Grand Theft Tacos

             With my eye on the schedule for book signings at Barnes & Noble locations in the Tri-State area, I circled my calender for New York Giants head coach Tom Coughlin's appearance in midtown Manhattan. He's currently making the rounds at several area Barnes & Noble stores to promote his new book entitled "Earn The Right To Win". Being a big Giants fan and the fact Coughlin has been the head coach for two Superbowl championships during his tenure; seeing him in person and getting an autograph was a no-brainer. The schedule time for the autograph session to begin was 12:30 pm, but knowing there will likely be a line forming hours before that, I needed to get down to the city sooner so I could get a good spot and not have to wait forever to see Coughlin. I put on my Giants gear, in the form of a sweatshirt and woolen hat (the same items I wore last year in cold Green Bay when I traveled to watch Giants advance in the playoffs), and made for the subway.

             The train ride was quick and I arrived at the store location on the corner of 5th and East 46th street about 10:30am. I had about two hours of waiting time before me. There were about fifteen people on the line already when I got there, so I rushed inside to buy a copy of the book and then came back out to claim my place. The way the signings work at Barnes & Noble is naturally you have to buy a copy of the book there that the author is going to sign. The autograph is of the author's name only; no personalization or custom messages. You're not allowed to bring anything else to be autographed and there's no posing for pictures with the author. You can't even hand the author the actual book for them to sign, an employee has to hand it to the author and then back to you. So although its still a fun experience to meet someone of notoriety and watch them sign an item for you, the system Barnes & Noble has in place keeps you sectioned off as much as possible as if you're contaminated with the black plague or something. Plus there's a machine process of 'get your autograph and get out', there doesn't seem to be much opportunity for a question or comment to share with the author. Since I've only experienced book signings for Barnes & Noble locations in the city, perhaps that has alot to do with the strictness whereas the outer boroughs and Jersey might be more relaxed, but I have a feeling they all follow the same protocol.

             The price for the book in the US lists for twenty-five dollars, but due to the event promotion it came out to only twenty-two dollars. The cashier didn't ask if I was a Barnes & Noble member (which I am)  nor did I think of being proactive about it, but I could've possibly have gotten an additional two dollars off with my membership card. With my baggy Giants sweatshirt on the cashier knew which book I wanted almost immediately. My place on the line was near the street corner, a shaded block with no sun and a slight chill in the air. Depending on which Barnes & Noble it is, some have the line outside and some have it indoors. People passing by on their way to work would see most of us dressed in Giants gear and make wisecracks such as, "where's the tailgate party?" Others would ask who was signing inside, and when some tourists asked and were told it was Coughlin, from the look on their faces it seemed they had no clue who he was. I brought a book with me from home to help pass the time, but standing up reading in the cold with no gloves wasn't very appetizing, so I needed to find another form of amusement.A Brinks armored car stopped at the corner and a guard exited the vehicle with a large black bag. He went into the Barnes & Noble, I believe, and came back about five minutes later with the bag likely filled with cash. I contemplated grabbing the bag as a way to help pass the time, but I realized I might end up losing my spot on the line if I did that.

              After the armored truck left a Dunkin Donuts representative stood at the corner and held a sign pointing to a store location in the middle of the block on E. 46th. Holding the sign up for a half-hour might've been another possible way to kill the clock, but it looked very boring to him so I was probably just better off leaning against the wall. That's when a guy behind me about my age on the line asked if I was a Yankee fan, in which I replied yes. He then handed me a small 2013 season schedule booklet, and once I accepted it, I would be in for an earful the rest of the way. At first we shared some general sports stories and spoke about other autographs opportunities we had gotten in the past. Eventually the conversation turned to pro wrestling and that's when he went off like he had a case of Energizer batteries in his head. I have some extensive professional wrestling knowledge in my head as well, but this guy was really into it and still watches it religiously to this day whereas I tailed off finally around 2004. Since we were the only two people really speaking to each other on the line, basically everyone would be hearing our conversation. He seemed so passionate about it that I noticed his voice went a few chords higher than when we first started talking and I could tell others on the line were likely sick and tired of hearing about wrestling. I didn't want to be rude, so I kept conversing with him, but my replies were growing shorter in hopes the conversation would settle down to a moderate level. I have to admit though talking to him let the time fly by quicker and it was almost 12:30pm before I knew it.

