Montreal, jour un

I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve been excited to wake up at 6 AM. No matter how much sleep you get the night before or how much you’re looking forward to the next day, it just isn’t a fun thing to do.

This trip, though, cracked that list. Gina and I were up well before the sun rose to get on the road to Montreal, a trip we’ve had in the works for a few months now. We knew it would be cold once we got there and had come to terms with that, but had been dreading the chance of heavy snow making the 400-mile drive up from New Jersey a treacherous endeavor, certainly a plausible possibility given a venture through upstate New York at the end of December.

We were fortunate, then, that the only snow we saw in six hours was in patches on the ground in the northwoods of the Adirondacks and the farmlands of Quebec. After failing to go to Madison Avenue in New York City over Thanksgiving, I’m pleased to report that we did make it Madison Avenue in New York this time around – in Albany, the state capital, where we took a few pictures of the capitol building and stopped at a Dunkin’ Donuts, where a homeless man asked how tall I was and if I played basketball…before proceeding to solicit me for money. And there I was, thinking I was something special. I even felt flattered for a minute.

The rest of the drive was uneventful, if not supremely picturesque. It must be absolutely gorgeous to head that way during autumn to see the full effects of changing foliage, but alas, we had to content ourselves with the relatively unspoiled forests and trees that make up eastern and northern New York. I had been eagerly anticipating the chance to drive in Canada, particularly in Quebec as French is the primary language of the province and would be all over its road signs (I don’t speak French, so this titillating sense of the unknown and the distinct possibility of committing some unknown driving infraction appealed to me greatly), but I’m here to tell you that it was a bit of a letdown. Yes, I was permitted to go 100 on the highway, and reaching that triple digit mark was exciting, but I knew from previous family trips to Canada when I was younger that it was in kilometers per hour and not miles per hour. The scenery into Montreal from Plattsburgh, New York was nothing to write home about – if you want to see snowy farms, Iowa is the place for you – and drivers in Quebec were just as terrible as they are in the US, even if it was a small sample size on which to judge.

Bonjour, Canada

The border, though, is where the fun truly began. To prevent from being charged absurdly high international rates on our phones, we turned our cellular data off. My GPS was handy for navigating us to Montreal itself, and to be fair you couldn’t miss its skyline, but when it said we had 23.5 miles to go to our hotel as we crossed the bridge over the St. Lawrence River and had downtown Montreal square in our sights, I angrily cast it aside. Fortunately Gina is conversant in French, but such is the spoiled life of young adults in 2014 that without phones for backup, doing a bit of old school navigating in a different country in which English isn’t the first language with only a map, street signs, and addresses as guides was a challenge.

I was very proud of us when we reached our destination, the LHotel in beautiful Old Montreal, only stopping once to pull over near the 19^th-century, Second Empire-style Montreal City Hall just a few streets away to consult our map. Montreal is the second-largest city by population in Canada and the ninth-largest in North America, so to get there and drive in the heart of a city of that size without really knowing exactly what we were doing or with any electronic assistance was an accomplishment.

Home sweet home

We picked a great location to base ourselves for the first couple days of our stay in Montreal. We were in walking distance from everything in the old part of town, which dates back to the late 1600s, and were happy to go off exploring and familiarizing ourselves with our immediate environs. We were one minute away from the Notre-Dame Basilica, completed in the Gothic Revival style in 1829. It was impressive during the late afternoon, but coming back at night to see the brilliant blues of the stained glass windows lit up was something to behold. We walked through the various little shops in Bonsecours Market, which was completed in 1847 and was the area’s main public market for more than 100 years. We strolled through Place Jacques-Cartier, a public square filled with lighted trees and hotspots – essentially small, controlled fires that people can gather around during the winter months – and lined on both sides of the broad, steep street by restaurants, a preponderance of which seemed to feature pasta and pizza.

As much as we love those two foods – and believe me, we do – we opted for something a bit more local for dinner. The four-course meal at Chez Suzette – Caesar salad, French onion soup with perfectly melted cheese on top, a dinner crepe with ham, Swiss cheese, asparagus, and béchamel sauce and a dessert crepe with vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce, and Chantilly cream – was delicious enough, to be sure, and served by our terrific waiter Pedro, and though we were there for over two hours that wasn’t the highlight of the evening.

Time for dessert

That honor went to the young woman dining two tables down from us. I’ve never seen anything like it, and this was one occasion in which I had no shame in staring. She was eating by herself, which was interesting to me because even though I do it all the time, it’s rare to see a good-looking woman doing that, at least in my experience. She performed the sign of the cross before her food came, and I’m Catholic, so hey, that’s fine. Maybe a little much for me personally, but no problem there. She began taking frantic notes in a little journal, and hey, I get it, I blog, I love watching people, maybe it was a little excessive but again, I didn’t think it was anything over the top. But that’s when things got interesting.

Once her food arrived, she whipped out her small camera and began taking pictures like it was a runway in New York during fashion week. She arranged her napkin in three different places, the right side, in front of, and the left side of her plate, before finally deciding she didn’t need it all her for her pictures and putting it on her lap. Then she lifted the small bit of maple syrup in a receptacle similar to the one you’d find on cough medicine or Pepto-Bismol bottles, sniffed it, put it down, pulled it back up to sniff again, put it down, then reached up for a third whiff before drizzling some of it over her meal. Then she took her camera, tilted her head to the side, and took a multitude of selfies of the side of her head, which was covered in her long, black hair. Not even an inch of her face or cheek, mind you. All hair, and I promise that’s not an exaggeration. Then she took the rest of the maple syrup, sniffed it, put it down, sniffed it again, and then poured the rest over her dinner, as if in the five minutes that had passed before her previous sniff series that the syrup had been poisoned by one of those notorious Québécois. She took more selfies, this time managing to actually get her face in the shots, before closing her meal by taking several pictures of her empty plate and performing another sign of the cross.

That about closed our first night in Montreal, as we’re old and fell asleep watching the Steelers-Bengals game in the hotel. Unlike our New York adventures, my goal is to blog at the end of each of the three days we’re here. Today we covered even more ground – 7.8 miles of walking, to be exact – and witnessed some of the best views of the entire city. More details about that, and our escapades on the ice, soon.

