Washing Hands Without Soap

             A couple of Thursdays ago I was on the west side of town and my eyes became drawn to the grand opening of a new IHOP location. Although IHOP is nothing more than a glorified diner, in Manhattan an IHOP seems like a duck out of water. The only other two locations I know of in the city are up in Harlem and a few blocks away from Union Square on the east side. Other chained franchises such as McDonald's and Dunkin Donuts fit the city like a glove, but something about an IHOP stands out. I didn't have time to go in on that particular day, but knowing I had to be back in the city on that upcoming Saturday to run some errands, I planned make that the day I would test out this new location.

             IHOP, short for The International House of Pancakes, has been around since 1958, starting in California, and today has over fifteen-hundred locations across the nation. In 2007 they consumed the Applebee's franchise and are owned by the combined forces which is officially named DineEquity. They're best known for their pancakes, but over the years they've expanded their menu to comply with the traditional foods eaten at lunch and dinner by Americans. I started my day in midtown with grey and threatening skies overhead. Cutting through the city using 53rd St. I stumbled upon a small alley which had a sign labeling it 6 1/2 Ave. I couldn't tell if it was a real street name or some type of joke. The sign looked pretty real to me. Downtown trains on the west side were all messed up due to weekend construction, so my 1 train actually skipped the Houston St. stop I needed and went all the way down to Chambers St. where I needed to switch over to the uptown side to get back. Once I finally reached my stop and was at the corner of Varick and Downing, the new IHOP was only steps away. When you enter you don't get into the restaurant part right away. There's a small waiting room with a hostess desk you must approach first and then you're brought into the actual restaurant section. It's actually a great idea because who wants to be eating their food at their table and watching people stare back at them on the line, using their eyes to say, "Hurry up with your food - I want to sit down and eat". This method allows patrons to eat in peace without angry eyes piercing through their skin like laser beams.

             The restaurant has a weird zigzag shape compared to the usual rectangular shapes of most dine-in eateries. For a place in the city which could get very crowded, it didn't seem like there would be enough tables to accommodate big crowds during peak hours. The time I was going was a lazy Saturday afternoon, so I was seated immediately and there were plenty of open tables left. Basically the entire wait staff had tattoos rolling down their arms; either saying something about the IHOP hiring guidelines or perhaps just a sign of the times. I can't put my finger on it, but having a guy with tattoos in a white shirt and blue apron bringing you fluffy pancakes also seems like a duck out of water. The waiters and waitresses hung out by the kitchen door and were discussing anything except pancakes. I had to make eye contact with my waiter so he could come back over and take my order. I felt bad about interrupting his conversation. I went with the never-ending pot of coffee (which actually turned out to be two cups for me) and kept it simple with the pancakes - just three regular with a side of bacon. The menu features all sorts of pancakes, from traditional blueberry or strawberry to cheesecake-filled which racks up to nearly two thousand calories. I was imagining those cheesecake pancakes in my mouth, but the intelligent part of my brain directed me away from the calorie-nuke. Even though I ordered my pancakes with a side of bacon, I received a side of breakfast sausages instead. I guess IHOP knows whats best for me.

             While I was eating two cops came in and sat down at the table next to me. I never thought I would see pancakes and live ammunition within the same field of view, but it happened. Before leaving I wanted to check out the bathroom which is located on the downstairs level. When I first entered the restaurant I felt there wasn't enough tables for a city-located establishment, but then the downstairs made things clear for me. There was the mother-load of tables located downstairs, probably even more than the upstairs. Since it wasn't busy, the downstairs tables weren't being used and basically all the lights were off, but if they did receive bigger crowds, then they would be able to accommodate them. The bathroom itself was quite clean, but there was one small detail missing when I went to wash my hands - there was no soap!! Both liquid soap dispensaries were bone-dry. I wouldn't have been surprised if there never had been any soap during the grand opening period. If there was some soap previously, there would've been at least some bubbling foam or something seeping out, but this was bone-dry as in no soap ever. I could've reported this to the policemen upstairs, but figuring it was the grand opening and everyone was getting used to the nuisances of the establishment, I let it go, hoping one day they'll get around to putting soap in the soap dispensary. On my way out as I passed the hostess desk there were two more cops standing there and ordering from the take-out menu. This IHOP must be the new "Go-To" for the nearby precinct.

