36 magical hours

For the Canadians and non-sportsfans in the crowd, Major League Baseball has two leagues: American and National.  The San Francisco giants are a National League team, and this year, are the top of the league.  I'll get to how that happened in a few minutes.  The important part of the result is (and almost always is) to me, in the journey to the endgame.

Not long ago, the Phillies (Philadelphia's NL team) were facing off against the Cincinnati Reds, and The Giants (San Francisco's NL baseball team) had just beaten the Padres in a home series at the end of the season to advance to the National League Division Series playoffs against the woeful Atlanta Braves.

Now, I'm a Giants fan, because it's fun to watch baseball in the place you live, and I hit games here and there over the course of the last few years.  I wouldn't call myself a superfan, but I most certainly have enjoyed watching them.  This year, towards the end of the season, I switched into superfan mode.

Anyhow, The Phillies and Giants both finished off their rivals handily, and ended up playing one another in the National League Championship Series, in order to face the winner of the Yankees/Rangers for the World Series.

A few scant weeks ago, I was on a flight to JFK and I met a girl (Carolyne), who was the biggest Philly (Phillies and Eagles) fan I'd ever met, and we got to talking - and making wagers about whose team would end up victorious in a football game which the 49ers never had a chance to win.  Now our two relatively evenly matched teams were facing off in an epic battle of the bullpen for the NLCS.  It practically begged for audacious wagering.

Saturday, Carolyne gets to go to the game.  And Sunday.  I'm so jealous, because she's got one of the best possible sports hookups in the business - in her family.  Saturday the Giants come up on top, and Sunday, the Phillies eek out a well-deserved win.  It's off to the city by the bay for games 3,4, and 5.  Game 3 is a day game, which is ridiculous in my mind.  It's impossible to get off work that early, so we're resigned to watching on television.

So... I offer the mystery girl a ticket to Games 4 and 5 of the series, if she flies across the country to hang out with me and watch the game.  Given that I'm possibly a serial killer in her mind, she makes up an excuse and politely declines, cursing the fact that I'm home to the only team that really stands between the Phillies and another World Series pennant, and (I like to think) silently wishing that she could tell if I'm a serial killer, so she can accept the invitation to come out for a game.

So, Tuesday rolls around - the game is an early start (12:35), and I set up the lounge at the office to watch the game.  I mean, I had my cell phone, computer, and a host of meetings ready to go in the lounge.  I caught the first pitch of the game, before getting sucked into a cesspool of meetings outside the lounge, ending 3 minutes before the Giants walkoff in the 9th.  Wednesday isn't so.  I bolt from work at 3:30 and take my tickets to the game, watching a fantastic game go back and forth until Uribe pops a sac fly to left field and ends the game for the giants.  The only way I got there remotely on time was by riding the motorcycle to the city, because 101 was a parking lot all the way there.  Rinse, repeat for Thursday's game, and the Giants are up 3-2 in the series going into Philly for game #6.

I get a text message from my mystery girl on Friday morning:

Carolyne: Do you still want to come? I just got hooked up.

Me: Seriously? is that an invitation?

Carolyne: Yes, I just got two sets of tickets so if you want to come, have an extra for you.  Not sure how good the seats are, but they are free so I didn't ask. :)

Booya! I'm in.  Book a redeye flight on friday night into JFK, and then off into enemy territory for game #6.  Seriously, it's ridiculous: I'm strutting around the office, preening myself like a peacock, complete with tailfeathers...

All of a sudden, I'm nervous.  What if SHE's a serial killer and wants to cut me up into little pieces?  Meh, it's game 6 of a series where I've seen every single play.  I'm not giving up this opportunity on the off chance that she's an Axe Murderer... and besides, I'm hoping that this may develop into something more, because I thoroughly enjoyed our time in New York together.

So I get into New York bright and early on Saturday morning, and we head out for Philly.  It's funny how in different circumstances, conversation seems to ebb and flow differently.  I really didn't see it here.  I didn't fall asleep in the car, and we were both progressively getting more excited for the game.

