The Doctor is In and Out

I'm still with a'll, y'all. Don't you forget about me.

Ex

Has it really been that long since I last posted?

Lots and lots of ch-ch-ch-changes, so anybody who has been out of the country, (or continent), for a while has a lot to catch up on.

When we last checked in, I was about to start my carny ways. Well, they're continuing on point. I've lost my voice, my feet and ankles hurt, my diet consists of hot dogs and ice cream waffles, I don't get paid until the last day of the fair, and I love it. It's my calling. Well, it's not exactly my calling, but it's a better use of my skillz than, say, lifting stuff, (though I had a whale of a time doing that for one day).

There's also been a few personnel changes. Jack Taylor, my roommate from first year, answerer of all trivia questions and crossword clues pertaining to Africa and other such faraway places, and the guy who can be best described as 'the glue', has departed. Although I'm makin' it sound like he's passed, in reality he went home to become a Mainiac, (which I guess is much worse). I'll miss him so.

Angela, on the other hand, returned from across the Atlantic for the first time in two years and three months, (not that I've been countin', but it has still been a long freakin' time). Twas wonderful to see her again, and in a way sort of odd. It was almost like a memory come back to life, and reminded me of a different time, one that I always dreamed that I wanted to go back and inhabit. But now with Jack gone, Angela soon to be returning to France, Allen leaving for Fong Kong, and those who remain keepin' it cliquey, it is almost like the last vestiges of residence life have vanished. And none too soon, as Rich Traps prepares to move into Whitney Hall in two weeks or so. It's sad, but at the same time feels like a sense of closure and relief, in the knowledge that my current 'scene' fits me very well indeed.

I was plannin' on writing more, but that will do for now.

Don't be Sad. It's Carnivale!

Oooooohhhh boooooooyyyyy, I am certainly finding myself in the right element at the C.N.E. All my life I've been a carnival barker with nothing to bark about.

My game involves flying darts, mini-bikes, DVD players and purple crocodiles. Oh, and adding and subtracting. Countin' is tough, yo!

I love how when I did an image search for 'Chas Traps', (like you've never done one on your own name before), well, I certainly enjoyed the results.

And if you were wondering, that picture you see so prominently displayed in the top right corner is my celebrity lookalike, Jason Flemyng, the red-haired, big-nosed star of Snatch, Lock Stock...and that superhero movie with Sean Connery that tanked. For some reason, two separate 6'6' dudes told me that I'm his spitting image, and I'm wont to agree with them. I guess that's not the greatest compliment, as he's kind of a funny lookin' dude, but it's still more accurate than 'Ryan Stiles', 'Conan O'Brien', 'Mr. Burns', (due to my unique posture), and 'Kaspar Puley', (though he remains my half-brother...more on this later).

A twelve hour shift tomorrow. Twelve freakin' hours! And no Detroit. But I can't be sad, as it's Carnivale! Maybe I'll make it to the Mardi Gras parade 'morrow. Maybe I'll figure out why everyone is carrying around 'Jif' bags, (peanut butter taste test, maybe?), and perhaps I'll even land me the biggest prize of them all: the complete Boz Scaggs, how did you know? Okay, Family Guy rip-offs aside, the greatest prize available at the carnival is: well, some secrets are better left kept to the end of the fair. This rollercoaster ride is three weeks long. Hopefully, in true C.N.E. fashion, the ride itself will be scarier because there a good chance it will turn into a real-life rollercoaster. Wheeeeeee!!!!

Life Experience

I'm here at the house of my guru, Rohab Dales. Right now we are watching the world bartending championships, amongst the company of: five computers, including one laptop and on flatscreen, a Vietnamese exchange student named Kung, a sculpture artist named Kang, Rohab's Dad, who hasn't once looked up from his screen, a very large dog who does multiple tricks that mostly involve eating, and Rob himself, the picture of normalcy with his Joshua-like beard.