             With a belly full of pancakes, and breakfast sausages I didn't order, I figured I walk it off towards the water by the west side piers. I strolled along the cobblestone blocks of old New York until I made my way to West St., which appears the be the only strip of real estate in Manhattan that's not experiencing a boom. After passing a former gentlemen's club with no ATMs inside and a deserted diner that's too frightening to peek inside, I crossed the street and got a great view of the Freedom Tower which seems nearly finished. I spent a couple of minutes by the water, but once those grey skies finally let down some raindrops, I knew it was time to head back home. I didn't want to have to deal with the construction fiasco of the 1 train again, so my plan was to catch the E train in front of the IFC Theater and take that across town to transfer to the 6. While en route via Bleecker Street the raindrops let up and tourist crowds built up along the way.

             Walking by small eateries and ice cream shops, I was hit with this sudden urge for bubble tea. It's a flavored Chinese drink with soft jelly/gummy-bear like beads at the bottom. The straws for bubble tea are always wide so you can suck up and eat the beads. I was hoping I would find one of these on Bleecker Street, but I was having no luck. They're all over the place in Chinatown, but I really didn't feel like going out of my way to get it. It would've been a great cherry on top for the IHOP experience, but as I drew near the West 4th train station, it was looking like I was going home without my bubble tea. Then as I was about to head down the stairs for the subway, my head turned left and I caught a series of Chinese lettering. I had no idea what they meant, but in English the store has the word bakery on it. In Chinatown, all the Chinese bakeries serve bubble tea. This Fay Da Bakery knew I was in need of bubble tea and it was almost as if it magically appeared as I was about to leave the city as a bubble tea loser. Had I taken the 1 train instead of walking to the E train, this would've been the case. In the end, the construction fiasco worked out well for me. There was no mention of bubble tea in the front window, but I knew they had to be serving it. I went inside and said the words "Bubble Tea" to the lady behind the counter about three or four times before she picked up on what I wanted. You can get bubble tea in all sorts of flavors, unfortunately the lady didn't hear me when I asked for mango, so she gave me generic brown tea, which was still okay.

               If you want something sometimes, it will appear.........

Barefooting on the Subway

             More than a month ago I had been stumbling around the West Village for no real reason and when I came upon the IFC Center on 6th Avenue, I wanted to take a closer look at the schedule of movies being screened. In addition to the standard contemporary independent films and documentaries, the real value of the IFC Center is that they also screen alot of gems from the past. So when one might be regretful that they weren't alive when a certain great classic film came out, or just a movie they like in general, and they never experienced watching it on the big screen, the IFC Center makes that dream come true. There's a few other movie theaters in the city that do it as well, such as the Film Forum on West Houston and the Sunshine Theater on East Houston.

             When I looked at the schedule there was nothing that jumped at me at first, but then I saw a special midnight series every Friday and Saturday night throughout May and June that highlights the films of director Walter Hill. These films included the cult classic "The Warriors", Eddie Murphy's breakout in "48 Hours", but my eyes were drawn to a lesser known film of his called "Hard Times". The movie came out in 1975 and stars screen legends Charles Bronson and James Coburn. In the United Kingdom the title of the movie was switched to "The Streetfighter" to avoid conflict with the classic book by their beloved Charles Dickins that shared the same name. In no way is this movie an Academy Award winner or anything even close to it, but it certainly falls into the category of a movie I enjoy and I never had a chance to see a Charles Bronson movie a theater before. I had the two dates, which was a Friday and Saturday at midnight, in my head and had been looking forward to going for many weeks. A few days before the big release, my stomach decided to throw a curveball at me. I must have eaten something rotten or had a spell put on me because Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday nights my stomach was giving me alot of difficulty (that's about as far as descriptive as I'll get).

             Although my stomach was still bad and I was in a weaken condition on Friday, I purchased a ticket online ahead of time during the day for twelve bucks in hopes I would be good enough to travel into the city by night. The movie was also going to play the next night as well, but I had tickets for a concert that night, so it was either going to be Friday or nothing. When it came closer to decision time my stomach was feeling much better, but I wasn't in the best physical condition after not having any food or liquids in my system for a while. The smart choice would've been to stay home as the city at night can present many exciting adventures which require energy and running, but then again how many more times will "Hard Times" ever be shown in a movie theater? When veteran news anchorman Ted Koppel journeyed to Iran in 2008 to film the documentary "Iran: The Most Dangerous Nation", he encountered a small outdoor theater and the film being screened that day was no other than "Hard Times". I guess I could've always gone to Iran as well to try to track down this theater, but for some reason going to the IFC Center seemed much more convenient. So with an empty stomach and weak legs, I put on my sweater and headed for the subway.

