index091102b

Back to New York

We went back to the Chelsea Savoy where I enjoyed a ceremonial shot of Chinaco Anejo.
CAL and Ray were due soon. We had plans for a Sopranos party at CAL's house.

It's bad to try to party on an empty stomach, so we went over the Williamsburg Bridge to
- you guessed it - Williamsburg, where CAL knew this great Mexican restaurant -
We met Steven (or Stephen) and the five of us sat down for fine tequila and Mexican food.

Of course, they didn't have The Miracle at Canaan, so I had a shot of Patron Anejo.
It was OK - good enough to wash down some great tasting Mexican food.
CAL suggested the "funny" corn (she knows I love the corn) sorry, I forget the name of it.
It was on the cob, and blackened, with sour cream or something on it.
It looked like a train wreck with charred bodies, but it tasted great!

I had the steak enchiladas, which were done right. I don't think I've ever had real chunks
of real steak in an enchilada before. The corn, the steak and the Patron hit the spot.
CAL was batting 1.000 on good places to eat.

After the fine meal, we went to her hundred-year old Dutch townhouse, if that's what it was.
I don't know anything about architecture or interior design, but Mrs. BartCop really got off
on CAL's apartment, the address of which she asked me not to share with you :)

We partied a little (none of your business) and watched The Sopranos and ate brownies.
Another great day in New York, and we were just getting started.
Back to the Savoy for some rest.

While enjoying a nightcap, I saw an ad to rent a Four-Runner for $250.
I called them to reserve it, but they wanted a credit card.
I have one of those, but I wanted to be sure Mrs. BC didn't mind bouncing to Maine in an SUV
so I didn't give them my card, but she assured me I could rent it for the same rate the next day.

Monday we were staring Phase Two of the trip - Maine.
Before we checked out of the hotel, Mrs BartCop did some shopping.
We went to one of those tiny markets with everything.
Check these shelves out:

They have everything in the world in these tiny, tiny shops.
Mrs. BartCop really liked shopping in New York.

Then, a shocker:

I saw Big Pussy from The Sopranos!

This little shop was called "The Garden of Eden," and they had everything but apples.
Check this out - they had 16 kinds of olives on display.

We took a "car service" to the Newark Airport, via the Holland Tunnel.

We wanted to rent a car there, so we could return it there as we were leaving.
(I'm a pretty smart guy.)

Tony Sopranos' toll booth on the Jersey Turnpike

We get to the airport, and I remembered the oldest of sayings: Nothing is easy.

The woman at the Dollar Rent-A-Car counter said the Four-Runner would be $325.
I told her I wanted that NHOL rate the newspaper promised.
She said that offer was only good over the phone.

Fine.
I have one of those.

So I called the 800 number, told them I wanted the SUV, she asked when, I said, "Now,"
and the lying slut told me her computer suddenly went down. I asked for how long, and she said,
"It may be down for 6-8 hours."

She was lying.
Dollar Rent-A-Car hires LIARS to work their phones.

You can't be a national car rental agency with a computer system that goes down for 8 hours.
You might as well send everybody home for the day.
And in the unlikely event that did happen, their offer was in the damn NY paper, and was
easy-as-hell to verify, but they refused because they wanted my extra $75.

They wanted to punish me for not renting in advance.
Screw you, Dollar Rent-A-Car
Your SUV sat there, unused, while I went to Avis and rented a Le Sabre.
There was no reason for Sunday's lady to lie to me on the phone.
There was no reason to attempt to punish me Monday morning.
There was no reason to deny me the published rate.
There was no reason to lie about the computers being down for 8 hours.
There is no reason for me to do any business with you ever again.

Oh, no!

I just found out I left my notebook in the "car service" limo.
In a panic, I called them and said, "Hold onto that book! I'm a serious writer,
and that book has all my notes and it would be impossible to replace if it gets lost."
(I was not under oath.)

They promised to hold it for me, so we drove our Le Sabre north and east from New York
BTW, the car we rented, in Newark, had New York plates and registration.
I guess they license the cars in New York to take advantage of New York's low-low prices on insurance?

(Back after this)

We also went to Acadia National Park in Maine

Click Here for that

From: (withheld)

Subject: Would you please finish New York?