Some of Rohab's pearls of wisdom:

- Have you heard about this buck a beer stuff? It costs like one dollar per beer!

- I found life is like a square 1. Over the years, I've learned it's not about lining up the colors or the shapes, but about letting the pieces be happy wherever they sit.

For those who don't remember the square 1, it looks something like this:















Man, is that thing addictive!

- I'm going to make a movie about bikini women who save the world. That film is going to have legs!

- What's the difference between a duck? Two of its legs are one of the same.

- (His metaphor for life) This one time I was helping a guy move his sailboat. But before we did it, he asked me the best way to go about moving it. So he thought about it for about half and hour, and then ended up doing it my way anyways.

Oh, and we were supposed to go to this taping of some show, (the Elvira Kurt show, to be exact). But because I forced Rob to meet me at Union station, we took the bus to what we thought was a studio, but it ended up being the absolute middle of nowhere. I mean, we both acknowledged that post apocalyptic thrillers should be shot there, (and they probably are). Eventually, we rejoined civilization and found the studio, but by then we were too late. However, I found out that this was the studio where Missing, (formerly 1-800-Missing ), tapes. So now I know where to find Caterina, the girl from my Literary Studies class, who talked way too much about Augustine and her Catholicism. She once said I had nice shoes though, so I remember her fondly. Here she is, 'acting'.














You might remember Rohab from the story where I walked the entire length of the island. Today was practically a vacation, as we only traveled from Leslie and commissioner St. to Broadview and Gerrard. Like a vacation!

I'm sure that Rohab's witticisms will flow throughout my subconscious, and go straight from my mind to my fingers to your mind. But until then, I don't want to miss the dubbed version of the Japanese Dark Water. Rob just told me that I should learn how to be courteous, like the guy in the movie. And he told me that we can make his dog act like he's been shot.

Okay, two questions for the road?

1. Courtesy of Sammy, what is the name of the traumatic looking muppet that goes 'meep meep meep' all the time? And is he/she the sidekick of the Swedish Chef?

2. Why did that one sequence in Mike Tyson's Punch-Out!, where Little Mac defeats Piston Honda and runs across New York City, last so damn long? And there's like no way to skip it, and it goes on for like twenty minutes?

I need to know.

Chili Con Carny

Well, my long search is over, (for the next three weeks, at least).

Guess what, kiddies? I'm carnival folk, now. Smell like cabbage.

You better not be in my ass groove!

Good morning Old Man

Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were
Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were

Old man look at my life
Twenty four and there's so much more
Live alone in a paradise
That makes me think of two
Love lost, such a cost
Give me things that don't get lost
Like a coin that won't get tossed
Rolling home to you

Old man take a look at my life, I'm a lot like you
I need someone to love me the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes and you can tell that's true

Lullabies, look in your eyes
Run around the same old town
Doesn't mean that much to me
To mean that much to you
I've been first and last
Look at how the time goes past
But I'm all alone at last
Rolling home to you

Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were
Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were

Thanks, Young Neil

Goodnight Ladies

Goodnight ladies, ladies goodnight
It's time to say goodbye
Let me tell you, now, goodnight ladies, ladies goodnight
It's time to say goodbye

Ah, all night long you've been drinking your tequilla rye
But now you've sucked your lemon peel dry
So why not get high, high, high and
Goodnight ladies, ladies goodnight

Goodnight ladies, ladies goodnight
It's time to say goodbye
Goodnight sweet ladies, all ladies goodnight
It's time to say goodbye, bye-bye

Ah, we've been together for the longest time
But now it's time to get high
Come on, let's get high, high, high
And goodnight ladies, ladies goodnight

Oh, I'm still missing my other half
Oh, it must be something I did in the past
Don't it just make you wanna laugh
It's a lonely Saturday night
Oh, nobody calls me on the telephone
I put another record on my stereo
But I'm still singing a song of you
It's a lonely Saturday night

