I’ve been in New York City all weekend and I have to say, it’s a toilet. People can talk all they want about its history or patriotism, but I’ll take Boston any day. It seems “the city that never sleeps” doesn’t bathe very often either. Anywhere I went, from Battery Park to Central Park, had an underlying stink of urine. Drivers are obsessed with honking their horns in gridlock traffic. The subway system is like trying to crack the Da Vinci Code to get from one place to another. And just when you think you’re on the right train, a garbled voice says something over the intercom, and the next thing you know they’ve switched lines and you’re nowhere near where you want to be.
The one redeeming stop was St. Paul’s Chapel. This small church was used as an outpost for rescue workers after the September 11 attacks. Despite its proximity to the Twin Towers, the church remained untouched. The fence outside became a memorial and some of the cards, letters and teddy bears are on display. If you can walk through this building with dry eyes, there is something missing inside you. Unfortunately, the mood is quickly broken when a street vendor shoves a picture of the Towers in flames in your face the minute you walk off the grounds.
Yesterday, I took an adventure to Yankee Stadium, actually purchasing tickets from SG’s own ticket site. Below, you will see some rather embarrassing examples of how they put their scoreboard to use in New York:
Yes, that is A-Rod’s face stuck on some cartoon knight. Alex the Great. Looks like some f@%cked up Don Quixote or something.
Ah, the Jeter Meter. Do I really have to elaborate?
Thankfully, those ominous clouds developed into the perfect excuse to leave in the sixth inning. I am just glad A-Rod didn’t hit number 600 while I was there, the group of sub-100 IQ’s sitting behind me might have spontaneously combusted or something. I can’t get out of this city fast enough.
Boston, you’re my home!
