Journal of an Urbane Gorilla

Clumsy is as clumsy does

Well, I knew that I shouldn’t let her go off on her own. Frankly, the thought of hanging out in my chones with Big Guy and guzzling Guinness’ while watching every ballgame we can find on the telly. It was just too tempting and I really wasn’t up to
New York.

 Of course, seeing her off involved the usual cockup. I elected to sit on the trunk while Big Guy helped Grams with her suitcase. He got the case on and stowed, but then the doors closed and he started off with train. Imagine the expression on my mug. What was I to do? I didn’t have the car keys and even if I did, I can’t drive. Well, I can drive, but I can’t do the pedals. So, I sat and waited. And waited. And waited. A half hour later, a train came from the south and off stepped Big Guy. “Don’t ask,” he said. Needless to say, I didn’t.

 
So, Grams is in New York with Henri and his mama. Yesterday, Grams and Henri’s mama went into the city. As far as I can tell, they stopped for lunch and on her way to the Ladies; Grams missed a step and went face down into a very non-forgiving floor. Evidently, her front tooth went through her upper lip and she broke her nose again, so she’s got another shiner and a fat lip. Oh, did I mention that it's blazing hot too?

 

Of course, she got up, dusted herself off, and went on with her shopping. When it comes to shopping the woman’s indomitable. She did manage to send me some pics that she took before the fall. I especially like one from the old New York Sun building (no the temperature gauge isn't working). Of course, I always like the subway art. Isn’t the mythic sewer croc great? The subway scofflaw is pretty cool too.

 

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas

Please give what you can to Doctors Without Borders and support Kiva.

 

And, of course

 

平和  に 働 き

 

(heiwa ni hataraki: work for peace)

 

 

 

 

Baring it all at Sandy Hook

A few day ago Grams was putting together some DVDs from the videos of our summer. The summer officially started when we landed at JFK airport in New York and Henri and his Mama picked us up.

It was all a whirl after that. First of all there was the heat wave. Now, I love heat waves. As far as I’m concerned, the hotter the weather the better. Big Guy feels pretty much the same as I do. As a matter of fact, Henri and his Mama don’t have a problem with the heat either. The only person who does not do heat is Grams.

It didn’t help that the AC was broken for the first couple of days of the heat wave. It was finally fixed, but oh what we had to put up with from her before that happened. I was ready to throttle her. Well, I was ready to be really upset with her. The whining, the complaining; you wouldn’t have believed it. I suppose it didn’t help when I laughed at her when she started walking like Gabby Hayes (if you don’t know who Gabby Hayes was, just Google him).

The day before we left for Santa Tourista, though, Mama rented a car and we all went out to see the lighthouse at Sandy Hook in New Jersey. Henri had gone there on a school trip and he wanted to show it to us. The Sandy Hook Lighthouse is the oldest lighthouse in the U.S.

We climbed all the way to the top of the lighthouse with our own personal guide (courtesy of the Park Service). We gazed into the Fresnel lens and then out the windows. From there we could see the shoreline and the old Sandy Hook Battery. It had gun emplacements that protected the New Jersey shore from Nazis during World War II. The guns are gone now, but the empty battery stands a silent sentry with only the circles on the ground to show where the guns used to be. We tried to recreate the sounds of the guns, but the reality was that the guns were never fired. Evidently, no U-boats threatened the Jersey shore. So, the only sounds missing are the voices of the soldiers who manned the guns. That’s Henri playing catch in a gun circle. Can you see the baseball up there?

After we checked out the battery, we decided to go to the shoreline (that’s what they call the beach in New Jersey). We drove around Sandy Hook and finally found a parking lot for Gunnison Beach. We hopped out of the car and headed for the water. When we finally saw the Atlantic, we also saw this sign. We probably should have turned around right then and there, but Henri was so thrilled at the thought of being able to dig in the sand.

Now, here’s my question: why is it that the people who ought not to be nude in public are just the ones that you’ll find at a nude beach? I have never seen so many pot bellies, rolls of fat, and stretch marks in my life. I tried to avert my eyes. Well, I didn’t try too hard. I was just gobsmacked.

Grams immediately started in about her 3-way mirror philosophy of life. It goes something like this: According to Grams, if everyone were issued a 3-way mirror when they were born; peace would reign in the world. Why? You ask. Well, because if everyone had to look at themselves in a 3-way mirror the reality would humble them to the point that they would be a whole lot more empathetic. Furthermore, they'd never offend the senses of others at a nude beach. To this point, Grams has a 3-way mirror and we can hear her scream every morning when she gets a gander at herself. She claims that her body type is dishevelled; whatever that means. It can't be too bad: she's in better shape than most of those folks at the nude beach.

Come to think of it, she’s also described my room using the same word, so I know that it can’t be good either.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

The subway charms us so when balmy breezes blow, to and fro

Yesterday was a whirlwind. We met up with Mama Meg in Manhattan and after a quick lunch, set off for Brooklyn and the Transit Museum. The Transit museum is in an old subway station. The main level has all of the peripheral minutiae associated with all of the forms of transits in New York. But, the lower floor is where the old tracks are and on those tracks are subway cars from every era of the system.

