Oh, Now I Get It!

Just as feeling was starting to return to our feet after Friday’s walking tour, we headed up to Brooklyn for a baseball game on Coney Island. Coney Island is the home of the Cyclone, one of the most famous roller coasters in America. It is also the home of Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs.

Before Brooklyn, though, we had to stop by a Jersey landmark. A bit north of Giants’ Stadium is the town of Lodi, NJ. And right off Route 17 is an otherwise non-descript strip club. Yes, Sopranos fans – the Bada Bing! Ms N is not so much of a patron of the arts as the Don-abee and I, so we didn’t actually go in. But we did get some pictures of the outside of the place.

We headed into Williamsburg to get Ms. N’s cousin Tippy and her boyfriend Chapo. (By the way … one of these people actually goes by the name I’ve used.) Chapo wasn’t there yet, but he said he’d meet us at the game, so we headed down to Coney Island.

Coney Island is not a place you want to drive to, and not just because the subway takes you right there. And it’s not because of traffic, either. Parking sucks ass.

We arrived at the game an hour early; I made it to my seat just before the opening pitch. In the mean time, I almost got rammed by a police car and exchanged obscenities in several languages. We found a lot near the stadium where we could park for $20. I didn’t know how much would be left of my car when we returned, but parking is parking.

Our seats were in the bleachers in right field. The seats were down low and very close to the exit to the concessions, which means throughout the game people were walking in front of us to get food or go pee. Personally, I didn’t have a problem with this. But the folks behind us …

I can’t help but hear this guy behind me drone on and on about the people constantly walking back and forth. “Oh, geez, this is why I watch the game at home on TV.” “What, did these people come to watch the game or eat?” “Are these people ever going to sit the hell down?” “I can’t see the game with all these people walking by.” Finally, the little girl sitting behind us sternly states “Will you stop it Mom, you’re embarrassing us!”

Mom?

(Sorry, Ms. CVW, I may need to steal some nicknames. Horseface and Flat-tits come to mind. Oh wait, never mind – I’ve got one.)

The guy behind us was actually a woman. Seabiscuit was not much of a looker, but what she lacked in attractiveness she more than made up for in offensiveness. And I almost started to feel for the daughter. This was a truly embarrassing mother, after all. Then I heard, “Where’s my freaking teddy bear?”

Oh, this is a family of winners. It was Seabiscuit, Satanna, and Gramps. I couldn’t tell if he was a father, grandfather, or just some old guy they’ve been holding hostage.

Meanwhile, a crazy Cubano was sitting at the end of our row. At exciting moments in the game he’d blow a whistle attached to his key chain. At other times, he’d sing to himself. I think he would have enjoyed the game whether or not the game was actually going on.

In front of us were some genuine baseball fans who were there to, of all things, watch a baseball game. Wierdos.

Next to them were some scout parents. The kids were all sitting together several rows away. These parents, two dads and a den-mother, were sitting down with us just for our amusement, I’m sure. She was the loud one. When she left for a bite to eat (drawing another whinny and neigh from Seabiscuit), the one dad turned to the other and said “So you’re not an alcoholic yet? I figured after being married to Kathy you’d have a problem by now.”

The Don-abee had been to New York before, but only the touristy areas of Manhattan. This was his first time sitting amongst the natives in their natural habitat. Somewhere around the third inning, he leans over and says to me, “Seinfeld makes so much more sense now.”

Seabiscuit still wouldn’t shut up, and her daughter was getting more and more irritated with this. At one point the girl finally lost it. “Mom, if you don’t stop it I’ll kick you! Oh, I am in such a mood right now!” My thoughts immediately turned to my ex.

Ms. N just sat there. “I am in hell now,” she said.

Finally, in the fifth inning, Seabiscuit left on her own. Ms N turned to the Don-abee and apologized profusely on behalf of all New Yorkers. A few minutes later Gramps turned to Satanna and said “we may want to find new seats, just in case she comes back.”

After the game we headed out to the boardwalk. Two things stick out about Coney Island Beach. First, I have never seen so many trash cans on any beach. They were positioned across the sand no further than ten feet apart in any direction. Second, I have never seen so much trash on the sand at any beach. How all these people could spend all day sitting amongst a forest of trash cans and still drop their cans and wrappers on the ground astounds me. And yet there were still families with kids out in the water. Oy.

We hit the go-carts. Tippy and Ms. N stayed safely outside the fence, Chapo, the Don-abee, and I had a race to the death. We all took are cars, then I found out an unpleasant reality – I am too fat for go-carting. I had to take a two-person cart. And, in the nations of the world theme, I had to give up my favorite Germany for China. Why did they make China the fat car?

New Yorkers are amazingly good at go-carts – perhaps because that is what driving is like in the city. We were nicking bumpers like real cabbies, it was great!

Chapo knows somebody everywhere he goes. While we were on the boardwalk, Chapo ran into someone. At the go-carts, Chapo ran into someone. At the other rides, Chapo ran into someone. I find New York amazing because of the sheer quantity of strangers. They may be strange, but Chapo apparently knows them all.

One white-knuckle drive down the BQE later, we dropped off Tippy and Chapo in Williamsburg and headed back to South Jersey. Another long-ass day of vacation.