(withheld)

Withheld,

I'm doing my best.
I can't just turn it on and off like a faucet.

Genius has no timetable.
(cough)

Funny, six days ago, she thought going to New York was so risky,
and now she was as eager as I was to get back to the future.

As we drove, I wondered about tonight's hotel.
I figured something would be open this weekend, since everything was book last weekend.
I called our first-ever choice, the CAL-recommended Washington Square Hotel.

Driving down I-95, I called them and asked if they had room tonight.
They said they did, and I could "come right in." I told Cubby I was in Connecticut,
but could I give him my credit card number over the phone to secure the room.

He said no.

He said I couldn't reserve the room with a credit card.
I made him repeat that.
"You can't reserve a room over the phone with a credit card."

ha ha

What the hell is this?

My platinum credit card is good in Las Vegas, Dallas, San Francisco, Washington DC, Denver,
Chicago, Buffalo, Memphis, Salt Lake City, (funny, in Russell, Kansas, they took my check)
Knoxville, Boston, Tucumcari and Bah Hahbah, Maine, but it's no good in New York?
Isn't that the craziest shit you've ever heard?

They said if I was the next guy there, I could have the room, but I guess, in today's America,
in the trendiest part of the greatest city in the world, plastic money is not considered legal tender.
(And I do not want to know what "legal tender" means in The Village.)

In my younger days, I might've done a Number Six on him, but why bother?
The Washington Square Hotel in New York has a policy of "No Credit Cards."
Fine.

I called the good old Chelsea Savoy, (did I mention it was run by Russians?)
and they said my money was good there, so we booked a room over the phone.

As we pulled into town, I found my way.

Sidebar:
Remember me talking about how much fun it is to drive the loop around Dallas?
The cars are all going 80, there's no cops anywhere, cars are jostling for position,
and these sudden lane changes really know how to keep you on your toes behind the wheel,

...well, driving in Manhattan was like that but it was ever better.

We mostly did 5th, 6th, 7th and 8th Avenues, from, say, Third to 56th Steets,
and that's gotta be the hottest race track in North America.

The cabbies are opportunists, and I mean that in the most flattering sense.
If they see an opening, they take it. It's like watching a surgeon.
They don't think - there's no time to think - they just drive.
Everything works on reflex, and they say they only killed 24 people last year - amazing!

To Mrs. BartCop's horror, I got into New York's rythym right away.
I was competing with the Iraqi cab drivers, and there were no cops!

Sure, there's walking cops, ha ha but even the cops on cars are so hemmed in
by others cars that there's not much they can do - it's a wild-ass free-for-all.

Poor Mrs. BartCop held her hands over her eyes.
I never had that much fun in a car before (that I can talk about).

...and it's funny, because this was never supposed to happen.

BANK!
I have to do that every two minutes with Netscape Composer or risk losing everything.

Tha plan was to stay in New England a couple more days, then drive to Newark on
Saturday morning and fly back to the late 1880's Oklahoma Territories where we live.
But instead of that, we ended up in New York Thursday night.

Funny, ...eh?

So, before we settle in for the night, we figured the first order of business, since we had a car,
was to raid Ray's Pizza at 11th and Sixth Avenue and see if Saturday night was just a fluke..

ha ha

Have you ever tasted this pizza?

It totally rules.
But, before I could declare it better than Imo's in St Louis,
I'd have to do an A-B, side-by-side hot taste test, and how's that gonna happen?

If you go to New York, don't say you've had "the pizza" unless you bought it here.

Next up - claiming my sure-to-win-a-Webby lost notes.
There was no problem finding this place, because their address was 125 E. Eighth
so naturally, they were between 16th and 17th, which makes perfect sense - if you're Catholic.

Check it out - a parking space not ten feet from their front door.
I snatched it.

When I went in the limo place, they tried to give me Tommy Dimwit,
but I kept after them, so they kept digging until they found my notes.
Good, this trip report might've been lame without my notes.
(cough)

Then, ...just like in Law & Order, ...we came upon a crime in progress.