Now, if I was an actor or a dancer that was glamorous
Then, you know, an amourus life would soon be mine
But now the tinsel light of star break
Is all that's left to applaud my heartbreak
And eleven o'clock I watch the network news

Oh, oh, oh, something tells me that you're really gone
You said we could be friends, but that's not what's not what I want
And, anyway, my TV dinner's almost done
It's a lonely Saturday night
I mean to tell you, it's a lonely Saturday night
One more word, it's a lonely Saturday night

Thanks, Lou

Big Mac Attack

Let's be honest here. My little bitty blog is pretty much my only forum for my ideas. Example: yesterday evening I wrote a song entitled Almost Friends which was inspired, (okay, ripped off from), the BSS song Almost Crimes. I mentioned this fact to Rich Traps last night, strictly in passing, (we had both arrived home drunk and this gave us the avenue to be honest with each other). He said "let me guess, you are going to put this on your blog".

This got me thinking. Some of my reader(s) actually identify with and appreciate my writing. I recieved a fun little reminder that my ex-girlfriend Tamara had already heard my 'Fenetre! Pupitre!' bit, (probably more than a few times), but laughed at anyways. I had completely forgotten this fact when I reused it, and by that I mean, reinterpreted it. Plus, I didn't think she would catch me.

Plus, I had completely forgotten about my 'Fleetwood Mac becomes the president of Malawi' bit until I met Sara for the first time at Greg's Ice Cream yesterday and she inspired me to go back...to the Mac.

Another customer overheard our conversation, and announced how much he likes trhe song Landslide, and I agreed, due partly to its inclusion in the Kevin Smith film Jersey Girl. The JG is a waaaay underrated film. Hennifer Lopez basically plays herself for ten minutes and then dies, B-Af is amusingly impotent, Stephen Root steals scenes in everything he's everything in, (Dodgeball, NewsRadio, KOTH, and of course Office Space), and the girl is decent enough. Plus, the film is a love letter from a son to his father. What more do you want? Besides, of course, Jay and Silent Bob. Whatever, I still think its better than Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back.

Anyways, this customer made an extremely valid point, as Landslide fits perfectly into the Fleetwood Mac milieu, i.e. a charming, vaguely countryish song about how Lindsey Buckingham is a controlling prick, reportedly inspired by how Buckingham up and left Stevie Nicks in the mountains after a big fight. Sample lyric: Can I handle the seasons of my life?, meaning, if it gets too cold here in the mountains, is Lindsey going to come back and get me, or am I going to die in an avalanche? That's just my interpretation. Sadly though, it's not featured on Rumours, and therefore, will not assist in any Malawiian decision making processes.

Chuck Klosterman mentioned in his latest book how amazing it is that Stevie Nicks sings background on the song "Go Your Own Way", where Lindsey Buckingham tells Stevie Nicks that she should fuck right off. But what is also amazing is that the song "Dreams" Stevie Nicks admonishes Lindsey Buckingham for being a player, and basically taunts him with "You're giving up on this for that?", and rightfully so, as Stevie is a bona fide hottie.

Where was I going with all this? Oh yeah, why is the greatest selling album of the late seventies one in which Lindsey and Stevie, (not to mention Christine and John) basically trade insults with each other around radio friendly delightfully poppy music? Is this because people like to listen to stories of heartbreak and anguish, rather than positive relationship music? Are we all masochists at heart? And most importantly, why do Stevie and Lindsey have a boy's and girl's name respectively?

On that note, why is the other most popular album of the late seventies a magnum opus by a guy named after a dinner entree and who starred as a guy with bitch tits, which features as its centerpiece a track in which he tries to convince his seventeen year old sweetheart to have sex with him in a car without having to promise that he loves her? Is this ode to promiscuity the natural flip side of Rumours, harkening back to a time that sheer unadulterated lust was the only motivating factor in a young man's life? Perhaps Stevie Nicks once asked Lindsey Buckingham "Will you love me forever?" to which Lindsey replied "Let me sleep on it, meaning, let me sleep with someone else and I'll get back to you".

