I fancy myself a avid traveler and I guess over the last 3 years, I have been. Much more than others and not as much as many, enough for some - but not so much for me. If I had my druthers, I'd be in a perpetual state of transit. Not a transient, mind you but a globe-trotting and free wheeling gentleman of some esteem, adept at wooing daughters of royalty while drinking with servants in the bowels of Romanian castles.
Fancying myself as something I am not is a wonderful daydream but the reality of the situation is my travel is primarily domestic, my free wheeling has budgetary constraints and my wooing is akin to Mario Mendoza's success rate hitting a baseball. Regardless, I flee when I can; exploring the lower 48 with the same enthusiasm I'd have continent hopping with an amex black and Olivia Munn as Princes Leia.
A fortunate set of circumstances recently allowed me to visit a place I've never wanted to go: New York City. Frontier airlines dangled a $220 round trip fare direct from DIA to La Guardia (La Gwordia? La Gahdiah?) that I simply could not pass up given that both my cousin Matt and college chum Brian live there. Matt is a student and NYU and Brian is a professional writer. If Matt were an investment banker and Brian a TV personality, I'd probably not have considered the trip. I assumed that both were proximate to my economic stratosphere (me being on the low end, of course) and that I could navigate the big pomegranate on a shoestring budget like those cute little guide books advise. My two hosts were more than accommodating, providing a plethora of options that didn't murder my wallet and may have even elevated my antiquated thought process a level or two.
-Strip Clubs
-Cheap Weed
-40's of Malt Liquor
I kid, I kid... well, except for the 40's
I hold up 4 fingers because we are drinking 40's
Apoloigies to fiddy cent
we is drankin fotys
Look how mature and distinguished we all look with our beards.
Pillsbury Dough Boy PHOTOBOMB!
As I was making final preparations to depart Denver, I emailed Matt to determine how best to acquire transportation from the airport to his apartment in Queens. Let me back up a bit and first tell you that I know nothing about New York. It's geography is completely foreign to me, I have absolutely no idea how to navigate the subway system and the neighborhoods (Brooklyn, Queens, Manhatten) are only significant to me as places that Jay-Z , Woody Allen or Billy Crystal perorate about via pop-culture.
I do remember that Eddie Murphy's character in Coming To America wanted to move to Queens when arriving in New York because he logically concluded that's where he would find an American Queen.
As one who doesn't typically use cabs I'm always a little uneasy about a cab driver pulling wool over my eyes, even in Denver. I'm about to head to the stereotypical asshole cab drive capitol of the modern world, clueless as to where I'm headed, white as snow with a suitcase in tow. Awesome. To further boost my confidence, Matt replies to my email with a very reassuring instructions as to how to deal with said cab driver:
"Once in said cab, prolly yellow, tell them that you are going to Astoria. With all of the NYC cocky confidence you've got, say 23rd ave at 28th st. If they ask how they should get there, respond with "whatever is fastest."
Grrrrreeeaaat. Damon Scott, Mr. NYC Cocky Confidence coming straight from the snow capped Colorado mountains on horseback pulling a carriage full of barrels of ice-cold Coors Original. I departed the plane around 11pm and made my way out of the severely outdated terminal, bypassing the baggage claim and exited the automatic sliding doors on a mission to quickly find a yellow cab. I looked to my left and saw a line of people patiently awaiting their turn to hop in the back seat of the clean and modern looking vehicles and I think to myself, "piece of cake... this ain't so bad". However, as my place in line continued to inch forward, I felt a tinge anxiety creep in between my ears and I started to stiffen up which is amazing because I concealed 5 shooters of whiskey on to the plane with me and pretty much downed them all while watching Millionaire Matchmaker on the smallish TV screen in the back of the seat
Apoloigies to fiddy cent
we is drankin fotys
Look how mature and distinguished we all look with our beards.
Pillsbury Dough Boy PHOTOBOMB!
As I was making final preparations to depart Denver, I emailed Matt to determine how best to acquire transportation from the airport to his apartment in Queens. Let me back up a bit and first tell you that I know nothing about New York. It's geography is completely foreign to me, I have absolutely no idea how to navigate the subway system and the neighborhoods (Brooklyn, Queens, Manhatten) are only significant to me as places that Jay-Z , Woody Allen or Billy Crystal perorate about via pop-culture.
I do remember that Eddie Murphy's character in Coming To America wanted to move to Queens when arriving in New York because he logically concluded that's where he would find an American Queen.
As one who doesn't typically use cabs I'm always a little uneasy about a cab driver pulling wool over my eyes, even in Denver. I'm about to head to the stereotypical asshole cab drive capitol of the modern world, clueless as to where I'm headed, white as snow with a suitcase in tow. Awesome. To further boost my confidence, Matt replies to my email with a very reassuring instructions as to how to deal with said cab driver:
"Once in said cab, prolly yellow, tell them that you are going to Astoria. With all of the NYC cocky confidence you've got, say 23rd ave at 28th st. If they ask how they should get there, respond with "whatever is fastest."