You see, ...these two disadvantaged youths, ...having been denied transporation by The Man,
hitched a ride on the back of this horse-drawn buggy until the driver heard them laughing.
He screamed, "Hey, you damned kids," ...and they took off running.
I've seen my first New York street crime.

We made a right on Broadway.
Can you see it?
In the thick Manhattan jungle, can you see it?

It's The Late Show with David Letterman!

If you look real close (and you're from Krypton) you can see the protesters.
Miss Universe (nee Columbia) was there to accept Dave's apology for his joke last week.
Dave said her talent competition consisted of "swallowing 50 balloons of heroin."

ha ha

Driving hint for New York:

If you ever come across Broadway - take it!
It doesn't matter, if you don't take it, the next few streets will be blocked or one-way and you'll
just have to circle around and then take Broadway, so just take Broadway and save the time.

Just then a cab driver cut me off right at 38th Street,
so I had to get in front of him and cut him off at 36th Street.

ha ha

Then, Mrs BartCop makes the observation:
"You love driving in this traffic."

Koresh help me, ...I do.
To me, deisel exhaust smells like victory.

If you've never been in a Manhattan traffic jam, it's not like the others.
I've written about this before, like the cabbies in Chicago when we met Phil Collins"
If their cab is 66 inches wide, and the hole is 70 inches, they just zoom right through.
Driving in Manhattan is better than driving the loop around Dallas!

Sure, in Dallas, the speeds are higher, but the cars in Dallas are a full three feet apart.
In New York, if Hassan thinks he sees a sliver of daylight, he hits the gas!
I watched them, and learned.

Of course, I was also the man behind the camera, which made it difficult.
Sometimes I needed two hands to drive, but with one hand (and one eye) on the camera
I had to use my knees for added wheel manipulation, which made Mrs. BC more nervous.
After a couple of hours driving against these guys, I was a New York cab driver!

A New York Hot Dog stand, but where's Lenny?

BANK!
I have to do that every two minutes with Netscape Composer or risk losing everything.

Traffic, traffic, traffic

A sad note - with the Smirk economy tanking, many New Yorkers
have been reduced to eating from restaurant garbage bags. How sad.

End hunger - vote Democrat in 2004

It had been a long day, with a lot of miles, so we checked into the hotel
in time to see Monica and Chandler get married - ....on NBC.

(Back after this)

Back to New York

Did I mention that Monica and Chandler were getting married - on NBC?
Funny, during the wedding episode, NBC ran a commercial for Friday's TODAY Show.
It turns out their special musical guest Friday, live on the streets of New York, was Ricky Martin.

Everything fell into place as tho a giant curtain was pulled back.

Now I knew why Mrs. BartCop was willing to risk it all for another step into THE City.
She tried to act like she didn't hear the promo, but she was sooooo busted.
When I asked her about it, she said, "Ricky Martin, ...here?"

ha ha

She's such a bad liar.
I'd been sandbagged by the best.
You don't want to get between Mrs. BartCop and something she wants.
She said, "As long as we're here, ...can we go to NBC tomorrow and see Ricky Martin?"

You married men know I had no options at this point. She must be made happy.
So Friday morning, we're up with the sun, so we can be first in line outside NBC.

We took a cab to NBC, but the ride seemed kinda tame now.
I almost offered the driver some tips on how to get there faster, ...but nahhh.

We got here hours ahead of time, and the place was packed.
Who knew Ricky Martin had so many fans in in the New York area?
This was a madhouse. Thousands of screaming fans, mostly women.

Plus, we had the wacky time-shift factor.
In K-Drag, the musical acts on the Today Show play "live" from 8:30 - 9 AM.
That would be 9:30 - 10 AM New York time, unless K-Drag doesn't get the feed live.

The cops were no help.
They kept barking at people to "Get behind the barricades."

Guess what, Officer O'Toole?
Your fancy barricades will only hold 3000-4000 people, and there were twice that many
at 7:30 and more and more people, I mean women, were streaming in all the time.

"Behind the barricades" just wasn't getting the job done.
However, I used my weasel skills to get us inside the barricades and about halfway to the stage.

Matt Lauer introducing Mr. La Vida Loca

Ricky came out and the crowd went ape-shit crazy.