Regardless, what was Meat Loaf talking about seventeen years later when he sang "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that?" I'm sure he wasn't referring to not sharing his Dr. Pepper, despite the current commercial telling us otherwise. What's that song really about? Dieting? Making a prequel to the Rocky Horror Picture Show? Somebody help me out. However, I promise no free CDs as rewards this time. All I offer you is the promise that I will love you forever. Well, let me sleep on it.

Of course, I've had it in the ear before

Man, finding a job is hella tough! Just when I thought that every employer in the world was sitting back and waiting for talented little me to get back out there, here I find that I'm not the super stud job prospect I thought I was!

The Ex was a bit of a letdown, (since when was it a letup, I wonder). It was just me and Richard, and a hundred thousand other sixteen year olds from God knows where competing for degrading disgusting jobs. And the worst part is...as soon as we arrived everyone started to disperse. We didn't even get a chance to be rejected! We were rejected by proxy! The other jobs posted in the trailer, (featuring a large Mississauga focus...hmmmm), they were hardly worth getting up for one day, let alone a week or something. And to think, my original plan was to stay up all night after joke club! Fat lot of good that would have done me, I'm tired enough as it is!

Not to worry though, September 6th at the Drake Hotel will be Chas Traps' real performance day - now if my managers want to go over my material, Its not like I have anything better to do with my time.

This also might have been my imagination, but since I am a Literary Studies graduate, I figured that a certain book room might need an extra staffer. In fact, I am almost positive that I gave my pathetic shpiel, left the offer in the air, and had the woman from said book room look me up and down, with my unbuttoned shirt and shorts and say "Uhhhh, we're all set for Frosh Week". I felt like Elaine in that episode of Seinfeld. You know, the one where she tries to work at Monk's Cafe, but the owner doesn't want her because she's not stacked like the other waitresses.

I feel as though every help wanted sign turns right over the other way when potential employers see my sorry carcass trudging up the street.

I've got to explain something to you. Rejection in and of itself does not bother me. The wave of euphoria that passes over me when I get a flat out no feels more like relief than heartbreak, and I actually feel stronger for having done it. I'll tell you though, the idea of rejection - whether it be talking to a total stranger, (that's the worst for me, I've met you once, we're the best of friends, nonce, it can get pretty bad), or whether its asking for directions on the subway, or applying for a job face to face, the idea of somebody giving me the cold shoulder or the cut eye really scares the hell out of me. Of course, after it is all said and done, and the worst case scenario comes true, I really don't feel so bad. It's just that moment of doubt beforehand, where you, (I), leave your(my)self vulnerable for half a second, and can no longer hide beyond a veil of sarcasm, that's the moment that scares me the most. It's why I prefer to get phone calls rather than be the 'caller', and it's why I keep my meajeau bottled up until I realize that the price is right. Vindicate me, baby, vindicate me.

Gosh, I've gone on a little Live tangent, haven't I? I'm really quite happy now. In fact, I am happy to say that I was looking to hire for a while, but since I got a friendly e-mail fresh from Italia, I am sad to announce that the position of Chas Traps' 'friend without benefits' is no longer available, as the previous recipient has received her old job back. I know that things are going to get back to normal when she returns, and she'll feel free to talk about her feelings, while I hold her purse and cell phone.

Here's one thing that amazes me. Every time we go out together, (and I must admit, we're pretty tight), guys don't see the least bit worried about blatantly hitting on her in front of me. Again I feel like a Seinfeld character, this time Jerry, in the episode where the guy at the clothing store hits on Elaine right in front of him, and he remarks "How do you know that we're not going out!" In fact, my presence in her company seems to spur them on, and they often enlist my help in the matter, as if I possess some sort of key to her heart, (or loins).

