kami was still in school. So we couldn’t exactly afford a bigger apartment. But the 693 sq ft apartment in #1101 was bigger than what we were used to, so it was fine. Anyway, the elevator stopped on the landing, there was a door to the right where there were two other – bigger – apartments, and our front (only) door was right there in front of the elevator.
That first night, after we had taken a shower without a shower curtain – who doesn’t provide a shower curtain!? – we fell asleep…for a little while. We kept getting awakened by the sound of dinging. At some point in the middle of the night we got up and went out into the hallway, where we could hear the elevators moving periodically from floor to floor. Did I mention that we were the only ones in the building?
After the doctor moved in, things calmed down a touch...for a little while. We would periodically hear a banging on the outside of our apartment, like it was on the windows - but only at night. After this had happened a few times, we talked to some people who knew Abilene pretty well about what it could be.
Back in The Day, the Wooten was in rough shape, like many old buildings in Abilene. It was, at various times, a crackden, a house of prostitution, and a Squatter's Paradise. Occasionally it was all of these things at the same time. About ten years before (from what we can tell, and the source was pretty reliable), a "gentleman" had taken a "lady" up to the 12th floor for a "good time." Apparently it wasn't <i>such</i> a good time, because he strangled her, and then hung her out the window, where her body hung limply - as dead bodies tend to do - swinging in the west Texas wind all night and banging against the windows of the apartment below. Our apartment.
The kitchen floors were this stone tile. If you so much as moved a chair it sounded like an angry rhinocerous. We would hear furniture moving from the guy above us. And he moved his furniture more than an interior designer off their Ritalin.
Now we're not ones to complain. But this was getting preposterous - the guy was moving his kitchen table all the time. And I mean, all the time. So we went down to the office and talked to the manager, or whatever she was, and asked if the guy was alright, or if he was sick, because of all this moving. It was the most passive-aggressive way we could have done it. The manager pulled up her files and said, "1201? No...he's been in Iraq for the past six months. No one is living there now."
And that was that. We didn't do too much investigating after that. It was still an awesome apartment.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
The One Where I Kinda Sorta Asked Kami On Our First Date
Baytown, Texas
July 2002
Kami and I met while I was working at Lakewood Church of Christ for the summer. I was a youth intern, about to go into my senior year at ACU, and I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really looking forward to it. Having been an intern for the previous two summers (in Hilton Head, South Carolina and Cedar Hill, Texas), I really enjoyed the “work,” which consisted most days of playing ping-pong, going to baseball games, and amusement parks. It’s not that I didn’t want to work at Lakewood, either. My parents were moving to Seattle, where The Father would be preaching at Bellevue Church of Christ, in the middle of the summer. That’s why.
But still, it was work I enjoyed, felt was important, and got paid decently enough. I had known Mitchell, the youth minister for a long time, and I would move in with my roommate and his parents in La Porte once my parents moved off to Seattle. Everything was settled, and I began my final summer as a college student driving to Baytown each morning.
We’ll save the story of mine and Kami’s first impressions of each other for another time, but she was/is gorgeous, and I wanted to go out with her.
A funny aside, not really deserving of a separate post – since it took place before Kami and I met – I was lucky to get the job. When I interviewed for the intern position, I was supposed to teach class on a Sunday morning over Christmas Break in December, 2000. Except my cousins Jeremy and Adam and I decided to take a road trip to Mexico on the Friday before. On this road trip, we got behind a truck loaded up with the dirtiest pigs you can imagine, but in the middle of this pack of piggies arose a blond, clean-as-a-whistle pig. He was the Golden Pig. We hatched a plan to drive alongside the truck, one of us jump on to the back of it, grab the Golden Pig, jump back into the car, and demand the Golden Pig give us our three rightfully-earned wishes. We also listened to Abba’s Greatest Hits start-to-finish about three times, and that’s when I was introduced to the Jayhawks. Jeremy was also concerned that we’d get to Mexico too early, and we wouldn’t be able to get in. After explaining that it wasn’t like Disney World, and that there wouldn’t be fireworks when we left, everything was okay. We also all pretty much got food poisoning. So on the day that I taught class, I was concerned that I would water my pants from the sullied tacos we all ate.
