Taking a bite out of the Big Apple

Gotham City, The Big Apple, New York New York – so nice they named it twice!  Got a chance to spend a long weekend there, recently, with My Bride as a celebration trip for our birthdays.  Wow!  What a place!  As my old marketing professor said, many years ago, “After New York, everything else is pretty small potatoes.”  He was a little biased having grown up there but he was also correct.

AMTRAK

Sure, we could have driven up there.  It’s only about 6 hours from the Richmond area.  As long as you don’t hit traffic in the DC area (HA!!) and don’t mind paying to park while you’re in the city.  Our hotel, the Renaissance in Times Square, is glad to park your car for you for only $58 a night, plus tax, tip extra. And then, you can learn to drive like a New York cabbie.  Good luck with all that.

Or we could have taken a plane from the mighty Richmond International Airport which doesn’t have any flights that go anywhere without going through a hub.  So, two flights with a layover somewhere after driving for an hour just to get to the airport.  Hmm…..probably faster to drive.

Instead, we drove 15 minutes to the small town of Ashland (For you out of towners, they bill themselves as The Center of the Universe – how quaint!) and jumped on an Amtrak train headed north, leaving at 8:15 a.m.  We found 2 seats together, stowed our bags above and settled in.  The seats are a little larger than First Class airplane seats with more leg room, too.  There is free wifi on board (a little slow but acceptable) and you can bring your own food and drink along with you.  (MB brought wine for lunch.  Brilliant!)

We spent the time chatting, reading, and looking out the windows at parts of the area I’d never seen before.  At noon, we ate the picnic MB had made and shortly after 2 p.m. we got off in Penn Station in Manhattan.  Wow!  Six hours and we’re there!  If the train went every place I needed to go, I might never get on a plane again.  Oh, yeah the price.  About the cost of parking the car for 5 nights at the hotel; for both of us.  It’s reasonable, to say the least.

Sure, the train gets crowded at times.  It gets noisy at times, too.  But have you been through Security at the airport, any airport, recently?  It’s as much fun as a colonoscopy and takes about as long.  I mean, I’d nearly rather take a beating than get another “personal search” so I can get on an overcrowded airplane for three or four hours.  The train, truly, is a pleasurable mode of transportation.

NYC

After weaving our way through Penn Station, we made our way to the taxi stand outside.  Our wait was about five minutes and was interrupted seventeen times by entrepreneurial private car owners, offering their services immediately so that we wouldn’t have to wait.  Having had a “gypsy cab” experience a number of years ago, I passed.  (It’s entertaining but can be a little unnerving.  Could be a future blog post.)

Our cabbie drove us the twenty blocks or so to our hotel and by 3:30, we were checked in, unpacked, and ready to explore.

We spent the afternoon walking around Times Square and the theater district, soaking in the vibe.  New York, and Times Square in particular, has the most amazing energy level of any place I’ve ever been.  I hadn’t been there in almost twenty years and it was great to see that it hadn’t lost a step or two.

Here is one shot of Times Square.

We eventually made our way to an Irish Bar where we had a couple of pints and spent a couple of hours watching and listening to the people.  Since it was Friday, there were lots of locals in addition to all of us tourists so the fare was quite rich.  I love New Yorkers!  They are the warmest, bluntest, most honest bunch I’ve ever lived among.  And no group can swear as effusively or effectively.  MB commented that one of the guys at the table next to us had used The Big F in his last paragraph as a noun, verb, adverb, pronoun, and possibly punctuation.

We talked together, as only two incredibly close people can, for the better part of two hours.  We laughed at the sights and smiled at each other.  Finally, we decided we really needed to change for dinner and the show; we had tickets to The Book of Mormon.

Give My Regards to Broadway

After a nice Italian meal at a local restaurant named Sofia’s, we walked a few blocks to the Eugene O’Neill Theater and got into the line that was forming at the door which opened up about five minutes later.  We found our way to our seats in the second to last row, balcony section.  (Bob Uecker would have been proud of these!) 

"Hey, buddy, great seats!"

The seats actually weren’t terrible as the theater isn’t all that large.  (The website says it holds 1108.)

The Book of Mormon has been sold out basically since it opened a year or so ago.  It won 9 Tony Awards this year so we knew it was going to be a good show.  (My best friend actually saw it a few months ago and told me it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, anywhere.  That’s high praise as he isn’t easily amused and frequently not by what the majority finds humorous.)  The people sitting around us were all in great moods as they all expected the same thing.

Since it was about thirty minutes to curtain, I decided to hit the men’s room.  On the way back to my seat, I saw the bar and decided to order a drink since there was no line.  I walked up, saw they had Maker’s Mark and told the girl I’d have a double with a splash of water.  I joked with her about the fact that she was pouring into a “sippy cup” and she told me that was so I could take it into the theater. She finished making my drink and then said, “That’ll be $28.” 

Good to the last drop!

I did my best to keep a straight face but I’m pretty sure I did a double take as I reached for my wallet. “Oh, so that’s why there isn’t a line” was the best I could come up with.  I left a $5 tip because it wasn’t her fault.  Wow!  (New York 1, Me 0.  Note to self, check the price list first next time, rube.)

I got back to my seat and MB asked me what I had in my hand.  I told her it was the most expensive bourbon I’d ever had.  And it was delicious. She took a sip and agreed.