             An employee brought us inside finally and to the upstairs level where the autograph session would take place. Security guards and other workers were stationed all over the place to make sure everyone stayed in line and followed the Barnes & Noble regulations. My new friend next to me kept going off on wrestling issues and now that we were indoors, it only seemed the more louder. I could feel the eyes from others on the line burning a hole through my thick Giants sweatshirt. The line then started moving to the final destination of Tom Coughlin and I couldn't be anymore happier. As we approached the side of the table he was signing from, people were allowed to take pictures, but once we got to the front of the table, then no more pictures were allowed (I managed to sneak in one). Even though we were seconds away from the autograph, the guy behind me kept going and going and going about wrestling. I saw people were able to shake Coughlin's hand and none of the security guards made a fuss about it, but I figured I would just give him a 'thank you' and leave it at that. A different gentleman in front of me on the line tried to pull a fast one; he first had Coughlin sign the book cover, then he boldly approached the table on his own and had tried to get a second autograph of the inside cover. The Barnes & Noble gestapo were all over that guy in two seconds and took the book away from the table. They told him to go downstairs and buy another book if he wanted a second autograph. Next it was my turn and all eyes were on me to make sure I too didn't do anything crazy. I put the whole handshake idea out of my mind and just said "thanks, coach" after he carefully signed my book. Then Coughlin looked upon my Giants sweatshirt and hat and remarked, "that's a nice outfit you got on". I gave him another 'thanks' and was on my way. Overall he was very friendly and allowed people to engage with him a little.

             As I was leaving the area with my signed book I could hear the wrestling fan's voice behind me thanking Coughlin and wishing all sorts of praise. I'm not sure how that was going to turn out or what the Barnes & Noble gestapo had in store for him if he went overboard with his praises, all I wanted to do is get out of that store as soon as possible. It wasn't even 1pm yet when I got out and I had the option of either going home or staying in the city to get lunch. In the back of my mind I had been also planning to drop by a taco shop on the corner of Kenmare St. and Cleveland Place down in the village, which also had a cheesecake place across the street, sometime soon, and since it was getting warmer outside, I figured why not just go there today and tackle those goals as well. I had no cash on me so I stopped off at a nearby bank to pull a twenty out of an ATM. As I was walking in, a blonde well-to-do lady was walking out. I put my card in the machine and began the ATM process, meanwhile a gentleman inside the bank lobby said the blonde lady had left her card in the machine. I gave the best description I vaguely remembered of her in that one second of seeing her and said she went rightward. The guy ran out after her with the card, and when I left the bank with my twenty dollar bill, it seemed like he wasn't able to locate her on the busy Manhattan sidewalk. I didn't stay and watch, but I don't think he went back inside the bank to drop off the card. He might've taken it with him instead to wherever he was going. Perhaps he wanted an excuse to meet her in person and try and get a date or something.

             At Grand Central I hopped on the 6 train and it took a short ride to Spring Street, which is only two blocks away from the corner that contains the taco and cheesecake places. I did try La Esquina (Spanish for "The Corner") last year and was very satisfied with their authentic tacos, I couldn't understand why it had taken me so long to return. It was still in the middle of lunchtime, so when I entered the narrow eatery it was packed like a can of sardines with long line. There is a long counter with about eight seats for those who want to eat there, but when I arrived they were all full, so I needed to take my order to go. I went with the bistec and lengua (tongue) tacos with a bottle of lime soda. When you order, they ask your name and call it when the food is ready. After I ordered about three seats opened up, plus the many inside had left with their food for take-out, so now I had the chance to dine in as long as my food was ready in time before other people took the seats. The cashier called "James", and at first I was a little perplexed why was my food ready so fast. Others on the line before me seemed to have been waiting for longer periods of time. Plus, although she did have the bistec taco on top, both tacos were plated to eat in when I told her I wanted it to go. I still wasn't 100% if this was my food, but as I approached the counter she handed me a green bottle (which I assumed to be lime soda) so I figured this had to be mine. I took the food and hurried to an open stool at the counter. The second taco I had didn't really look like tongue, and it didn't fit the description that was on the menu. I peeked over at my green bottle and instead of lime, it said pineapple. Now I was having doubts that I had the correct food.