Thousands of women, screaming like it was The Beatles on Ed Sullivan.
They all started a big surge towards the stage, pushing us even closer.

I thought Mrs. BartCop would be horrified and fearing for her life,
but she just looked at me and said, "I hope you can keep up" as she
weaseled herself closer and closer to the stage - it was mayhem!

NBC remembered to bring their cameras.

Every time the camera boom swung our way, the women went scooters.
You'd think there was some damn "be on TV" contest, the way they were acting.

Ricky did a couple of songs, then they cut to a commercial.

Katie Couric ran onstage to chat with Ricky.

Mrs. BartCop said Katie and Ricky made a cute couple
I rememinded her Ricky was gay.
She stepped on my toe to punish me for that.
Then Ricky did a song I like: Nobody Wants to be Lonely.

Them womens was swooning.

I got off on it, because I saw Ricky and Christina Aguilera do a great version of this song on Leno one night
and they really nailed it. Sometimes voices work well together and sometimes they don't.
Ricky and Christina may not quite be Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, but they were pretty decent.

Ain't Nothin' like Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
(very short)

Oh, did I mention it was raining?

After a mere five songs, the show was over and the cops were ordering the crowd to disperse.
Most of the women, Mrs BartCop included, went to the east door hoping for an autograph.

Seniors on the RM groupie circuit

From the way these two talked, they were stalking him from town to town.
They knew his schedule and method of operation. They said RM would be
coming out soon, so, naturally, we had to stand in the mist and wait for him.

Then Ricky's SUV limo pulled up, but a nasty cop told him he had to leave.
The driver said (I was right next to him, heard everything) he couldn't leave,
that he had orders to make this pickup and his boss wouldn't let him leave.

So the nasty cop wrote him a ticket, setting off angry boos
from the estrogen-laden crowd. Mean-looking, isn't he?
He looks like Andy Sipowicz in a bad mood.

Hey, O'Toole, where's your damn hat?
Did you leave it at the bar?

The booing crowd got noisier, causing concern for the NBC security dudes.
They sent out a scary-looking security goon to assess the situation.

He's packing heat under his coat.

Some of Ricky's band members came out, which seemed to shock the security people.

Ricky's bandmates and their Gucci bags.

The mean-looking security dude said, "Go underground" into his shirt collar.
Then he announced that RM had left the building from an underground tunnel.

(More to come - the day was young)

After Ricky Martin, we took a cab down to Washington Square Park.

It's a nice park - people were hanging out, walking their dogs, smoking handrolled cigarettes...

Have you ever seen on TV or in movies where people are sitting outside playing chess?
That's Washington Park.
I think Jeff Goldblum's dad was playing chess here in Independence Day.

We kept walking and stumbled on New York's club scene.

This is the world famous Blue Note Jazz Club.

From their web page:
The flagship New York club has earned the distinction of being the world’s premier jazz club and restaurant.
Tony Bennett, George Benson, Ray Charles, Natalie Cole, Oscar Peterson, David Sanborn, Nancy Wilson,
the late Sarah Vaughan and Dizzy Gillespie are just a few of the superstars that have called the Blue Note "home."

Right across the street is the Village Underground.

Look! Patti Smith is here the first week of June!

Next door to that is The Fat Black Pussycat.

It's famous, too:

DAVID BLUE:
I remember one afternoon [Apr 16, 1962] we were sitting in The Fat Black Pussycat drinking coffee, and Dylan
started writing a song. He had his guitar and he was scribbling away, writing on a piece of paper. And he gave me
his guitar and asked me to play various chords, while he worked on the words. When he finished it, we went over to
Folk City and Bob played it for Gil Turner, who thought it was fantastic. And then Gil got up on the stage and
played it for the audience, while Bob stood in the shadows at the bar. The song was Blowin' In The Wind.

Just outside the front door of the Fat Black Pussycat was a trash can that caught my eye.

They want to keep New York clean, but, ...but, ...but what's that on top of the trash can?

ha ha

It's a hash pipe!
That club is a happenin' place, all right.
I was smart enough not to get my fingerprints on the illegal pipe.

Continuing onward, we saw Jefferson Square Market Library.
Cool building, eh?