Thanksgiving, Part Three

After my personal debacle at Chicago the previous night, I was determined to make up for it over the next two days. Some big things were in store, things that likely required me staying awake for the duration, so I committed myself to doing just that.

Gina and I had originally planned to walk the High Line, an elevated park converted from a disused railroad line on the West Side of Manhattan, but the prospect of doing that in 30-degree weather with the wind gusting didn’t particularly appeal to us. Instead, we committed our morning and early afternoon to doing things all tourists to New York City probably do – though of course we don’t lower ourselves to those standards.

We walked to the 30 Rock building, the home of NBC Studios, and saw the Tonight Show marquee that Jimmy Fallon had just lit for the first time only the night before on the show. There should be no doubt that he’s the most talented of the late night hosts. His interviewing skills may not be the most polished, but his musical and comedic abilities, evident in reoccurring skits or new skits he is willing to try, and his rapport with his guests (go watch clips with Ricky Gervais or Fallon’s bestie, Justin Timberlake) are unrivaled. Having a group as accomplished as The Roots as the house band is a coup for Fallon, and they are a significant contributor to the show’s appeal, as is the show’s announcer, Steve Higgins.

Ice skating, anyone?

We took the obligatory pictures around the ice skating rink at Rockefeller Center, but were disappointed when we saw the famous Christmas tree had scaffolding around it and wasn’t yet in its full glory. We then marched onward to St. Patrick’s Cathedral, which also had prominent scaffolding as part of a massive, five-year, $175 million renovation project that will repair, restore, and clean the marble exterior of the 135-year old church as well as the stained-glass windows on the inside. Somehow we survived ten minutes inside the house of worship without spontaneously combusting or being set ablaze by an act of the heavens.

$5995 for these bad boys

Don’t worry, though, everyone, the shopping in New York City was at its non-scaffolding finest. My aversion to shopping for myself is well-documented, but even I recognize the need for some new clothes from time to time. Two shirts from H&M later, a handsome red and black plaid number and a light grey sweater, I was satisfied, and it was off to Saks Fifth Avenue for some browsing. It has ten floors, which in itself was imposing, but not nearly as overwhelming as the prices for the merchandise found on those floors. Gina and I played a fun little game, one that you kids at home can play as well, in which one of us would find a pair of women’s shoes and then the other would have to find a more expensive pair. I was certain that when my eyes settled upon a lovely number that was just under $2,000 that I had found the winner, but Gina merely scoffed, saw my $2,000, and eventually raised me to a pair of diamond-encrusted, red bottom (that means something from what I gather) Louboutins for a mere $5,995. How anyone could afford shoes that expensive, much less physically walk in them, I do not know.

We continued moseying around Midtown, stopping in Michael Kors, Express, Barnes and Noble, Grand Central Station, and the ice skating rink at Bryant Park along the way. We had an encounter with someone on the street promoting global female education in which I was forced, hesitantly of course, to admit that I was with Gina and, indeed, supported her in all of her endeavors, but I left the financial commitment to a young Nicaraguan girl up to her. Gina had literally just bought I Am Malala, the story of Malala Yousafzai, a 17-year old Pakistani human rights activist for education and for women who was nearly assassinated by the Taliban, who had banned girls from attending school in her native province, a few minutes before, so I thought we’d done what we could for the cause.

From there it was time for lunch – delicious burgers and cheese fries – before settling in at our hotel for an hour of Family Feud with Steve Harvey and his pocket squares, and a quick nap before our trip to Brooklyn that evening.

I went to Barclays Center two years ago to watch Michigan play in person for the first time, and my obsessive fandom over the years had been rewarded with an 81-66 victory over West Virginia. Michigan started off that season 16-0 and would go on to appear in the national championship game, in which they lost to Louisville, and after seeing them win again in Lincoln, Nebraska this past January in a season in which they went to the Elite Eight, I was hopeful that seeing the Wolverines in Brooklyn this time would be a harbinger of success to come this year.

The night started off with an appetizer that appealed to my roots growing up in Virginia, as VCU controlled their game against Oregon from beginning to end, cruising comfortably to the victory. If anyone in New York had more fun than VCU’s band that night, I would’ve been amazed. Those kids were getting after it in ways I didn’t think a band was capable of, ways that made me reexamine the shortcomings of my own life. No one partied harder than the guy playing the tuba.

Won't be conference champions this year, sad to say

Michigan’s game against Villanova, a matchup of two top-15 teams, didn’t start until close to 10:30, which is absurd. No basketball game played on the East Coast should ever start that late, but fine, I was just happy to be there. Michigan has played in New York or New Jersey in four out of the past five seasons, catering to their very sizable alumni base in the area stemming from the outstanding business school in Ann Arbor, and with the additions of Maryland and Rutgers to the Big Ten I’ll have even more chances to watch the Maize and Blue in person now. The arena was split probably 60-40 in favor of Michigan fans, even though the Villanova contingent had a quick drive up from Philadelphia. It was a great game, played back and forth for nearly the whole way, and Villanova’s greater experience and toughness showed as the Wildcats battled back from a small deficit in the final minutes and held Michigan nearly scoreless to close out the game and a 60-55 win. I was disappointed, and Michigan’s season since then has gone as far down the tank as the tank holds, but glad to experience that atmosphere and all the noise and passion in the arena.

The next morning, Gina and I battled the elements on our walk to Penn Station to head back to New Jersey, where we would celebrate Thanksgiving at her dad’s house. The usual jitters for a boyfriend meeting the girlfriend’s dad were there at first, but quickly went away as I was made to feel right at home. It was my first time eating fried turkey, and along with all the sides it was a delicious meal with great company. Gina’s brother Cameron managed to get through a meal without setting anyone on fire, so that was definitely a step in the right direction. After dinner, the six of us played a dice game called Farkle and a rousing comeback from yours truly led to a breathtakingly stirring victory that left Gina speechless. Granted, she’s speechless most of the time, but still.

I left New Jersey bright and early the next morning to have Thanksgiving with my family at home in Virginia. We went to our old neighbors’ house and had yet another fantastic meal – I feel confident my obesity level has risen exponentially in the past month with Thanksgiving and with holiday candy and lunches before Christmas.