It is so cool. Later I’ll have photos from the lower floor. The drawing is, of course, Al Hirschfeld’s take on the joys of subway riding. I wish they still had those straps.

The signs are from the early part of the 20th century.

The last photo is engineer Henri at the wheel. The subway is safe in the Hankster’s hands.

After the museum we walked through Brooklyn over to the East River. Then, on to Grimaldi’s for an early dinner and a leisurely stroll across the Brooklyn Bridge. But, more on that later.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

We’ll take Manhattan . . . right after we pick Grams up off the ground

The day dawned bright and beautiful in Hoboken, New Jersey right across the river from Manhattan. The humidity dropped and there were puffy white clouds dotting the sky. Wotta day!

Henri wanted to show us the Hoboken Historical Museum on Hudson between 12th and 14th Streets, so off we went. Now, Grams has a hard time standing still and chewing gum, you have to understand that right at the start. She did okay as we wended our way through historic old Hoboken. The museum, however, doesn’t open until 2 pm on Thursdays and it was 11:30 am. We decided to go look for a lunch spot.

Off we went, down Hudson street (next to the river obviously) and down to 8th Street. Over to Washington then down to 3rd. Now, this might not mean anything to you, but it might give you an idea of the distances. Hoboken is only one and a quarter mile square and it was a very nice day.

We ate at Panera. It’s a chain, but that shouldn’t be off-putting. There’s a great selection of cold and hot sandwiches and salads. It’s also a bakery, and they have wi-fi. Grams loved the air conditioning. She spent much of lunch explaining to Henri, who was shivering, that while she is genetically pre-disposed to not do well in heat, that he and I were just the opposite. “You have that Italian blood coursing through your veins. My circulatory system is a legacy of more northern climes.” Henri looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders.

After lunch we walked back toward the museum. Around 7th, I noticed Grams was dropping behind. Suddenly, we heard, “Whoa, it’s spinning!” We looked around and Grams was veering toward the street, and not looking like she intended to do that. Big Guy grabbed her arm and steered her back toward the sidewalk. He held her arm all the way back to Henri and his Mama’s place. We weren’t going to make it to the museum that day.

Grams had a lie down for the rest of the afternoon and woke up with a heat rash under all of her jiggly bits. Maybe there’s something to this pre-disposition stuff. We had dinner at T&J’s again and then walked out on the pier to look at the skyline of Manhattan.
Tomorrow we’re meeting Meg in Manhattan for an afternoon of fun. That is, in Grams’ words, “if the crick don’t rise.”

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

Beyond the Jet Blue horizon

Yesterday was such a whirl. Grams shook me awake at some hour that is foreign to me. We had to catch the Surfliner to go to the Burbank airport. We stumbled out in the dark to the taxi, and then I fell back to sleep on the drive down to the platform. Why we couldn’t fly to Burbank is beyond my comprehension, but then much is beyond my comprehension in the wee hours of the morning.

I slept most of the way, waking only when Henri and Grams called out the stations. Once we were at the airport, everything was ticktey-boo. We were flying Jet Blue. Since they don’t serve lunch, Grams got us lunches. Dear Grams managed to find us the best eats and iced mocha lattés all around (Henri got a blueberry shake).

Jet Blue is amazing. We had over 30 channels to choose from and none of this packaged news: it was a live feed. So, I watched CNN for a while, then I switched to BBC America. Henri watched ‘toons. Big Guy watched the Weather Channel and the flight info. Grams read her book and fell asleep. Then the mad farter struck.

I have to say that bodily functions don’t usually turn my head. But, farting in an enclosed space at 36,000 feet; need I say more? I have very sensitive lungs, but this gaseous cloud even woke up Grams. What to do? Well, it seemed to come from everywhere at once. Big Guy finally decided that it was the wannabe punker in front of us; so he turned on the air nozzle and turned it so it was blowing toward the punker. Didn’t help, but at least he tried. Now, you’ve got to know when you’re passing gas. You know there’s no blaming the dog up in the wild blue yonder. At least get your bum back to the loo and let loose in there. You know what I mean???

We were expecting turbulence from the remnants of hurricane Katrina, but it was smooth the whole way. The thunderstorms predicted in the NYC area never appeared, but was humid. Now, I like that but our Grams does not do humid. Poor thing, she was looking wrung out by the time we got to the airtrain at JFK.

I love good public transportation and NYC has some of the best. The airtrain whisked us to the subway. The subway whisked us to the Path train and Bob’s you uncle, we were in Hoboken.

Grams had to change. I don’t want to say that she was sweating, but let’s say she had a definite glow. Then, we walked over to Ted and Jo’s. The air was cool and breeze was blowing off the Hudson. T&J's is the local spot. Part pub, part restaurant, it’s great. A good time was had by all. Then, back to Meg and Henri’s pied a terre, and off to bed.

This morning I woke up before everyone else for possibly the first time in my life and took this photo of the Yardley soap plant here in Hoboken. Now, I’m waiting for them to get up. I’m in my happy place.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).