Look - upper right - you can see Rapunzel

We kept running into these great little bakeries. Not only does NY food taste like a million dollars,
it looks so good, you want to eat it even if you don't like what it's made of.

........

I guess volume is the key. If you're going to sell $1500 worth of pastry a day, you can afford
to pay a bad-ass pastry chef $1500 a week to create these incredible edible works of art.

We kept walking and walking and eventually were were within a mile of the Savoy so it wasn't worth
getting a taxi, so we just continued walking. Mrs. BartCop said she'd hate to visit New York and not
get any great Italian food. I reminded her we'd had some great pizza, which got me an icy stare.

So we jumped in the Le Sabre and drove towards Little Italy. (bottom)

Of course, we kept filming as we drove, so as not to miss any of the sights.

Yes, they love Hillary in New York.
Only the criminals, the defacers and the Republicans hate her.

One other thing - see that tiny sign in the upper right?
It says, "Don't Block the Box - Fine + 2 Points."
That's confusing, I wondered all week what that meant, then I found out.

"The box" is the center of the intersection. What they sign means to say is,
"Don't pull into the intersection unless you can get all the way across, dumbass."

As savvy a New York driver as I am, I got caught in "the box" once.
I was almost all the way across, then, in a New York second, hundreds of pedestrians
were walking in front of my car, meaning I was blocking the traffic that had the green light.
While hundreds of people were walking in front of the Le Sabre, a NY cop tapped on
my fender with his night stick and said, "Don't Block the Box - Fine + 2 Points."

I gave him my best Okie blank stare, like, "So what do I do now, O'Toole?"
And he said, "Ease forward - through the crowd."

Hmmmm....

Doing my best to avoid an indictment for depraved indifference, I let up on the brake
and the car inched into the madding crowd, ...and they parted like the Red Sea for Ol' Chuck!
I got away with blocking the box without any penalty.

Continuing with the story (which has taken longer to write than live thru) I used my honing skills
to get us closer and closer to Little Italy. The map I had didn't show street names,
but logically it had to be in the next few blocks - then we saw - the flags.

Mulberry Street, where Vito Corleone
got shot in Godfather One

This was way cool.

We saw a bunch of restaurants with outdoor dining and the weather was perfect.
All we needed now was a place to dump the Le Sabre.

You see it?
I'll be damned, there's a parking spot right there, so I snatched it.
We were parked and soaking in Little Italy on foot.
We saw this place called Florios, which reminded me of Tony's enforcer Furio.

Then this dude spoke to us with his thick Italian accent and invited us to dinner.

We figured it was a sign from God, so we accepted his invitation.
The menu had a whole lotta stuff I didn't recognize, but I saw "Spaghetti and Meatballs,"
and I've eaten that before, so that's what I ordered. Mrs. BartCop ordered the Fettucini Alfredo
Of course, we asked for a giraffe of red wine, too.

Within seconds, we had the wine, some bread and a dinner salad on our table.
Salad? I didn't notice salad on the menu, but there's a lot I don't notice...
How did they know what kind of dressing I wanted on my salad?

Duh!
They serve Italian dressing on the salad.

It's possible I use the term "greatest ever" too much, but this salad was so simple
yet so damn delicious that no words have I. Their dressing is what did it.
Oh, I've never tasted anything like this Italian dressing.
It was 90 percent regular, no radical changes or flavors, it was just better.

Famous building in the background

So here's the deal:

I'm racking up major, major points with Mrs. BartCop.
She was happier than she was in Volume 260 in the cool Santa Fe breeze.
She couldn't be having a better time.

We were dining outside, the birds were chirping, the Italian language was being spoken
by a majority of the people around us, she had a glass of red wine in her hand and the giant
fried cheese sticks were done just right. I wish I had a picture. Wait, ...I do!

ha ha

A little sip of wine, a nibble from a cheese stick, a half-a-slice of that bread
followed by another sip of the red wine. I was scoring like Mickey Jordan.in his prime.

Then it was time for la munche'

Her bowl was bigger than it looks.
So was mine:

Mama Mia, that's some spicy meatballs.

Some little dude ran out and said, "...Parmesan?"
I gave him that palms-open up move that Brando does when he means "Why not?"