It is on that revolting, yet delicious, note that I will end this Thanksgiving series of blogs. You can have your Star Wars, your Godfathers, your Back to the Futures, your Lord of the Rings, etc., but clearly there has been no more epic trilogy than this. Yes, it’s been greatly delayed, but they do say that good things are worth waiting for. A trip to the Great White North just after Christmas awaits. It will be très exciting, oui?

Thanksgiving, Part Two

Who knew a 1.1-mile walk could feel so long?

Gina and I set out on our way to New York, bags in hand, from my uncle’s house in Little Silver early Monday morning to walk to the train station in town. Though we saw a couple cabs drive by during our walk, including one that came up to us unsolicited and asked if we needed a ride, and there was some clamoring amongst the group (hint: not from me), I steadfastly refused. There are things in this world for which I refuse to pay – a public bathroom in Europe, sprinkles on my ice cream (hey Davey!), etc. – and a cab ride of less than a mile is one of them. It just is. It was a lovely fall day, and I’m not paying when the flat cab rate would’ve been more expensive than the distance we were going. But wow, those bags were heavy.

The Garden

MSG

Ninety minutes later, after our arduous hike through the rough and tumble terrain of Branch Avenue and the ensuing train ride that followed, we found ourselves at Penn Station. There was just one natural destination for me after that: Madison Square Garden. As a lifelong sports fan, the Garden has always held a special allure and appeal to me. I’ve watched countless Rangers games played there on TV and watched innumerable college basketball games played there in November and March – one of my fondest memories in college, in fact, was watching the famous 6-overtime game between Syracuse and UConn with my roommate Anthony on March 12, 2009. Yes, it was a school night, but staying up until the very end at 1:22 AM was worth every yawn in class the next day. I’ve yet to go inside the Garden to watch a game in person, but that ranks close to the top on the personal bucket list.

We got to our hotel, a relatively modern-looking place called the Element Times Square West on West 39^th and 8^th, dropped off our bags, and went back out immediately to explore the city. We had to go uptown to our first point of call, the Met, and decided to amble across Central Park after we got off the subway near the American Museum of National History. I’m admittedly biased, having lived near Hyde Park in London for four months and taking advantage of its proximity and beauty multiple times a week, but Central Park ain’t too shabby either. It was a gorgeous day for a walk, with gorgeous company to talk with, and our stroll was immensely agreeable.

Central Park in fine glory

After reaching the end of the park, still heading towards the Met, we stumbled upon a site that we’d read about in the New York Times (we’re so fancy) a few weeks earlier but weren’t exactly sure where to find. Don’t you love that about big cities – that feeling of a new, unplanned discovery at every corner? The Cultural Services arm of the French Embassy in New York recently opened a new bookstore, with books in both French and English, a beautiful reading area with wood bookcases and comfortable leather couches on which to consume said reading material, and a ceiling that recalls a scene out of a Harry Potter book or a van Gogh painting. We spent an hour or so browsing, sitting, and reading – in short, filling ourselves with culture before stepping inside one of the world’s most notable art museums.

The Met

Garden at Sainte-Adresse by Claude Monet

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is the largest art museum in the United States and, along with the National Gallery in Washington, D.C. and the Art Institute in Chicago, is certainly one of the country’s leading institutions. It boasts five of the 34 paintings in the world attributed to Jan Vermeer, a leading light of the Dutch Golden Age, a couple dozen pieces by the most famous French Impressionist, Claude Monet, and some of Rembrandt’s finest portraits, but most appealing to me were a couple paintings I had discussed with my Art Appreciation students only a week or so before. It didn’t hit me, when I covered them in class, that I would have the chance to see Rosa Bonheur’s The Horse Fair and Thomas Cole’s The Oxbow in person so soon, and I was overwhelmed with exuberance when Gina and I came across them, again unexpectedly. Gina then sat patiently as I tried to adequately convey my excitement and passion for the subject, and I understand it’s hard to describe that in words in person (and even more so in writing). But I was truly moved by seeing these bastions of Western painting with my own eyes, so much grander in scope and size than I had expected, and it was an experience I won’t soon forget.

We spent a few hours all told at the Met, and then headed back to our hotel to change before our evening activities. Of course we got food on the street right outside the museum, both before we went in (mmm, chili and cheese hot dogs!) and after (three variations of nuts, only $2!). When in New York, amIright?

 

The Theater

Dinner was at an Italian place a few blocks from the Ambassador Theater on Broadway, where we would finish our evening seeing Chicago. This place specialized in red-sauce dishes, of which I’m not the biggest fan – you’re looking at an alfredo or carbonara kind of guy – but it was still pasta and in that sense, you can’t ever go wrong. Both of us dressed up for the occasion, and I felt lucky to have the most stunning 5-foot-5 (in heels!!) girl in the world across the table from me as I proceeded to eat like the animal that I am. Those heels came back to bite us on our walk to the theater, however, as the sidewalks and streets in New York City are hardly pedestrian-friendly, and definitely not to a girl who doesn’t often wear heels. That was one occasion in which taking a cab would’ve been the way to go, which we did on the 12-block trip from our hotel to the restaurant, but we couldn’t find one from there to the show. After promising to massage Gina’s feet for hours afterwards (no tantalizing prospect if you’ve seen her toes, believe me), we made it to the Ambassador.

Proof that I was, in fact, awake for part of it

I love shows. I’ve seen On Golden Pond at the Kennedy Center, where Gina and I will be this Friday night, I’ve seen the Catch Me If You Can musical in Kansas City, and I’ve seen the Sound of Music more times than a 25-year-old guy should probably admit. Suffice it to say I was excited to see Chicago. It started out great. The performers were in great physical shape, had great voices, and I was fully invested in every note. I was right there every second of the way…right up to the point where I fell asleep. I wasn’t even tired. I’ve fallen asleep in several movies, including Shutter Island, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, and the Book Thief – all movies I actually WANTED to see – and even a soccer game in England. It just happens. I don’t know why. It was so dark in the Ambassador, and for probably half of the show, I was constantly doing that head nod we’ve all done. I’m ashamed, what can I say. But like Eminem, who made some mistakes but is only human, and is man enough to face them today (name that song, go!), I’ll admit to the errors of my ways. From what I did manage to stay alert for, Chicago was terrific.

