Matthew J. Allen, will you please go NOW?
I remember Mom's voice when she read Doctor Suess to me. It helped me navigate JFK airport last week. If not for "Matthew J. Allen, will you please go NOW," I would've never made it to Tallahassee last weekend. Here's why.
Hurricane Katrina popped category five and missed us by a few hundred miles. Dad called me last Wednesday to tell me, "forget going to the airport on Friday, you should leave either today or tomorrow." I'm in New Paltz, New York, which is a two hour bus ride and an hour and a half train ride away from Terminal 6 at JFK, where I'd need to be in order to catch a flight home. This was just to beat the hurricane there. Dad does me the favor of changing my flight so that I leave on Thursday instead of Friday, and hopefully before the storm gets there.
Thursday morning, I say my goodbye to Alyssa for the next month. She gave me a bagel and creamcheese, a bottle of orange gatorade, and a kiss goodbye. I thought of that all morning on the bus, while fighting sleep, as we rode into New York City at the Port Authority. I wheeled my suitcase down to the subway and caught the A train (Fulton Street Express) to the Howard Beach station, an hour and fifteen minutes down the line, to switch trains to the JFK airport train. It was while I was boarding the JFK train when my dad called me and said, "yeah, your flight is cancelled."
Well, shit.
I spend half an hour riding the trains at JFK before finding that terminal that had the good food court and wind up just eating McDonalds. Another hour walking through JFK. Another two hours back to the city, where I find a Starbucks to sit in and charge my cell phone, which was on its last seconds of life. I meet with Al's friend Amy at her apartment. It would be Saturday before I could fly home. I'd better find something to do. Amy and I talk movies (she's got the entire series of Buffy on DVD--that's all seven seasons) and head back to Port Authority to get Alyssa. I've now been to the Port Authority three times since 10:30am, and it's now about 7:00pm. We get some beer, we get some food, I still can't find a goddamn Marlins game on TV, we get accosted by a bum in a bar that has a giant mural of the Last Supper where the characters of Jesus and pals are replaced by Elvis, James Dean, Marilynn Monroe and others. I'm exhausted. I forget what else we did.
Alyssa had to work on Friday. It was her last day working for Extra, and they made her interview the cast of Desperate Housewives, who apparently aren't very nice people. While Al was at work, I met Billie and Lindsay Bernstein (Russell's mom and sister) at NYU and helped Linds move in by cleaning the dorm room from top to bottom. Christ, Billie is thourough. I was cleaning the sides of things, the tops of things, places I didn't even know could be exposed to dirt or cleaning instruments. It was actually a lot of fun. We did the crossword puzzle as a group, which is actually a great group activity.
I met Amy at "The Strand," which is the greatest bookstore in the world. I don't think I can do it justice. The bookstore is four stories. Each floor has more books than an entire Barnes and Noble has. There are old books, new books, used books, books that time forgot--- it was like a Library and a Borders Bookstore had mated. The bottom floor had a section on Chess books that was larger than any chain store's "Mystery" section. I found books on the Occult. I found books that were over seventy years old and in great condition. The bookshelves reached the ten-foot ceiling, and there was barely space for you to walk the aisles. There was never any bare space on a shelf. If you could be flooded in books, it would look like this, except that some unseen elves or something came in and alphabetized the whole damn place.
What was most amazing were the prices. The whole bottom floor was 1/2 off. Books that sold for fourteen bucks elsewhere sold for four bucks at the Strand. I went nuts and bought about five books.
The top floor had the rare books. First edition hardcovers of every popular or well-known book from the last hundred years. They had shelves filled with "special" books. "Special" doesn't mean mentally challenged, here. It means, "this is a Jack London first printing of 'Call of the Wild,' and he wrote a message to someone on the title page." They had a vault, and in that vault were the REAL gems. Including, a first printing of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."
This, to me, is a place I could spend the rest of my life. I'm not kidding. Give me a week or two off from time to time to snowboard or something, and I would read every book in that store until I die.
It's called "The Strand," and it's in the Village. It's on 12th street, and I think 5th ave.
I got Jake a book on ghost stories. Why was this book any good? It was fifty years old, and the cover looked like it'd seen better days. The book was written by a man who spent his whole life collecting testimonials on auctual encounters with ghosts. He collected stories from nuns, abbots, priests--- people who would tell you the truth about spiritual shit, if they believe it's true. The book was fascinating. And on the inside of the cover, there was a message written by someone who'd once owned the book. The message said, in pen, "To the only real person in my life. <3 Your Valentine." Someone gave this book as a Valentine's gift? Absurd! Jake, I figured, would love it. It's his sort of thing.