I’m not much on the theatre, but there was a play coming to Jones Hall for a few nights from London where it played on whatever their version of Broadway is (“Broadwaye,” I like to think of it) called The Woman In Black. It got good reviews, seemed creepy enough, and I wanted to go.
I especially wanted to go with Kami.
But I wasn’t sure how to ask her. It’s very important for me to let you, dear reader, know that Kami WAS NOT IN THE YOUTH GROUP. She was going to be a sophomore in college, and chaperoned a number of youth group activities, and I spent a couple of weeks with her at camp – again, that’ll come later – and really liked her. But I didn’t know how to ask her.
So of course I bought two tickets.
Going into the church secretary’s office, I asked, “Hey do you know if anyone likes the theatre?” I was rebuffed, but I said it loud enough that David – Kami’s father – overheard me.
He walked into the office, where I repeated, “Do you know anybody in the youth group who likes the theatre?” And he sat his pen down and said, “Well. My daughter is in to that sort of thing.” Which is exactly what I wanted him to say.
Slyly, I responded, “Yeah? Do you know if she’s doing anything tonight?” He goes, “You’re probably going to have to call her and ask her yourself.” Which was not exactly what I wanted him to say.
So I called, and Kami answered, and I said to her, “Hey, so –“ (I should probably stop and note that Kami isn’t here right now, so she probably has a very different point of view on how smoothly this conversation actually went) “I have two tickets to the Woman in Black at Jones Hall tonight. Do you want to go?”
I can’t remember word-for-word what she said, but it obviously went well enough that I ended up picking her up and taking her downtown to the play.
But it backfired.
Because that play was absolutely terrifying. I keep hoping that it’ll make a run back in the U.S. again, or that I’ll stumble on a door in the back of a closet where I find a pile of money, and can take Kami to London to see it again, but so far, no luck. Anyhow, the premise of the play is that Gentleman A has had this terrifying episode happen to him, and he wants to sort of exorcise this episode. So he writes up what happened, and hires an actor – Gentleman B – to act out his script. Terror ensues. It’s fantastic.
And I get completely freaked out. I can barely talk on the way home, and when I drop her off it’s probably 10:30 at night and I have to drive the 20 minutes or so back across the bridge and into La Porte. So what did my smooth self do? Called her, and made her talk to me until I got home, because I was so scared.
Anyhow, we’ll revisit the continual courting of Kami another time, but that’s how it started. By me basically trying to get her dad to ask her on a date for me.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The One With the Skunk Attack
Cooperstown
September 2007
I had just returned from a work trip. Somewhere. I think it was New York City. Having just driven back to Cooperstown, it was a Sunday night, and I was anxious to see Kami. She was taking Gunther and Angus out for a walk as I walked up to the house with my suitcase in tow.
So I said I was going to put my things up and then join her for a stroll around the block. It was about 9:30 in the evening, and our dear readers in Cooperstown know that there's not a whole lot open on a Sunday night. Remember this fact.
I'm in the bedroom, hanging stuff up, when I hear shrieking and barking coming from the street. Of course I take off down the stairs and tear around the corner onto Pioneer Street.
What I find is nothing short of mind-blowing. Gunther is on his back legs, jumping and barking. Angus is barking, spinning in circles, and pawing at his nose. Kami is jumping up and down, vomiting, coughing and sneezing.
It would be a lie to tell you that I did not think - albeit briefly - "I could get in the car and be in Pennsylvania before she noticed."
Still, I mustered my courage and politely asked what had happened. "Angus got bit by a skunk!" was the reply. In my mind, I was calm and collected. A rational problem-solver, if you will. I later was informed that I was "Acting a fool."
I asked again, "What happened?"
Angus is somewhat spastic. He's an adorable beast and I love him with all my heart, but it's true. If something surprises him, he will dive at it. Allegedly, there was a skunk in the bushes, not a yard from where Kami and Los Perros were walking. Said skunk scurried into the bushes, and Angus dive-bombed him like the Red Baron. Kami was so close, she heard the spray. Imagine the smell. Go ahead, we'll wait.