It was really Catholic-tasting.

...and look at the size of those meatballs!!

If only the senate Democrats...

Uhh, ...nevermind.

We were having a lot of fun and everything was going perfect.
After we ate, we walked around and looked at the old shops.

........
pasta pasta

We were filming everything. The shops, the streets, the store windows, the people.

........
pasta not pasta

I forget what this is called, but didn't they carry one
of these in the parade scene in Godfather II when
Travis Bickle shot the Black Hand in the mouth?

Cheese shops, pasta shops, restaurants and bars.
Little Italy - what a place!

Little did I know I was about to be the victim of a mob hit.

Back after this.

The End of New York II

Swear to Koresh, I was attacked by the mob.
Here's what happened, here's how the hit went down:

So we're walking around, like two bonehead tourists from Oklahoma,
the camera's pointing everywhere, and then I catch a glimpse of this gang...

They started giving me the skunk eye - for no reason.
As I got further up the street, the one with the striped tie gives a head nod to this guy,

...who jumped up and grabbed a giant wrench and started opening the hydrant.

........

He had that hydrant open faster than any fireman I'd ever seen.

Son of a bitch, I felt like I was in the Colorado River!

........

I was wet, but I was alive.
That's a true story, Kay, swear to Koresh.

OK, new rule - from now on, no taunting the gangsters...

Back in traffic, we saw a car with diplomatic plates.

Any guesses what VG is?
If it's car #1, it must be the ambassador

The sun was setting and we wanted to get back to the hotel.
On the way (not really) we thought we'd drive through Central Park.
I am so stupid!

By now, at was 5 PM on Friday afternoon in gridlocked Manhattan.
It was taking 5 minutes per block, and Central Park was 45 blocks away.

By the way, did you know the New York cabbies have come up with a new measurement for time?
It's called a nano-gigo-second, and it's the precise period of time between when the light turns green
and that bastard starts honking at you from behind.

We gave up and went back to the hotel - there's always tomorrow.
The rest of the evening we sipped Chinaco and watched New York from our window.

Funny, in New York, they never look up.
We were only on the second floor, and we could watch people was they walked by
and listen to their conversations, but in four days, nobody ever looked up and saw us.

Saturday morning we only had a couple of hours before our 11:45 flight.
We packed, checked out and picked up the car.
There were so many things we didn't get a chance to see, but we wanted
to take one last shot at Central Park on our way out of town.

Driving up 6th Avenue, we hit the stoplights with perfect timing.
I only stopped three times from 23rd street to110th - amazing.

I had to cross 110th Street, because of the song in the Jackie Brown movie.

We made a left and found ourselves in Duke Ellington Park!

I didn't even know the Duke had a park, but there it is...

According to the map, were only a block away from Central Park.

I'll be damned - they did it again.
Closed, just like the Guggenheim, The Twin Towers, the state of Maine,
the top of the Empire State Building - they've closed Central Park.

Maybe we were too early, or maybe Central Park was closed permanently
after Bruce and Sam tore it to hell in Die Hard III.
By the way, wasn't the scene with the bomb in the fountain shot in Washington Park?

So we're out of time, we gotta hurry to the airport for that 11:45 flight.

Woke up this morning, got myself a gun...

I started humming the theme to The Sopranos.
Mrs. BartCop told me to knock it off.

We get to the Avis rental return and the dark complected man was very friendly.
We joked about Guiliani being such a slut, bringing his goomah home.
After he checked the car, he gave me my receipt.

$1247 to rent a Le Sabre with a noisy air-conditioner for five days?
What, do I look like I'm from Oklahoma or something?

I got the attention of the dark complected guy and said,
"This is crazy. I don't want to buy the car, I was just renting the son of a bitch."

Ho looks at me and says, "No Hablo English."

He stayed in character, like he's been thru this before, with other unsuspecting victims.
By now, I'm worried that I did something wrong, because everyone knows you don't
rent a car in Jersey because of that $950 car rental tax Trump pushed thru.
The lady at the counter acted oh, so very surpised that "the computer made a mistake,"
and came up with a more reasonable receipt, not realizing I'd palmed the original.

