Story 81: The 5 Borough Bike Tour

                   
           A few years ago I was fortunate enough to get a spot for New York City's Five Borough Bike Tour.  It was a great experience. Although, it was not without it's ups and  downs.  Literally and figuratively.  It was the first time I rode the race, but hopefully not the last. That year it was the first of six bike tours that I completed in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania.
  
            In order to participate, tickets became available online for one day, but since there was  only a limited number of tickets it sold out quickly.  Subsequently, they have switched over to a lottery system similar to the New York City Marathon. Actually, in a lot of ways the event is very similar the marathon because thousands of riders from all over the world participate,  many fans line the streets to cheer you on, and you get the opportunity to ride on several bridges and roads that you wouldn't usually have the chance to ride on because they are limited to cars.

          I did the tour with my co-worker and friend Yael and her husband Sam, a former NYPD police officer.  I still believe that if hadn't torn the meniscus in my knee from playing in a tennis league, I probably would have done it again the next year as well because I was able to get a voucher. 

          What I like most about the Five Borough Bike Tour is that while it isn't the longest tour in New York State (There are century rides) or even the most scenic (although it does go through Central Park), but it is one of the most famous.  Imagine being able to ride your bike across the Veranazano, the longest suspension bridge in the world, or down the FDR drive alongside thousands of riders. Quite a thrill. 

          The tour is forty-two miles, and you definitely feel it during and after. I know I did at times.  My butt hurt a lot, despite my purchase of "butt butter" and I can remember my hands and feet and other parts going numb several times while riding across the Veranzano bridge at the end.

       Some people like to try to finish the ride it as quickly as possible, like my friend Yael, but then there are others who take their time, stopping at bars and restaurants along the way. Rather than waiting to the end to celebrate, they make the whole trip a party.  I think I like that approach better, but I really didn't have that option.

          Before the race, I spent several weeks training.  I got a great bike a trek 7.3 hybrid while my friend Yael got a lighter more up-to-date version.  Also, we went to Williamsburgh, Brooklyn to carbo load the night before.   After we fueled up on whole wheat pasta, we parked one of our two cars in Staten Island to allow us to get home after the race.  Which sounds good in theory, but sometimes things don't go the way the way you want them to.

       On the day of the race the three of us took trains into Manhattan from our respective homes on Long Island.  Normally you can't take your bike on a LIRR train, but on the day of the race they make an exception.  I will say that the trains were packed with cyclists so I almost wasn't able to get on the train in Bayside.  Fortunately I did.  I met Yael by Penn Station, but from the very beginning, things didn't to so well.  She and her husband wanted to do the ride as quickly as possible, rather than pacing themselves and riding with me and enjoying the moment together.

     I saw them from time to time and Yael called me frequently to tell me where she was.   I don't regret doing the ride, I just wish I could have done it with a friend, because I think that would have the experience more enjoyable.

    On or around mile 37 I was getting close to the Veranzano bridge when I decided to take a drink from my camelback hydration pack. It didn't occur to me that maybe I should stop riding before I drank, and suddenly the mouthpiece came off and started leaking, and I tried to grasp the end in my mouth, and that's when I realized I was riding a bike and found myself falling like a boxer after a big hit.

   I landed hard on the pavement.  Fortunately for me, a different NYPD officer saw me fall and went to my assistance. God bless the police for their vigilance.  He helped me up and directed me to the rest stop which I was luckily adjacent to.  In short order they bandaged my knee, and after a banana and water break I got back on the bike and started to ride.  No sooner did I start riding that I received a call from Yael.

    "My husband is an idiot." She yelled.

     "What happened?" I said with confusion.  I was only 5 miles from the end and wanted to understand what was wrong.

     "He forgot the keys to the car." She stated angrily.

     "Well," I said. "Hang in there. Maybe there is a place where you can get a drink while I catch up."

     And that's what they did. She had a drink with her husband while I pedaled my way to the end.  The Veranzano was truly a challenge. It's incredibly steep if  you ever get the chance to ride on it.  We were on the lower level and I put the bike in the lowest gear in order to get up to the top.  I never stopped pedaling although I could barely feel my feet, and plenty of people were pushing their bikes up the slope.  I was careful to ride in the middle of the bridge because I didn't want to fall over the edge on the right.

     The ride down was swift and exciting, but fortunately without any other incident and within a half an hour I got to my friend's car. She was still fuming.

  "What are we going to do?" I asked them.

   "I called my son." Sam replied sheepishly. "He's coming here now."

