A Cheap Summer Night

Here's an idea for a fun, summer evening activity:
Trek down to lower Manhattan (Take the 1/9 to South Ferry, and yes, make sure you're in the first 5 cars (the driver will enthusiastically remind you, a dozen times...though there's no way to know when you're on the train, just WHICH car you're in. Alright MTA, you go ahead and spend your "alleged" surplus money on NYPD to search New Yorker's bags (surely full of terrorist paraphernalia: iPods, newspapers, candy, and bananas) while the PA system remains merely a broken relic of the 1950s. In an emergency, I won't have a clue as to what's going on, but at least I'll feel good knowing I'm not carrying dynamite or ammonium hydroxide.) Anyway, I digress; this isn't supposed to be my MTA-rant. We'll save that for another time. Take the Staten Island Ferry (FREE) across the harbor. Not only this a cool trip, but did I mention it's free? During the breezy ride, you'll catch a glimpse of historical Ellis Island, along with its partner in crime, Ms. Liberty herself. (Note: if you travel during sunset, you'll surely capture postcard-worthy images.)

Once you dock in glorious Staten Island (insert sarcasm emoticon here), head to the Richmond County Bank Ballpark to see the Staten Island Yankees in full force. During this [minor league] fanfare, you'll surely score exceptional seats, have the chance to chug non-stadium beer such as Brooklyn and Amstel, indulge in treats like fresh muffins, cookies, and kosher hot dogs, all while viewing the nighttime cityscape of nearby NYC. If you're lucky, you may even catch a foul ball, a whiff of greasy fried goods, or the mascot's sweaty head piece. The Yanks will most likely win (it's gotta be rigged. There was clearly some questionable scoring the night I went).

The ferry ride back is even cooler than before. Nighttime boat rides are eerie, calming and almost zen-like. (Reminds me of the time I took an overnight train from Copenhagen to Amsterdam, and awoke at midnight to find our train, not chugging through the dark countryside, but mysteriously on its tracks, ON a boat, crossing the Baltic Sea to the German border at Puttgarden. Very odd experience...It was like a transportation convention with bad Danish coffee and blue-tinged flourescent lights.) Anyway, make your way to the very front of the ferry for a view of black ocean water (not to be confused with "black ice") sliding silently underneath the boat, and a slowly approaching glittering city, full of very expensive indoor activities.

A good time will surely be had by all.

Paris

Last night I dreamt I was in Paris. Or, I should say, back in Paris. I went in January, on a whim, for a mere 85 hours, to my delightful surprise, and to that of the man who is now semi-lovingly known (within a discrete social circle) simply as "Paris Boy." (Ominous foreshadowing?) During the long (and very expensive) taxi ride from Charles de Gaulle to Arrondissement 4, through industrial zones and patches of eerie fog (a phenomenon seemingly unique to European roads) I gazed, with heavy eyelids at the European glory passing by the slightly tinted glass of the plush backseat. "Ahh, gay Paree," I thought. I never want to leave. But if I'm to make it through the day, I either need a serious power nap, or a shot of tequilla with my french pastry. (The latter seemed both impossible and impractical, being that it was 7:30 am).

The magic of flying on a plane for hours, (WHY did they have to show Jerry McGuire? Are there no other movies in the cargo bay?) across a wide expanse of ocean known simply as "The Pond" by my Dutch friends, made me feel as if all my problems had been left in the diesel-coated dust on the banks of the Hudson River. . and so I dozed. After all, Paris Boy knew where to go.

Thirty euros later, the taxi neared the outskirts of the city. I awoke to the churn of a glorious morning in Paris. Cobblestone streets and fabulous shoes, funny little cars with bad paint jobs, architecture straight out of textbooks (was that just Napoleon who waved at me? Mon dieu, I'm tired), narrow roads that twist and expel traffic straight into imperial opera houses and splendid hotels, silky foie gras that melts in your mouth and luxurious bakeries that beckon even the most anti-carb dieters, tabac shops filled with real foreigners who don't speak a lick of English, the Metro with its ingenious silent rubber tires, perfect cafe au lait (au yes), and that sweet sweet smell of far away Europe; the stepping stone to problem-free life.

*Sigh* I must go back. Opportunity awaits, perhaps in the form of a fresh croissant.