The last part of this exciting Thanksgiving trilogy will cover our last day in New York. There was basketball. There was 30 Rock. There were $6000 shoes. Until then.

Thanksgiving, Part One

So, it’s been a while. The timeliness of writing Thanksgiving-themed blog posts on December 8 leaves something to be desired, I’ll admit. It’s like Parks and Rec not starting until January, though: better late than never, amIright?

Friday

I left Baltimore after work the Friday before Thanksgiving more excited than I’d been in a while – I had a full week off, was going to New York, and would be lucky enough to celebrate Thanksgiving twice. All signs pointed to a phenomenal time.

The holiday started in fine fashion as I stopped in Newark (no, not Newark. New-Ark. Why, I really don’t know.), Delaware to meet Gina’s friend Jen for coffee. Shameless plug alert: their previous exploits can be found here. Gina predicted what would happen next, and indeed, she was correct – coffee turned into an hour and a half of the best conversation. I guess Jen and I both like to talk. Not that sorry about it. Plus as beautiful and majestic as I-95 and the New Jersey Turnpike are, I was in no hurry to get back on the road. If I didn’t make it to the Garden State Parkway before 8 PM, believe me, I wasn’t going to miss anything.

Coffee was great – I’ll leave you to guess who got a girlier drink than whom – and I reached my aunt and uncle’s house in Little Silver later that night, but not before two of the fastest roadside transactions of my life occurred. Having exactly $3 of cash in my wallet when my gas light turned on about 15 miles from my destination left me in a bit of dilemma. I just didn’t want to use my card at that point, or wait around to fill up, so I told the kind-hearted gentleman at the Sunoco by the Asbury Park Toll Plaza that I had $3 and to do to his heart’s content with that information. He pumped seven-tenths of a single gallon into my car, asked for $2 (it cost $2.03, but my guy cut me a break. Shout-out to you, sir), and sent me on my merry way, all literally within 45 seconds of my arrival into the gas station. Then, having not consumed what I like to call nourishment since lunch, I pulled into the Burger King drive-thru in Red Bank. Again, it took less than a minute for my bacon cheeseburger to be ready – yes, the cheese was simply a slice that in no shape or form was anywhere near melted, but I’ll take what I can get.

Saturday

The next morning I was up before 8 to help my uncle unload and set up Christmas trees with the Little Silver volunteer fire department. The best part of that experience was the bagels there before we got started – I’ve been living a farce of a life the last 21 years since my family left New Jersey, with the “bagels” we’ve been eating since then. Anyway, there’s nothing like a bunch of big, buff Jersey guys lifting things and talking about their kids and high school football to start a Saturday morning. All of them were great to me, though, to be fair, and I was glad to contribute to a good cause. People of Monmouth County, go there to pick out your Christmas trees this year. So many different types and sizes!

Not bad, right?

Saturday afternoon was spent watching college football, as all November afternoons should be spent, and that evening my uncle, cousin Ann, and I went to Monmouth University to watch a true battle of the titans. I’m shaking as I type this. The Monmouth Hawks were taking on the Central Connecticut State Blue Devils in a tilt of colossal proportions, one that the home team would win 65-50 despite falling behind 12-0 in the first half. The game itself was alright, but it was our seats that made the occasion. I’ve been to a ton of sporting events in my life, from baseball to college basketball to college soccer here and professional soccer in the top two leagues in England, but never have I sat as close to the action as we did on this night. Courtside, first row, right behind one of the baskets. There’s honestly nothing like a team storming down the court right at you on a fast break, and seeing the raw athleticism and ability those players had, even at a low-major level of basketball. There’s also honestly nothing like sitting right by the cheerleaders and hearing the internal drama of a squad. “I hate when we do that cheer! We’re so much better at this one! Would’ve been nice if she told us what cheer we’re doing next! She always does this!” And on and on and on. Despite it being less than 40 degrees outside, we finished the evening with ice cream at Hoffman’s. That’s just how we do things.

Sunday

My last day in Little Silver for this visit was a quiet one. I went to church for the first time since the last time I was in New Jersey – the Church of the Nativity, my parish away from parish (isn’t that the saying?). We then went to a local market to get food for lunch at what had to be the exact same time that the rest of the population of Monmouth County decided to go to that very same market for the very same reason. Lunch was delicious – it’s hard to go wrong with buffalo wings and chicken tenders, and I also had a potato pancake. Just call it a hash brown, though, and be done with it.

The meatball was flying home from South Carolina for her Thanksgiving break on Sunday afternoon, too, and she came to Little Silver to meet my aunt and uncle for a little while. That went very well, if I do say so myself, and then she and I headed to her house in Howell to have dinner with her mom, brother, and his girlfriend, the latter two of which I had never met myself. There was an interesting detour at the Gap in Shrewsbury, in which I waited patiently behind two women who must’ve been outfitting their babies for the next 17 winters with all the clothes they were buying. Why parents spend so much money on baby clothes is beyond me, since they’ll last literally a few months before they don’t fit anymore, but ok. You do you, ladies. All I needed was for the sales associate to take the lock thing off a pair of jeans I had bought several weeks ago in Columbia (Shameless plug 2.0 alert: those exploits can be found here), though the cashier there decided to be derelict in his duty and leave it on. When I’m just standing there with a pair of jeans in one arm, and the women have approximately 13 bags’ worth of clothes between you, one would think they would let me go in front of them. One would be completely and utterly wrong. Yet another reason shopping and I don’t get along.

We made it back to Howell in time for a delicious dinner, featuring some of the best meatballs I’ve ever had. I confessed my fear of ice cream, sort of, though only when it is in a bowl and very melted and milky. Get that away from me, please. Do not, under any circumstances, lick the bowl in front of me like my brother does. Also Gina’s brother, Cameron, casually lit his girlfriend, Jaime, on fire at the table. So there’s that on what was a terrific Sunday dinner.