   Here now is a relative term, because ultimately it took close to two hours for him to get to Staten Island, because all the approaches were closed to car traffic.  I belt bad for their son who was crying on the phone because every usual route to Staten Island was blocked off.  Fortunately for us he made it, and after a few drinks at the bar and a filling meal, we all headed back to Long Island plenty sore, plenty full, and also some of us with a few regrets.

Life Lesson 81: The road to our goals is not always straight.  There are often speed bumps along the way, but a speed bump doesn't mean stop it simply means slow down and then keep going. And as Vince Lombardi and Rocky have espoused that "It's not how often  we get knocked down (or in my case fall down) but whether you get back up and continue." that makes the difference. And having friends to support us in our trip definitely makes it a lot easier, and remember wherever your journey leads you take the time to enjoy the ride, and most importantly if you drove somewhere never forget an extra pair of  keys. 


         

         

         


             

Story 79 Wacky Jacky Part2

            
            I have a hard time putting Jacky into words.  You really have to know her to believe all the stories.  I do like her, but sometimes she's in a word, challenging. 

          One time we were coming back to Long Island from a party in NYC. Jacky generously offered to drive Luis and I back home.  My brother Bruce wasn't around because he was working in Key West, Florida at the time.  We were very grateful to get the lift back because in New York City the subway is very irregular on the weekends especially late at night. You could easily wait an hour for a train.  Also, the night of the party was extremely cold and had a horrible biting wind.  Luis and I got into Jacky's car, and the first thing I noticed besides the smell was that it was filled with garbage including: papers from work, banana peels, Boston Market packaging you name it.

      I said to Luis, " Look around you may find Jimmy Hoffa buried there somewhere."   Luis just laughed and did his best to sit on the garbage.  Fortunately for us the heater was working well.

      Jacky started the car and I heard the distinctive howl of a worn belt.  

      "I really have to service this car." She stated matter of factly.

        "When was the last time you brought it in?" I asked.

        "About 10,000 miles ago," she answered. "But I don't have the money right now to fix it."

         "It's time. " I said.  Jacky however just shook her head and drove into traffic without any hesitation her car complaining the whole time.  She weaved back and forth between cars like she was playing Grand Theft Auto.  I felt like I was in an airplane with bad turbulence

          I whispered to Luis, "I Just hope we make it home."

          He looked spooked and agreed.  Fortunately we did make it home, and after Jacky waved good bye, I  remarked to Luis,

           "Never again."

           He agreed and then said, "You know she's coming to my party next week."

          "I'll take my own car," I answered.  "At least you have a short commute."

          "Either way she'll probably drive us crazy." He replied with a wink.  I didn't realize how true that would be until the next week's party.

Life Lesson: Avoid complainers and drainers.


           

Story 79: Wacky Jacky part1

           I know, I know, I talked about someone named Wacky Wendy, but there is also a Wacky Jacky She is a friend of mine, but you know there are some people who you like in moderation, but you also don't know if you can spend additional time with them because they are human time bombs.

     By time bombs I mean you never know if they are going to say something irritating or offend someone.  That itch you feel that you can't scratch.  Jacky is like that.  Sometimes it's interesting to sit back and watch what happens.  Like that show Wild Kingdom to see if the animals attack or not. I guess that's why some people enjoy watching Donald Trump too to see who he will offend next.

     Jacky has a good heart, but can also be too sensitive to the environment.  She is allergic to dogs and anything that smells. One time we were out on a boat with our friend and skipper Howard.  Originally there were going to be more people but it ended up only Bruce, myself, Jacky and Howard to see the fourth of july fireworks from the water in Suffolk County. The Grucci fireworks were great from our point of view.  However after the fireworks were over Jacky started to complain.

"Howard, what it that smell?" She asked from a reclined position.

"Fireworks," Howard said simply.

"I feel nauseous," Jacky added. "Can you stop the boat from moving?"

  Howard looked around the dark waters surrounding his anchored boat and replied with a laugh, "Sorry, only God can do that." 

  Jacky merely groaned while the rest of us laughed.  After that trip, she was never a guest on the boat again, but I always mentioned her to Howard if we ever needed more ballast, or some on-ship entertainment.

   Jacky is a single  forty-something Jewish woman who only dates Jewish men.  Right now she's been seeing a seventy year old cantor from Long Island.  My friends have joked that he wants her to blow his shofer, but for Jacky that is strictly verboten.  Apparently the cantor's wife confronted Jacky about their relationship, but she pretended she didn't know what the woman was talking about.

