Shire Shenanigans: October 2012

Steffen and Melissa's wedding hit all the right notes and all 'round tear ducts were in full pump mode. I decided to drive to NYC with Mom, Allie and Shawn to see them off and, apparently, drive them to the airport, as well as catch up with some curly-locked Shinerocks. After some mighty delectable Maker's Mark whiskey hot chocolate, I crashed at Sol's place in Brooklyn and left in the morning so that I would be cutting it close, because where's the fun if there isn't a little risk and danger? Except, as I was getting ready to leave, I forgot that I had to go all the way up town, not just cross the water into Manhattan from Brooklyn Heights. So I scrambled my stuff together and started hobbling toward the station as fast as my cane abled body would move, downloading the NYC Subway app on my way, since iOS6 no longer has directions via public transport built in. The express (Green line number 5) to Manhattan turned out to have some issues, though, and the PA comes on alerting all the passengers that it will be suspended for an indefinite amount of time forcing me to hoof it several blocks to the Red express line (number 3) to the upper west side. I exit the station to see the Freedom Tower rising directly in front of me. My backpack is kinda heavy and the cane supported hobbling is severely hampered by the added weight to my otherwise light frame. I'm underground again and hear the train coming to a stop some distance away and so am racing down the stairs against a sea of exit-passengers. One man is headed toward me (I'm on the right side holding onto the right railing) so he's coming up on his left. I see he has no intention of getting out of my way and doesn't budge when I bark at him something to the effect "hey, dude, clearly I'm in some kind of rush here and I'm not exactly fit, so move". I think I actually said "Excuse me!" Damn New Yorkers, think they can just bully and hustle their way through a quasy-nimble cripple.

As I hit the landing the doors to the stopped train are still open. I amble over as fast as I can but they shut just as I approach them. Man, I've put in way too much effort to come this close only for the train to leave without me. I press my hands against the windows of the door and ... pull it open, somewhat to my surprise and pleasure. I jostle my way inside, ungainly, and hurriedly plop myself down in the first available seat, anxious to rest. I find myself seated among three very attractive young, professional ladies, two across from me and one next to me. They are completely non-plussed.

As the train is moving along I'm thinking if there is anything I might want to just double check. I look at the map--yep, red 3 line is express to Upper West Side. Nothing I need to double check with other passengers. All's good. A couple stops later, the lovelies leave and I hear the station announcement "Fulton" or "Wall St." Wait.. am I even going in the right direction? I ask the guy now to my left what direction this train is headed and he says downtown. AWWWWWWWSUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMM!

In a quasi-panic I rush out of the train and head up the stairs, trying to figure out where I need to go to get the uptown train. I ask another guy at the top of the stairs and he directs me back down the stairs I just came up. Oh, look, there are two tracks running parallel to each other. One goes UP TOWN and the other DOWN. Novel, isn't it?

I get off the train around 10:10am at Broadway and W 86th St, two long blocks to Vinny's apartment. I text Allie if they can drive the car to me, as I'm feeling like a battered old man. "We haven't gotten dressed yet so come up to the apartment." Ever since Steffen aptly tagged the absurdity of air travel with the line "hurry up and wait" I can't help but smile.

On the way down to NYC, we stopped by Mike and Becky's in Beacon where we received a warm welcome as always.

Becky graciously treated us to lunch where I masterfully removed my entire entree from my plate to my mouth with chopsticks. Definitely a first. And, yes, it included a full bowl of rice.

Their addition is coming along famously:

Michael Zelehoski is an artist. His latest tool is not a paintbrush or a stencil, or a even a chisel. It's a giant, 2500 pound table saw.

"this is the mother of all table saws, pretty much."

It's an Alendorf F45, yo and Jesse Pinkman's got nothing on this bitch.

Later we climbed a tower but there was something not quite right about the chocolate brownies we had eaten earlier that Becky had made us and the tower started to become distorted:

No, I'm just kidding. This is one of Michael's art pieces. Don't ask me how he produces with that giant, crude machine such carefully crafted pieces as this; that's just the genius that is Michael Zelehoski.

If you want to see more of his work, type his name into a google image search.