(After intermission, one of the three guys from upstate NY sitting next to us, came back with a drink.  He had a funny look on his face as he told his buddies that he’d just paid $20 for a rum and coke.  They thought he was kidding so he turned to me and asked me what I’d had.  When I told him it was double bourbon, he asked me how much it was.  When I told him, he turned to his buddies and said, “See, they do it to everybody!”  When I pointed out that you get to keep the cup as a souvenir of your screwing, everyone laughed.  (I didn’t see anyone go get a refill at intermission although I was told you get a discount if you bring the cup back with you.  Probably could have saved a dollar or two.)

The Book of Mormon was written by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, the same two guys who produce the cartoon South Park on Comedy Central.  I don’t think I’ve ever watched that show but I did see Morley Safer interview them some months ago and was very impressed with both of them. 

The show was reputed to be irreverent.  That may be the biggest understatement I’ve ever heard.  Almost from the opening song, it is completely over the top and spends a great deal of time making fun of Mormons and, frankly, just about all organized religion in general. 

The entire audience was laughing from the first song and it didn’t stop until the final number.  While the script is entirely formulaic, it doesn’t detract from the constant comedy.  I would go see it again, if for no other reason than to catch the jokes I missed when I was still laughing from the last ones.  When this show hits the road, later this year, I highly recommend going to see it!  Go to www.bookofmormonbroadway.com for information about the road production.

This show is sold out months in advance.  When we decided to go see it, we went online and bought the tickets through a broker; that’s a legal scalper for those of you unfamiliar with the term.  I think a bunch of people went to court in an effort to make the buying and selling of tickets to theater, concert, and sporting events just like purchasing any goods or services.  If the plan for doing so was to reduce the cost of ticket prices, this was a failure.  If it was a plan to allow more people access to shows, provided they’re willing to pay the price, then it succeeded.  All in, we paid almost four times the face value of the tickets.  I’m not complaining, as these were for a special occasion and we decided this was the show we wanted to see.  But DAMN!

We headed back to our hotel for the night, laughing and singing some of the lines from the show.

9/11 Memorial Visit

On the morning of September 11, 2001 a small group of terrorists took control of four commercial airliners, flying them into the Pentagon in Washington and the twin World Trade Center Towers in NYC.  The fourth plane plunged to earth in Pennsylvania because the passengers attempted to regain control of the plane which was believed to be lined up to fly into the Capitol.  These acts resulted in the murder of almost 3,000 Americans.  The aftermath from that dreadful morning can still be felt today.  I have a difficult time thinking about that day without my eyes tearing up and a catch in my throat.  Right now, the images are flooding through my brain again as I write this.  It was one of the darkest periods I’ve lived through in my fifty plus trips around the sun.  And I hope we, not just Americans but all humanity, never forget the events of that day and what has transpired by the result.

In an effort to do just that, a memorial is under construction on the site of the old WTC area.  (New buildings are being constructed to replace the old towers; one is called the Freedom Tower (see below) and will be 1776 feet tall when completed.) MB and I took the subway south to see the memorial which is not yet complete but is getting very close.  The only thing left to be finished is the 9/11 Museum and it looks like that will be finished before the end of the year.

The nearly completed Freedom Tower

What has been completed are the two pools of water that symbolize the foot prints of the old twin towers.  Around the perimeter of these is a wide metal railing that contains the name of every person who perished that day including all the passengers on the planes, the firefighters, EMTs, police officers, and all the people in the buildings that were struck.  The sheer number of names depicted here is heart wrenching.  I found myself wondering how each of them had died.  Some, thankfully, had very quick deaths.  Others suffered for some time before perishing.  Some made the decision to plummet from the buildings by their own choice rather than wait to slowly burn to death or be crushed if the building collapsed, as so many others did.

The two pools have steep walls with water pouring down them constantly, landing in a flat bottomed area that flows to a smaller square hole in the middle.  From every vantage point, you’re unable to see the bottom of this smaller area.  It just appears that the water falls into nothingness.  I believe that’s what the designer wanted to depict.  It’s incredibly moving, after you read all these names arranged very thoughtfully and then see water rushing underneath them, as if carrying them down into a pool that holds them gently before quietly depositing into the abyss.  

It made my heart hurt and my soul feel better, all at the same time.  That says a lot.  It’s worth the visit and it will affect you.

MOMA and Central Park

We jumped back on the subway for a trip to the Upper East Side and a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art.  I had never seen it before and it’s absolutely amazing.  Impossible to see even a tenth of it in one afternoon.  We toured parts of the American hall and saw musical instruments (including an early guitar built by C.F. Martin, founder of the Martin Guitar Company) and a wonderful display of Duncan Phyfe furniture.  Duncan Phyfe is considered to be the father of American cabinetmakers and this collection was wonderful, showing the four main phases of his work from very traditional American styles to very modern pieces.  I was inspired to get out in my shop and make some sawdust!  

Here's a tilt top table from the workshop of Mr. Phyfe, circa 1795

After about a four hour visit to the museum, we plotted a course back down to Times Square by walking across Central Park, just north of the Grand Lawn.  Neither of us had been in the park before and it’s the place that will make even the most suburban / rural person fall in love with the Big Apple!  It’s just magnificent and I can only imagine how it looks once spring arrives and all the flowers and lawns bloom.  I wanted to have my bike and go for a spin.

The Grand Lawn - it's seriously grand.