   Another time when it was free movie night in town.  My brother Bruce, our friend Luis, and Jacky went to see Hunger Games.     Jacky got into an argument with a pregnant Persian woman.
The woman was talking in farsi and sitting in the middle seat.

   Now the Iranian Jews in our town have a reputation for being many things some good and some bad including: Loud, cheap, extravagant (especially with their parties, homes, and cars), clicky, but also very family oriented, and religious. A strange juxtaposition, and almost stereotypical.  However, to be fair not all of them are like that.  But unfortunately the loud ones tend to outshine the more sedate people.

   Jacky is Iraqi so she is like water and oil when it comes to the Persians.  She doesn't like many of them from the jump.  On the day of the show she got to the movie theater late and right before the film started Jacky said to the pregnant woman tersely,

"Can you move." I need to sit down.

  The woman was about eight months pregnant and replied calmly," I'm pregnant I need a little more room. Why don't you sit over there." She gestured to a seat a little further away.

 "Fucking Iranians," Jacky replied a bit too loud. "these people think that they can do anything."  "Why don't you go back to Iran." she yelled.

  My brother and Luis just cringed.  Jacky went out of the theater to use the bathroom.

"Want to leave?" Bruce asked Luis.  

"With or without Jacky?" Luis asked.

"I don't know." Bruce said unsure.  

   The two of them walked into the lobby and Jacky met them soon enough. 

"Want to go?" Bruce asked Jacky.

"What about the movie?" She replied.

"We could see it in Bayside they have the same deal tonight." Luis answered.

"Great, " Jacky stated.  "No, Persians and they have a Boston Market in the Bay Terrace shopping center."


   The three of them walked out of the theater, and Bruce said to Luis  quietly, "Well, Jacky really knows how to find a good value."

"If only she worked on some of her human values, I think we would all be better off." Luis replied.

  And with that they all got into my brother's Ford Fusion, and drove towards Queens looking for drumsticks, discounts, and no more drama.

Life Lesson 79: It's often been said that "If you lay down with dogs you will get their fleas." but what about the people allergic to dogs?  If we spend time with them do we become allergic to other people too? If only there was a an allergy shot to learn the value of acceptance of others. I think the world would be a better place.  More to come.




   

      

    

Story 78: A cautionary Cuban tale

      When my brother Bruce and I went to Cuba in early 2000, we traveled extensively around the country, but nothing was as magical as walking in the city of Havana. Cars from the 1940’s and 1950’s zipped around town, and murals of Che Guevara and Fidel were everywhere.  That and a good share of anti-American rhetoric.  It felt like I was in a time warp.  In a country where there were only three channels  on TV just like in the 1950’s, but the only thing on was usually Fidel’s latest speech.

The bars however were great. The  mojito’s at La Bodeguito de Medio were awesome despite the argument I had with a bartender after I neglected to give a tip. It did not spoil the moment however. I also remember fondly having an outstanding daiquiri at a bar that was “La cuna del daiquiri” supposedly the location where Hemingway invented it.

I was enjoying my daiquiri with my backpack across my back, when a beautiful young traveler came into the bar.  Our eyes met, she smiled warmly, and she came over to talk.  Things were going great until I reached into my backpack to get something to write with, and a roll of toilet paper spilled out.  
     I watched in horror as it rolled the entire length of the bar.  Every patron seemed transfixed as it continued it’s long slow journey. Time really did seem to stand still.  Like a boy scout, I was always prepared. I brought toilet paper whenever I traveled because you never knew what bathroom would be out of it.  In Cuba you were lucky if you got a toilet seat. I just wish I had stored the paper in a ziploc.

The woman smiled nonplussed and asked,  “Does this happen to  you often?”

“Sometimes,” I answered with a laugh.  “But it’s ok that’s how I roll.”  and then ordered us a few more daiquiris, in my mind thinking even Hemingway would have been pleased.

Life Lesson 78:  When life gives you lemons make lemonade, and when things don’t go your way, live like the Cubanos and simply roll with it. 

Story 77: LIRR Suburban Legends

The subway is not the only form of transportation with stories.  I’ve heard of people having sex on the LIRR (Long Island Rail Road) in the bathroom, and even right in front of other commuters.

One time I heard a conductor say over the intercom, “Hey Joe are you in the back?”

“Yes,” the other conductor replied.

“Well, give me one in the rear.” He answered indicating a signal of some sort.

