I love the way the blacktop winds
There's a great line from one of those Floating Men songs about loving how the blacktop winds, but I can't quite pull it up right now.
In any case, tomorrow morning I'm popping out of bed at 6am, turning on Morning Joe (it's almost never good if you're watching Morning Joe in real time), drinking some coffee and collecting myself emotionally. Having taken a shower the night before, ablutions will be minimal. At 6:45 I'll grab my bag and walk out the door, jump in my car and whistle south to Brooklyn. If my timing is right, I'll arrive at the exact point when people who live on 6th Street in Park Slope, Brooklyn are moving their cars back to the side of the street they had moved them from an hour or so before.
I'll sit in the car, drinking a large coffee I will have bought from the deli at the corner of 5th and 5th, and reading the paper til 11. I'll then meander down the hill to the R train, take it to Barclay's Center/Atlantic Ave, switch to the 4 or 5 and shoot uptown to Grand Central. There, by the clock in the middle of the Main Hall, I'll meet my buddy Eric. After a manly embrace, we will then plunge again into the depths, locate the 7 train, and ride it to Flushing. Which is in Queens.
Then, flashing the tickets I just printed out on a couple of sheets of 8 1/2 by 11 inch copier paper, we will enter Nouche (pronounced New Shea, because I refuse to call it Citi Field) with the specific purpose of attending the last home game of the 2012 Mets where megaknuckleballer R.A. Dickey will seek his 20th win of the season and with it, likely, the National League Cy Young award.
And wouldn't that be magical? From where I stand right now, the rain may be a problem. But I'm sanguine. Whatever that means.
Then, the next day, because I love the way the asphalt winds (which I think is the actual line), I'll exit New York, drive to North Jersey, grab one of my daughters (the one who likes football, not the one that doesn't) and then wing south to Charlottesville, Virginia. We'll stop off at National Airport (because I refuse to call it Reagan International) and pick up one of my college roommates. The purpose of the trip being to watch the Virginia Cavaliers battle Louisiana Tech. Whatever that is.
The only think I know about LA Tech is that they average 54.7 points a game. Which is a source of concern.
Two days later we will reverse the process. The plan is to slide, as silently as the Batmobile, into my parking space in Troy at 8 pm Sunday night. Exactly. Just in time to watch the Giants play the Eagles (with the very real hope of watching the defensive line of the Giants turn Michael Vick into some version of guacamole).
I will be back behind this very computer on Monday. Expect nothing between now and then.
In any case, tomorrow morning I'm popping out of bed at 6am, turning on Morning Joe (it's almost never good if you're watching Morning Joe in real time), drinking some coffee and collecting myself emotionally. Having taken a shower the night before, ablutions will be minimal. At 6:45 I'll grab my bag and walk out the door, jump in my car and whistle south to Brooklyn. If my timing is right, I'll arrive at the exact point when people who live on 6th Street in Park Slope, Brooklyn are moving their cars back to the side of the street they had moved them from an hour or so before.
I'll sit in the car, drinking a large coffee I will have bought from the deli at the corner of 5th and 5th, and reading the paper til 11. I'll then meander down the hill to the R train, take it to Barclay's Center/Atlantic Ave, switch to the 4 or 5 and shoot uptown to Grand Central. There, by the clock in the middle of the Main Hall, I'll meet my buddy Eric. After a manly embrace, we will then plunge again into the depths, locate the 7 train, and ride it to Flushing. Which is in Queens.
Then, flashing the tickets I just printed out on a couple of sheets of 8 1/2 by 11 inch copier paper, we will enter Nouche (pronounced New Shea, because I refuse to call it Citi Field) with the specific purpose of attending the last home game of the 2012 Mets where megaknuckleballer R.A. Dickey will seek his 20th win of the season and with it, likely, the National League Cy Young award.
And wouldn't that be magical? From where I stand right now, the rain may be a problem. But I'm sanguine. Whatever that means.
Then, the next day, because I love the way the asphalt winds (which I think is the actual line), I'll exit New York, drive to North Jersey, grab one of my daughters (the one who likes football, not the one that doesn't) and then wing south to Charlottesville, Virginia. We'll stop off at National Airport (because I refuse to call it Reagan International) and pick up one of my college roommates. The purpose of the trip being to watch the Virginia Cavaliers battle Louisiana Tech. Whatever that is.
The only think I know about LA Tech is that they average 54.7 points a game. Which is a source of concern.
Two days later we will reverse the process. The plan is to slide, as silently as the Batmobile, into my parking space in Troy at 8 pm Sunday night. Exactly. Just in time to watch the Giants play the Eagles (with the very real hope of watching the defensive line of the Giants turn Michael Vick into some version of guacamole).
I will be back behind this very computer on Monday. Expect nothing between now and then.
posted by Geoffrey at 1:31 PM
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