We got back on a south bound train and then walked around until we found another Irish Bar so we could get some sustenance from the day’s adventures.  We had talked about going to see another show by purchasing tickets from the TKTS booth where they are all discounted by up to 50% but the line was very long and there wasn’t a show we felt like waiting for. 

We walked up to Rockefeller Center and saw all the stand-by people waiting hopefully in line for leftover tickets to Saturday Night Live.  While I haven’t watched the show regularly in many years, I’ve been a fan since the premier in 1975. 


Trivia Question – Who was the first guest host of SNL? First correct answer in the comments section wins bragging rights until the next trivia quiz.


That first season was a watershed event in late night television, sparking many great performers' careers, and had the censors absolutely quaking, nearly every week.  When Richard Pryor hosted the first time, the show wasn’t even live.  They put a 10 second delay in because they were scared he was going to give them a reason to be fined!  They wanted a chance to bleep it, just in case.  I believe it was the only not quite live episode in the show’s 37 year history.

We settled for a late dinner at a restaurant found on Urbanspoon.com.  When we got there, it was closed.  Right across the street, however, was a Scottish place called St. Andrews, named for the auld gray toon in Ediburgh, Scotland.  It looked busy so we walked across the street and got a table on the second floor with a view of the street below.  When I asked if they had a decent scotch selection, the waitress brought a menu with about 300 single malts listed.  I was in heaven!  Balvenie 17 year peated cask was my choice and it was unlike anything I’d ever drunk from that distillery; smoky and musty, with a remarkably clean finish.  It didn’t even look like scotch as it was a pale color with the look of an unfiltered witbier.  The meal was every bit as good as the menu suggested, too.  It made for an excellent end to our visit to the Big Apple.

Stage Deli

Sunday morning we did a bit more sightseeing and shopping around Times Square before heading north on 7^th Avenue to the Stage Deli.  This place has been in business for 85 years!  Their sandwiches are legendary and they have several dozen of them named for celebrities.  (The Dolly Parton has two really large rolls of pastrami and corned beef.  I am not making this up.)  We needed something for lunch on the train ride home, and figured that ordering a sandwich would take care of lunch and dinner.  We were not disappointed!  Each sandwich had at least a pound of meat on it (turkey for me, corned beef for MB) and the deli mustard they gave us was the best I’ve ever had.  Next time, we’re going there for breakfast!

Back to the Old Dominion

The train ride home wasn’t quite as nice because we were getting on a train that had originated somewhere else.  While there were seats available, we couldn’t get two together until we arrived in DC.  That just meant we got a lot more reading finished until we sat together for lunch which was delicious.  The train was right on time and we walked back through the door about six and a half hours after leaving Manhattan.

New York City is unlike any other place in the world. I don’t think I could live there as it would mean a huge change to many parts of my life but the vibe, the people, the sights, the food, and the attractions keep calling me back.  We’ve already decided to try and get tickets to SNL and plan a trip around that. I would love to be sitting in the theater when the lights go down and you hear…..

Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!

Well on the way to Geezerhood….

Have you seen those commercials, I think it’s some kind of financial planning or insurance company’s spot, where the guy is on an airplane and sees a much older version of himself from a number of years in the future?  I had of one those moments last week, too, when I was in Irvine, California.

Unfortunately, I was in a hotel room and it was the result of catching a look at myself in the mirror.  Damn it.

Admittedly, I’ve had these moments before.  I don’t spend much time looking in the mirror, never have really.  I mean, I look at myself first thing in the morning when I’m getting ready for work but all I’m trying to do then is make sure I don’t cut my throat shaving and that I’ve remembered to comb my hair.  Since I’m focusing on something in particular, I don’t really see me.  The result is that I may go for long periods of time without seeing me as others do.  So when I suddenly see me, I’m occasionally surprised by what I see.

It was especially disturbing last week. 

I had just come back from a workout in the hotel gym.  Hotels are providing nicer and nicer workout facilities these days and Marriott consistently has equipment that I like to use.  Since this was an older property, the gym was kind of small and right next to the indoor pool area, appearing to be built as an afterthought.  As a result, it was crowded and very hot.  I didn’t lift any weights, not wanting to wait, but I did get a good forty five minute cardio workout on an elliptical machine.  I was pushing hard the entire time and it really felt great.  After almost a year of regular exercise, I’ve gotten to the point where I really enjoy doing it.

Those who’ve known me for a long time, please stop laughing.  And get up off the floor!

By the time I got back to my room, my breathing was back to normal although I was completely soaked from the exertion.  I sat down to cool off for a few minutes, called My Bride, and had a piece of fruit to hold me over until I got down for breakfast.

It felt as if the sweating had stopped so I could hit the shower.  As I walked into the bath room, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and did a little double take.

“Hey, who is that old guy in my room?” I thought for a second before the next thought hit me.  “Hey, when did I become such an old looking guy?!!”  And that one stopped me.

I got closer to the mirror and looked me in the eyes.  Bags under both of them.  Kind of bloodshot, too.  There were a bunch of lines that I’d never noticed before and my brain immediately went to a line from a Jimmy Buffett song.  “Wrinkles only go where the smiles have been.”  Yeah, let’s go with that.  I pushed back from my close up with the mirror and looked the rest of me over.