The people on our car just looked around and laughed. I said, “Maybe, they should wait till their shift is over.” and we all laughed again.

  Another time I was on the train, and the conductor was coming around to collect tickets. He said to an Iranian woman, "That will be seven dollars."

  She replied as if she might be in the souk, "How about I give you five?"

  He answered, "Lady, this is the LIRR the prices only go up, they never come down." And anyone who has been on the Long Island Rail Road could only agree.

Another time my high school friend Dan told me a truly remarkable story. Apparently, Dan was on his way home from work in the city back to Long Island.  As soon as the train was about to pull out a disheveled caucasian man boarded the train with an Asian baby.  The man was sweating profusely and standing in the rear of the car.

Dan sized him up and was immediately suspicious.

The train started to move and got halfway to the first stop, Woodside, when it abruptly stopped.  The train was delayed for several minutes when  suddenly several police officers boarded the train.  The officers spotted the man and began to approach him from all directions.

“Sir, we’re going to need you to put down the child.” A large officer stated to the man.

The man responded with a high pitch voice, “It’s my baby, my baby.” and held the baby tight.

“Sir, please cooperate. You don’t want to hurt the baby.”  He indicated as the other officers creeped closer.  The rest of the car was completely silent.

“No, It’s my baby, mine.” He answered sharply and clutched the child.

Things looked very grim, but in a split second the officer behind him put his knee into the back of the homeless man, and the baby went flying like a fumbled football, but was fortunately caught by the other officer.

“You can’t take away my baby.” He ranted as he was handcuffed and taken away.  Apparently an Asian woman had left a carriage unattended for a second in Penn Station, and the homeless man had grabbed the baby and ran off with it and hopped onto the train.

When the officers carried the baby away everyone on the train clapped. Except for one Wall Street type man who exclaimed, “Lets go already.”

My friend Dan shook just his head and looked at the man in disbelief.

Life Lesson 77 : Miracles happen every day if you look close enough even on the LIRR. A lot can happen in five minutes, or even five seconds,  and remember that's what life is.  A lot of precious moments. Keep in mind too the idea that “He who hesitates is lost, but those who experience and participate are often found.  Just remember to always be patient.”

If you enjoyed the story please leave a comment.

Story 76: Looks can be deceiving

In New York City everyone seems to have an attitude even the homeless.   I once offered a man some chocolate covered pretzels, but he declined saying he doesn’t like pretzels.

Another time I saw a woman sleeping, dropped a few coins in her cup including some pennies, and she responded with contempt. “Pennies?”

I wanted to respond about beggars can’t be choosers, but I refrained.

On another occasion I witnessed truly funny charitable giving.  A large man who was covered in dry paint was standing at Penn Station at 10 pm waiting for his train while holding a large Styrofoam cup of coffee.

A little old lady, literally, shuffled over to him and dropped a quarter in his cup of coffee.

“Lady, What are you doing?” He rumbled.

“I thought you might want something to eat.” She answered.

“This is my coffee.” He responded incredulously.

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought you might be homeless.” She responded, and proceeded to wander off.

The man just laughed, fished out the quarter, and finished his drink.

Life Lesson 76:  Sometimes looks can be deceiving, but generally giving is better than receiving.  A cup of coffee with a quarter inside, is better than full pockets because of your pride.

Story 75: Hi hoe, Hi hoe, it's off to work I go

My first apartment was in Bayside, New York and I had an old fashioned oven that you had to light the pilot in order for it to work. I however was afraid it would blow up, and as a result I never used it even once. In fact, I would get letters from the gas company to the effect, “Dear Mr. Levine we are showing zero gas usage. Is anything wrong?”  How could I tell them I was afraid it would  kill me?  My friend Sam did one better, because he never used the oven or the dishwasher in the all years he lived in his apartment.

That apartment had a lot of drama too.  When I first moved in, I opened the window to adjust the air conditioner left by a former tenant, and watched in horror as it fell down to the floor below. Fortunately, no one was underneath. In addition, I once had a house painter named Jenny paint the place.  

    Jenny is very tall and gangly, nice personality, but bizarre.  She told me once that she sometimes stamps on the little people.  I knew she didn’t mean the proletariat.  She actually believed that she saw elves.  I suppose that it's not so far fetched, because some Scandinavian countries still believe in supernatural creatures.

I once asked my mother about her strange sightings, and my mother responded, “Well Jenny is very cheap for a reason, but she is a good painter.”

“And she does it very fast, because she has her little friends helping her.” I replied with a laugh.

