I sing the open market electric today, because my ticket to New York cost $20. Competition from the mysterious Chinatown bus system (where do they pick you up? where do they stop? will you be allowed to pay only once? answers hazy and variable) has evidently forced Greyhound/Peter Pan to match rates, and that's a good thing. Also excellent, and almost balancing out the DC bus station's inexcusable lack of coffee, was that the bus VCR rebelled at the thought of having to show a Robin Williams family comedy, so I was spared the bowdlerized "RV" and was able to catch some sleep on the way up.
The reason for the trip, of course, was to see Seesterperson in her team's first official bout. She was understandably nervous but said that she was focusing on her two goals: not puking, and not being obviously the worst person on the team. Everyone in her cheering section was pleased to see that she managed both of those, and the fact that the team won was icing on the cake. I was with one of her college friends and one of his acting friends, both of whom were good company and who cheered mightily for Seesterperson and the teams (we golf-clapped for the opposition, except that at the end we whooped for them too, because they skated their asses off even though they were severely short of players). College friend was completely thrilled with the event, swearing that it was like NASCAR except understandable and performed by tough chicks in miniskirts and/or short shorts, developments he favored. He's got a pretty good write-up of it, too.
Saturday morning I crassly abandoned Seesterperson and took the bus into the city to meet up with Serial Karma, who trekked allll the way in from Brooklyn just so that we could have brunch and I could realize that I forgot the picture of the hot tangoing guys I bought her in Buenos Aires. D'oh. We wandered around Chelsea/Hell's Kitchen for a bit and found a street table at Marseille, a French-Moroccan place that provided (a) excellent strange cocktails, (b) a phenomenal merguez-egg scramble with creme fraiche, and (c) a view of someone who might or might not have been Larry David across the street. I am surprisingly good at spotting people I know in New York and usually bad at spotting the famous, so kudos to her for being a sharp eye. She's also looking awesome and had gotten some catcalls on the way in. She gave high marks to the guy who simply said, "You're beautiful," because simple and sincere is best when you're complimenting a stranger. Take note, y'all.
Aaand in a little less than a week Doc and I are supposed to do a reining demo for the barn's amateur show. This will not be rodeo quality by any stretch of the imagination, because we can't do sliding stops, the boy is a little too old to be perfectly supple, and I'm not much of a trainer, but we should get to show off rollbacks and spins and, most fun of all, flying lead changes, which Doc seems to adore showing off. I will not be nervous. I won't. I...shit.
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5 comments:
Yay for horsey shows! Good luck!
I dig the Chinatown bus.
First apologies for not having been able to rendez-vous in New York. I had gotten my seester-person (the one in NY) and her fiancé all revved up about roller derby night and then had to catch a flight to Berlin. Future brother-in-law could not stop laughing about Maul Flanders. I believe my seester-person said something to the effect of, "He is an English major." My bad and my loss.
The Chinatown bus is no longer as dodgy as it used to be, which is a pity because when things become respectful they tend to be less story worthy. (Snort: I like the coinage "Everybody Fung Wah Tonight!") In fact, I've never taken it because they looked so worthy of skepticism in the days of the dingy minivan or minibus. I've a mind to collect those stories from my dear ones.
The Chinatown bus did spawn a whole fleet of competitors including the short-lived Harvard Law School bus that violated Cambridge city ordinances by driving through the narrow residential streets, without a permit, in order to park close to the law school. There was also the venerable Entertainment Tours,which no longer seems to do that route. Even though they had big clean buses, one wouldn't say that they were devoid of bus action. My hubby (my mother's term for all partners of her children, male or female) asks if I remember the crazy bus driver who played Madonna ad nauseum at rock concert volumes who kept saying to himself, "I need anger management." Yes, he was . . . unforgettable.
Then there were the Chinatown turf wars, http://www.chinatown-bus.com/chinatown-bus-news.htm
My last trip on a Greyhound, or any bus along the Northeast corridor, I went to the gate and took a wide path around a man who could give members of the Beggar's Guild a run for their money (reference to Discworld, my friends). Naturally, he sat behind me. He hung his cane up on my headrest and proceeded to inform the whole bus, the entire trip long, that he was going to go to New Jersey to kill his sister because she had stolen his checks. He rapped me on the head for emphasis every few minutes with his cane.
Since this was around the time that a Greyhound driver had just had his throat slashed, we were all very tense, and my head hurt mightily. I decided at that point that my wallet could handle the extra hit it would take for a seat on the Amtrak where at most I would have to suffer listening to some idiot talking on the cell phone about her venereal afflictions, unaware that the entire car could hear her.
About the only memorable bus story I have involves meeting the aforesaid college friend of Seesterperson when she and I ended up taking the Greyhound back to DC at 2 in the morning. We took the last two seats that were together, and turned out to be sitting directly behind him. I couldn't handle the coincidence with grace and went straight to sleep.
Could you post a picture of Doc?
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