I thought, "This is where watching cartoons has suddenly turned from 'pastime' to 'helpful.'" See, we know - through the miracle of animation - where the skunk sprays, and it's not out of his mouth.
I wracked my brain trying to remember what you're supposed to do to get skunk smell out, because Angus sleeps on the bed. Remembering that tomato juice was apparently the thing to use, I told Kami to stand outside with the dogs while I went to the Stewart's gas station - the only place still open at such a "late" hour - to buy tomato juice.
When I got back, Kami was green - literally - trying not to puke. I ran inside, grabbed a raggedy towel, picked Gunther and Angus up in the towel, and put them in the bathtub. I had already put the tomato juice in the bathroom and dumped six gallons of tomato juice on them.
Meanwhile, Kami was on the computer Googling "How to get rid of skunk." As I'm in the bathroom - in my boxers, to not infect my clothes with skunk -I hear Kami yell, "Wait!!!"
I look at Gunther and Angus, dripping with tomato juice. Gunther and Angus look at me, in my drawers.
Now this is why Al Gore invented the internet: Kami found that tomato juice only makes the skunk-infected being smell like V8 Skunk (not that I can tell the difference - I hate tomato juice). So she tells me to wait while I hear her get the keys, and the door slams.
So I sit on the toilet.
While Kami is gone, Gunther and Angus start licking the tomato juice off each other, looking at me while they're doing it as if to say, "This is alright, yes?"
Fifteen minutes later, Kami bursts into the bathroom with hydrogen peroxide, liquid dishwashing soap, and baking soda. She had to speed down Chestnut Street to get to Stewart's, which closed two minutes after she got there - to buy those items.
The clerk asked what she was doing buying said items, and Kami said her dogs got sprayed by a skunk, and the clerk goes, "Wild! Some guy was in here like 20 minutes ago and bought us out of tomato juice because HIS dogs just got sprayed by a skunk."
Kami informed him that she did not have time for this, so she just ran out. Gunther and Angus are full of skunk and Heinz. So Kami whipped up this concoction, and we bathed them both.
Not kidding, Angus and Gunther slept in the bed with us that night.
Except every time it rained, if you kissed Angus on the snout, you could smell a more-than-faint skunk smell.
But we still kissed his snout.
September 2007
I had just returned from a work trip. Somewhere. I think it was New York City. Having just driven back to Cooperstown, it was a Sunday night, and I was anxious to see Kami. She was taking Gunther and Angus out for a walk as I walked up to the house with my suitcase in tow.
So I said I was going to put my things up and then join her for a stroll around the block. It was about 9:30 in the evening, and our dear readers in Cooperstown know that there's not a whole lot open on a Sunday night. Remember this fact.
I'm in the bedroom, hanging stuff up, when I hear shrieking and barking coming from the street. Of course I take off down the stairs and tear around the corner onto Pioneer Street.
What I find is nothing short of mind-blowing. Gunther is on his back legs, jumping and barking. Angus is barking, spinning in circles, and pawing at his nose. Kami is jumping up and down, vomiting, coughing and sneezing.
It would be a lie to tell you that I did not think - albeit briefly - "I could get in the car and be in Pennsylvania before she noticed."
Still, I mustered my courage and politely asked what had happened. "Angus got bit by a skunk!" was the reply. In my mind, I was calm and collected. A rational problem-solver, if you will. I later was informed that I was "Acting a fool."
I asked again, "What happened?"
Angus is somewhat spastic. He's an adorable beast and I love him with all my heart, but it's true. If something surprises him, he will dive at it. Allegedly, there was a skunk in the bushes, not a yard from where Kami and Los Perros were walking. Said skunk scurried into the bushes, and Angus dive-bombed him like the Red Baron. Kami was so close, she heard the spray. Imagine the smell. Go ahead, we'll wait.
I thought, "This is where watching cartoons has suddenly turned from 'pastime' to 'helpful.'" See, we know - through the miracle of animation - where the skunk sprays, and it's not out of his mouth.
I wracked my brain trying to remember what you're supposed to do to get skunk smell out, because Angus sleeps on the bed. Remembering that tomato juice was apparently the thing to use, I told Kami to stand outside with the dogs while I went to the Stewart's gas station - the only place still open at such a "late" hour - to buy tomato juice.