Life Lesson 75: Every home has it’s share of stories.  Home is where the heart is, where we grow up, and you don’t need elves to have a magical experience.

Story 74: Say what?

         Life can be funny sometimes and students can be equally so.  I’ve worked in Jewish schools with Hebrew slang phonetically spelling out “hooters” in the boys bathroom, or the time when I was in a yogurt store with my brother and a student from the same Hebrew day school asked me,”Don’t you work at the NS Hebrew Academy?”

I replied “Yes,” and then turned to my brother saying, “I can’t go anywhere without being recognized.”

A teenage girl then turned to me and asked excitedly, 
“Who are you?”

“See what I mean.” I said to Bruce.

“No, really who are you?” she asked again with even more interest.

“Nobody,” I replied, but inside I wish I could have said I really was someone famous like a musician or member of The New York Yankees, hell I would even settle for being a Met back then, but instead I was just me and told the disappointed girl so.

Another time I was teaching science at a middle school in Flushing, New York and was asked a few questions.  An Indian boy asked, “Excuse me mister, What’s an epicenter?” 

An African-American student who reminded me of a young Eddie Murphy replied with a grin, “That’s in Florida next to Disney right?” The class erupted in laughter.

A week later I was teaching about acids and bases and I asked, “What else is acidic?”

Little Eddie responded quickly, “A Jew.”  Once again the class broke up.  I turned around thinking, “Maybe I’m not the smartest one here.”

Life Lesson 74:  A few final thoughts.  First, follow your dream, but always appreciate what you have not what you don’t. In addition, remember that out of the mouths of babes come the funniest things sometimes, and sometimes also the wisest, and occasionally the most wise-assed. Appreciate them all.

Story 73: Won't be fooled again

There are some stories that should be classified under you can’t make this stuff up.  I often say that about my High School job.  Or at certain times I’ll say, “Only in “New York.”  I probably should start saying “Only at a community college.”  But the truth is these kind of stories probably are happening at colleges all over the country.

A colleague of mine I’ll call Professor Dan has been teaching community college for twenty years.  He told me a lot of amusing stories. 

    Professor Dan once showed a film about human sexuality, and noticed that a lot of cars were coming to park nearby. He thought it was very strange, until  he went outside and realized that the nearest cars had a perfect view of the interior of his classroom, and as a result a free x-rated drive-in movie.  After that, he still showed the film but always had the shades drawn like a safe house.  Rather than fifty shades.

Another time, Professor Dan was teaching a night course and had a red-haired boy who always spent the time sleeping or using the phone.   This behavior annoyed Dan, but what could he do about it?  The boy always dressed impeccably, and parted his hair on the right side, but one day the midterm came around, and things seemed to change. The troublesome boy came into class only this time his hair was parted on the left side.  Professor Dan graded the test and realized the boy had gotten a 100.  The next class the boy walked in and his hair had returned to the original side.  Professor Dan looked at the boy and said,

“I’m going to ask you a question and if you lie to me, I’m going to fail you.”

The boy appeared very nervous and said, “OK.”

“Do you have a twin brother?” asked the professor slowly.

The boy paused for a moment and then responded softly, “Yes.”

“Well, I have some good news and some bad news,” remarked Professor Dan. “The good news is that your brother got a 100 on the midterm. The bad news is that you failed, and if you ever try something like this again. I’m going to fail you for the class.”

The boy nodded walked away, and Professor Dan simply shook his head in disbelief.

Another time Professor Dan had a boy in his Sexuality class that acted the exact opposite.  This student would stare at Professor Dan constantly. However, Professor Dan noticed that the boy wore glasses, but never seemed to blink.  

        One day Professor Dan walked up to the boy after hearing a strange sound in the back of the class.  Slowly professor Dan walked up to the boy and then proceeded to wave his hand in front of the student’s face.  The student however continued to make a strange sound, but even stranger never blinked once behind his glasses.  

Professor Dan then gently took off the boys glasses and noticed that there were fake eyeballs attached to the back of the glasses.  Dan than walked up to the front of the room and put the glasses in his pocket.  A few minutes later, the boy woke up and said, “Where are my glasses? Where are my glasses?”

The student walked up the professor and asked? “Did you take my glasses?”

Professor Dan stared for several minutes and then replied, “Yes, and if you ever try this crap again I’m going to fail you. for good.” handing the boy back the glasses without the eyeballs.

The student looked surprised and then exclaimed in pain as his girlfriend elbowed him several times saying, “I told you you would get caught, I told you you would get caught.” The two of them slinked out of the classroom together.  