The next morning, Gina and I headed into New York City, a trip I’ll talk about at length in part two of this Thanksgiving blog. Hopefully that won’t take two weeks to write and post. Oops. More to come.

Jersey Boy

One of the biggest advantages about moving back to the East Coast after a year in Kansas City is the close geographical proximity we have to places comprised mainly of buildings, rather than corn. Living out there had its charms, to be sure, but when the best a 3-hour drive could do is get you to the likes of Tulsa or Omaha, one realizes just how much he misses home, and family.

It was with that in mind that I made two trips to New Jersey earlier this summer, where I was born and lived until kindergarten before moving to Virginia. My uncle's family still lives there, and after a challenging first couple months back in this area, I decided to get away for a weekend and drive up to see them. It was the best thing I ever could have done. I reconnected with family, put some tough times behind me, and perhaps most importantly, I met the meatball. She's back south for the year, but that wasn't going to stand in the way of more good Jersey memories for me.

Friday Night Lights

It's a quick drive to east Jersey from Baltimore; I left after work Friday and made it in time for dinner. By dinner, I mean, I skipped pasta with homemade bolognese sauce to get to a local high school football game in the fourth quarter. The mighty Red Bank Catholic Caseys were 6-0 on the season and destroying the also-undefeated Manalapan Braves 28-7 by the time I got there, and went on to win 35-7. RBC has scored 319 points in seven games now this fall, only allowing 30. Yikes. They dem boyz.

A spirited bunch

I knew none of this going into the game, and had no idea there even was a game until I got to my uncle's house in Little Silver, right next to Red Bank. He mentioned the possibility of going, and I was sold. The RBC side of the stands was packed when we got there, so we sat with the visiting fans. I make fun of Gina all the time for her accent, which she insists doesn't exist, but it does. You can't grow up in that part of Jersey and not have an accent, but it's fine, my dear. It's the voice of an angel. It's the voice of something, at least. We sat right in front of the cheerleaders, and it was probably as Jersey as the stereotype suggests. All Italians who had come down from Brooklyn and Staten Island to live in Jersey. All the girls with high hair. All last names with vowels at the end (hey Rizzo? Rizzo? RIZZO?!?). I was endlessly entertained by them, and the screaming parents. ("'Ay, 'ay, throw da bool down da field!)

After the game we picked up my cousin Ann, who's a junior in high school and doesn't have her license yet. She was at a party -- well, a bunch of people meeting at a huge coffee shop in neighboring Long Branch. To be fair, it was a pretty cool coffee shop with a lively atmosphere and engaging clientele. The problem is, if you don't have a coffee bar and if you have to sit down for the coffee or food to be delivered and you can't get anything to go, what's the point? Come on, Inkwells. Let's get it together.

After we got home that night, it was off to bed to be ready for our trip up to Hoboken the next morning.

Saturday, What a Day

I mean..can't beat this view

My other cousin Chris has started his collegiate career this fall at Stevens Institute of Technology in Hoboken, right across the Hudson from New York City. It's a small school, with less than 3,000 undergrads, but it's great for engineering (and I'd hope many other programs, seeing as tuition, room, and board costs over $58,000 a year) and that's what he wants to do. It's a gorgeous campus, though small, on a hill with views out over the river onto Manhattan. The place is hard to beat in the fall, with the festive foliage in full effect on the green, lush grounds.

We walked around campus for a bit, but there really is only so much you can do there, before heading down to the promenade. We followed that for a bit and made our way into the rest of Hoboken.

If Hoboken was anywhere near affordable, it could be a fun place to live. It's stunningly scenic and provides convenient, quick access into New York. You can go jogging, walk your dog, sit in the park, stroll along the river, whatever you want. Everything you need is right on Washington Street -- a never-ending multitude of shops, bars, restaurants, etc. Therein lies the problem, however. The street is huge, and it's busy, but there's not much outside of it. Parking would be a nightmare. For the price you have to pay to find a decent place to live in Hoboken, I'd rather look at options elsewhere.

Normal size paper plate. Not-so-normal size pizza.

Still, a place with the biggest slice of pizza I've ever had, with no exaggeration, can't be all bad, so I was content for the afternoon. From what I hear, this particular establishment called Benny T's has a unique hallmark in which parents bring their newborn babies and hold them up against one slice of pizza. It's my kind of place. There's also a Ben and Jerry's and a Rita's down the street, so I was content for the afternoon.

Chris packed his stuff, and we headed back south to Little Silver. Let me tell you, driving around the area by Newark and its airport is the stuff dreams are made of, if your dreams feature never-ending factories, parking lots, and train tracks. My body is tingling even now.

We spent the rest of Saturday afternoon watching college football -- I'm embarrassed to be a Michigan fan at the moment. Aunt Kate made a delicious dinner with grilled shrimp, steak, green beans, Caesar salad, and rice pilaf. I want more of it now, please. A few competitive rounds of the card/board game Sequence brought out a desire for dessert that simply needed to be satisfied immediately, so I took Ann and Chris to Hoffman's and we gorged ourselves like animals. All three of us are tiny, but don't let that fool you. We're tanks. The best part was, Sunday morning would bring another change to indulge.

 

Sunday

Gina's lovely mother lives in a nearby town -- the same one I lived in, in fact -- and we'd agreed to meet for breakfast at 9:30. My aunt was insistent upon our family going to church at 11:30, so I figured that's fine, I mean, how long can breakfast take, right? Should make it back in time with ease. I had met Bonnie the two times I'd been up to Jersey before, but only for a few minutes on each occasion, so sure, I was nervous. I got there at 9:15 even though the place we went was literally a two-minute drive from my uncle's house. After being five minutes later to my first date with Gina, though, clearly I wasn't going to take any risks this time around.

Ninety minutes full of sparkling conversation later, I was a happy camper. I had an omelet with pastrami (when in Jersey, right?), caramelized onions, spinach, and provolone cheese. We had a great talk about a wide variety of things, and I'm very much looking forward to seeing her again in November on my next visit to Jersey.