When I got back, Kami was green - literally - trying not to puke. I ran inside, grabbed a raggedy towel, picked Gunther and Angus up in the towel, and put them in the bathtub. I had already put the tomato juice in the bathroom and dumped six gallons of tomato juice on them.
Meanwhile, Kami was on the computer Googling "How to get rid of skunk." As I'm in the bathroom - in my boxers, to not infect my clothes with skunk -I hear Kami yell, "Wait!!!"
I look at Gunther and Angus, dripping with tomato juice. Gunther and Angus look at me, in my drawers.
Now this is why Al Gore invented the internet: Kami found that tomato juice only makes the skunk-infected being smell like V8 Skunk (not that I can tell the difference - I hate tomato juice). So she tells me to wait while I hear her get the keys, and the door slams.
So I sit on the toilet.
While Kami is gone, Gunther and Angus start licking the tomato juice off each other, looking at me while they're doing it as if to say, "This is alright, yes?"
Fifteen minutes later, Kami bursts into the bathroom with hydrogen peroxide, liquid dishwashing soap, and baking soda. She had to speed down Chestnut Street to get to Stewart's, which closed two minutes after she got there - to buy those items.
The clerk asked what she was doing buying said items, and Kami said her dogs got sprayed by a skunk, and the clerk goes, "Wild! Some guy was in here like 20 minutes ago and bought us out of tomato juice because HIS dogs just got sprayed by a skunk."
Kami informed him that she did not have time for this, so she just ran out. Gunther and Angus are full of skunk and Heinz. So Kami whipped up this concoction, and we bathed them both.
Not kidding, Angus and Gunther slept in the bed with us that night.
Except every time it rained, if you kissed Angus on the snout, you could smell a more-than-faint skunk smell.
But we still kissed his snout.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The One Where Felicia Met a Watery Grave
The George Washington Bridge
April 2007
Back in the day before every phone had Google Maps, you would rely on this monstrosity that would hang from your windshield to tell you where you were. It would strategically come crashing to the dashboard just as the passenger (or your dogs) fell asleep, sending them into shock and putting said passenger in a foul mood for the duration of your trip.
The idea was simple enough: Have a satellite available to point you in the direction of a Starbucks, a specific gas station, or a water park. Except it never worked the way it was designed.
First of all, how Garmin or TomTom or whatever worthless company assigned their satellites was like America Online: they only had about three satellites per 5,000,000 units. And there was a mood sensor built in to the GPS, so that if you were going to work or church or anywhere that you already knew the location of, it would work perfectly. If you were agitated, lost, or had been driving with the gas light on for 60 miles, it couldn't acquire a satellite until you were upside down in a ditch with 3" of water.
And, if you didn't plug your GPS unit in and manually update, it wouldn't know a Phillips 66 from Studio 54 -and you can imagine the frustration if it took you to either one. We name everything. Our car is Julio (what? It's a Santa Fe). My phone is Joseph. Kami's old car was Olivia (may God rest its soul). This way, we don't feel so silly about getting angry at inanimate objects. We may be the only dictators to actually humanize our subjects.
nter Felicia. Felicia was the Garmin graciously given to Kami and myself from my parents, mainly to help us navigate the streets and roads of New England. Except we didn't have the software to update it.
Normally in Upstate New York that wouldn't matter -because nothing had changed since Washington Irving had written about it. But on the occasion that you drove to New York City, things could get a little dicey.
This is where our story continues. I can only speak in vague generalities because Felicia completely sold us out. I do know this: we were driving from Brooklyn back towards Cooperstown, and somehow ended up in the Bronx.
Kami and I are the type who appreciate and embrace diversity. But we knew we were not where we were supposed to be.
Stumbling on a gas station on our own while Felicia electronically cackled at us, we reset our destination to Cooperstown and then spent 45 minutes driving around the interstate but never actually getting on, taking fake ramps and side streets that looked like death waited for us at the end of each turn. Enough was enough, I'm not going to get pushed around by electronics.
Again, on our own, we made our way to the George Washington Bridge and prepared to go home. As we made our way over the Bridge, Kami looked at me. I looked at Kami. She nodded, and it was on.