        Apparently the boy had been using the fake eyeballs to sleep in many of his classes, but never again in his human sexuality class thanks to the professor’s close attention to detail.

Life Lesson 73: Be aware of your surroundings and of people. Don’t be afraid to call them on their shit.  Also, imagine how successful you could be if instead of trying to beat the system you tried to master it instead.

Story 72: Toxic Tom

Tom is our school’s basketball coach who smells so bad that he is often called toxic. That and “shot” because he’s so burnt out.  I’m not sure if he’s a good coach or not, but his teams consistently go to the playoffs, and sometimes make it to the city championship.  Whether he’s a good coach or not is unclear, what isn’t debatable is that he really knows talent. 

    Tom knows who the best high school/junior high players are in the nation, and many coaches college and pro respect his suggestions.  He has even had some of his former players reach the NBA.   But because he is so volatile, think Bobby Knight with b.o., that college teams have shunned his advancement to the next level.

One time Kentucky’s coach Rick Pitino was talking to a colleague, and asked him where he was getting his new recruits.  The coach mentioned Tom.  Pitino supposedly said, “Tom’s still there.”

“Even Pitino dissing me.” Tom complained.

Tom also calls everyone “baggin”. One of his player from the south called someone “big one” and it came out “baggin” so like Bilbo from Lord of the Rings, Tom always calls everyone “baggin.”  One time Tom was even taking a CPR class, and as he was hitting the baby dummy on the back stated, “Come on baggin, come on baggin.”  Everyone in class stopped to laugh.   Tom has also coined the term “scrubstitute” to refer to a player on the bench who isn’t up to par.

Several years ago he taught Middle School social studies in Brooklyn, New York.  His students however were not the sharpest knives in the drawer.

Tom asked them several questions about geography but was getting nowhere, and wanted to hear some correct answers. Finally, exasperated, he asked, “Name a state in the south that begins with an “F”.

A student raised his hand quickly and proudly stated, “Coach, that’s easy everyone knows It’s Filadelphia.”  

Tom stared in disbelief and thought to himself, “Now I know why I stick to coaching.”

Coaching however is not always what it was cracked up to be, because he told a student during basketball practice to go to the end of the line, the student replied, “Coach, there’s already somebody there.”

“I hope they follow directions better during a game.” he muttered to himself.

Another time during the pre-season medicals another player said excitedly “Coach, the doctor said I have great blood.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked confused.

“The doctor said my blood is A plus.”

Tom shook his in frustration, and blew his whistle.  “No more practice today. We have to work on our mental game.”

Life Lesson 72: Tom really is a great example of what can be achieved if you put all your eggs in one basket. Unfortunately it just so happens to be that a lot of his eggs are a bit cracked.

Story 71: Barney's worst nightmare

I don’t know what’s up with people these days.  People certainly have interesting taste when it comes to their clothing.  Yesterday, I was in NYC in the East Village, and saw an abundance of unusual outfits.  One woman was wearing what looked like a checkered table cloth with a small pineapple decorated bag, and see through shoes.  Another man had on a tuxedo top and bicycle shorts.  I really can’t make this stuff up.  You want to say, “Only in New York” but those people would probably dress unusual anywhere they lived.  If anything, I seem to stand out in that neighborhood with my Nike shirt and Bermuda shorts.

Speaking of clothing, my friend Michael always picks up traditional outfits from his travels around the world.  When I used to visit him at a consulate in NYC where he worked, he would inevitably take out a package from Lebanon, or a broom filled shirt from the country of Burkina Faso, designed by Nelson Mandela’s tailor.   He must have more than fifty shirts from different countries.  His wife though wishes he would just donate them, or in her words, “Put them in the attic.”  

      One time when Michael was working in a high school in Queens he had a Korean student.  Michael told him he had a hanbok, a traditional Korean outfit.  The student however didn't believe him.

"You don't have a hanbok." said the student.  Michael was dead set to prove him wrong and the next day wore a hanbok to work.

     "You do have a hanbok." said the student with amazement.  

      "I told you." Michael said with a smile.

  

      If it were up to Michael, he would wear a different one every day even to work.  Only time will tell if that will ever materialize.  My clothing choices are a lot more traditional.

Some people love clothing that is only one color.  Some people wear a lot of black, because they are goth, bouncers at a club, or just want to look slimmer.  I know a woman at my job who wears a lot of purple.  Another woman I knew named Mrs. Wright who worked at my old High School always wore purple clothes every day.  I asked her once, “Why do you always wear purple?”

