6.21.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I was doing some thinking as I was walking to the gym one morning this past week. The gym is close by so I walk there. There is a bald-headed older gentleman who has a mid-life crisis convertible that he drives there every morning instead of walking. He vroomed past me as I was trying to collect some thoughts earlier this week, kind of jarring me awake. It was early in the morning and I was still getting used to the light. We've started this new workout plan this is kind of kicking my ass. I mean, I'm seeing results and muscles are getting bigger and harder but it's hard work!

On the way there I was in mid-dread about the impending leg presses I was to do. The leg press is the first exercise of the new plan. Back during my days in the bodybuilding club in college, I dreaded dreaded dreaded the leg press. And now it's back in my life, in full effect. So far, it's been easy to handle. But then I am not doing so much weight that I am getting stuck in the leg press machine, needing the help of three burly dudes to help pry me out of it. That happened.

Anyway, I'm walking to the gym when I see him--the man, who in the past week I have decided to call Spooky. When I saw him this past week I had to slow my roll a little because he makes me a little afraid. I am beginning to see what a problem homelessness is becoming, even here in little old North Carolina. These people have no where to go but the street. I wish I could do more.

The first time I saw him it was a night. We were driving back from somewhere and it was late and dark. Having just turned the corner coming off the off-ramp, we were merging into the most left lane so that we could follow it down two lights to our house. Then I looked to my right. Gasping, "Was that a ghost?" I didn't know exactly what I had seen. Ben replied, "Jon, why would a ghost just be walking down the side of the road?" I didn't understand that it was indeed a man that I had seen, as he was moving slowly as if moseying to the beat of an apparitional drum. Ben clearly knew what he saw, and it was a guy who was moving very slowly and kind of side to side, more like a pirate with a wooden leg than perhaps a ghost.

Because I was convinced Spooky was indeed a ghost, I never thought we would encounter him again. I mean, unless your home is haunted or you did something bad to some lady right before she died, I like to think that if you were to encounter a ghost it happens just once. All of this ghost talk comes from the shows we sometimes watch on the History Channel. They are mostly concerned with the search for cryptids--you know things like ghosts, blood-sucking wolf/cats, and swamp things. These shows will have you convinced you are seeing crazy shit if you believe that these things could possibly be real. I guess I believe because the second time I mistook Spooky for Big Foot. And again, like the idea of ghosts I have in my head, Big Foots also move slowly and side to side. Ben again cleared this confusion up for me. Spooky is a man, not a cryptid. He just moves real slow.

Over the course of the past week, I have encountered Spooky twice. And both times I have reacted in the same way. I slow my walk to a crawl and begin to whisper, whether to someone I'm with or inside my head. "There's Spooky. Don't let him see you. If you move slowly and keep far enough away he can't get you." It really is as if I am treating this man like he is actually a ghost or Big Foot and I am the Crocodile Hunter, but of cryptids. I don't exacly fear for my life, but my skin does get a little cold and I lose feeling in my extremities.

Ok, I should probably be honest. Those feelings have to be from the new workout, and not from Spooky. At least with the new workout I'm not doing all those crazy muscle enhancing pills and powders like last time. Then I could always blame my crazy on something I took. I guess now I'm just crazy, and all people are cryptids. Consider this a cry for help.

Hope you are well,
Jon

6.14.09

Dear Rachel Dratch,

It seems I have been away for longer that I anticipated. Well, things have been busy. I realized that during much of May, I did not do many of the things I had been doing for many of the months prior: I was not writing, I was not meeting with my writing partner (shoutout to Miss C.). Now that I think about it, that may have been all that I didn't do. I still went to work, I still ate, I became even more obsessed with the Kardashian family. So it really seems I only neglected you during May. And for that, I apologize.

But this is not to say that there were things that happened that were not worth mentioning. We made a little vacation trip up to the Big Apple. The other times I've been up there, I've always flown into JFK. But this time, using Hotwire (shoutout to Hotwire), we got a killer deal but it involved flying into Laguardia. Neither of us had been to this airport, but I had made a vow to myself that if I were to ever move to New York I would live in Queens because that's where the Mets play and it is the home to my favorite Latina familia de television, The Suarezes. Laguardia, here we come.