Church was fine -- it's church so, I mean, ehh -- and we got back to my uncle's just in time for more football. After Michigan's disastrous performance on Saturday, I was thrilled that my Buffalo Bills came to Jersey and made a mockery of the hopeless Jets and Geno Smith. There are very few places I'd rather be than walking off that field after throwing three interceptions in the first quarter. New York/New Jersey sports fans are many things, but kind-hearted and patient are not two of them.

After the game, I packed up my stuff, thanked my family for yet another great weekend, the third one I've had with them these past few months, and hit the road back to Baltimore. It'll be a quiet weekend at home in Virginia this week, but the weekend after is beckoning already. My triumphant return to South Carolina. The meatball. Yes.

Another Carolina...Trip Down!

Wheels up to Carolina

There are many things in this world that don't make sense to me, but why US Airways had me connect in Philadelphia on my way from Baltimore to Charlotte this past Thursday evening truly boggles the mind. I could, quite literally, have driven from my house in Baltimore to the airport in Philadelphia faster than it took me to drive to BWI, go through security, board the plane, and fly to the City of Brotherly Love. Why not just fly directly from Philadelphia to Charlotte, then, you ask? Because that would've been more expensive. And then my second flight was delayed 30 minutes, anyway. Of course. Sigh.

The meatball was wonderful enough to make the 90-mile drive from Columbia to Charlotte to pick me up on a school night, and we made our way back to South Carolina. You gotta have tunes for a trip like that, right? So as I rummaged through her glove compartment navigating my fingers through countless cords and chargers searching for something to plug my iPod into her stereo, I was coming up empty. After turning her overhead lights on, we were finally able to find the right cord, and the rest of the ride was smooth sailing. Or so I thought, until the morning.

Friday

Gina had an exam Friday morning, so we got up early to prepare, and by prepare I mean she studied her marketing research material that would've put me back to sleep immediately (I don't understand a single word of it) while I read Bill Bryson's endlessly entertaining A Walk in the Woods, the author's account of hiking the Appalachian Trail. Because her exam wasn't going to take long and we wanted to go to lunch right after, I wanted to come onto campus with her and just wait in the Business School (hey, Darla) for her to finish. That unique combination of New Jersey and Italian feistyness burst into the house after going out to her car, White Sauce, with the unfortunate news that it wouldn't start. Turns out we, and by we I mean I, didn't turn the overhead light off after trying to find my iPod, and the battery died. The most powerful of jump-starts from her roommate Julie's impressively huge, and tank-like, Jeep Wrangler, was needed to bring White Sauce back to life. We were on our way.

Her exam took, with no exaggeration, 12 whole minutes. I didn't even have a chance to get comfy in my chair or listen to any of the podcasts I wanted to catch up on. How selfish of her to excel in school. God. From there it was onto lunch at DiPrato's, which has the best bacon and pimiento cheese dip with pita bread one could imagine. Truly food of the heavens. The man upstairs himself couldn't eat anything more delicious.

According to my lovely mother, and I must admit that I fully agreed wholeheartedly, the state of my pants situation lately has been dire. Holes everywhere in the few pairs of jeans that I have, which date from high school, and I can't wear shorts for much longer this year. After much hand-wringing and protestation, then, it was off to the mall in Columbia. I could never stomach shopping for clothes with my mom, and it wasn't much more appealing with my girlfriend, but I suppose women always know best. I guess. Many stores and wrong sizes and trying-on-of-things later, I emerged with three new pairs of pants and four pairs of fun socks, the highlight of the excursion for me. I'm just so playful and carefree.

Saturday was going to be a busy day, so the rest of Friday was spent pretty quietly. I met another of Gina's roommates, Emily, who was out of town the previous time I visited Columbia this fall. Emily is a gem. It was great to get to know her the whole weekend, and suffice it to say she knows what I think about her. We went out to a couple bars in town that night, but nothing too crazy since we had to be up early the next morning. Football!!

Saturday

Hey GeanBean

South Carolina's struggles on the football field this season, combined with their lowly opponent, Furman, resulted in a noon kickoff Saturday instead of a later start in the day. That meant being up by 8 to get ready to leave the house at 9 to tailgate, and I was fine with it. Having gone to a D2 college myself but being such a passionate fan of Michigan, it was about time I got to experience a major college football game in person.

Unsurprisingly, the game itself was a blowout. South Carolina destroyed Furman, 41-10, but it was the entire experience that stood out for me. Tailgating with so many students on gameday, right next to the stadium, was terrific, and I can only imagine how much better it would have been had the opponent been more appealing or had the game started later in the afternoon. I've been on the field at Texas A&M, at Nebraska in the snow, been right next to Ohio State's stadium in the parking lot, and down the street from Wisconsin's, but none of those trips occurred for a game. Williams-Brice Stadium and the 78,101 people in attendance weren't particularly loud on this day, even though it was Homecoming, but I was able to cross a bucket list item off nonetheless.

In my classic fashion, I forgot to wear sunscreen and was truly worried to no end that I was going to resemble a lobster before we went to the South Carolina State Fair that evening. Luckily Gina came to the rescue, as always, and procured one of those towels they hand out to fans to wave at key points in the game. Believe me when I tell you those towels weren't used often at this game, but one served as a nice headband/helmet to protect my face.

State Fair

We took a nap after the game -- it's a hard life, college football Saturdays -- and got ready to head to the fair. We went with Gina's friend Sam and her brother, who is in town visiting from his college in Florida. South Carolina's residents were on their best form, eating their weight in fried things. We saw one gentleman with his jeans starting much lower than a person's shorts usually end being led out in handcuffs by two policemen. I hadn't been to an amusement park in a long time -- shoutout to Kings Dominion! Tivoli Gardens! -- and was ill-prepared for the terror that gripped me on the swinging pirate ship and the mega drop, Tower of Terror-type ride. I thought it was over for me. I made noises humans don't normally make. I was thrilled to have Gina ride the log flume with me, though she clearly had no desire to do that, and was even more thrilled when we got wetter than either of us had expected. For a girl who loves the water, Jerz wasn't too happy about her predicament post-flume. She cheered up after the deep-fried Snickers bar we had as we left the fair. Mmm.

Saturday evening was spent in rapturous, rip-roaring fashion, watching Gerard Butler save the country from the invasion of Koreans and their capture of the White House. Nothing says America like a Scottish actor single-handedly destroying North Koreans, amIright?