“Well,” she replied, “I was unhappy until I met Mr. Wright” she said with a laugh, “ And he loves purple, but now I wear it it because I always match.”

“That’s great,” I told her.  “And for Halloween you could always dress as Barney.”

Mrs. Wright was bit overweight and as a result was not pleased at all at my remarks. Come to think of it, I think she never spoke to me again after that conversation, but continued to wear purple every day.

Life Lesson 71:  They say that clothes make the man, and to never ask what a woman weighs.  I would also add that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything, because even a woman who dresses all in purple, can turn a deep shade of red.

Story 70: Cruising Philly with "The Storm"

Several years ago, I went with a few co-workers to Philadelphia.  We were certainly a motley crew.    There was Nick, a basketball coach, Nick’s girlfriend Blondie, and David, Blondie’s brother who has a severe fear of heights.  There was also Paul,  our school’s baseball coach, Skinny fat boy, myself, and the school's soccer coach J.P., AKA,  “The Storm.”

J.P had a reputation for being an exemplary teacher, but has terrible luck, which I discussed in several earlier stores.  I remember one time that a truck had accidentally backed up in the school’s parking lot and ripped off his mirror.

A guy in our Phys. Ed office nicknamed Billy heard about what happened, and decided to add some salt into J.P'

s wounds.

Billy called up J.P.’s classroom and sang a few bars of the Beatle’s “Instant Karma is going to get you.”

J.P. was so outraged that he bellowed into the school phone, ran out of his social studies classroom still in progress to go down four flights of stairs. No small feat for a man who although he has George Clooney good looks also has a belly that looked like he's six months pregnant.  In fact, another co-worker once asked him “Did you eat your daughter?”

He ran down the stairs two at a time, threw open the door to the Phys. Ed. office, and came into the room like a freight train. In fact,  his voice was so high pitched and full of anger I was told that it even sounded like the whistle of a train, or an approaching tornado.

Billy was behind a desk reading the New York Times as usual, and J.P. started to push the desk back towards him with all the force he could muster.

“Stay out of my life. Stay out of my life.” J.P. yelled high-pitched like a tornado.

Billy calmly replied, “Relax, it was a joke.”

“Stay out my life.” J.P. yelled again with torment, and accidentally knocked over and destroyed Billy’s cheap coffee mug.

Fortunately for both of them, our assistant principal came into the office at that time and diffused the situation.  “Gentlemen, don’t get spicy.” He stated simply.

J.P. later apologized for breaking Billy’s mug, but had to give him $50 to make him shut up.  Billy claimed the mug had sentimental value, a fact I highly doubt.

The trip to Philly however was pleasant enough.  Nick was fortunate enough to get a van from the community college he worked at, and we had room enough for a dozen.  Before long, we arrived at our first destination, The Rocky statue.  After a few quick pictures we all proceeded to run up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and dance around  like a winning prizefighter or drunken fools, depending on your perspective.

Afterwards, we went over to Pat and Joe’s where we sampled Philly cheese steaks wit (with) cheese as they say.   I liked both, but some Philadelphians have their favorite.  They are other places as well less known that locals swear by.  We then decided to walk around Philly to see the sights before our trip to watch a Phillies game.

J.P. wanted to show us the sights as only an experienced social studies teacher can.  He pointed out many historical landmarks, and at one point proudly stated, “That’s where Benjamin Franklin lived.”

“Excuse me,” Paul stated in a very high pitch voice like a child, “ I have a question. Is Benjamin Franklin related to the Phillies Chase Utlie?”

J.P. didn’t know what to say, but simply stared at Paul with laser beam eyes, and then grumbled, “Asshole.”   After that, J.P. didn’t want to show us any other sites.  So, it was off to the ballpark.

 
      It was a very hot day, and as it turned out we witnessed one of longest Phillies games in history.   Blondie’s brother David had a very hard time because of his fear of heights, and without a New York team the game was a bit boring, but interesting nevertheless on one level, because I had never been to a Phillies game before.  After I lost several pounds of sweat from too much direct sun, we left the ballpark and walked around downtown Philly to find a good place for dinner.  We finally ended up at an Italian place that was very forgettable.

Ten minutes after we ordered, things heated up because J.P. yelled for the waiter. “Waiter, Waiter.”

“Please don’t say anything.” We all said fearing that they might spit in our food.