             When I walked up the steps to the train station I noticed the hypodermic needle that was there earlier in the day had vanished. The ride down wasn't all that bad, I actually brought a book with me to keep my mind focused on something else besides my stomach. The only strenuous part was a transfer at 51st Street and Lexington which requires an escalator ride downstairs, a short walk in a hallway, an escalator going up, a longer walk, then a very long escalator downstairs. The next train came very quickly and I was at the West 4th station in no time. When popping out of the station, the IFC Center is literally in front of your eyes. I had arrived well ahead of time and strolled a little around the area to kill some time. It was a very foggy and cloudy night. From afar I could see the top floors of both the Empire State Building and newly constructed Freedom Tower both being engulfed by dark mushy clouds. Little drops of rain started to come down and a gusts of wind started to blow stuff all over the place. In fact, a promotion sign in front of the theater managed to take a noisy spill. It was still too early to go inside, so I just hung around on the block. The aroma of greasy hotdogs and cheeseburgers from Papaya Dog were tempting my stomach, which hadn't  received solid food in a couple of days, but I didn't want something to jeopardize my movie-going experience, or worse, the subway ride back home.

             The movie was being played in a reasonably-sized room with many seats, but apparently only myself and about fifteen other individuals had any interest in seeing "Hard Times" on this particular night. Luckily the film is only ninety-three minutes long, so I wasn't going to get out super late. When I did get out the rain had been pouring down steadily and I immediately ducked into the West 4th station next to the theater's entrance. There was another train held up there on the platform when I arrived, and the PA announcement said it was due to a police investigation. After about ten minutes the train finally took off, but then there was more police involvement. I saw four uniformed cops enter from one end of the platform with their gloves on, usually meaning they anticipate physically handling someone, and some Chinese lady started speaking to them. It seems the lady was pointing out someone on the other side of the platform that must have been causing problems or something. I couldn't make out exactly who or what she was referring to. As the cops made their slow march towards the other end of the platform, the lady took off and exited the station entirely. The cops first had words with some homeless-looking guy, but then they kept moving on, so it must have been someone else they were after. My train pulled into the station, and since it was really getting late, I couldn't stick around to see what the big mystery was. I peeked out the window as the train was pulling away, but it was going quite fast at that point and everything outside was a blur.

             Then a new mystery fell into my lap when we reached the Port Authority station; a girl got on the train, holding her shoes in her hands, and walking barefoot. She was in her late twenties, didn't look crazy or homeless or anything of that sort, just the odd fact she was walking around with no socks or shoes on. Plus the fact her feet were on perhaps one of the filthiest known surfaces on the entire planet, a NYC subway. I figured at first maybe it had to do something with the rain and her shoes were a certain material, but they appeared to be standard leather. Then I thought maybe one of her heels broke, but upon closer inspection they both looked intact to me. The heels weren't stilettos or anything that seemed uncomfortable, so I don't think it was a case that she needed to rest her ankles. She wasn't drunk, or at least didn't appear to be, so I couldn't pinpoint exactly why she was voluntarily doing this. A few stops later she got off and as she was walking away, I noticed the black tar developing under the soles of her feet, which indicated she might've been walking around like this for several hours.

               One should be very careful walking around subways without any shoes on, you never know when you might run into a hypodermic needle.....

CLICK HERE to be brought to YouTube to view "Hard Times" trailer

Special Video Edition: A Ride Through Pelham Bay Park

                                          
                                           Pump some air in the tires and get ready for a ride!

                                         CLICK HERE to be brought to YouTube to watch video.

                                        Special thanks to Casey and the crew of CIII Productions!!