Sunday

We had no particular plans for Sunday, other than to make dinner before I had to head back to the airport, so it was perfect when Emily, a girl after my own heart, came over and asked if we wanted to watch USC's women's soccer team play that afternoon. I'm never one to turn down a sporting event so obviously I was in, and we all settled in to watch the Gamecocks cruise to a 2-0 victory over visiting Ole Miss. The Rebels contributed absolutely nothing to the game, but unlike USC, they're a real football school so their lack of talent on the pitch could be forgiven. Oh Cocks, I kid because I love. Just been a tough year for the boyz.

Gina and I went grocery shopping to make dinner. We had the best intentions -- salmon with lemon, pepper, and garlic, asparagus with cheese and butter, and mashed potatoes. Everything was going well until we actually pulled the salmon out of the oven. A bit dry, but c'est la vie. Can't win 'em all. Whatever other cliche you'd like to insert here.

I packed up and we made the drive back to Charlotte, this time for a non-stop flight back to Baltimore. I fell asleep before takeoff, a particular talent of mine, but due to my own moronic actions, I ended up not getting home until much later than was necessary. Credit to the shuttle bus driver and the airport parking guy who stayed very late into the night with me, cruising Long Term Lot B. Another story for another day.

Heading back to my roots in New Jersey this weekend to visit my uncle's family. No trip to Jerz would be complete without a recap. Until then.

Festivals and Punkins

Gin and Juice. Clever, no?

Pizza is the perfect food. You’ve got bread in the crust, cheese for dairy, tomato sauce for a vegetable, and any kind of meat you want. It covers all the bases. The meatball was flying in to visit for the weekend, and her plane was supposed to land at 9:10 Thursday night. The airport is 20 minutes away; the pizza place by my house closes at 10, so I figured we’d make it in time to pick up the ziti-and-sausage pizza that had our names on it. A half hour-delay to her flight from Charlotte later, and we were out of luck on the pizza front and had to scramble. What’s the next best thing, you ask? Hit Target and get two packs of Bagel Bites (cheese and pepperoni, obviously) for us and Cheddar Bunnies for her. Don’t worry, the quality of food improved significantly as the weekend went on.

I met Gina and her good friend from home for lunch Friday afternoon; Jen goes to University of Delaware and made the short drive to Baltimore. You wouldn’t be surprised to know we got pizza at a place near my office in Harbor East, and Jen and Gina went off to do such things as shop and watch Vines for hours until I left work. Despite being from the same hometown in Jersey, Jen’s accent is much more pleasing on the ear than Gina’s – that is to say, Jen doesn’t have one. Perfect. The Orioles had just completed a huge comeback win in Game 2 of their series against Detroit, so the streets were packed with fans leaving Camden Yards in their most flattering shades of orange.

After Jen left town, Gina and I walked to dinner at a neighborhood tavern called Annabel Lee. It was packed, so we couldn’t get a table, but our seats at the corner of the bar provided prime opportunities to people-watch, one of our favorite pastimes. There was the guy as short as a jockey but as big as Ronnie from Jersey Shore on a date with a woman who ordered martinis and sauvignon blanc. There was the guy who looked a typical lax bro/hockey player from Canada with his hair slicked back on what had to have been a first date with a lovely blonde. After the customary “I’ll pay half” “No no no, I got it” “Are you sure?” “Yep” byplay, they left to continue their evening. Despite going to school in South Carolina, Gina has never had grits, and I persuaded her to try them with poached egg and duck, and some sort of wine. Safe to say it was a good decision. I got Shiner Oktoberfest with Cajun alfredo with asparagus, which in itself was a big move for me as I’m a child and don’t exactly love vegetables. Also turned out to be an excellent decision. We had plans to check out the Fells Point Festival downtown, but walking back home on what turned into a rainy night discouraged those quickly. Instead, we watched Sherlock on Netflix and fell asleep by 10. We’re wild, I know.

Fredericksburg

Saturday was meet-the-parents day, and it went as well as one could hope. I was born in New Jersey and lived there, in the same town as Gina, until my family moved to Virginia when I was in kindergarten. Bye-bye, Saint Veronica’s (or as I apparently called it, Saint Harmonicas). This gave Gina and my mom plenty of things to talk about as she had spent the majority of her life in Jersey as well. My dad and I performed the manly task of changing the taillight in my car while much of this was going on, and after watching a bit of soccer and some more getting-to-know-you that included tales from my childhood and looking at baby pictures, we headed for downtown Fredericksburg.

Fredericksburg is a small town, with not a ton going on over an average weekend, but it’s still home and I wanted to show it off. I showed Gina my high school (TCB, amIright?) and we walked around the campus of the local university. It was a picturesque fall day, sun shining and in the sixties. When we parked downtown to walk around some more, we heard a cacophony of noise and music. Suffice it to say that that isn’t normal for Fredericksburg. As we headed towards it and began to see streets that were blocked off, it was clear something big was going on. Oktoberfest had arrived, and I’m pretty sure Fredericksburg’s entire population was in attendance. The sights and smells were glorious. The beer was flowing, sausages were grilling, and the sidewalks were packed. Restaurants were filled to the brim. We stumbled upon a bookstore I’d never heard of, and as both of us enjoy reading passionately, we stopped in and browsed contentedly. After a quick lunch and ice cream (because who can resist ice cream, honestly?), it was time for the surprise of the weekend.

I grew up going on field trips to Belvedere Plantation, just outside Fredericksburg, but didn’t

Got a punkin!

remember too much about it other than it had a barn, animals, and a corn maze. Most notably, though, it has a pumpkin patch, and I thought that’d be an entertaining way to spend the afternoon. I was right, even though we were passed repeatedly by little children in the maze and couldn’t, for the life of us, figure out how to get to the end. If you put us in the wilderness, you could probably count on one hand the amount of hours it would take for us to reach our demises. It was embarrassing. We pedaled these push-cart contraptions around a track, watched goats fight each other and defecate, saw a pig bury its head in mulch and finally emerge with the dirtiest face you’ll ever see, which is saying something for a pig, watched other pigs race at Swine Speedway, and competed in an arcade-style game shooting basketballs and throwing footballs and baseballs through a hole on the other side. The meatball turned out to be a meatballer. She was a champ. We found a 13-pound pumpkin after a hayride that seemingly took an eternity. We watched a guy have 7 pumpkins stacked on him because all-you-can-carry pumpkins are $29.99 instead of paying 69 cents per pound for a pumpkin. It was the perfect day, in that gross, couple-y way.