Amy, Alyssa and I all went and saw "The Brothers Grimm," which we all agreed was god-awful bullshit. I tried to remember for myself whether the references in the movie to Grimm's Fairytales were actually references to Grimm's, or to the Disney movies that the tales inspired. Either way, the movie fucking sucked. Don't see it. It's a total waste of money you could spend on anything. You could buy three books!
I had to say goodbye to Alyssa again the next morning. That's not something you should have to do twice in three days. Fucking hurricane!
When I finally got home, after the trains at JFK behaved unexpectedly for two hours and the woman in the seat next to me on the airplane farted all the way up to cruising altitude, I saw the damage Katrina had done to Miami. As Jake later concluded, "it looked like someone dropped a Jumanji-bomb on it." That's about right. It looked a lot like the aftermath of Andrew, except that all of the houses were still standing. The trees, though, were all over the place. They were blocking roads, they were lining the sides of the streets, they were sideways across yards and sidewalks, even several feet from where they once stood in some places. Power and water were out in many neighborhoods. I got to hang with Wayne for a little bit while packing, and then fell asleep for all of three hours before driving to Tallahassee.
It took me twelve hours to drive to Tallahassee, but that's because I stopped in Gainsville for lunch. I was practically asleep when I got in. I lugged in my bags and guitars and things, and then Phil tells me, "we're going to Snookers to shoot pool and drink." Great. So it's going to be one of THOSE evenings.
I had one beer. I just didn't have the energy to go for more, nor the will. Class was scheduled for the next morning, after all. I got to see some of the Tallahassee crew---or, crews, I should say. The Tallahassee Crew that I once knew is now several splinter groups that operate independent of one another.
This whole entry was just a recap of events. Really, I haven't had time or anything for deep thought or feelings or whatnot. I'm all thought out. I'm all emotioned up. I'm verbing words and weirding language. Spaceman Spiff, ready to be shot into space. My brain is barely functioning right now. I need coffee.
BUT-- I can use this entry to set something up. Here goes.
Things I'd like to do this week:
1. Go bowling. Who's in?
2. Go to the Leon Pub and get pitchers of beers we all haven't tried before.
3. Find out if there'll be any good rock shows this Fall, and arrange to see them with whoever's interested.
4. Play some baseball.
For number 4, I'd actually like to just go out to the Intramural fields this week and hit some balls around. If this is something you'd like to do, let me know. I'll get some guys.
Okay, off to class.
Hurricane Katrina popped category five and missed us by a few hundred miles. Dad called me last Wednesday to tell me, "forget going to the airport on Friday, you should leave either today or tomorrow." I'm in New Paltz, New York, which is a two hour bus ride and an hour and a half train ride away from Terminal 6 at JFK, where I'd need to be in order to catch a flight home. This was just to beat the hurricane there. Dad does me the favor of changing my flight so that I leave on Thursday instead of Friday, and hopefully before the storm gets there.
Thursday morning, I say my goodbye to Alyssa for the next month. She gave me a bagel and creamcheese, a bottle of orange gatorade, and a kiss goodbye. I thought of that all morning on the bus, while fighting sleep, as we rode into New York City at the Port Authority. I wheeled my suitcase down to the subway and caught the A train (Fulton Street Express) to the Howard Beach station, an hour and fifteen minutes down the line, to switch trains to the JFK airport train. It was while I was boarding the JFK train when my dad called me and said, "yeah, your flight is cancelled."
Well, shit.
I spend half an hour riding the trains at JFK before finding that terminal that had the good food court and wind up just eating McDonalds. Another hour walking through JFK. Another two hours back to the city, where I find a Starbucks to sit in and charge my cell phone, which was on its last seconds of life. I meet with Al's friend Amy at her apartment. It would be Saturday before I could fly home. I'd better find something to do. Amy and I talk movies (she's got the entire series of Buffy on DVD--that's all seven seasons) and head back to Port Authority to get Alyssa. I've now been to the Port Authority three times since 10:30am, and it's now about 7:00pm. We get some beer, we get some food, I still can't find a goddamn Marlins game on TV, we get accosted by a bum in a bar that has a giant mural of the Last Supper where the characters of Jesus and pals are replaced by Elvis, James Dean, Marilynn Monroe and others. I'm exhausted. I forget what else we did.
Alyssa had to work on Friday. It was her last day working for Extra, and they made her interview the cast of Desperate Housewives, who apparently aren't very nice people. While Al was at work, I met Billie and Lindsay Bernstein (Russell's mom and sister) at NYU and helped Linds move in by cleaning the dorm room from top to bottom. Christ, Billie is thourough. I was cleaning the sides of things, the tops of things, places I didn't even know could be exposed to dirt or cleaning instruments. It was actually a lot of fun. We did the crossword puzzle as a group, which is actually a great group activity.
