Up until now the worst part of my week was a need of so many Bandaids for my calloused feet that finally I had to dip into my kids’ SpongeBob stash. But now my week of planes, trains and automobiles has caught up with me and I’m trapped in the Baltimore Airport (BWI) trying to get to Boston for our Jimmy Fund event at Fenway Park. Jackie lovingly planned out our flights so we’d arrive into Boston (her from Detroit) within 15 minutes of each other. Now, my plane is scheduled to depart 40 minutes after I was supposed to arrive. Strike that, 70 minutes. (My ETA changes by the minute). This stinks. But my nasty temperament is tempered when I noticed a beleaguered GI sitting on the floor across from me, still donning fatigues. OK, my life doesn’t suck. Don’t be such a brat, D.
Certainly, not all was lost this week. My last childless “last hurrah” came by way of a game Wednesday at Nationals Park (thanks Bree!). I drank with Scott from Connecticut on the train ride between NYC and D.C.(but then he ditched me in Balt, some lame excuse about a conference…). The game was followed by a late Italian dinner in D.C.’s Dupont Circle — my old stomping ground. See, after the Iron Chef gig, my kids and the AGPs (Awesome Grandparents) took off for the much-anticipated Disney cruise. I saw them for all of about 36 hours after arriving from NYC but it was still totally worth it. I mean, when your kids are fighting over who gets to sleep with you, that’s pretty much all that matters. So neither was really left hanging, I snuggled in with both. Thought any parent knows that’s where the fun ends. At about 3AM I finally had to evacuate the bed because the kids had taken over with their delightfully pointed knees and elbows.
So, with the kids safe with Mickey Mouse, I eventually moved on…to bid adieu to Barb and Matthias who are leaving NYC for Germany and to Philadelphia to see Dr. Steve and his baseball card collection. Again, that’s an colossal understatement. I was more than a little naïve – and, as was soon revealed, quite ill-informed — about baseball card collecting. Not sure if it was daft politeness, sheer aloofness, or just plain exhaustion but I never took any notes as Dr. Steve rattled off the relevance of card after card. Dammit! I’d lost focus! Still, I understood the significance of holding the Honus Wagner T206, even though it was encased in a cassette of hard plastic. Ditto for the Ty Cobb cards, the Walter Johnson rookie card, Joe Jackson… I could go on. And may, another day.
After the viewing we took off to see the Phillies play the LA Angels of Anaheim (stupid stupid stupid name). We ate a hot dog and stayed the whole nine. I got little rest and was back at the stadium the next morning to meet some friends only to be poured into a cab to catch the train to Atlantic City, where I spent the next two days, ate an amazing steak meal, snoozed on the beach and got my first real sunburn of the summer.
Then back to NYC to meet Editor Mark and take in a game at Shea. At this point I decided to take a photo of tickets from all the games I attended, thus far – knowing that there were two more during this trip: DC and NYY. See the photo of the tickets? Email me if you can find the problem with these tickets. I hadn’t even really noticed it until a moment ago. Brain mush.
He and I had a ball. The Mets had run into the buzz saw known as the Seattle Mariners, losing 11-0. Afterwards I headed back to my apartment on 28th Ave in Chelsea, which I managed to destroy in only a few hours. As I walked out from the 34th Ave Times Square Subway I called my brother to chat, make sure the animals were alive, etc. We laughed, talked and laughed. I looked up in time to realize I’d gone about 30 blocks out of my way: I was on 58th Ave. So I turned around and walked back to 28th, stopping for dinner at a Korean BBQ. I walked home alone at 1:30AM, feeling just a little creepy about being so brazen. And my feet had taken the brunt. I’m sure I would have succumbed to an attacker rather than run on my blistered and tired dogs.