              A few stools over I was able to hear a couple grumbling about how long they were waiting for their order to be ready. Seeing I likely might've taken their food, I scoffed down the two tacos as fast as possible in hopes of getting out of there quick before anyone was the wiser. With my Giants hat and sweatshirt on, I would be very easy for the cashier to track down if she had any sort of reasonable memory. The guy went up to the cashier and finally returned with food, but it seemed as if he had to order a second time. I heard him mention to the girl that, "someone took my order", and when the girl called him "James", I realized what happened. The cashier called "James" for him, but me "James" thought it was for me. Two tacos and a green bottle - it was almost identical orders. Many times restaurants will give out order numbers to avoid this type of confusion. In this case my first name caused me to steal someone else's tacos. Just as I was about done with my second taco I heard the cashier calling for "James", that was for my real order. Obviously I couldn't go get it because she'll probably recall I took food already minutes earlier. She kept calling for me and naming the tacos, "bistec" and "lengua", and from the corner of my eye I saw the tacos were packed to go, as I requested. My only choice was to remain in my seat and act like nothing was wrong. I caught a lucky break that another waive of customers filed in and started to line up in front of the cashier. She called out my name a couple more times, but now that she was busy with new customers, I was able to use that distraction to slip out the door like a thief in the night (early afternoon actually). With the two stolen tacos and the armored truck job from earlier in the day, the smart move would be to leave the city before the authorities had a chance to close in on my position, but there was still the cheesecake affair to tend to.

             About a ten second walk from La Esquina in a cozy location is Eileen's Special Cheesecake. The store itself is rather small, but there's a large blue awning out front that can't be missed. Originally opened in 1975 to service restaurants and businesses in Manhattan with their baked goods, they were successful enough to open a second location in Queens which is still in operation today. Of course they also accept walk-in customers who wish to sit down for a treat or take something home. The inside is decorated wall to wall with signed photos from all sorts of celebrities who have enjoyed their cakes and cookies over the years. Recently I've been putting cheesecake dealers to the taste test and so far I rank Lindy's as my favorite to date. Eileen's has been around for over thirty-five years, so I knew going in they certainly had a contender on their hands. Instead of selling them by the slice, what Eileen's does different is sell them in little round-shaped discs, like hockey pucks. The good part is that they're all priced at $3.50 no matter if you want plain or a flavored one, such as blueberry, strawberry, etc. The size of them is fair value for the price and it also feels like your not packing on too many calories in which your typical slice of cheesecake makes you have to go to the gym for a week straight. I couldn't decide between getting plain or strawberry, so I took both. On the taste aspect they were certainly up to par with other high-quality cheesecakes I've tasted in the past. I probably wouldn't give them to nod over Lindy's, but I could see them being better than the fluffy texture of the Brooklyn Diner. What might've hurt is that I forgot to eat it with a cup of coffee, so maybe I'll need to go back to Eileen's to try it again with coffee. As for La Esquina, I probably shouldn't show my face around there for a while.

              All for the sake of getting a book signed.....

A Kernel of Corn in the Sand

             On the morning of a very hot day I received a phone call from my bank telling me they had to cancel my debit card because my number may or may not have been compromised due to a security breach, as hackers in China and Russia have nothing better to do all day. They told me they were going to mail a new card within ten days, but in the meantime I was without access to take cash out of the ATM. I could always make a normal withdraw from the teller window, but when you do that they always give you that look like you're taking their money, even though its technically from your account. Plus, then they go through the routine of asking you why your signature doesn't look the same as when you opened the account a million years ago. Through a system of dirty looks and making you sign a piece of paper two to three times, the bank tellers try their hardest to not give you your money.

             Since it was a weekday and most people would be at work, I really wanted to take advantage of the foreseeable light traffic and head out to Jones Beach in Long Island for the first time this summer. The problem with Long Island is it would cost an extra thirteen dollars on toll back and forth, and due to the cash shortage I had to consider the more local Orchard Beach which would only cost me seven dollars in parking.   Then it struck me that it had been a while since I had done a coin drop-off at the supermarket and it was very likely I had accumulated a healthy amount over the many months. My last haul (as mentioned in the December 2011 blog entry "A Hundred and One Dollars the Easy Way") came out to a hundred and one dollars. I packed up the mound of change that collected in a bowl on my bookcase as well in the armrest of my car and brought it over to a nearby supermarket with a Coinstar machine. The return wasn't as plentiful as it had been in December and my total came out to fifty-eight dollars. The cashier actually asked me to hand her two singles and then in return she gave me three twenty-dollar bills. I was more than satisfied because with sixty-bucks I would certainly have enough for back and forth to Jones Beach. Since I really didn't have breakfast, and the beach food options out there are limited to hotdogs and hamburgers mainly, I made a quick stop at Chirpin' Chicken to pick up a quarter-chicken meal that included two sides; mash potatoes and corn. They also give you half-a-slice of warm pita bread and some bbq sauce to dip with. With the lunch packed and a large bottle of water bought from another store, I was set to hit the road.