I met Amy at "The Strand," which is the greatest bookstore in the world. I don't think I can do it justice. The bookstore is four stories. Each floor has more books than an entire Barnes and Noble has. There are old books, new books, used books, books that time forgot--- it was like a Library and a Borders Bookstore had mated. The bottom floor had a section on Chess books that was larger than any chain store's "Mystery" section. I found books on the Occult. I found books that were over seventy years old and in great condition. The bookshelves reached the ten-foot ceiling, and there was barely space for you to walk the aisles. There was never any bare space on a shelf. If you could be flooded in books, it would look like this, except that some unseen elves or something came in and alphabetized the whole damn place.
What was most amazing were the prices. The whole bottom floor was 1/2 off. Books that sold for fourteen bucks elsewhere sold for four bucks at the Strand. I went nuts and bought about five books.
The top floor had the rare books. First edition hardcovers of every popular or well-known book from the last hundred years. They had shelves filled with "special" books. "Special" doesn't mean mentally challenged, here. It means, "this is a Jack London first printing of 'Call of the Wild,' and he wrote a message to someone on the title page." They had a vault, and in that vault were the REAL gems. Including, a first printing of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."
This, to me, is a place I could spend the rest of my life. I'm not kidding. Give me a week or two off from time to time to snowboard or something, and I would read every book in that store until I die.
It's called "The Strand," and it's in the Village. It's on 12th street, and I think 5th ave.
I got Jake a book on ghost stories. Why was this book any good? It was fifty years old, and the cover looked like it'd seen better days. The book was written by a man who spent his whole life collecting testimonials on auctual encounters with ghosts. He collected stories from nuns, abbots, priests--- people who would tell you the truth about spiritual shit, if they believe it's true. The book was fascinating. And on the inside of the cover, there was a message written by someone who'd once owned the book. The message said, in pen, "To the only real person in my life. <3 Your Valentine." Someone gave this book as a Valentine's gift? Absurd! Jake, I figured, would love it. It's his sort of thing.
Amy, Alyssa and I all went and saw "The Brothers Grimm," which we all agreed was god-awful bullshit. I tried to remember for myself whether the references in the movie to Grimm's Fairytales were actually references to Grimm's, or to the Disney movies that the tales inspired. Either way, the movie fucking sucked. Don't see it. It's a total waste of money you could spend on anything. You could buy three books!
I had to say goodbye to Alyssa again the next morning. That's not something you should have to do twice in three days. Fucking hurricane!
When I finally got home, after the trains at JFK behaved unexpectedly for two hours and the woman in the seat next to me on the airplane farted all the way up to cruising altitude, I saw the damage Katrina had done to Miami. As Jake later concluded, "it looked like someone dropped a Jumanji-bomb on it." That's about right. It looked a lot like the aftermath of Andrew, except that all of the houses were still standing. The trees, though, were all over the place. They were blocking roads, they were lining the sides of the streets, they were sideways across yards and sidewalks, even several feet from where they once stood in some places. Power and water were out in many neighborhoods. I got to hang with Wayne for a little bit while packing, and then fell asleep for all of three hours before driving to Tallahassee.
It took me twelve hours to drive to Tallahassee, but that's because I stopped in Gainsville for lunch. I was practically asleep when I got in. I lugged in my bags and guitars and things, and then Phil tells me, "we're going to Snookers to shoot pool and drink." Great. So it's going to be one of THOSE evenings.
I had one beer. I just didn't have the energy to go for more, nor the will. Class was scheduled for the next morning, after all. I got to see some of the Tallahassee crew---or, crews, I should say. The Tallahassee Crew that I once knew is now several splinter groups that operate independent of one another.
This whole entry was just a recap of events. Really, I haven't had time or anything for deep thought or feelings or whatnot. I'm all thought out. I'm all emotioned up. I'm verbing words and weirding language. Spaceman Spiff, ready to be shot into space. My brain is barely functioning right now. I need coffee.
BUT-- I can use this entry to set something up. Here goes.
Things I'd like to do this week:
1. Go bowling. Who's in?
2. Go to the Leon Pub and get pitchers of beers we all haven't tried before.
3. Find out if there'll be any good rock shows this Fall, and arrange to see them with whoever's interested.
4. Play some baseball.
For number 4, I'd actually like to just go out to the Intramural fields this week and hit some balls around. If this is something you'd like to do, let me know. I'll get some guys.
Okay, off to class.