I lowered the window and slowly released Felicia from her worthless cradle. I reassured her, saying, "Listen, it's not you. You just weren't updated as much as you should have been. It's not your fault, but you have issues, and your issues are negatively impacting me."
Like Ike Turner, I whipped Felicia out the window and into the river. The last word out of her mouth was, "Recalculating," which was the most fitting way for her to go.
April 2007
Back in the day before every phone had Google Maps, you would rely on this monstrosity that would hang from your windshield to tell you where you were. It would strategically come crashing to the dashboard just as the passenger (or your dogs) fell asleep, sending them into shock and putting said passenger in a foul mood for the duration of your trip.
The idea was simple enough: Have a satellite available to point you in the direction of a Starbucks, a specific gas station, or a water park. Except it never worked the way it was designed.
First of all, how Garmin or TomTom or whatever worthless company assigned their satellites was like America Online: they only had about three satellites per 5,000,000 units. And there was a mood sensor built in to the GPS, so that if you were going to work or church or anywhere that you already knew the location of, it would work perfectly. If you were agitated, lost, or had been driving with the gas light on for 60 miles, it couldn't acquire a satellite until you were upside down in a ditch with 3" of water.
And, if you didn't plug your GPS unit in and manually update, it wouldn't know a Phillips 66 from Studio 54 -and you can imagine the frustration if it took you to either one. We name everything. Our car is Julio (what? It's a Santa Fe). My phone is Joseph. Kami's old car was Olivia (may God rest its soul). This way, we don't feel so silly about getting angry at inanimate objects. We may be the only dictators to actually humanize our subjects.
nter Felicia. Felicia was the Garmin graciously given to Kami and myself from my parents, mainly to help us navigate the streets and roads of New England. Except we didn't have the software to update it.
Normally in Upstate New York that wouldn't matter -because nothing had changed since Washington Irving had written about it. But on the occasion that you drove to New York City, things could get a little dicey.
This is where our story continues. I can only speak in vague generalities because Felicia completely sold us out. I do know this: we were driving from Brooklyn back towards Cooperstown, and somehow ended up in the Bronx.
Kami and I are the type who appreciate and embrace diversity. But we knew we were not where we were supposed to be.
Stumbling on a gas station on our own while Felicia electronically cackled at us, we reset our destination to Cooperstown and then spent 45 minutes driving around the interstate but never actually getting on, taking fake ramps and side streets that looked like death waited for us at the end of each turn. Enough was enough, I'm not going to get pushed around by electronics.
Again, on our own, we made our way to the George Washington Bridge and prepared to go home. As we made our way over the Bridge, Kami looked at me. I looked at Kami. She nodded, and it was on.
I lowered the window and slowly released Felicia from her worthless cradle. I reassured her, saying, "Listen, it's not you. You just weren't updated as much as you should have been. It's not your fault, but you have issues, and your issues are negatively impacting me."
Like Ike Turner, I whipped Felicia out the window and into the river. The last word out of her mouth was, "Recalculating," which was the most fitting way for her to go.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
The One Where Kami Puked in the Parking Lot
Williamsburg
September 2005
This is a location to which we will return many times, as it was quite a fun week. Kami's parents were gracious enough to donate a week of their time share for us to enjoy a little vacation, and how we got to Six Flags Over History Dorks is another post for another time.
Anyhow, we check in with my cousin Jeremy and our collective friend Byron and explore the hotel. These were suites, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a kitchen/living area. Of course, the first thing we looked for was the pool area. Said pool was a good half-mile walk from our room. Keep in mind, we were coming from Abilene, Texas, where the air temperature was easily 243 degrees. Getting to Virginia, where it was about 52, was quite a shock.
At this point, we were just happy to be on vacation. So we got in the pool for a while. Then the hot-tub. Then back in the pool. Then the steam room. Sauna. Pool. Hot tub. Pool. Hot tub
Ruby Tuesday is about to make a significant cameo in this story.
On the walk back to the room, Kami started getting what we affectionately call the "Bubbleguts." This, I'm sure, is self-explanatory. But it's basically where you have Vesuvius in your gut. The temperature change from our tour around the Marriott's water offerings had done horrible things to the Cobb Salad she had consumed merely an hour earlier.