Avis, you do that to every chap-wearing rube flying out of New York, don't you?
You have to refund the money in what, 94 out of 100 times?
But that "full-billing" on the other six makes up for the tarnished reputation, right?

It's not even 11 AM and it already seems like a long day.
We drag the bags to the TWA terminal and stand in the long line.
When we're finally granted an audience with the ticket agent, and she looks like Luci the Bat!

Worse still, she's all bad news.

"You're not booked on this flight," she said, with a snicker.

"Sure I am," I protested, checking my notes. "I'm on Flight 201 at 11:45."
(damn ticketless tickets)

She checks again, under my name instead of the flight, and says,
"No, you're booked on the 2:45 flight."

"Wrong lady, I know which flight I'm on."

"No, you're booked on the 2:45 flight," insisted The Bat.

"Hey, lady!
How'd I know you even had an 11:45 flight?
How'd I know that flight was Flight 201?"

Of course, she had no answer for that.
I asked to speak with a supervisior, but Luci kept fighting me and I was getting tired
so we figured we'd just take the screwing and get lost in the airport bar.

It was closed.

Make it stop!

So we sat at the damn Burger King for almost three hours, listening to crying kids
as the Katherine Harris-type mother screamed cruel insults at them.
They were boys, maybe 5 and 7 years old. Poor damn kids.

Finally, we "bored" the plane and head for home.
The pilot seemed to know the way out better than the way in.

Heading for K-Drag, we assessed the trip as an amazing success.

Eight days ago, Mrs. BartCop was dragged kicking and screaming into New York.
She's leaving with a smile on her face, except for the fact that she'd miss The Preakness
because goddamn TWA wanted to bump me off that flight without paying me, which is
probably a crime if there are any assistant DAs from the Newark City Prosecutors Office
reading this, but how am I going to prove anything?
But even with missing the Preakness, we had a great time.

Sidebar:
I want to thank Ray again for the great city tour and the "extras," and I especially
want to thank Christian Livemore for giving us the great gift of New York City.
Without her, we wouldn't have gone and we might not ever have gone without her.

A big shot of Chinaco Anejo to CAL, who not only has great taste in food,
but she also does a lot of behind the scenes stuff for bartcop.com

Ok, time to bring the story home.

It's four plus hours of the plane bumping and layovers.
We just wanted to get back to stately BartCop Manor and unwind.

Finally, we get to the K-Drag dirt landing strip, (taxes are low, here in GOP-land)
and we drag ourselves off the plane and stagger to the luggage carousel. The sign says
"Luggage Guaranteed in 3 Minutes,"but it was 18 minutes before it started gurgitating.

Another ten minutes go by, and everyone gets their luggage except poor, tired BartCop.
The conveyor belt shuts off ...and here we go...

I've never dealt with lost luggage before - no telling what kind of nightmare this will be.
I go downstairs to the TWA ticket counter, and the lady says
"The claims lady is already upstairs to take your claim."

That's odd, how did they know I had a claim to make?
I get upstairs and there's nobody but a tired Mrs. BartCop.

I go back downstairs to the ticket counter and tell them I missed the claims lady.
She gives me directions to the TWA luggage claims office, back upstairs.

<big Al Gore sigh...>

I finally found the claims office, and there's my damn bags right there on the floor.
I said, "Hey, thanks for finding them so fast," and the lady said,

"Those bags? They've been here since 2 O'Clock. They arrrved on Flight 201."

Grrrrrrrrrrrrr........

The TWA luggage people put my damn bags on that earlier flight because that's the
goddamn flight we, and the damn bags were booked on, you morons!

Oh, I needed a drink or a loaded gun in my hands real quick.
I settled on some Canaan tequila, which I had 45 minutes later,
at home, at my computer, cat in my lap, as I started writing.

Now we need to plan a trip to Las Vegas so we can compare the two!

ha ha

Thankgiving Tequilafest at the Rio!

Back to the present:

A few weeks ago, Alex M suggested the New York flashback - thanks, Dude.
I didn't know then that the trip ended with an invitation to a party at The Rio.
Must be God's way of telling us to have a good time.

Read the Previous Issue

It had everything.