Checking into the hotel was funny.  She's wearing Phillies shirt and hat, and I'm sporting the Giants away jersey.  I'm sure it was a funny sight to behold, because everybody on the street [really, everybody!] was wearing a Phllies shirt.  It was the strangest thing I'd ever seen, but it's like the entire city was behind their baseball team. And here I am, an uncamouflaged threat, behind enemy lines, cruising with a beautiful and eligible female of their own.

I drew scowls, comments, and heckling throughout the afternoon... and loved every minute of it.

We had a fabulous dinner at Parc, a brasserie on the edge of Rittenhouse Square in downtown Philly.

It was fantastic, actually - a streetside table sitting across from the park, serving Oysters, Cheese and fantastic french artisan bread, as well as oh-so delicious flutes of Perrier Jouet.  A gorgeous day, the park was teeming with activity, and our placement on the sidewalk allowed me to taunt passers by with my unwelcome showing of San Francisco colours.

We took the subway to the game (incidentally, Philly has a great subway system, which surprised me), and beheld the wonder of Citizen's Bank Park.  I swear to god, I was one of 5 giants fans in the ballpark.  Maybe 10 at the outside.

Now, if you've never been there, a few observations:

1) CBP is a hell of a ballpark.  I liked the seat layouts even more than I like AT&T park in San Francisco.  The bullpens are a really cool feature as well (they're stacked on top of one another)

2) CBP is very, very intimidating.  The crowd gets into a baseball game in the way that college football game crowds, British Premiere League fanatics, and NHL games go.  I swear, the crowd chanted "Sanchez, Sanchez" for 20 minutes straight, without taking a breath.... ALL IN UNISON!

It's a close game, and I'm taking some heckling from the fans, but overall it's a friendly crowd.  We were in sponsored seats, which meant that we enjoyed constant offers for free beer, as well as standard ballpark fare such as hot dogs and soft pretzels.

When Uribe hit the home run in the 8th, I went wild - and began fearing for my life.  The older gents behind our seats recommended that I put a jacket on over my jersey on the way out of the stadium if the Giants were to win, which they ultimately did.  This was to prevent me getting beaten up.

We retired to a small bar for a martini to allow Carolyne to nurse her disappointment, and me to celebrate my victory.  The bar closed at 2, so we wandered back to the hotel room, and made our own from the minibar, made with olive juice and martini glasses obtained from the bar downstairs.

Wake up the next morning, hung over like nobody's business.  When we finally drag ourselves out of the hotel, heading for a bite, we're moving down side streets.  Of course, a cab stops in the MIDDLE of an intersection, to let its fare out.  Idiot.  I "encourage" Carolyne to give him a little honk, which, living in Manhattan comes second nature, so she does.  Four people exit the cab, including a crotchety guy that looks like Christopher Lloyd with a mullet and a limp.  The guy's wearing a Yankees jacket, of course.  He's probably 50, but easily looks 70.

He starts giving us lip when he gets out of the cab, and comes back towards us, while his granddaughter pays the fare.  I roll down the window to hear what he's saying.

Me: ...what's that?

CL: What's your problem?

Me: um, pull out of the intersection rather than blocking it for everybody else?

CL: What, you think your time is more valuable than mine?

Me: well, yes actually, but it's a little thing called courtesy.

CL: Fuck you.  Why don't you step out of the car.

Me: Really?  REALLY?  You want to get your ass handed to you in the middle of the street?

CL: Fuck you.  Get out of the car.

(I start unbuckling my seatbelt.  I mean, I've been called out by an overconfident Yankee fan who needs an attitude adjustment.  Carolyne is laughing her ass off, and CL starts to back away.)

Carolyne: (to the girl who got out of the car after paying the fare) Your grandfather is an asshole.

(Girl nods and walks away, shaking her head in disgust)

So there it is.  I attend a baseball game in hostile territory, take the NLCS home with me, and the only ass kicking that I'm threatened with is from a crotchety septuagenarian Yankee fan.  Go figure.  

We did however have one of the best burgers I've ever had.  We were kind of short on time, and instead of stopping at a real breakfast joint, we stopped at a place called 5 guys burger and fries.  

This place seriously gives In N Out a run for their money.  Bigger, greasier, and full of bacon and cheesy and mushroomy goodness.  Exactly what one craves after a bender.