With all the weight I’ve lost, the work in the gym, and the bike rides I’m in the best shape of my life.  Body fat is below 15% and I’ve got muscles in my arms and shoulders that I’ve never had at any point in my life.  Sure, I’ve got arthritis in my wrists and one knee that was surgically repaired about three years ago that the doctor tells me will need to be replaced in the not so distant future.  But when none of those hurt, which probably happens about two days out of seven, I feel about thirty which is twenty five years younger than I actually am.

And that’s what caused the double take.  I felt good, felt young again, and my brain was expecting the thirty year old me.  When the fifty five year old me appeared, it was quite a shock to the system.

I got in the shower and re-thought my thoughts of the last few minutes.  I’ve been thinking of myself as middle-aged for a few years now; at least since I turned fifty.  I don’t know what comes after middle aged, though.  That’s kind of freaking me out.  

My best friend has been busting my balls about being middle aged, wanting to know if I plan to live to a hundred and ten or something.  (My response has usually been that I plan to be shot by a jealous husband at 103.  MB probably would prefer to do it herself, though.)

If you think about it, you go from childhood to adolescence to adulthood to parenthood (not always but frequently) to middle-aged.  What comes next?

Is it elderly?  I don’t feel elderly.  I mean, that sounds really old like in your seventies or eighties.  If I feel this good when I’m that old, I’ll gladly take elderly but I’m not there yet. 

Is it just old?  That seems kind of plain to me, not reflective of all the work I’ve put in to get here and not nearly as enjoyable as it really is.  I truly feel better and enjoy my life about as much as I did when I was eight years old!

What do you think, readers?  Comment with your thoughts on the correct terms for what comes after middle aged and what ages they match up with.  I’ll make sure they’re up for everyone to read.

In the meantime, I’m going with Geezerhood.

He who dies with the most toys wins?

Unfortunately, they still die.

Like a lot of guys, I like toys.  I like power tools, high quality hand tools, guitars (that I can’t play very well) cars that are fun to drive, and new golf clubs.  There’s something about teeing up a golf ball and taking a swing with a new driver that launches the ball into low earth orbit that brings a huge grin to my face.  (Note to self – go play more golf this year.)

That said, I don’t think I spend a whole lot on them. 

I haven’t bought a new car in over twenty years, for example, preferring instead to buy decent used cars and driving them until they’re ready to be donated to a local charity.  We have one cream puff of a 1995 Buick that I got from a friend a few years back.  It had about 65K miles on it when I bought it in 2005; used to be his company car.  I got it for our daughters to drive but they hated it so I drove it for 5 or 6 years as my primary vehicle until putting it out to pasture as our “last resort” car when someone is home from college.  The car’s name is Reggie; all our cars are named by our middle daughter and she saw this one as a stuffy, older English gentleman.  My current car is a 10 year old BMW convertible named Franz.  We’ve also had Garth (Nissan pickup truck) Vivica (My Bride’s Chrysler) Penny (MB’s Mazda) and Frank (my pickup truck).  

Driveway is kind of weird, now that I think about it.

Anyway, I don’t spend a lot on toys.  I only buy new tools when I need them although I’m sure MB would say that’s because I already own at least one of each anyway.  Since my golf game is infrequent these days most of my purchases are for golf balls.  I’ve got enough guitars for the rest of my life.  I can’t say that I need any more pool equipment although I do have an eye out for a particular custom cue if the price is right.  (It won’t ever be I’m sure.)

So it was a bit of an anomaly this past week for me when I took my road bike and got a tune up.  I bought this Giant CFR3, circa 1996, for $200 off Craigslist back in October and have been riding it ever since.   Mine is purple but here’s a pic.

 The ride is good, terrific actually, with my lone complaint being that it provides me with a pretty aggressive riding position.  (In other words, this old guy is leaning too far forward.)  

The other issue, and what was really driving my desire for a skilled mechanic to look at it, was the problem I was having shifting into the third cog in back.  It just seemed to skip it all together, in both directions, and the mechanism sounded kind of loud to me.  Like it was pissed off about something.  Mechanical stuff isn’t supposed to sound like that and it won’t for very long.  That’s why I was concerned.

I’m a do it yourselfer to a great degree.  My dad was pretty frugal; still is for that matter.  As a woodworker, I’ve also learned a lot of skills outside the world of wood and tend to put them to use whenever I can.  Based on the availability of good help, or even finding someone that can do it, I’d rather do it myself rather than throw whatever it is out and buy a new one.

But I’d already gone as far as I could after buying a bike repair stand ($79) and watching a bunch of videos on Youtube on how to repair/adjust/fix/maximize bicycles and their most mysterious of parts, the derailleurs.  (Don’t you just love that word?  It’s French and I think it means gear shift.  Or take another train, or something.  Those French have a different word for everything!  Steve Martin was a genius back in the 70s and he still is.)

Besides, I’m in training to do some serious rides including my first century.  That’s 100 miles.  In one day.  Like a whole day.  Seriously.  For charity.  (Shameless plug for Tour deCure and wouldn’t you like to donate?  Go to

 https://donations.diabetes.org/site/Donation2?idb=2091896033&df_id=9861&FR_ID=8025&9861.donation=form1&PROXY_ID=7310819&PROXY_TYPE=20&JServSessionIdr004=vvbaj9s6m2.app221a)

So I didn’t want to be a long way from home and have something major break down.  Walking in cycling shoes is about as difficult as anything I’ve ever done.  The cleats make you look like a bozo, they’re hard plastic and really slick on the bottom and you just don’t want to do it.  (I’m sure the folks in cars at the traffic light that observed me doing this have kicked themselves for not recording my antics and posting to Youtube.)  I’m prepared with a tire repair kit so I can fix a flat if need be but not really keen about trying anything else if I don’t have to.