Killing Seven Hours in Chicago

            Before leaving Dallas I had to say goodbye the right way, I had breakfast at the Market Center Cafe with its small town charm. As the first time I went there, the place was packed and I was given the same exact booth I had days before. The host remembered me and even gave a compliment on the grey sweater-jacket I had on.....anyways. I went with the banana-bread french toast with a side order of ham and an unnessecarily large glass of homemade iced tea. Knowing I had Amtrak food to look forward to for the next two days, I wanted to get a good meal in me. There must have been something special about my sweater-jacket that day because I drew a second compliment from a lady as I waited for the DART train to take me to the Amtrak station.

            The Amtrak left on time without a hitch in the late afternoon and by the time I woke up the next morning we were stationed in St. Louis, MO. The train must have a scheduled rest stop there because we didn't move for nearly two hours. Once we started to pull out of the city I saw Busch Stadium, which plays home to the St. Louis Cardinals, winners of last year's World Series. There was also the great arch, but what most interested me was crossing over the Mississippi River. I've heard about it all my life, now was able to see it for the first time. On the trip coming towards Dallas, it was night-time when we were in St. Louis, so I wasn't able to see these attractions from my window. The train motored along and we eventually crossed over into the State of Illinois. One interesting town was Joliet, in which I was able to see the high walls of Joliet Prison, the former residence of 'Joliet' Jake Blues. A few hours later we were pulling into Chicago's Union Station, and since the train for New York wasn't departing until later that night, I had seven hours to kill in Chicago.

            The weather was quite pleasant, except for some kicking winds, so my plans was to walk on as many different blocks as possible until the sun started going down. In previous times I went to Chicago, doesn't something bad usually would occur; a cancelled bus, a cancelled flight, always something. Alot of bad could happen in seven hours, so I had to keep on my toes in this unlucky city. I walked around under the subway el, which looks similar to New York's, and some of the busy streets. I didn't have a solid meal since the banana-bread french toast the morning before, so soon enough I got hungry and went for the first decent place I saw. There was a large red sign lighted up from two blocks away, and it looked like a resturant sign, so I headed in its direction. Turns out it was, a place called The Berghoff, for German cuisine. I started out with a pint of their home brewed beer and their Bratwurst and Knockwurst appetizer combo. Looking at the menu my eyes were drawn to the calf liver with onion, so I put that order in for my main dish. The meal comes with a soup, and as I'm eating my soup some fifteen minutes after the waitress took my order, she said she's sorry, but just found out they ran out of liver. Typical Chicago bad luck!

           Then there was a big twist; she apologized for not knowing sooner and offered any entree on the menu, free of charge. I didn't want to take total advantage of the situation, so I selected a dish which was the same price as the liver, which as the jaeger schnitzel. I initially wasn't planning on dessert, but it was a German resturant, so I couldn't leave without having some apple studel. When the waitress asked if I wanted it a la mode, I said no. A few seconds later I realized I made a big error and rushed over to her to put the ice cream on. With the free entree, I only had to pay for the beer, appetizer, and desert. Before leaving I wanted to make a trip to the bathroom and was absolutely blown away by the pearly white tiles and shiny sinks that had an old fashioned look. It had to have been one of the most spotless bathrooms I ever had the chance to experience. With a big meal in my stomach, there were plenty hours of walking to do to burn it off. Although I was glad to have seen the corporate headquaters for Morton Salt, one item I was quite interested in getting a picture of was a Chicago city police car. I figured in a big city like a Chicago one would be passing by every few minutes like in New York. Even Dallas, which really isn't a big city, had cop cars all over the place. More and more blocks I walked down, but no city cop cars in sight.

            Under another subway el I did encounter an Illinois State Trooper vehicle, but that wasn't what I was looking for. I continued my walk and then something occured to me, alot of stores were closed. It was only 3pm at the time, and on a Saturday, but most of the fast food places and resturants weren't open for business. Although some Dunkin Donuts were open, other locations were not. Was it a case since it wasn't a 'work day' that alot of the other businesses shut down as well for the weekends? That was the only reason I could think of. One establishment that was open for sure was 7-11, and inside the window my prayers were answered. I saw a Chicago city policeman buying a cup of coffee. I knew his vehicle had to be close by, so I turned the corner, and there it was. I did a little more walking around as the sun began to set, which brought me to the Sears Tower. There was probably time to visit the skyview up top, but I had my carry-on bag with me and I wasn't sure what their bag policy was, so I just skipped it and headed back towards Union Station to wait for my next train. There was just one little problem with Union Station when I arrived, there place was surrounded by fire trucks and news vans.