J.P. had a reputation for scaring the serving staff, because he worked as a waiter too. “I’m in the business” he would say, and often as as not, tell the manager, their server was doing a great job.  This time however, that’s not what he said.

“Why is the food taking so long?”  He bellowed.

The server tried to explain that it was a very big order because we were close to fifteen people. J.P. however was not having any of it and said simply, “This is unacceptable I want to speak to your manager.”

“Skinny fat said to him, “Let it go brother, I’m in the business too, don’t be a show off.”

“What?” J.P. raged, “I just want my food.”

When the manager came over, J.P. went into a tirade.   We all told him he shouldn’t say anything, and in the end after we finally got our food, hopefully spittle-free,  J.P. went to the waitress and paid the entire bill himself.  Which was probably around $300 dollars.  I would have paid my part of it, but no one else did.

The trip back seemed to be very quiet at first.  Paul turned around realized that J.P. was right behind him and said, “Whoh.”  when he found J.P. five inches from his face.

J.P. was busy however trying to figure out his new iPhone.

One other memory was that Blondie was overjoyed when she called a radio station and won tickets.

“Not a Philly game I hope.” I said aloud.

“No,” she laughed. “Concert tickets.”

“Who needs a concert when I have this van ride/trip to entertain us.”  I said, and with that comment a chorus of meow, meow went on next to me, with several grunts of pain in the back too for good measure.

Life Lesson 70: They say that life is journey, and that it’s not getting to the destination that counts, but the journey along the way.  I couldn’t agree more, but let’s hope that you have good friends to make you laugh too.

Story 69: Too hot to trot

 

   Several years ago my brother Bruce and I visited Costa Rica, and found ourselves in the northern part of the country in an area called the Guanacaste region.  I remember being on bus near the Nicaraguan border. The Costa Rican border patrol police were going aground checking passports.   They were looking for Nicaraguans trying to get into Costa Rica.  They reluctantly took my passport, but did not even give it a long glance.  

      Apparently many Nicaraguans try to get into Costa Rica illegally.   Costa Rica is the only democracy in the region and it is in better shape financially and much more stable than Nicaragua.  It is no wonder the Nicaraguans wanted to move there any way possible.  It reminded me of Mexicans risking death to get to the USA.

After our bus trip, we were staying a local hotel, when the owner suddenly announced there was a man going to Rincon Viejo park, a beautiful rustic park with volcanic activity, waterfalls, and lots of animals.  We quickly packed our stuff, but neglected to get additional water.  That proved to be a critical error on our part.

We got to the park and began our hike.  It was a 2-3 hours walk through the jungle.  Along the way, we met a couple from Spain, a Spanish doctor (no relation to a prior doctor in an earlier story) and her husband.  

         We saw butterflies, monkeys, and other strange critters along the way.  I also noticed that my water bottle was getting low and asked Bruce if I could have some of his. Something I feel guilty about even today. In retrospect, it would have been helpful to have a water purifier, but they say that hindsight is 20/20.  

        After a brief drink from his bottle, we came to a bubbling volcanic mud pit.  We took pictures of the Spanish couple beside the the pool and then went swimming underneath a waterfall.  The water was cool and refreshing.  If only our trip was over at the point, but we still had 2-3 hour return hike to go.  

Rincon Viejo is located near Nicaragua as I mentioned  before, and while it is not very humid, it’s heat is deceptive.  More like Arizona.  On our way back, we found ourselves without water.   We had opportunities to get more water from streams, but we were concerned about getting giardia from tainted water.  When I think about it, maybe taking that risk would have been worth it. Because as we were heading back Bruce started to suffer the symptoms of heat exhaustion. It was very scary for both of us.  I really should have listened to the guide books. Blame my mistakes on the errors of youth.

Bruce took off his shirt appeared to be very red and started to act erratically.  I was scared he would die and we wouldn’t make it back. Fortunately for us, the Spanish couple let Bruce have some of their water and with their assistance, made it back to the park ranger station in one piece.

When we got back, we thanked the couple who helped us and then found a faucet of water and began to drink and drink for what seemed to be close to ten minutes from the local water spout.  Water never tasted so good.  It was a moment I’ll never forget.

Life Lesson 69: Never underestimate the environment.  Because when you start to take nature lightly, you may find that nature will make your life painful.  Also, whenever you hike, always hike with others, tell people where you are going, and prepare for the worst case scenario by packing extra water, food, and other things needed to face certain emergencies.  Because an ounce of prevention as they say, is worth a pound of cure.