We fly into Queens and into Laguardia. My first impression was that it was much smaller than JFK. We didn't have to take seven different trains around and within the airport. In fact, we just stepped off the plane and into the terminal and there was the foodcourt and those shops that sell books and those neck-pad-brace-pillows. I've never even seen those at JFK. In fact, I've only seen what look like mall kiosks at JFK--the kind that hawk flat irons, cell phone cases, and Rosetta Stone. I was impressed so far with Laguardia, to say the least.

We're out, we're walking around in the terminal. We see the sun so we figure that must be where our exit is and where we will meet the bus to take us into The City. Finally making it outside, we see some bus stops. Do you notice that regardless of what city you're in, bus stops all kind of look the same. And it seems to not matter whether you are at the airport or at the gas station across the street, there are always the same kind of looking people who hang out at the bus stop. Without describing the variety of people that fit this genre of loiterer, you can think about it and know who I'm talking about--especially if you know that angry little midget from Nashville, who always seemed to be weilding a knife or a Fanta bottle. These are the people who love bus stops. And they hang out at the airport bus stops, too.

The weird thing about this area, the loading/unloading area of the airport, was that there was no place to buy a metro card. I didn't understand how we could use public transportation in the Apple if we didn't have one, because hello, who carries cash around. I guess people who hang out at the bus stop carry cash because they all seemed to understand what was happening when the bus showed up and a few of them wandered on to it. I knew we would need the metro card to get on the train once we were abandoned by the bus driver in Harlem, and I wanted to be prepared. Also, I wanted to be able to just get on the bus and not worry about quarters and dimes and nickels. I guess regular bus riders only think in change.

Both of us were a little confused. We went back inside and asked the kind lady at the information desk where we could find a machine or a person that would sell us some metro cards. She thrust a thick visitor's guide in our hands and said something about Hudson News. This was the name of the airport bookstore. And it is also apparently the name of the place that we where we could find the key to The City--the metro card.

You know how I said Laguardia seems smaller than JFK? It's only smaller if you have an idea where you are going. Where we were once following the light of the sun, we were now staring at every neon and flourescent light, hoping it would read Hudson News. We went off in one direction that put us back in the area where we first entered the terminal and we were accosted by a sort of kindly sir who offered us his taxi services. We had just heard the announcement to not accept offers of rides from people who aren't in real taxis or buses. I don't understand why there isn't a train that goes to the airport, which could prevent the kinds of things that happen when you get into a stranger's car. Queens!

Figuring out that this is probably not where the Hudson News was, we turned in the opposite direction. We passed the lady who gave us all The City information. We ended up leaving the bible-thick tome of New York, along with the coupon book that included discounts to the Times Square Red Lobster and Phantom of the Opera, in our hotel room. Gross. So we're moving and I started to get frustrated because I was tired and for the first time since I've visited New York, I felt overwhelmed. I was tired and confused, and everything seemed to be in non-English. And there was no direct, overt or even neon-flourescent sign that there were metro cards to be purchased anywhere in this airport.

There might have been a bit of flared tempers during all of this. Neither one of us knew where we were going, and both of us were confused by the lack of clear and present signage. We eventually found the Hudson News where the metro cards could be found. Naturally, they were only available in denominations of $7. Weird, but we took two.

The rest of the trip was less taxing. We made it to our waaay downtown hotel--so downtown that it was on the corner of Wall Street. Both of us scowled at the bankers and financiers we saw Monday morning. I was hoping to see Ms. Bernie Madoff, but apparently she has been keeping a low profile. Lots of good food, lotttts of good drinks. Shoutout to Laura, Maura & Jane. I didn't realized how exhausted I was until we got home on Monday and promptly crashed after some Jimmy John's.

Next time, we'll probably fly into somewhere else. To say the least, I think Laguardia is a bit of a mess. Or it may just be one giant bus stop.

Jon