I like to support local business people so I went to the RABA website (that’s the Richmond Area Bicycle Association for those of you keeping score at home) and they had a list of vendors.  I chose 2 Wheel Tune Up, a guy working out of his garage not far from my home.

Quick aside in the Holy Cow category – RABA has a newsletter where they call out things about the members.  The January issue had a wrap up of the prior year and it made mention of one member who had managed to log over 10,000 miles on his bike in the past year.  Seriously???  As if that wasn’t enough to make me feel like a slacker, it pointed out that he’d been doing that for quite some time as he is now 70 years old and has lifetime mileage of 355,000!  That’s about 10,000 miles per year for 35 years!  I mean damn! Shout out to Rickey Davis.  You sir, get my first Holy Cow! award.  (I don’t know what that means but if I ever meet you, I’ll buy you as many beers as you want.)

I connected with Greg, the owner of 2 Wheel, and brought my bike by his shop.  We talked about what I was looking to have done and he promised to get back to me with an estimate as soon as he could.  That turned out to be later that night.  Greg told me I needed new tires as they were probably original to the bike, new brake shoes as they were scratching the rims, and in order to raise the handlebars I’d need a new stem set.  I gave him the go ahead.

My bike was ready to be picked up the next day so I swung by after work.  Greg showed me everything he’d done, showed me the list of parts and their prices, his labor costs, and how to make adjustments for myself in the future.  (You have to love a small business man who wants to help you do it yourself!)  Total bill was $316.

Now, why on earth would I put that much money into a used bike?  Well, as Greg told me, it’s a great bike.  The frame is actually a combination of carbon and aluminum – I’m thinking it’s one of the first carbon frame bikes available to the general public.  It sold for well over $1000 when it was new.  Greg let me look at his current ride, an Italian bike that sells for about $6000!  (Don’t worry MB, I’m not even thinking about it….much...)  His bike weighs about a pound or two less than mine.  Sure, it’s got other whiz bang coolness that mine doesn’t have but the coolness to dollar ratio is really steep and I’m not ready to invest.

I took my bike home and tried it out.  Wow!  The ride is even better, the fit is far more comfortable and mechanical issues are gone.  Evidently, I don’t have the skills just yet to handle that French stuff on my bike but I’ll keep learning and working at it.  After all, I plan to have this bike for a while.  (Seems as if bikes are a lot like guitars, you never actually get rid of them.)  In other words, the money spent on this tune up was well worth it.  And there’s one really important reason for that, too.

The motor is still good.

Pool League Night

Last Wednesday was the opening night of the new session of my pool league.  I’m the league operator (that’s an official title!) of an in-house 8 Ball league that is sanctioned by two different organizations, the American Cue Sports alliance or ACS, and the BCAPL or BCA Pool League.  Sanctioning is a highly convoluted and difficult to explain process that probably deserves its own post, especially if you’re dual-sanctioned, so I’m going to leave the details out for now.  The value of sanctioning is that players in the league have a national body they can rely on if problems occur (don’t ask) and an opportunity to play against other league players across the country in national tournaments for major cash.  (Seriously, national winners often pocket thousands of dollars!  That’s enough for a new cue, sometimes.  Custom cues get pricey….)

Unofficially, my title is The Commish, as in the league commissioner, and I’m the guy that makes sure everything is run properly, interprets the rules (It’s okay, I’m a trained referee) and handles all the complaints when things go awry.  Here’s my calling card:

Whenever you’re seen carrying a cue case, outside of a pool room, people come out of the woodwork to ask questions.  (Especially if it’s a custom case with spiffy engraving that my bride got me for my birthday last year.)

The most common one, at work, is “What’s that???” I usually respond with, “It’s a cue case.”  Sometimes that ends the interaction but about half the time I get a follow up question or two, something like, “Pool cues, huh?  Are you a pool shark?”

If it’s someone I actually know, I’ll take the time to explain that I play pool in a league and if they have any interest, they should join us because it’s fun.  We’re always looking for new players and it’s a great way to really learn the game.

At some point, I’ll get the “Are you any good?” question.  I struggle with how to answer that one.

There’s always that part of me that wants to offer to play them and find out.  It comes from playing competitive sports all my life and wanting to keep score to see who is better.  That response, typically, cuts the conversation short. 

Some of them, I’d love to get in their pocket, too.  That’s the best way to keep score in pool!

There’s also that part of me that knows how hard the game is and how hard I’ve worked to play as well as I do and know that when comparing myself to the real players, I’m a hack.  Really.  I seriously suck.

I think it’s all relative.  Here’s an example.  If you are a really good golfer, you might be able to get your handicap down to 2.  When you do, you’re in the top one percent of golfers in the world.  You’re the envy of nearly every other golfer.  Now compare that to the top golfers on the professional tour, all of whom have a handicap around plus 4 or better.  That means that they are six or more strokes per round better than you!  That is an enormous, gaping, chasm between skills.  You couldn’t carry it with a 3 wood.  In other words, you suck.  Seriously.

So, if you’ve not played a lot or maybe only batted balls around on a table at a bar you’d probably think I’m a decent player.  Much like someone who has never tried to play the guitar would think I was a guitar player.  (I suck at that, too.)