          Some streets were blocked off by the police, so I had to walk around the entire area to get closer and find out what was going on. I figured this had to have been something big like a bomb threat or a multiple-shooting. What was also creeping into my head was the notion of more Chicago bad luck putting a damper on my travel arrangements. My train was leaving in a few hours and the last thing I needed was any delays or cancellations. I was able to find a good corner to perch on and I noticed water flowing out of a hydrant. This eased some of my anxiety as maybe it was a small fire issue which could be resolved in a few hours before the train was to depart. There was an entrance I saw people were allowed to enter the station from, so I went in and searched for the cause of the drama. It turns out one of the Amtrak track lines in the station had an electrical fire which needed to be hosed down. I peeked down the track line in question and saw the firemen wrapping up the hose and the giant puddle of water left on the tracks. As I waited on the train to depart it dawned on me that I walked alot of Chicago in only a few hours and it really wasn't all that bigger than Dallas.

            The fire at Union Station didn't cause my train to have a delay and it left on time, bound for New York. For a while I had the seat next to me empty and things were looking good, but a few stops later this stocky guy about my age plops himself down next to me and ruins any hopes of a decent nights sleep. With this guy's knees in my space and his snorning I didn't even bother attempting to sleep, I just finished off a book I had been reading throughout the course of the trip. Although I wasn't really hungry, I wanted an excuse to not be next to this guy the next morning, so I went in the resturant car for breakfast. The Texas Eagle Amtrak line has the observatory car with lounges that I could've escaped to, the NewYork-Chicago Lakeshore line only has the snack car benches. Seated at the table with me were two ladies in their late fifties and a guy a few years older than me. As soon as the guy sat down he gave everyone a firm handshake and started to spark up conversation. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was something awkward about him. He was friendly, but any topic that came up, he had to prove to everyone else he was an expert in. I could understand if the two ladies were in their twenties or thirties, but both were at grandma phase, so I didn't know why he was trying to impress.

            The only real important piece of information I got from him was that Amtrak goes out to the west coast. The Texas Eagle line goes through Texas (as I know) and makes it way through the Arizona desert to eventually Los Angeles' Union Station. He recommended the more scenic line that leaves Chicago and passes through the Rocky Mountains on its way to San Francisco. The conversation got around to jobs and my turn of 'unemployed at the moment' went rather quick, he worked raising money at some fancy specialty college for genuis high-school kids that wanted to skip the rest of their grades and move on to college. Of course, it took a good ten minutes for us to hear every detail about it. One of the ladies was heading to New York City and when she announced she was a bike rider looking for a place to ride, then it was my turn to take control of the conversation and impress. Mr. Fabulous only lived in Manhattan for five years, and that was back almost ten years ago, his knowledge of this topic was outdated, and he knew it, so he remained silent. Although the lady assumed riding in Central Park was the way to go, I recommended the more spacious West Side Highway path. It turns out we were at the table for more than an hour, I received two refills of orange juice. Soon enough breakfast was over and I had to return to the lump on the seat next to me.

             Luckily he got off somewhere in Upstate New York, as did Mr. Fabulous. The rest of the ride to New York's Penn Station in Manhattan was in comfort as the seat next to me wasn't taken for the remaining stops we made. Once we reached Albany, the train had to dettach the snack car, which was going to be attached to another train heading up to Boston. That sequence had us standing still for about an hour. The highlight for the rest of the ride was the Hudson River valley with the water running alongside the train tracks. There were boats, bridges, light towers, mountains, and the water itself reflecting the bright sunlight. At the breakfast table, one of the ladies told us this Lakeshore line is considered the best for viewing of all Amtrak lines, perhaps this stretch is why, because the rest of it is stripped cars and abandoned factories. The graffiti out the window kept increasing, so I knew we were getting closer to the city. Once we passed under the George Washington Bridge I began to pack my stuff and was ready to hop off. Once I was in Penn Station and dodged though hundreds of people to get to the subway, I needed to re-adjust to the intensity New York brings. Just days before in Dallas, I was on the DART train that had more than enough seats for everyone. When I got on the subway in New York, I had to stand for half the ride and saw a guy step on a lady's foot without saying excuse me.

           Apologizing is for the small towns...