Start Spreadin’ the News
With Claire visiting for three weeks, we’ve been doing a lot of great traveling that we otherwise never take the time to do. This past weekend, we packed up the car and took off for the Big Apple to check out the sites and be tourists for a few days. The highlights of the trip? We found fame on the streets of the city, and fulfilled a 20-year-old goal (heavy, right?)
First, we became television stars.
Radio Shack was doing a “Summer Netogether” show in Times Square, which was basically a giant LCD that looked like a laptop, networked to a live feed of another location in San Francisco. Basically, anyone who passed by with their courage card handy could dash up on stage and jaw with the guy holding the microphone, and chat as well to the OTHER microphone man three time zones away. It all got broadcast on the net for the entertainment of the faceless masses. No. I will not post the link 
I was the target of the first volley, as my Beatles shirt invited a little impromptu trivia. New York Guy asked me if I were really a fan or just wanted to wear the shirt for cred. Of COURSE I’m really a fan. Only douches wear shirts for bands they don’t like. He asks me what my favorite song is. This week it’s “Goodnight” but I answered “Something” for lack of brain cells at 8:30 am. Both ridiculously good songs. San Fran Guy bet me I couldn’t name all four Beatles without saying “Um.” He lost that bet. Good thing I wasn’t wearing my Grateful Dead shirt or I would have been hosed. They had like fifteen drummers who kept biting it of random and sundry addiction issues. I only remember Pigpen and that’s because he lasted longest. Jerry and Phil, of course… but the fourth guy, the bassist? No idea. I know Jerry had a groupie/lover named Mountain Bird or some crap… Guess that wouldn’t have counted.
Of course, once the realized Claire was from the green rock across the pond, Missy and I could have beaten dead Bobby Fischer at chess and they probably wouldn’t have noticed. They asked her all the bar-room questions an unimaginative guy asks when he meets a pretty foreign girl: What’s the weather like over there? Which prince is hotter, Harry or William? Or is David Beckham hotter?
Then they asked, “Where is Stonehenge?” What the hell Ben Stein, are we going to win your money?? We had no clue. I went for “Cornwall” because it’s just recognizable and plausible enough that it will move the conversation along… they took the bait.
The pinnacle of the conversation came when a half-baked Gary Busey look-alike wandered onto the San Fran set and mumbled for a while as we marveled at his epic mane of straight blonde hair. San Fran Guy yanked on it to make sure it wasn’t a weave, and then in retaliation, he asked New York Guy to tug on Missy’s hair to make sure IT was real.
It was.
Convinced of this, Gary decided it was time to ramble on down the road, and left San Fran Guy with a lapel pin bearing the words “I <3 wise latinas” Apparenly he was a Sotomayor fan. We never actually found out what the hell it meant.
The next afternoon, history was made. I finally got to meet The Lady.
The story of The Lady starts back in 1987 or so, when a family trip took us through New York City. My 5-year-old self was pretty excited about the chance to see a giant verdigris-decorated lady with a torch. I didn’t even mind that she was French.
The plan was to swing in on The Lady on the way home, but as many Nelson Family Adventures ™ go, it didn’t exactly work out as planned.
Missy got HORRIBLY throwing-up sick during lunch on the way to see The Lady, and it became obvious that we would not be making the predestined rendezvous.
This was thoroughly unacceptable to my 5-year-old self.
I basically cursed my sister out for screwing up my vacation plans, bellowing and sobbing “I wanna see THE LADDDDDDDYYYYYY” in my keening wail of a voice (some things never change.)
It’s now 2009, and WE GOT TO SEE THE LADY!!! Sunday morning we took the Staten Island Ferry and took a little sail past Lady Liberty herself. For anyone who doesn’t like to spend $40 climbing stairs into the head of a stola-wearing Parisienne transplant, the ferry is free and takes you within a nice view of the Statue.
Now all we have to do is take Missy to Space Mountain and kick He-Man’s ass, and all childhood wrongs will be righted.
Leave a Reply