I find that the opposite rings true in my case. When I'm out with my buddy, she seems to scare off all of my potential hook-ups. I have better luck when I'm with my horrible wingman guy friend, (that shit is hot). People, (okay, cute girls), assume that we are either dating, or that I'm gay, or that there is some reason why neither one is the case. Stop me if you've heard this before, but girls seem to be openly hostile of other girls, especially good looking ones. The presence of my cute friend makes other girls either jealous or contemptous, (and I assume to her, and I'm just an innocent bystander), and I end up missing out on benefits because I prefer the company of a friend without benefits.

How is this the case? Why does my presence result in more dates for her, and her presence result in fewer dates for me? Oh yeah, she's also got a lot of cute friends, but of course they want nothing to do with me, because they see me as an extension of their friend, thinking that we are in cahoots and trading gossip behind their backs, (ahem!) Meanwhile my friends, acquaintances, frenemies, outright enemies, all want a piece of her, and don't seem to see her as extension of me, thank God for that. Oy gevalt! If they did, I'd have to call Kaspar immediately.

Coming tomorrow: Part two of the all day night hunt, (and it ain't even Milfs this time). Will it be liquor and drugs and the flesh machine? Or is love just like hypnotizing chickens?

A million in prizes

New plan! Same as the old plan (?) Hibernation is not the life for me, and now I'm going to be out there all of the freakin' time, (still goin' to drop my gs though, in the hopes that in the future I'll be droppin' gs of a different kind).

The new Chas Traps will consist of, but is not limited to:

- Three different pink shirts, (even though pink is 'on the way out')
- Auditions for a brand new 'friend without benefits'
- Pizza
- French Fries
- Shameless self-promotion, even if I have nothing much to promote
- Blue Jay road trips that involve painting the letters G, U and S on three consecutive male chests.
- A lot more unintentional 'dress the same days'
- Schtick
- Schick
- Las Vegas, FUCK YEAH!
Christmas, FUCK YEAH!
Immigrants, FUCK YEAH!
- The ex(es)
- Q. How many philosophy graduates does it take to change a lightbulb?
A. First let's start by defining the role of the lightbulb and its fragile relationship to the human condition.
A2. Who can afford a lightbulb?
A3. These are today's specials
- Ignorance. I heard that's blissful.
- Ignoring. I head that's helpful.
- Cloth
- Tire
- The freezing of foods
- A lot of bands
- Commitment
- The Commitments, since apparently I look like one of the dude from the film
- Patience
- Patients
- Aborted missions
- Sting operations
- Clean teeth and gums. Yet I still have that nasty fluoridey taste. Yum, fluoride.
- Sleeping for a long time and waking up even more tired than if I'd slept for a really short time.
- Je ne sais quoi
- Je ne sais pas
- Anorak!
- Fenetre!
- Pupitre!
- All the French I learned was grade four. And for some reason I was taught to say each word really loud, with a rising lilt at the end.
- Strength
- Energy
- Balance
- Harmony
- I found those words on an investment t-shirt I wore once to my Jung class.
- Mollusks
- Clowns
- Knowing when to say goodbye
-

Schemin'

Just in case you didn't know, I'm in hidin' right now. Well, not so much hidin', as you know exactly where to find me, but I'm cooking up something big. I'm plottin', see, and part of that plottin' involves not knowin' where I'm goin', (apparently, this seems to involve droppin' all g's from life, and yes, I mean that in all senses). But this doesn't mean that I am completely aloof, just semi-aloof, and if it seems that I haven't been out much lately...well, just give me a little bit of time, and that should change very soon.

How is that for cryptic?

Vague confusion is still better than my original plan, which was to get Tommy John surgery. But since I am not a pitcher, I don't think it would make much difference...or would it? No, probably not. Still, I know my plan involves getting a J.O.B., since I need to have one in order to hate having one.