After having our burgers and fries, we stopped to grab a soft pretzel; it made Carolyne happy.  Seriously, a place that sells only soft pretzels.  Seems like something to check out, but alas we left them on her counter in NYC.  Hopefully they didn't attract any pests.

So, headed back to New York, so Carolyne could pack for her trip and we headed our separate ways at LaGuardia airport... and, just as it began, 36 hours after my arrival, I'm headed back to JFK with a ridiculous smile on my face.

I can't wait until the next trip out there.  You can probably read between the lines and by now know as well as I do that next time, it won't be about baseball, so this is probably the end of the posts about it.  For those who care, just know that I'm extremely happy for the moment....  and I'll have to revert to writing about my training from this point forward.

(well, maybe another post or two about the giants in the interim)

Editor's note

So, one of the funny things about blogging is that you inevitably share more information than you'd originally have intended to share, with others who don't know you from Adam.

When I set out to write this blog, it was supposed to be about inspirational type stuff while I trained for a marathon... and it really started that way, kinda sorta.  That obviously is not what it is today, though I'll get back there eventually once I return to solid ground.  Today, it's something else completely.  It's a place for me to ponder as I struggle through life.

Life is sometimes pretty challenging.  We work very hard to develop ourselves and to grow into what we want ourselves to be.  It comes with stress in a number of different areas, and we all have different ways of coping with the stress of our jobs, our expectations of ourselves, and the general direction of the world.

I think.  A lot.  I think about what I want out of life, and how to get myself there.  I think about my friends and family, and how to make them happier with their lives, and I think of ways to innovate, thus removing stressors from my life and making room for more.  As a part of my thinking, I sometimes like to write.  That's why many of these posts are very deep thoughts-like; I find it cathartic to get my thoughts out onto paper - perhaps so that I can come back and read them later, and fully understand them, or perhaps to share them with those who have an interest in reading it.  I don't know, but I feel good about it when I'm done - similar in fact to a long run.  During the run, you feel like it was a terrible idea and that you should stop now.... but when you're done, you feel a sense of accomplishment.

That's what the writing does for me.

So here it is: if I ever write something about you, I'm sorry.  It isn't my intention to air dirty laundry, or to share something that was meant to be private.  If I step out of line, smack me back into line.  If I'm oversharing, tell me.  TMI is a concept with which I'm very familiar, and I'm happy to correct any problems I cause.

This obviously is on the eve of my publishing a different blog posting, and quite possibly going beyond the acceptable.  I humbly request your understanding and forgiveness should I do anything untoward.

Thanks
Dave

Serendipity?

Hello blogland... Thank you for welcoming me back.

Other than the quick post I just put up, it's been a few weeks since I last wrote...  The hiatus has me back, yet again in a contemplative state, contemplating inspiration, happiness, love and life.  The usual things, I suppose - but nonetheless, I'm going to give you an update on my life and thoughts, stream of consciousness style.

So what's happened in the last few weeks?

Well, let's run it down:

• 5172 miles flown
• 49ers lose 3 times
• Giants beat Braves to win NLDS
• 2 weddings attended (both were weddings of esteemed colleagues)
• a bunch of last minute hotel reservations
• two half marathons completed
• 1 new friend
• countless covenant slaughtered (playing Halo:Reach)
• found my lost love for the city that never sleeps

My history on airplanes is a long and storied one; I got on my first plane at the age of 6, and at that point, wanted to be a pilot.  Unfortunately, the genetic lottery was not on my side, and I grew up with a vision impairment, thus ending the dream of a career in the air force flying jets.

Anyhow, I started flying commercially when I was about 22, for work.  Criscrossing the great white north in the interest of preserving justice, peace and the inner good.  I really liked it; I thought it was exciting; I thought that it was fun, exotic - going and staying in places that weren't my home - experiencing restaurants and hotel rooms was a great way to live.  Ten years later, I'm 32.  I've logged over 500,000 miles as of this writing in my history with United.  That's on top of the 100,000 or so I did with Air Canada during my stint with the Department of Justice.  183,784 of those miles were in 2009, and 119,843 of the miles were in 2008.  Obviously, I've been building it up for a while.  I got tired of it at one point, and in my latest job, I've travelled far less than in previous years.  I doubt I'll even hit premiere executive this year, which I will miss dearly next year.