Moving on.

The first night of league is always interesting.  First, you’re never sure how many teams are going to show up.  Pool players are notoriously bad at commitment to anything, even the game they love.  They’ll drag ass in at the last second and say, “I told you we were going to be here!” and be really hot if I haven’t saved a spot for their team.  This past week though, all nine teams were there early.

Another interesting part of opening night is how short everyone’s memory gets.  I can understand if someone sat out a session and doesn’t remember their handicap.  (Handicaps are used to make the matches fair.  A little bit.)  Of course, if they do remember it, they remember it being lower than it actually was before.  That’s why I keep several years worth of stats available so I can say things like, “No dude, you really were an 8 last time, not a 6.  I know you haven’t been playing much lately but don’t worry, the computer will average it all out in 2 weeks anyway.  Just humor me for now, okay?  Thanks!” 

One thing that makes the first night of a session fun is that everyone is tied for first place.  That feeling ends, of course, as soon as the first round is completed.

Suck floats to the top.  Or bottom as the case may be.

Finally, there are always new players looking to join a team if they don’t have an entire team to bring.  This past Wednesday, there were three news guys.  One caught on with an existing team that was looking for a player and I signed up two of them on my own team.  Our team has been in a state of flux due to work issues, health issues, upcoming marriage issues.  We got issues.  What we don’t have is a core team that can be counted on every week.

There are good and bad sides to playing in your own league, both for me and my teammates.  I like to set a good example and insist the players on my team do, too.  (Pisses ‘em off occasionally.)  I try not to ask for anything from other teams that I wouldn’t be willing to do myself.  If one of my players is going to be late, and I ask if we can shoot around him until he gets here, I expect an affirmative response because I’m always willing to do that for others.  I also want us to be good sports, wishing others good luck, complimenting good shots, shaking an opponent’s hand after they beat us.  (So what if the bastard got the luckiest roll ever seen, tried to shark me with a white handkerchief in my line of vision and kept talking to me while I shot?  Not that I’ve seen it done to me or anything.)

Some people run pool leagues for a business.  I don’t although I do pay myself a small wage for running the league.  I file all the paperwork, handle the fees and the bank account, transfer scores into the website.  I’m also the expert for rules questions and the complaint department.  I run the league because I actually enjoy it.  And I give a shit about doing it correctly.  I’m not sure anyone else would but I guess I’ve never really checked, either.  Probably the hardest part of it is working to do it right, knowing you’re going to piss someone off, rather than try to please everybody.  In the end, that requires far less effort because you don’t have to think about how people are going to take your decision.  You just decide.

Once I was sure which teams were going to be in, I drew up the schedule, called all the team captains together, and announced which team was playing which other team, the table the match would be on and which team was the home team.  Whenever I do this, I make a mental wager with myself about how many captains will come back and ask either, “What table did you say we were on?” or “Are we home or away?”  If you set the over/under at 50%, you’d be just about perfect for setting a line.  (In addition to a lack of commitment, pool players have a short attention span, too.)  This past week, 3 captains asked which table and one asked the home or away question.  It was a push!

Tables are available for practice at 6:30 and matches begin at 7:30.  Amazingly, most of the time, matches start on time.  There are even a couple of teams that will start early if everyone is there.  And then there are one or two teams that roll in at 7:31, ready to go.  As long as there is time to get a beer, order some food, and go outside to smoke, first.  Whatever.

It’s funny, the biggest complaints I get from my league players is about pace of play.  Speed is a personal thing and finding a rhythm that feels right to you is key to getting better at the game.  There are a couple of league members that just give a whole new meaning to the word, deliberate though. 

We have one guy that, when it’s his turn to shoot, he takes his little bottle of baby powder (makes the cue slide more easily in your fingers) and powders his hands.  Then he slowly circles the table while chalking his stick and plotting his course.  Then, he gets into position to shoot, makes a few practice strokes, pauses, and gets back up.  Chalks up again, walks around to survey one more time, gets down into position, makes his practices strokes and shoots.  Finally.  Most of the time, he makes it, but wow.  I’ve seen him spend that long over the simplest of shots.  He’s on a team that is not quite as deliberate as he is but they’re pretty close.  As a result, they are always the last team to finish, along with their opponents.  Who, by then, are ready to introduce blunt force trauma as a motivator. 

What’s most interesting is that I had this team complain about the speed that another team was playing!  Self awareness is another competency that is lacking in pool players, evidently.

Whenever anyone complains, I just point them to the rule about speed of play, mention that I have a half dozen kitchen timers so they can rest assured that 60 seconds will be the magic number for each shot.  And no one ever comes to me and asks to be put on the clock because both teams have to be, not just the one that’s taking too long.  

Maybe self-awareness is situation specific.

About four months from now, all the matches will have been completed.  The bad rolls will be tallied, scores will be posted to the web site.  We’ll meet at the usual time and the snack bar will put out a buffet of things that are bad for you, a small keg of beer will be tapped and drank.  Some people will load up plates like they skipped eating all day.  A couple of guys will ask for pitchers of beer instead of a mug because no one can get enough free beer.  We’ll eat and drink for a while, lying about how badly we played during the session or complain about all the bad rolls our team got.  I’ll call everyone together to hand out the prize fund and announce where everyone finished, handing out prizes to every team as well as some individual prizes.  The pool room will give us free table time that night for a couple of hours.  A few people will gamble with their winnings while others will put theirs in their pocket and head for the door.

