First though, it must be mentioned that it is with some sadness - a lack of euphoria, if you will - that I write this passage, having been unable to attend the Missouri Cycling Monument, Cedar Cross. I wish I could have been there to get lemonade from the road-side stand, I wish I could have been able to hear Mr. Jenkins himself advise his nephews to drop the water bottles full of beer if the cops show up so they don't get in trouble. I wish I had been there to destroy the Ham's Prarie restroom for everyone who followed behind me. But alas, there were even greater forces at work this past week, and I had little to no control over them - much like my bowels after a pot of my own special Crotch Blend of espresso roast coffee in the morning. (The best part of waking up indeed!) That all being said, a couple of huffs from my handle travel-friendly e-balloon, and I was quickly transported back to the outskirts of Jeff City - reminiscing about many times past, specifically that of picking gravel from my crack two years ago.
We arrived, with a suitcase full of extra delicious Midwestern beers. Stepping outside the airport, I could smell the fresh NYC air, and thought to myself how it smells better than I was expecting, which should make for an even better contrast for the special brew of "Fly-Over State Jenk" that was I planning on releasing later in the week. This fresh air was even more surprising after emerging onto the sidewalk after a lengthy trip on the Subway.
Anyway, great care was taken to preserve the integrity of said beers, (carefully wrapped in my undies) for a proper delivery. Before the J.P.S. (Jerky Parcel Service) was able to complete its rounds however, we had to meet for some food and beers at a neutral location, to discuss the transfer of good-will for beers:
We saw numerous things in NYC, specifically a surprising lack of totally sweet urban-fixie-brah-messenger-lane-splitter types.(Maybe it was different in the outer borroughs.) What we DID in fact see, were hundreds upon hundreds of Mexican or Chinese food delivery dudes on old, beat-to-shit mountain bikes with 2-ring road cranks installed cruising around everywhere with big Wald baskets on the front. So if you want you're looking for sweet NYC courier work, contact any of the hundreds of Chinese or pizza joints and they'll hook you up. Just beware, they work in ALL weather - I felt as though their numbers on the streets increased once the rain came down. Of course though, everyone knows that rain is not good on deep-section painted wheelsets, so many fixie-brahs may have retreated once the weather turned sour.
A strange occurrence that happened moar than once, would be when my gay-dar would go off, and upon a second glance, would realize that they are just European once they started speaking French or German or whatever. Please bear this in mind.
When in NYC, there are many things to do and see, so here is a short list of things I can check off the list for next time. For example, having visited the strip clubs, I found to be very strange, and unsatisfying, for a Missourian such as myself. These hardcore bitches were terrible at working that pole, not to mention the open windows during the day killed the atmosphere, as seen here:
After going to the titty bars, I felt a little gross, so we took the Subway back to home base for a good shower. This fit in nicely, for it gave me the opportunity to partake in a little bit if Missouri tradition in the Empire State - a good ole' shower beer:
Of course, venturing to this city required the sampling of some tasty vittles. At one particular food purveyor, we found something that I simply can not believe has yet to arrive on the banks of the Mississippi just yet - fucking crispy bacon with maple syrup for dipping:
I did opt to avoid a drink known simply as the "Negroni," which sounded moar like something that would have been served to black slaves in the 1830's:
All this boozin, eatin' and clubbin' had us needing to take a break, and stretch our legs, and what better place to do that than in world famous Central Park. We had good weather, so a nice stroll down the curved paths, around the Reservoir, past the bridge from Home Alone 2, and around numerous closed-for-the-season meadows. We eventually happened upon a food cart, so we picked up a salty pretzel, some shish-kebab, and a hot dog to munch on while we watch the people pass by. And let me tell you, if you think Forest Park is busy with lots of weirdos, Central Park is on another plane of existence. Freds, as far as the eye could see. Rental bikes in a continuous procession. And it wasn't just bikes for rent, but there was also a place somewhere that you could rent fucking Elliptigo's. Take this choad-burger for example:
In another commons area, we had another full grown man, taking the form of a fruit-booter (with all due respects to reformed 'booter, the Tropical Storm) who was fruit-booting around this little area, listening to a boombox, and dancing like a figure skater. What music was he listening to? Stairway to Heaven - a song during which he was doing circles while holding up the metal horns. Completely enthralled in his music, he would buzz nearly everyone who went past, usually while holding his boombox (not pictured here:)
All this is well and good, but I was giddy as Criss Angel with a schoolboy at the chance of meeting up a dude who is probably more robot than man now - our very own New East Coast Syndicate and the lovely Mrs. Dubs, deep within N.E.C.S. territory. Riding the elevator to his floor, my ears popped, and gave me pause to think about the velocity that his turds must reach upon flushing his toilet. What is the terminal velocity for turds in sewage pipes running straight down for 2 dozen floors? Does overall consistency enter the equation? And would a "floating" log have a higher or slower terminal velocity than a "sinker?" Truly, these are heavy questions that will continue to "float" or even "swirl" around in my mind.
Mr. and Mrs. Dubs treated Mrs. Crotch and I to a magnificently prepared meal, and continued to provide me with numerous beers that all ended up in my stomach - a few extras of which made the return trip home. A wonderful evening with solid company - you couldn't ask for moar.
It was so high up, we were above the crop-dust cloud I had left at ground level:
With pleasing night-time views like this, I see where he continues to get inspiration to continue the important research in the field of jenkem studies, of which he is currently a tenured research professor:
Now, as a public service, since Team Seagal puts great emphasis on continuing education, I thought that it would be a good opportunity to offer a few ways to pick out tourists from the crowds on your next visit to Manhattan. I feel adept identifying these traits, having just been there, and having exhibited many of these traits before learning the ways of the natives to blend in and adapt their culture:
- badly sunburnt face from open-air tour buses/boats, and standing in long lines outside
- SLR camera permanently around neck - usually in conjunction with large backpack or square shoulder bag
- Standing in the middle of a massively busy sidewalk taking a photo, oblivious to the throngs of people trying their best to not run them over
- Tourists tend have their heads up, looking/gazing around and pointing, while residents mainly just look down, trying to avoid eye contact
- They may or may not be wearing a complimentary/novelty poncho in the rain, seen here:
- Tourists will still be speaking quietly
- They'll be the ones happy to pay asking price for cheap bullshit in Chinatown
- Residents seem to generally be dressed for work, or for a workout. Tourists look like they are going to a family reunion all the time.
I hope that this has been enlightening for you - for as I said, Team Seagal tries to educate as much as it does snap wrists. In summation, I found the city of New York to be, despite it's problematic lack of public restrooms, a huge, beautiful, crazy, interesting, and above all, a wonderful place to visit. I can only hope that I was able to impart my own "flavor" to it during our short visit.
In the meantime, feel free to get totally minivanned.
-Casey F. Ryback