Anyhow, where am I going with this?  Nowhere really.  This is a stream of consciousness posting, so I'm entitled to meander.

Well, I've met some cool people on planes over the years.  A week ago today, I met Carolyne, a beautiful and interesting woman from Philadelphia, who now makes her home in New York.  She was minding her own business in the departure lounge at SFO, watching the skins play the packers, getting ready for the flight to JFK.  She didn't see me coming, but graciously allowed me to remain with a smile.  As a native of the city of brotherly love, she's a Phillies and Eagles fan - probably more of a sports fan than I've ever seen in a woman.

So I'm in 9A.  United upgraded me to business, and I was feeling pretty good about the situation, looking forward to a nap on the way to JFK.  As luck would have it, 9B was available on the flight.  Serendipitous? Perhaps. I nicely asked the gate agent if she would mind upgrading my new friend, and she gracefully accommodated my request.  So, I've got a flying buddy.  Put aside that lovely 5 hour nap, and talk all the way through the flight.  Interesting conversation, including discussion of 3rd nipples - neither of us - tough mudders, marathoning and other random facts ensues.  49ers playing the Eagles while we fly ... sounds like a wager is in order - especially since we can get online during the flight.

The Wager:

For me, if the 49ers win, I get the pleasure of her company for tuesday evening and get to experience the city as a native would.  For her, playing the new york attitude card - an Eagles win has me flying from honolulu to JFK, and going to the Giants/Eagles game on December 19th in New York, wearing Eagles garb.

The flight ends with the score 24-10, and I consign myself to making good on the bet.  I give her my number, foolishly without getting her details. Obviously the end of the game was fantastic, and I had high hopes, but ultimately ended up losing.  Without her number, I couldn't call.

Monday night while I'm sitting in a bar watching MNF and giants, my iphone buzzes with an email - I check it and see this (spell corrected because google does a pretty bad job transcribing audio):

On Mon, Oct 11, 2010 at 9:27 PM, Google Voice <voice-noreply@google.com> wrote:

Voicemail from: (xxx) xxx-xxxx at 9:26pm

Hi Dave this is Carolyne from the airplane, calling to collect on my bet, so call me back. Bye.

The SF giants are about to beat the Braves in 4 to win the NLDS, and I see this.  It's been a good day.

The Outcome:

So long story short, I spent Tuesday evening in her company, enjoying the wonders of the east village.  Dinner at Yerba Buena, cocktails at PDT.  It's a cinderella story complete with pumpkins and glass slippers.  When the evening ended in the east village at around 2am, I had a smile on my face having enjoyed an evening in incredibly interesting company.  Could it be possible that I'm actually enjoying a trip to NYC?

Who knew.  So I guess I'm going to New York from Hawaii in December.  Ultimately, I won, regardless of the outcome of the bet.

Next up: Phillies/Giants NLCS.  I'm sure there's room for a wager in there somewhere.

Ok, I'm out.  Until next time guys.

A stark realization

In all seriousness, this past week brought me to a stark realization: I've been drinking too much.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I have always been a social drinker.  I enjoy a cocktail after a long hard day, a complex wine to accompany a good meal, or a beer during/after a round of golf.  I've taken it too far though.  It's not like I turn into a raging asshole like some guys do while drinking, and it's not as though I do too many things that show how idiotic I can be.... but here it is: Twice in the past week, I've driven after having some drinks.  Here's the kicker: I think that in both circumstances I was legal while driving, but I've always been a zero tolerance guy.  I can't be one of those guys, I don't want any trouble with the law, and damned if I want something terrible like being the cause of an accident on my conscience...  This is what scared me into re-evaluating my situation.

I think it may be an offshoot of moving to the suburbs, but I'm not at all happy with it... So, I think I'm going to spend some time on the wagon - more focus on fitness and building a fulfilling life, without the encumberment of problems with the law.

I've got another post coming, but I don't want to mix messages, so I thought I'd post this separately.

dave