And we’ll all be back for the next session, which begins the following week.

Riding the white line

This winter has been a non-event this year in the Old Dominion. 

I hesitate to write that because I feel like when it’s published, Mother Nature will come at me with a vengeance and we’ll all suffer for it.  I’ll chance it, I guess.

What’s been great for all of us is the experience of extended autumness.  Sure, it’s cold first thing in the morning but by afternoon the temperature sneaks up to something that feels like fall or maybe early spring.  As a result, golf courses have been crowded with golfers trying out their Christmas presents, runners are pounding out the miles, and cyclists are spinning along the roads and trails.

Quite a few of these people are out there as a result of New Year’s Resolutions, having sworn to lose weight or get back in shape this year.  I hope the weather stays nice if for no other reason than I’d hate to see them fall back off the wagon.  It’s difficult enough to build habits and maintain discipline without the weather foiling your plans.

As a fairly new member of the cycling family, I’ve been taking advantage of the weather whenever I can.  I’m not a fan of riding when it drops below about 40 degrees because I just end up being miserable.  I guess that makes me a bit of a wuss.  At that temperature, my fingers and toes are really hurting by the time I wheel back into the driveway and I just can’t make myself go buy more accessories for the brief cold snaps that are typical of winter in Virginia.  I’ll just go to the gym, thanks.  I do, however, find myself missing a ride.

This past Saturday, I was really jazzed to jump on my bike for a couple of hours.  The temperature was in the mid-50s, there was a little wind but it wasn’t steady, and the sky was that perfect, stark blue that you only see in January.  Part of the excitement was due to a post I read on another blog about the hypnotic effect of the white line.  The blog is fatcyclist.com if you want to go explore the adventures of Fatty; he is a little different than most of us based on what he’s gone through.  He entertains me, though, and that’s why I read him.

So, Fatty recently blogged about how he is one of those road cyclists who stare at the white line while riding and, as a result, misses a lot of really cool things that happen while he’s out there.  He asked his readers to weigh in and we are not alone, evidently.

It’s easy to do!  Road bikes tend to put you in a position where looking down is just easier to do.  Holding your head in an upright position can be painful on your neck and upper back muscles.  (I’m thinking it’s because of my riding position, the fact that my bike hasn’t been professionally fitted to me, and the weight of my knowledge is just difficult to bear....okay, it’s because I haven’t built up the muscles yet.  I get it.)

When you’re trying to take up as little space as possible because you’re sharing the road with two ton vehicles, you tend to think of that white line as part of your defense.  As long as you’re on it, or very close to it, you have much less chance of having your speed suddenly increased by a wayward fender or rear view mirror.  So, you keep it in your view and under your wheels.

Moving on.

As a result of Fatty’s post, I decided to be intentional about my viewing habits during Saturday’s ride.  I was going to spend two hours or so in the saddle.  Instead of going mind numb through white line hypnosis, I would look around and see what there was to see.  Yogi Berra’s old line, “You can observe a lot just by watching!” was resonating with me.

The first few miles were uneventful.  So much so that I had to make myself stop staring down at the white line.  I kept reminding myself to look up and around at the world. 

At first, there wasn’t much to see that I hadn’t already seen from behind the steering wheel of my car.  A couple of “For Sale” signs that I hadn’t noticed yet.  There was a really nice addition underway on a very small house.  I became much more aware of the condition of the pavement, more broken here, nice and smooth there.  There’s a really bad patch job over there and that edge is broken off on the other side of the road.  Freshly painted white line on this stretch…oh shoot, I’m doing it again.  Gotta look up!

It finally began to pay off as I rounded a bend in the road and came out from behind a stand of evergreen trees.  A gust of wind hit me in the face.  I mumbled my usual wind epithet and pushed to keep my revolutions up.  As I passed into the shade again, the wind subsided.  I realized that I could gauge when I was going to be protected from the wind by the trees and suddenly, I was looking for, and at, trees! 

Once in a while, no breeze would hit me as I rode into the open.  When that happened, I would silently rejoice.  A couple of times the wind hit me when I was in a grove of hardwoods and I realized it was probably because they had no leaves to block the wind.  I was suddenly wishing for spring’s arrival to test my new theory.

Around another bend, I looked up and caught a glimpse of the road ahead as it winds back and forth twice and then disappears up the hill and around the next bend.  I realized that this section of the road, with a little country church and cemetery on the left, a farmer’s field with cows on the right was really pretty.  It looked like a picture from a cycling magazine of “pastoral rides in the Piedmont” or something.  I found myself wishing I had a camera but then realized I’d probably fall off the bike trying to take the shot.  That would ruin the day! 

I committed it to memory with a promise to myself to watch and contrast how the image changes during the seasons.

About three more miles down the road, I saw something really amazing.  I caught a glimpse of a large bird out of the corner of my eye.  Turned out to be a hawk.  It was about twenty feet off the ground and just starting to pull out of a dive with its talons out.  As I watched, it continued to the ground where it snatched a small animal out of the grass – in midflight! – and continued to fly on, straining to carry it away.  The hawk flew at right angles across my path and was at an altitude of about thirty feet, about thirty meters in front of me when it dropped its prey.  The field mouse (that’s what it looked like) landed on the edge of the pavement and bounced into the grass.  I wasn’t able to watch the hawk’s next move so I don’t know if it went back to harvest the kill or if the mouse survived the fall and scurried off, or if everything returned to the way it had been a moment before.