             As I expected the roads were nice and empty to the point I was making record time getting out to Jones Beach. There were even some moments I wanted traffic just so it would feel like a normal beach day; when its hot and sweltering and cars are stacked up because they too are trying to get to the beach. The traffic never came and before I knew it I was at the Jones Beach toll entry. The fee was ten-dollars (this would be on top of the thirteen dollars for the bridge) and I can't remember if that's the same from last year or not. With Jones Beach parking there are six lots, each called a Field House. Once I saw that Jones Beach tower approaching I knew the Fields would be coming up, so I had to keep my eyes peeled to see which ones had open spots. For some reason the first few were had no parking available anymore, despite it being a weekday, and for some other reason I thought there were eight Field Houses. After I passed Field 6 I just kept on some long roadway that didn't have anymore signs for parking. Seeing that it stopped after the sixth one, I turned the car around at the next turnaround spot and headed back. Eventually I came upon Field 5, which I almost always end up with, and there was more than plenty of parking spots available. In fact, I had about ten thousand spots to choose from. It's the lot that actually overlooks the Nikon Theater which is used alot during the summer for outdoor concerts. Getting to the beach from this particular Field House requires a longer walk that goes under the roadway via an underground passage. Before hitting the sand there is a bathhouse and restroom area, plus a small gift shop and place to get food. I noticed a bike rack with a few bikes on it, but seeing there's no houses around the idea, I'm not really sure where those riders came from.

              After checking out the rip tide warning sign that advises beach-goers to swim to the left or right of a current, instead of directly against it or with it, I began the long Jones Beach walk on the hot sand to find a place to settle on. The journey is similar to the story of Moses leading the Israelites out into the desert for forty-years to find their Promise Land. The long trek with the sun bearing down on you while looking for a place to put your chair and towel on is almost the same feeling. The beach didn't have that many people and I was able to get a good spot not too far from the water and not too far from the lifeguard mini-mountain, where they sit on their thrones. I unrolled my army green-camouflage beach blanket, unfolded my chair, and stood up my dinner tray. Before getting to my Chirpin' Chicken lunch, I briefly walked over to the shoreline and noticed the water was quite rough with broken shells and jagged rocks ready to cut your ankles once you set foot in. Not many were daring the waters, and those who did, weren't going out very far. While I ate I had to settle for some grandmother burying a small kid in the sand as entertainment, and I had to keep an eye out for pesky seagulls, who certainly by now had gotten word that I had food. I made sure to eat carefully and not let any small pieces of food end up on the sand which would draw them in later to rummage through my camp while I would be occupied in the rough waters. Thanks to my tray, I was able to maintain a clean station, except for one kernel of corn that fell into the sand.

             The water was as rough as it looked and I don't think I went more than ten yards from the shoreline. Once I was out into the water a little the sharp broken shells and rocks were no longer nipping at my heels, but it was a challenge to stand straight with the waves crashing down every few seconds. I saw two swimmers, who I would assume were lifeguards based on they way they swam in formation and were wearing swimming caps, go out pretty far and then disappear. They cut a right, but then I didn't see them anymore. It was as if the ocean took them away. Usually I don't go to Jones Beach this early in the season because the ocean water doesn't warm up until late July and August. I spend the least amount of time swimming than any of my previous visits since the water temperature was numbingly cold. At first it would feel refreshing, then moments later a cold blast from a wave would knock me over and freeze my body. Without much swimming to be done and without a book on me, I needed to find other things to keep me busy. Alot of shells were washing up on the beach shore, so I decided to talk a long walk and pick out the best of the best that I could find. When I got back to my camp I saw that the kernel of corn was gone, but luckily my bag wasn't disturbed. I was able to see that tower again from where I was sitting, plus with the beach empty, I saw the hundreds and hundreds of empty garbage cans that massed all over the sand. 

