Don't Block the Box.

I used this phrase in my head for almost a week, and then I suddenly started saying out loud. Thank you New York and DC. I'm happy to have a weird ass idiosyncratic saying that did NOT come from tv, movies, or music.

I am home. I've been home for almost 36 hours, though Monday seemed like a lost day since I was traveling from about 11 am to 6:30 pm -- car to metro to bus to plane to train to bus. That's a lot of public and private transport. I felt like Jimmy Stewart from the Lost Weekend except I wasn't drunk, just sleep-deprived.

A quick recap. I may write more specific posts as incidents come up, but I need more coffee, plus I have tons of work e-mails to go through.

Number of people I hung out with in NYC and DC: 30
Number of them on Livejournal (that I know of): 18
Number of days I was gone: 11
Number of hours slept during this time: Never more than 7 per night, some nights closer to 4 or 5
Number of beds I slept in: 5
Number of times I got drunk: 2
Number of movies I saw: 4 (all in the theater)
Number of DVDs I purchased: 5
Number of comic books I purchased: Too many to count -- mostly because I picked up several packages and collections from bargain bins

Special thanks to the folks who housed me (the Whitehouse Hotel of NY on the Bowery, Tara, Jessie and Phyllis, Joe and Vinnie, Tara's friend Emily). Extra special thanks to Myles for checking our mail and taking care of my young pup.

And of course, extra gratitude to MelRo for taking me back after I arrived home.

Stories from the City, Stories from the Hudson River

I have to talk about this dog. Not that I could ever imagine forgetting this dog, but there are lots of things I swear I'll remember until the day I die but don't.

I stopped by the headquarters office on Friday around 4 pm -- this time I had a bit more confidence in dropping by since I actually knew a couple folks in person, including Former Intern (aka Katie) and Devo Music Geek (aka Amy). I finally got to meet Lauren in person. I can't come up with a clever nickname for Lauren, and at my most descriptive, I'd call her Sweet New York Hot Dyke. Or something. Or maybe Devoted Dog Owner.
( the beast )

You didn't want to say, did you?

{Warning: Those in DC probably already heard this story.}

On Tuesday I decided I hate the DC metro system. They don't accept dollar coins, I hate the concept of exit fares, and I hate I have to do complex math to figure out how much my travels will cost. I prefer my 30-day pass which insures I can get on any train or bus at any time of day. But I didn't get too upset over it and just dealt with the situation. I decided to just round up in all my estimations of money, and put five dollars on my card, knowing it would get me from Maryland to Virginia with some change left over for the next day.

At the station near Tara's, I headed towards the stalls, mixed in with a few commuters and tourists. The Tourist Man ahead of me stuck his card in, but was unable to make the yellow arc retract. I stepped up, confident I could work the non-complex machinery. The card jumped back out with a "See Station Manager" message. I was convinced the particular turnstile must be broken , so I tried another one, but got the same message. I wandered over to the man in the kiosk, at the same time as a family of tourists -- in fact I ended up standing right in the middle of them while the father (the obvious head of household) gave his card to the man for examination. Thinking back, the Metro work was a dead ringer for Ernest Perry, Jr., a well-known third tier movie actor and second-tier stage actor. Or, to most people, the guy in the Big Red commercials who likes to surprise people in the public bathrooms.

This next part of the story sounds better in person, but basically it involved my man saying several times, "so, have you seen our chart?" For those unfamiliar with the DC metro, in every station by the machines is a detailed chart listing the price to get to every stop on the system. He broke it down for them in regards to what rush hour means as well. He suggested they put extra money on the card, and the father said "but we don't need it because we're not from around here."

Ernest: "So you're not going to be back here again?"
Tourist: "No, we're from Iowa."
Ernest: "And you're NEVER going to be back EVER again?"
Tourist: "No, there's not enough cornfields."

Then the Iowans departed to the pay station, leaving me behind while Ernest shook his head back and forth, mumbling about cornfields. I stood there for a moment, then handed him my card saying uneloquently, "I don't know why it doesn't work."

He looked me up and down. "Neither do I."

He took my card and stuck it in the turnstile. He shook his head and muttered about the lack of cornfields, then he walked into his office and swiped it through some magic machine. He stepped outside.

"This card has been erased and deactivated."

"Oh, really?" I attempted lamely to play dumb about the concept. But in my head I was flashing back to the night before when Vinnie and I waited at the Metro station and read every pamphlet on their rack.

Ernest: Where were you keeping the card?
Me: Um, in my pocket. The right one.
Ernest (looks at me then looks up): What else was in that pocket?
Me (remembering that cell phones erase the transit card when kept in close proximity): Um...some change.
Ernest: What else?
Me: Um....some chapstick.
Ernest: What else?
Me (looking down at my shoes): My cell phone.
Ernest: Uh-huh. That's what I thought.
Me: (still looking down, sheepishly)
Ernest: You didn't want to say, did you?
Me: No. No I didn't.
(long pause)
Ernest: You have to take this down to Metro Center or send it in by mail and they'll reactivate it for you.
Me: So, do I have to put more money in so I can leave?

Ernest shook his head then gestured with his thumb toward a small gate on the other side of his kiosk where I escaped into the tunnel. I imagine that as the next person approached him with a question, he just shook his head and mumbled "he didn't want to say, did he? he didn't want to say."

Even though he fronted on me big time, I couldn't even be that embarassed because I was too busy laughing.