But it wasn’t the way it had been a moment before. 

My brain was flooded with thoughts about everything from the brutality of nature to the amazing flight characteristics of large raptors to wondering if that mouse had survived the capture and subsequent fall.  Had it squirmed out of the hawk’s grasp or had he dropped it because he was struggling to maintain flight?

And I realized, I was changed.

Pool - it's an addiction....

I play pool.  It’s one of the things I really like to do, especially when I’m playing well.  When I’m playing badly it makes me nuts.  Not nuts enough to quit altogether, although I’ve threatened to do so many times, but nuts enough to stop for shorter periods of time.  Like a day.  Okay, maybe an hour.

I think anything that has that much of your attention is healthy and unhealthy at the same time.

The game of pool has been around since the 1600s and was originally played by royalty.  Legend has it that royalty wanted a game to play indoors when the weather didn’t allow for the playing of croquet.  Pool was originally played like croquet on a table top.  The green cloth on a pool table is meant to mimic the grass of a croquet field.

  

I’ve been in pool rooms where the tables were about as well kept as a croquet field, come to think of it.

The reasons I like the game so much are many.  It’s incredibly exacting; the difference between a good shot and a bad one are sometimes measured in microns.  There are times when you’ve hit a shot so perfectly and it still doesn’t go in and you can only wonder what you did to cause that.  That’s another reason I love it; causation.  When I’m at the table, I’m responsible.  My success or failure is all on me and my skills, not my opponent’s ability to defend.  I like to be responsible.

Like golfers, pool players have no one to blame but themselves.  That doesn’t stop us.  Some of the best excuses I’ve ever heard have been in a pool room.  Sometimes, to keep our sanity, pool players won’t own up to mistakes.  We attribute things to the “pool gods” or bad rolls.  There’s even a theory that we’re on a large ball that is traveling at several thousand miles per hour, while spinning at a thousand or so miles an hour and then you hit a ball into another ball and each of them has some spin; it’s a wonder one ever goes into a pocket on purpose!

I always blame myself because I didn’t see anyone else hanging on to my cue. 

I also like the varieties of games that can be played on a pool table.  There are dozens of different games, all with their own nuances.  Eight ball is the one seen in most public places with nine ball a close second.  They’re completely different games in that one is about cue ball movement and offense (nine ball) while the other is about patterns and choices (eight ball). 

One pocket is often described as chess on a pool table; it’s very popular among players that like to play for money and is one of those games that require a lot of playing time to learn.  A knowledgeable player can often win against a more talented player that doesn’t know the game’s subtleties which makes for some interesting matches. 

Straight pool, officially known as 14.1, is a game that blends all of the pieces of good play into one contest.  It’s also making a comeback after a long hiatus in the pool world.  I saw several younger players at my local pool room playing a game to 150 the other night and that made me smile.  It was fun watching them work to wrap their head around a pattern of their own choosing instead of connect the dots as happens in a nine ball game.  The difference is like trying to paint something by Monet on a blank canvas instead of paint by numbers.  Not everyone can do it.

There’s even a game called billiards played on a table with no pockets and three balls.  The object is to shoot a cue ball into another ball that then strikes three cushions while traveling around the table before striking the third ball.  This scores the shooter a point or billiard.  A really good player may do this five or six times in a row.  The first time I tried it, I had a no hitter going for almost an hour.  It’s a very difficult game and beautiful to watch when played well.

There’s the perception that pool is a game played by seedy individuals in places your mama wouldn’t want you to be.  This reputation is earned to some degree, I guess.  The financial aspect of running a pool room dictates that you can’t put one in an upscale mall.  As a result, they tend to be placed in “lower rent districts” and may attract more of a blue collar clientele.  Having spent plenty of time in pool rooms around the country over a forty year span, I can tell you that the folks that play there are just like you and me, however.  The demographic may be different than your own.  The conversations may be more colorful that what you hear at home.  But the concerns they have, the laughs they share, and the celebrations of success are just as genuine as those in any board room in the country.

My local pool room has been around for about twenty years.  On many occasions, when a regular has passed away or had some bad luck, a large glass jar appears on the front counter with the person’s picture and a quick note that describes what’s happened.  In almost no time at all, the jar is full of money that is used to offset expenses.  I’m always impressed by how quickly people will respond in a crisis and how deep they’ll dig into an almost empty pocket to share what they have.

I’m a league player and even run the league that I play in.  It’s an eight ball league with anywhere from fifty to one hundred members.  It’s one of the most competitive leagues I’ve ever seen with no quarter given to anyone.  And in all the years I’ve run or played in it, I’ve seen very good sportsmanship practiced by the members.  There are exceptions, of course, as there always are.  But these are often managed by the other players in the league and require little direction from me.  That speaks well of the game, in my opinion.

My league has players from all occupations and all age groups.  I’ve had players from eighteen to eighty five years of age.  I’ve had unemployed laborers, plumbers, executives, college professors, lawyers, real estate tycoons, bikers, roofers, tow truck drivers, sales people, and dentists play in my league.  That’s a colorful group!  And they all interact as you might expect because they have differing beliefs, values, politics, families, diets, and behaviors.  But they unite over the game of pool.

We all play the game because we all love it.  And hate it.