             Other than collecting shells, the only other activity I thought of was visiting the gift shop. Once I was inside I was surprised to see there was the entrance to a museum!! It's called the Castles in the Sand, and in all the years I had been parking at Field 5, I never realized it even existed. There's no fee to get in, and in a rare circumstance, visitors without shirts or shoes are welcomed. The museum is quite small and focuses on the history of Jones Beach as well as other state parks on Long Island. The beach is actually named after Major Thomas Jones who settled upon the area in the year 1692 and opened a whaling station. The main challenge of having the beach was finding a way to bring people from New York City out to Long Island. The solution came in the form of a parkway road system modeled after the Bronx River Parkway and was organized by longtime urban planning commissioner Robert Moses. In addition to building the parkways to get people to Jones Beach, Moses is also credited with the many bridges, highways, and tunnels which connect the five boroughs of New York City with the rest of the country. Whereas some think of Robert Moses as a hero, others might historically think of him as New York City's worst nightmare. It was Moses who forbade the Brooklyn Dodgers to have a new stadium built in Brooklyn and only offered them the area around Flushing in Queens, which eventually became Shea Stadium and the home of the New York Mets. The refusal of Brooklyn prompted the Dodgers organization to relocate the franchise out to Los Angeles and turned heartbroken Dodger fans into jealous Yankee-hating Mets fans. Some of Moses' highways, such as the Cross Bronx Expressway, designed to serve as an evaluation route in case of a nuclear attack, destroyed neighborhoods by literally spitting them in half and displaced their residents. These areas that where torn in half and left with no identity, helped ignite conditions of crime and decay which spread over parts of New York City from the late 60's through to the early 90's. He even wanted to create a roadway that gutted through the middle of Manhattan and would've given the city a whole different look, but thankfully he wasn't able to get the approval on that plan. 

             The conditions inside the museum weren't all that great as one could expect with something that is free. One of the ceiling tiles was busted out and the Pink Panther insulation was exposed, at least I think it was the Pink Panther brand. There were also gigantic mosquitoes flying around, some of the biggest I ever seen, and I used my towel to smash one that was on the wall. It fell down to the rug where I smashed it again with the rolled up towel. With the threat of a nasty bite gone for the time being, I focused back on the museum exhibits such as a New York Times article from 1993 which told the story of a lifeguard who was starting this fiftieth summer on the job. Speaking of that tower which can be seen when approaching the parking areas of Jones Beach, it doesn't officially have a name and is referred to as the Jones Beach Water Tower or even the Robert Moses Water Tower. The structure itself was designed after some tower that stood in Italy. There's a bust of Robert Moses encased in glass, likely to protect it from Brooklyn Dodgers fans that would like to smash it with a baseball bat. During the early days of Jones Beach the area served as a resort location with hotels and restaurants, and some of those old ads and menus where on display in the museum. There was much more to read concerning the other state parks in Long Island, but I wanted to get back to make sure the seagulls hadn't left any droppings on my chair or if someone came by to permanently borrow by sunblock spray-can. Once the humans packed it up for the afternoon and left the beach, more and more seagulls flocked in to pick up any treats left behind. There were about three different types of seagulls, and they all brazingly fought with each other over territory. I too had enough shells and sun for the day, and took down my camp for a return to my car. 

             One of the early exits to get back into New York (City) takes you onto the Sunrise Highway, which is only a couple of blocks away from Merrick Boulevard. With my Chirpin' Chicken lunch faded away  already and dinner time approaching, I thought it would be a great idea to pass by a diner I used to frequent alot a few years ago called the USA Diner. It's located on Merrick Blvd. and there is a highway right next to it I could get on after I was done eating. Usually there's a hostess when entering that seats you, but she was busy elsewhere or in the bathroom. I recognized the manager and one of the waiters immediately. The front part of the restaurant smelled bad, like a nursing home, then I saw a couple who had an old man seated across from them, so I figured they took him out for the day and he was the source of the odor. The manager had a busboy mop the floor, but I think it was just an excuse to have some of the lemon-scented soap neutralize the nursing home smell in the air. It helped a little, but I wasn't taking chances sitting near them, so I just went over to the counter where there was still a trace of it. After looking at the menu (and perhaps due to the smell), I felt less hungry for a meal than the time I was leaving the beach, and was more interested in dessert. The USA Diner does have a wide variety of cakes and pies they display in a case near the entrance, so its not easy to choose. There was nothing dealing with red velvet, so I went back to basics and selected a slice of regular cheesecake. The waiter I recognized took my order and went into the display case to bring out the masterpiece. A whole fresh cheesecake, yet to be cut, was placed on the counter. I was to be the recipient of the very first slice of this proud cheesecake. It's an honor parallel to the Nobel Peace Prize, a Purple Heart, or the Congressional Metal of Honor. I remembered they make a good egg cream there, so I also ordered a vanilla one to supplement the slice of honor. 

             If the seagulls weren't too lazy to follow me from the beach, they could've ended up with much more than just a corn kernel....