So when my dear wife has the Bubbleguts, she knows she needs to vomit, but it's as though she just can't do it. So she leans over and just kind of horks for a while until the hounds are released.
This is what she decides to do in the parking lot between the pool and the room, leaning up against a light pole next to an SUV. What am I doing while this is transpiring? Standing, dripping, in my swimsuit in by-now 48 degree weather.
So I have two options:
a) Keep walking, leaving her to vomit in the parking lot alone.
b) Wait.
At this point, we had been married a little over two years. But anyone with a halfway functional brain knows that Option A is no option at all. So I went outside the box and chose Option C: speed things up.
Kami is an auditory person. Her ability to place songs and voices astounds me on a daily basis. So I start to think, as she leans on this light pole and spits, "How can we get this over with?" because it's been ten minutes and I'm starting to get cold. And, clearly, this is all about me.
I put my hand on her back, and start gently stroking, to gain her confidence. As she's moaning, still bent over, I make this retching sound so believable that I almost make myself vomit.
She snapped her head at me, scowled with fury, and proceeded to let it fly, all over the place. Think, The Exorcist, but in a parking lot in Virginia. She furiously vomited for about five minutes, wiped her mouth with her towel, and threw it at me, storming off to the room.
But it worked.
September 2005
This is a location to which we will return many times, as it was quite a fun week. Kami's parents were gracious enough to donate a week of their time share for us to enjoy a little vacation, and how we got to Six Flags Over History Dorks is another post for another time.
Anyhow, we check in with my cousin Jeremy and our collective friend Byron and explore the hotel. These were suites, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a kitchen/living area. Of course, the first thing we looked for was the pool area. Said pool was a good half-mile walk from our room. Keep in mind, we were coming from Abilene, Texas, where the air temperature was easily 243 degrees. Getting to Virginia, where it was about 52, was quite a shock.
At this point, we were just happy to be on vacation. So we got in the pool for a while. Then the hot-tub. Then back in the pool. Then the steam room. Sauna. Pool. Hot tub. Pool. Hot tub
Ruby Tuesday is about to make a significant cameo in this story.
On the walk back to the room, Kami started getting what we affectionately call the "Bubbleguts." This, I'm sure, is self-explanatory. But it's basically where you have Vesuvius in your gut. The temperature change from our tour around the Marriott's water offerings had done horrible things to the Cobb Salad she had consumed merely an hour earlier.
So when my dear wife has the Bubbleguts, she knows she needs to vomit, but it's as though she just can't do it. So she leans over and just kind of horks for a while until the hounds are released.
This is what she decides to do in the parking lot between the pool and the room, leaning up against a light pole next to an SUV. What am I doing while this is transpiring? Standing, dripping, in my swimsuit in by-now 48 degree weather.
So I have two options:
a) Keep walking, leaving her to vomit in the parking lot alone.
b) Wait.
At this point, we had been married a little over two years. But anyone with a halfway functional brain knows that Option A is no option at all. So I went outside the box and chose Option C: speed things up.
Kami is an auditory person. Her ability to place songs and voices astounds me on a daily basis. So I start to think, as she leans on this light pole and spits, "How can we get this over with?" because it's been ten minutes and I'm starting to get cold. And, clearly, this is all about me.
I put my hand on her back, and start gently stroking, to gain her confidence. As she's moaning, still bent over, I make this retching sound so believable that I almost make myself vomit.
She snapped her head at me, scowled with fury, and proceeded to let it fly, all over the place. Think, The Exorcist, but in a parking lot in Virginia. She furiously vomited for about five minutes, wiped her mouth with her towel, and threw it at me, storming off to the room.
But it worked.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Welcome
I'm James. I've been married to Kami for almost eight years now, and in that time period we have had some pretty strange things happen to us. This is an exercise in chronicling those events for a plethora of reasons: Mainly so that we don't forget them, also to entertain you, dear reader, and partially to get a book deal (like that high-maintenance chick with the understanding husband who tried to cook her way trough the Julia Child book). So check back, because we have stories to last a lifetime. If only I can remember them.
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