Back to Baltimore

#foodporn

We spent Sunday in Baltimore and began it the only way we know – by eating. Brunch at Langermann’s was undoubtedly one of the best meals either of us have ever had – unlimited bacon, grits, biscuits and gravy, and Caesar salad with corn, followed by the main course of poached eggs in hollandaise sauce on an English muffin. Gina got hers with Chesapeake crab cake, I had mine with smoked salmon. No mimosa for me, thanks. Our waitress brought the check before we got the eggs, and after a panicked text to Gina’s friend Julie, the miscommunication was worked out and all was right with the world. Our food comas resulted in a short nap while watching football, before heading out to walk the harbor before it was time to drive Gina back to the airport. As we strolled, we again saw streets blocked off and heard loud music, so we went to explore. It was the Fells Point Festival we had wanted to go to Friday night. Gina, the doll that she is, bought a snocone for me and I got her lemonade. The couple that feeds together stays together. 

In two weekends, I’ll make my second trip of the fall to Columbia, where I’ll finally get to attend my first-ever college football game when South Carolina hosts Furman. My personal battle with Columbia is ongoing, as it currently leads me 2-0, but with two more trips scheduled in 2014, I’m determined to even the scoreline.

Streets of Philadelphia

Thirty-eight dollars. The ticket I bought a month ago to watch my Atlanta Braves finish their season in Philadelphia seemed worth it at the time, especially considering the Braves were playing great baseball and it appeared the game would still be meaningful with the playoffs fast approaching. A dreadful month of September later, and nothing was on the line yesterday. Suddenly $38 looked like a waste. After all, the money was already spent, so why even bother making the 90-mile trek to Philly?

Good thing I changed my mind yesterday morning and decided to drive up. The game itself was my third trip to see the Braves in the past three weeks, in three different cities – I had already been to Washington and Atlanta (see my previous post). I’m a dick, I’m addicted to them. I can’t pretend I don’t care. Channeling my inner teenager there. What up, Simple Plan?

Good seat, right?

Baseball

The game itself was nothing to note about, other than to say it was played in a tidy 2 hours, 18 minutes and ended 2-1 with Craig Kimbrel saving it in style for the Braves by striking out the side in the 9^th inning. More games should follow that exact script. I was joined in the City of Brotherly Love on a stunningly gorgeous day by 38,081 of my best friends. My ticket was somewhere near the sun on the left field side, but the advantage of going to games by myself is it’s always easy to find another seat wherever I want. And by wherever I want, I always mean on the third base line, on an aisle.

There were two kids in front of me – middle school aged, I’d say – that I was disgustingly put off by the whole game. I like to think I’m a very observant, perceptive person, but these two really perplexed me. The boy was an animal – first it was peanuts, then it was pizza, then it was a cookie. None of which were consumed with a closed mouth. Believe me when I tell you this young whippersnapper didn't need any of the above, much less all three in two hours. The girl was potentially his sister, and I say that because they kept referencing “mom and dad”, and glancing over to adults in another section. But then, they had their arms around each other and were holding hands at times. When she ate her orange frozen lemonade and regurgitated it back on the spoon, she fed him what was left. It was weird. Maybe they were brother and sister, or cousins, but they seemed too old to be so touchy. I know West Virginia is close to Pennsylvania, but really.

MotownPhilly

Temple

After getting out of my $16 parking spot at Citizens Bank Park – the Phillies’, Eagles, and 76ers’ and Flyers’ venues are literally all in the same massive parking lot off I-95 in Philly – I headed for downtown. This fall I've had a major realization in my life that I want to teach, art history specifically, and to do that at the level at which I want to do it, I need a PhD on top of the Master’s degree I have now. I’ve made a significant commitment to researching schools and narrowed it down to four – Delaware (lukewarm about that one. A school whose nickname is Blue Hens, I can’t be too sure about), Penn State, Pittsburgh, and Temple. Temple is in northwest Philly, about seven miles from Citizens Bank, so it was an easy drive to get there and wander around campus.

The campus is wonderful. It’s leafy, green, and very quiet. You wouldn't know you’re in a major city (and more specifically, on a campus in the middle of some very shady neighborhoods just a couple streets away) when walking around. I was able to find the Tyler School of Art building, in which my program would be located, and charmed the security guard to let me have a look around even though I don’t have the requisite Temple ID and it was a Sunday so pretty much everything was locked. By charmed, I mean, she asked to see my driver’s license and I had to fill out a sign-in sheet. It was great to see where I could end up spending the next 6-8 years – that PhD is no joke – and was valuable information for me as I go further in the application process. There are almost 10,000 postgrad students at Temple and nearly 30,000 undergrads, and

Wikipedia tells me that the main campus occupies 105 acres and an estimated 12,000 students live on or near it. With that said, the campus is eminently walkable and I had no problems navigating it.

Sorority girls wearing Bid Day 2014 shirts were out in full force, and I made careful observations. Alpha Phi, I’m not sure about you all. American University Field Hockey team, I see you ladies. Tough loss yesterday. I saw lots of Temple football players walking around as well after their 36-10 drubbing of UCONN on Saturday. Well played in Hartford, fellas. I got a delicious blondie for $2 at a coffee shop on Liacouras Walk. For a Sunday afternoon, the campus seemed pretty busy, and that’s what I was hoping to see. Having experienced life at a small school already in undergrad, while visiting some of my closest friends at major state universities and with my favorite lovely Meatball at one now as well, I've really come to value that atmosphere and it’s what I’m seeking in the schools to which I’m applying.

An hour and a half later, I was back in Baltimore. Gina comes to visit this weekend and the plan is to show her my hometown of Fredericksburg. And meet mom and dad. So, there’s that.

More soon.