New Yawk, New Yawk...

On Saturday, I went to New York City with Mike, Rusty, Chrissy, and Shana (eventually meeting up with our friend Nikki and her dad). In true form, it was a memorable trip, mainly because of our complete and total ability to take the stupid and make it even stupider (for our own twisted enjoyment and to the chagrin of the rest of civilized society).

Of course, getting to New York required a return to America's Urinal (tm), New Jersey so that we could take the train from Trenton (America's Urinal Cake (tm)) to NYC. After an hour-and-a-half of passing by roughly 48 trillion townhouse developments (give or take), we finally arrived in Penn Station. Now there's no delicate way to really say this, so I'll just come out and say it...I had to pee. REALLY badly. Apparently, two cups of coffee and a 1-liter bottle of Diet Cherry Coke aren't conducive to a stable bladder. Who knew?

We followed every damn restroom sign in Penn Station to a tee. Normally, I'd try to follow the urine scent, but I quickly remembered that every inch of train station floor was somebody's bathroom at one point or another. I began to realize why; they too tried to follow the signs that would allegedly lead you to the nearest restroom.

Eventually, we made our way to the ass-opposite end of the train station...only to find a line outside the door. Though the floor was starting to look like a viable option, I also knew that I really wasn't in the mood to get arrested for public urination. I already had a long week. So we backtracked to the KMart, figuring that they must have a bathroom. Yes, there is a two-story KMart in Penn Station. It could have been a two-story S&M Parlor for all I cared, as long as they had a damn bathroom. We walked a good distance through the store, looking for anyone who could possibly lead me to the Holy Grail. I finally approached an employee, who responded to my desperate query with one simple word...

"Closed."

I wanted to cry, but I'm pretty sure my bladder somehow held my tears for hostage. We walked all the way back to the original restroom, where the line was now gone. I did my thing and marveled at my rediscovered ability to walk straight again. So off to NYC we go...

By request (i.e., mine), our first stop was Toys R Us. Hey, when I said, "I don't want to grow up, I want to be a Toys R Us kid," I meant it, dammit. After all, there are a million toys in Toys...I'll stop now.

If you've never been to this particular TRU, it is, in the words of modern philosopher Will Ferrell, "Ginormous." Three stories of tear-inducing glee, it is the mecca of awesomeness. Where else can you see such structural beauties as an Incredible Hulk made out of Legos?

You're probably thinking the same thing I am...it's a much more realistic-looking Hulk than the one from the recent movie.

Before I could completely regress to my childhood, we exited the holy land and went to meet up with our friend Nikki, who was in town with her Dad to take an acting seminar. While we waited, we stopped in an adjacent arcade, which was only memorable because it was the first (and last) time I paid a buck to play one game of Ms. Pac-Man. Mike rightfully pointed out that I did have two extra lives off the bat, but that was quickly negated by the fact that eact power pellet lasted roughly 5 nanoseconds. Of course, in typical Dan style, I didn't hesitate to tell the Miss how I felt about her money-grubbing evilness...



We finally met up with Nikki and her Dad and decided to go to Little Italy for lunch. We ultimately decided on a tiny Italian joint, called Il Something or Other. Right from the get-go, it was a creepy-ass experience, as the waiter stood next to our table and stared at us for fifteen minutes while we all decided what we wanted to order. I don't remember his name, so we'll just call him Mario, mainly because Mike and I wanted to request that a staff member play the Super Mario Bros. theme on an accordian.

After we placed our order, Mario brought out drinks...for half of our table. After another ten minutes of eating bread without any liquid to wash it down, one of us requested that the other half of the table be blessed with the drinks they've already committed themselves to pay for. Mario didn't seem too happy with our request. Perhaps his mind was preoccupied because he found out that his princess was in another castle, but that didn't stop us from ultimately giving him a $4 tip for a $75 meal. To add insult to insult, we left said tip in $1 tokens that we all received on the subway. It probably shouldn't have shocked us that I later spotted him bursting out the front door, either looking for us or to signal the nearest mobster to cap our cheap asses.

So if you ever travel with me to New York City, I think we can cross Little Italy off of our list of "Places to Go."

After dropping Nikki and her Dad off at Penn Station, the rest of us took the subway around various parts of New York. It was on said subway that the creation of the nation's next big craze was born...

Warning: The next section contains excess amounts of stupidity. If you no longer want to be associated with me in any fashion after reading this, I completely understand.

If you've never been on a New York subway, there honestly isn't much to do outside of listening to homeless guys sing love songs for money. Mike decided he was going to entertain himself by balancing a soda bottlecap on his head. I'm guessing sad minds think alike, because all Mike had to say were the words, "Who else," before I instinctively put a bottlecap on my head as well. At this point, it was a battle to see who was pathetic enough to balance the bottlecap long enough on a moving train in front of other human beings. I answered that question with a resounding victory, as the cap fell off Mike's head as we exited the train.

Yes, we had planned to keep the caps on our head as we walked amongst the citizens and tourists of New York City. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed and we didn't play the game while walking. Oh no. We waited until we got on another subway train before we had our rematch. Mike won the next three one-on-one matches, though his third victory remains disputed in my eyes; he had something to rest his head upon, while I quickly discovered that air is no cushion for a strained neck.

One would think that four matches of the most pathetic game in civilized history would suffice and that we'd quickly grow tired of our own sad states of being. Well, Mr. One has obviously never met us. Not only did Mike and I want a rematch on the train ride back to Trenton, but Rusty decided he wanted in on the action as well.

You're probably saying to yourself, "No one can be that sad. I want photographic proof." Ok, you asked for it...

Rusty

Mike and Me

My attempt to flash the camera in Mike's eyes so that he would lose

Unfortunately for my ubercompetitive self, I was the first one eliminated, losing my bottlecap about 45 minutes into the contest. Of course, my loss freed me up to take yet one more picture of this sad, sad endeavor...

The girls' faces just about say it all

We weren't without our admirers. As one kid exited the train with his mom at an earlier stop, he looked at us and said, "Good luck with your game, man." Clearly, from the look on his face, we touched this kid's life. And clearly, from the look on his mom's face, she wished she had a girl.

After one hour and 11 minutes, Rusty's cap fell off almost immediately after we departed the train, making Mike the Ultimate Grand Champion Guy of Capsize (the now-official name of the game). However, Mike wouldn't leave with a memento of his victory, as Rusty kicked Mike's bottlecap underneath the train tracks. I normally wouldn't condone unsportsmanship, but I lost, so I had zero problem with it. You're probably saying, "Ok, sore loser," to which I stick my tongue out at you.

Poor sportsmanship aside, we all had a fantastic day. As usual, I'm sure there are details of the day that I've forgotten, but I'll stop now, as this blog is getting Moby Dick-like in length.

I know I could have chosen a better choice of words there. But you're talking to a guy who spent a good portion of his day in New York balancing a bottlecap on his head. It's just easier to keep your expectations low.

Until next time...
Dan