I guess that I am still bummed from last summer's J.O.B. since every single person working there other than me, (and keep in mind that this was a good job, in a large office, with many professionals), told me that the best time I will have will be in school. Still, the work jones compels me to want to do something constructive with my life, (for once). I just have no freakin' clue what that is. Career counseling has so far given me a lot of self-knowledge. Guess what the best piece of knowledge is? I'm terrified to start anything, lest I become trapped into it. Or maybe that was a dream I had last night. I also remember in my dream that two of the most unlikely people that I know in the world started dating. Whatever that means. I guess it means that anything is possible, which is what I intend to find out.

In that vein, the best seats in the house for the Yankees game (and here's how the game looked on the Yes network, see if you can spot my Dad's Expos shirt in the third row.















These amazing seats came about because of Sidney Zion, an outspoken columnist with the New York Daily News. He's the boyfriend of Nancy the Author. We didn't get to hang out with him like I'd hoped, but apparently he likes to kick it with the guy who was the inspiration for the Adam Schiff character on Law and Order. He also digs steakhouses, brandy, and himself sat in Steinbrenner's box during the game. He also stopped and asked a scary lookin' man on a Bronx street corner how to get back into the city. The man was polite enough, but then tapped on the window after the conversation in order to say "Happy Father's Day", which of course, it was. My kind of town, NYC.

And yes, the dogs were excellent, but I remember most about the Red Sox games was the excitement of the bleachers and the beers. I myself was fourteen, (or so), and didn't drink much, but it seemed as though the Bostonians kept coming back with drink after drink. Plus there was a beachball. I sound like Brick Tamland.

The plan is to go to Detroit in two weeks, to finally see the (yecch) Tigers play the Toronto Blue Jays. If Gustavo Chacin is pitching, we're painting G U and S on ourselves. If Roy Halladay is back, it's going to be D O and C, or maybe we'll just play Gettin' Funky in the car on the way, (anyone get that?) I'm hoping Dave Bush is pitching, because the sign opportunities are endless, (though my "If Bush is on the mound, play ball! sign, from kids day no less, was rivaled only by Bo Cheese).

Legend alert: on the Jays game directly following the Nelson Mandela rally at the Skydome, (not the free Nelson Mandela rally, as he was already free by that point), Rohab, Marc and I found a sign taped the wall. As our seats were high up, maybe this yellow sign had gone unnoticed. On one side was written simply the word 'Bo'. On the other side, simply 'Cheese'. What the sign means, I can only speculate. Further, I don't know if it was even from the Mandela rally, but in some way that makes it seem more relevant. After the game, we waited outside the visitor's dugout, as we were wont to do at the time. Four Detroit Tigers pitchers emerged, and seemed to have no qualms signing a Bo Cheese sign. Although Rohab still has the sign hidden in his basement somewhere, I can still remember that the four signers were Matt Anderson, A.J. Sager, Bryce Florie and Sean Runyan. Not exactly no-name pitchers. Okay, they are no-name pitchers, but Florie was in the news for a while after getting hit in the face with a ball, and when he finally got back to the mound, the Red Sox immediately cut him. And Matt Anderson, well, he was the first overall pick in the 1997 draft, and I think he resurfaced this year with Colorado. Good luck with allllll that!

The other guys, well, Runyan led the major leagues in games in 1998, and no other pitching statistic or anything else of record ever again. Sager, well, he pitched on the Tigers team that a 6.38 ERA in 1996. Plus, you won't find a better list of similar pitchers at baseball-reference.com. God bless you, Belve Bean.

I have been to Detroit before, and reminds me a lot of Athens, in that the ruins are perfectly preserved. Oh, wait a second... At least the new stadium isn't across the street from a White Castle with bulletproof glass, as the legend has it about Tiger Stadium. Perhaps Comerica is right next to a Bob's Big Boy behind bars. Only one way to find out, I guess.

I was really mad at my parents when they went to Minnesota for a wedding, and didn't go to a single Twins game, even though they were playing a four game set against the Angels. I'm also dying to make a day trip to Cleveland for the sole purpose of seeing an Indians game. Okay, go to an Indians game, swim in Lake Erie and fornicate with Drew Carey. But primarily the Indians game. Sort of.