Grrrrreeeaaat. Damon Scott, Mr. NYC Cocky Confidence coming straight from the snow capped Colorado mountains on horseback pulling a carriage full of barrels of ice-cold Coors Original. I departed the plane around 11pm and made my way out of the severely outdated terminal, bypassing the baggage claim and exited the automatic sliding doors on a mission to quickly find a yellow cab. I looked to my left and saw a line of people patiently awaiting their turn to hop in the back seat of the clean and modern looking vehicles and I think to myself, "piece of cake... this ain't so bad". However, as my place in line continued to inch forward, I felt a tinge anxiety creep in between my ears and I started to stiffen up which is amazing because I concealed 5 shooters of whiskey on to the plane with me and pretty much downed them all while watching Millionaire Matchmaker on the smallish TV screen in the back of the seat
Yes... She's that scary, even miniaturized
I walked to the front of the line as the yellow Ford Escape pulled up beside me. The driver came around back to assist loading my suitcase into the rear of the SUV. In a thick and indistinguishable accent, he politely asked where I was headed. I loudly replied "ASTORIA. QUEENS!" His eyes seemed to widen a bit and he hesitantly nodded and backed away from the agitated, shaking, half-drunk loud mouth standing in front of him. With my iPhone clenched in my sweaty palm, GPS fixated on the destination; we silently rolled off into the bustling New York night. A few pleasantries were exchanged over the course of the 15 minute cab ride and I arrived quickly; unscathed, un-robbed and unharmed.
Over the course of the following 72 hours, I packed in as much New York City action as I could muster -- on a shoestring budget, of course.
Friday: 11:45 pm -- Matt and I drink multiple glasses/shots of beer/whiskey while catching up on life
Saturday: 10:30am -- Matt, Shauna, ((Matt's fiance) and I catch the subway to "museum row" and head to The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I take pictures:
Matt is currently a PhD candidate at NYU's Institute of Fine Arts (I think). He's smart. He knows a lot about art. He has a penchant to fart. We spent a few hours at the enormous museum until it was time to get a drink. We headed to the southern exit and walked out to central park right as the sun was setting behind the Manhattan skyline. We grabbed a couple of Irish coffee's, had a seat on the quaint patio overlooking the small pond. It was all quite bromantic and fitting of a John Cusack cameo and a string quartet.
Matt and I met up with Shauna and walked down 5th avenue into the epicenter of mass consumerism and manufactured holiday cheer. There was a massive tree that must have been photographed 1.43 million times in the 5 minutes I was trapped amongst the immoveable heard of cattle people. I took one too:
Over the course of the following 72 hours, I packed in as much New York City action as I could muster -- on a shoestring budget, of course.
Friday: 11:45 pm -- Matt and I drink multiple glasses/shots of beer/whiskey while catching up on life
Saturday: 10:30am -- Matt, Shauna, ((Matt's fiance) and I catch the subway to "museum row" and head to The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I take pictures:
Matt is currently a PhD candidate at NYU's Institute of Fine Arts (I think). He's smart. He knows a lot about art. He has a penchant to fart. We spent a few hours at the enormous museum until it was time to get a drink. We headed to the southern exit and walked out to central park right as the sun was setting behind the Manhattan skyline. We grabbed a couple of Irish coffee's, had a seat on the quaint patio overlooking the small pond. It was all quite bromantic and fitting of a John Cusack cameo and a string quartet.Matt and I met up with Shauna and walked down 5th avenue into the epicenter of mass consumerism and manufactured holiday cheer. There was a massive tree that must have been photographed 1.43 million times in the 5 minutes I was trapped amongst the immoveable heard of cattle people. I took one too:
Church of Jobs
Upon suffering a mild panic attack, I notified my hosts that I needed to depart Santa Claus Central with haste; certainly not before acquiring my new Louis Vuitton hand bag and Dolce Gabbana heels.
I was dutifully whisked away to an oasis of $3 draft beer and excellent Ethiopian cuisine:
With bellies full of beer and injera, we migrated to some other part of the eternal city in search of a Johnny Walker scotch tasting but instead found ourselves at a dingy garden level bar straight from the northern Florida coast line. Walls adorned with cheeky, cliche, beach/pirate lingo; weathered fishing nets (probably purchased that way), wooden steering wheels or "helms" from boats. The ubiquitous game of beer-pong provides endless hours of intermittent and entertaining LOUD YELLING-GIRL SCREAMING-DRINK, DRINK, DRINKING -- perhaps only surpassed by the near ear-orgasmic quality of hearing frat dudes bounce quarters off wooden tables in an epic battleship war!
At this point, the three of us made the wise decision to catch the N train back toward Astoria but not before stopping to cap the night off with a little karaoke and a place that I don't remember. Thankfully, I neither have video nor pictures of the evenings entertainment. What is readily apparent is that Matt is blessed with the "talented singer" genes and I received the singular "talented idiot" chromosome.
I was dutifully whisked away to an oasis of $3 draft beer and excellent Ethiopian cuisine:
With bellies full of beer and injera, we migrated to some other part of the eternal city in search of a Johnny Walker scotch tasting but instead found ourselves at a dingy garden level bar straight from the northern Florida coast line. Walls adorned with cheeky, cliche, beach/pirate lingo; weathered fishing nets (probably purchased that way), wooden steering wheels or "helms" from boats. The ubiquitous game of beer-pong provides endless hours of intermittent and entertaining LOUD YELLING-GIRL SCREAMING-DRINK, DRINK, DRINKING -- perhaps only surpassed by the near ear-orgasmic quality of hearing frat dudes bounce quarters off wooden tables in an epic battleship war!At this point, the three of us made the wise decision to catch the N train back toward Astoria but not before stopping to cap the night off with a little karaoke and a place that I don't remember. Thankfully, I neither have video nor pictures of the evenings entertainment. What is readily apparent is that Matt is blessed with the "talented singer" genes and I received the singular "talented idiot" chromosome.
Shauna, Matt, and I.
One very lucky mirror.
Part 2:
-Hanging with Brian
-Pizza
-Polish Beer
-Brooklyn
-Tebow Time
-GHOSTBUSTERS!
ลา
One very lucky mirror.
Part 2:
-Hanging with Brian
-Pizza
-Polish Beer
-Brooklyn
-Tebow Time
-GHOSTBUSTERS!
ลา
