It began innocently enough. I awoke to find Annie Hall on my television, and the sounds of rushing cars on Walnut Street filtering through my bedroom windows. It was 11:00am exactly. I slowly composed myself and decided that I would spend the day at my mother’s house (100 yards down the street). My sister was sleeping in my father’s room across the hall, with our dog curled up next to her. I asked if she wanted to lend me her car for a few hours, or should just walk to the other house. She said she would drive me, because there was something she needed to do there, too. As it turned out, what she needed to do was sit on her ass and watch TV all day, but that’s besides the point.
There was a bowl of fresh chili waiting for me in the fridge, so I ate half of it with a plain bagel for breakfast. Oh man, you wouldn’t believe how delicious the bagel was. I’ve missed the New York / New Jersey bagel like you wouldn’t believe, and now I am convinced that I will be returning to LA with at least a dozen of them, to be frozen and enjoyed over the course of the next month or so. The chili was also good, but that will be devoured long before my week here draws to a close.
I showered, as I am wont to do, and dressed myself in my Friday best: jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, a hoodie, and the exterior of my old winter jacket. I figured that would be enough to keep me warm on a 50-degree evening. At 4:30 I began my voyage to meet Ian in the city so we could attend tonight’s Yankees/Mariners game. The original plan was for me to drive to Jersey City, park and take the PATH into Manhattan, walk to his apartment, and then travel via 4-Train to the Bronx. This didn’t even remotely come close to happening, because there was no parking in Jersey City, and the public lot that used to serve as a back-up to street parking has apparently been closed or re-appropriated for residential use only. Instead, I had to drive directly to Ian’s apartment.
Having not driven in New York in over a year, I was a bit nervous about not being able to find my way, but it was actually quite easy to locate and navigate my way to where he lives. I found an incredible parking spot, and sat in my car waiting for 6:00pm to roll around so I could leave the car without any fear of being ticketed. Ian called five minutes in front of six to ask where I was. When I told him, he said he was walking towards his apartment and would be happening upon my car momentarily. I looked out the window into my side mirror and there he was.
He looked good. Not in a gay way, of course, but in the way that a man will sometimes compliment his male friend who has been living healthy and trying to better himself through diet and exercise. You know what I mean. We walked fifty paces or so to his apartment, and he showed me exactly what four-times my monthly salary affords you as far as real estate in SoHo is concerned. We took his dog for a short walk, took a shot of $150 bourbon (that’s not a typo), and walked to the train station.
It took far too fucking long to reach Yankee Stadium. Ian figured that Justin was going to get angry and enter the stadium without us, and once a voice announced that there was train traffic holding up our trek to the stadium, he started to really worry Justin would grow tired of waiting for us. Exiting the train onto the platform afforded me my first glimpse of the new Yankee Stadium, which is being built across the street from the old one. I don’t watch a lot of Yankees games — because I hate them — but I hadn’t seen any photos of the stadium prior to my seeing it for the first time today. This is entirely different from the Mets situation, where Citi Field is being bit almost right on top of Shea Stadium. We met Justin right outside our gate, and entered together during the top of the first inning.
The game was alright. It was fucking FREEZING in the upper deck where we were seated. No amount of cover could protect me from the elements. My West Coast life has absolutely spoiled me in that anything below maybe sixty degrees is uncomfortable and irksome. From about the fourth inning on I was constantly watching the clock to try to calculate when the game would be over. I tried to grin and bear it, but by the 9th inning when the Yankees tacked on two insurance runs, I was ready to get the fuck out of the Bronx and start drinking somewhere warm.
We wound up back at Ian’s after the game, sharing a bottle of Dogfish Head Black & Blue (which tastes heavenly, by the way — it is a must if you like Dogfish Head beers, a golden Belgian-style ale made with over 300 pounds of fresh blueberries and blackberries) and listening to records while watching the conclusion of the Mets game on TV. There was talk of plans for tomorrow as well as later in the week, so this will certainly not be the last you hear of my exploits involving Ian. Speaking of which, has anyone else noticed that all three nights home have included drinking in varying degrees? I wonder what that says…
Until tomorrow, when I’ll once again try really hard not to forget the stupid fucking camera again!