My brother thinks I'm a loser for my new plan of going to a ballgame at every major league stadium. well, he thinks I'm a loser for many other reasons, but that seems to most pressing. He asked me if I think that people are going to want to be my friend because I'll have gone to Bank One Ballpark in Phoenix and the like. I can't think of a reason somebody wouldn't want to be my friend if I've been to a game in Phoenix. That's ten years worth of cred right there, n'est pas?

I'm also saddened that 'goodwill ambassador for baseball' isn't a real profession. It's got to be more useful than, say, Secretary General of the United Nations. Bizau!

Lastly, I am proud to announce that tonight I ate seven Pogos. What a summer!

The Guy behind the Guy

The first picture was taken on the last night of my visit. The five of us, (myself, my father, Nancy, the reknowned author, her son Albert, who attends Brandeis University, and my 'time off' coach Deb Friedman') went to a fantastic restaurant in Soho, which is where Nancy lives. The restaurant was named after its address, (which I cannot remember for the life of me), and was directly across the street from the hotel where Russell Crowe chucked a phone. The waiter had an old-fashioned maze, attooed on his arm, (he told me it signified life's maze. That was deep, man). Manu Chao played on the stereo, but nobody appreciated it like I did.

What a meal, what a place. I started with octopus, followed that up with some sort of seared meat that I don't remember, (though I do remember that there was no veal, or even a beef dish), and the photo in question is the dessert. What did a hip beyond words Soho restaurant named after its address serve for dessert? Ice cream sandwiches, one vanilla, one strawberry, and one chocolate. The vanilla one began to drip almost immediately, so I popped the whole thing in my mouth. That meant a photo op, of course. My mentor Deb is hiding in the background, presumably frightened of my strange, strange behavior.

The second shot is the famous Waldorf Astoria, at which a wedding was going down, (had I seen the Wedding Crashers a month earlier, I would have been a little bolder). Regardless, the chandeliers were pretty, and the staircases were a perfect place to exercise after the frozen yoghurt of the Bloomingdale's yuppie cafe.

The third shot is the Helmsley Building. Read the name of the building yourself. I'm not sure what goes on in it, but I could see the building from our place on 73rd avenue, and Helmsley is on 40th. So it must be important. I like the flags.

Yes, those were our seats at Yankee Stadium. I'm wasn't kidding when I said we had the best seats in the house. People kept coming up to our aisle, and shouting to their friends on their cell phones to 'look closely, I'm waving at you'. The ushers didn't much like this. For some reason, nobody in our section was a Yankee fan. There were the guys behind us, who were Cubs fans from Texas (?), who had won their ticket at some sort of corporate event. Then there was us, and finally, the woman next to us was a young mother from Long Island, who came with her eleven year old daughter. They didn't know much about baseball, (not even standing for God Bless America) and the Long Island lady had apparently been given the tickets by 'a friend' to pay back 'a favor'. Uhhhh, okay. Keep in mind that these were tickets with a face value of 95 bucks U.S. Must have been some favor. Also, the ballpark dogs were delicious. They may not have been authentic Nathan's Famous, but they were a whole lot better than Jay dogs, which seem to be edible only when drowned in ketchup and mustard. Plus, a waitress brought them right to our seats.

It was probably the greatest ballgame of my life, all things considered.

The last pic is of course, me, in Central Park. On the bridge behind me is a school full of young orthodox female children. They wore skirts down to the ground, and spoke Yiddish and Hebrew. It was quite odd. My favorite part of the park was either racing the boats in the fountain, or pretending to plan an upcoming Bar Mitzvah in the Park's expansive, (and expensive) restaurant. Cousin Herman rules!

Amazingly, every one of my New York experiences, and not just the ones mentioned here seemed to revolve around food, both fancy and otherwise. I ate New York.

Manhattan Transfer