City Island
It took me less than an hour back in the city to spot a dead body.
I opted to shake of my sixteen-hour commute from Yemassee, SC, to New York, NY, on Amtrak's Silver Meteor last week with a bike ride (inspired secondarily by a rapidly approaching triathlon in July).
I pedaled my Cannondale north to 103d Street, then east across the pedestrian bridge connecting Harlem to Ward's Island. Ward's and the adjacent (and connected) Randall's Islands are home to huge tracts of grassa and athletic fields, as well as several public facilities, ...
The Silver Meteor
For 1600 miles and thirty hours this week, Abbi and I sat reading, writing, and resting as Amtrak's Silver Meteor ushered us roundtrip from New York City to Yemassee, South Carolina.
It was an experience.
Our 6' x 4' sleeper room was pure, NASA-age innovation. The sink folds down. The toilet folds up. The top bunk descends from the ceiling, and is narrow enough to require a web of seat belt-like webbing. Cup holder, light switches, vents, hooks, hangers and storage are tucked into every nook and cranny.
Leg room is scarce, but ...
Moment Of Zen: Litchfield Beach
Litchfield Beach sits just south of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, a broad and flat stretch of sand at the center of Long Bay.
I rose before dawn to greet the sunrise there, hit the sand, and turned north towards Murrell's Inlet. The waves were soft and low, the water grayish-blue. The sun peaked over the water a few miles into my run, just as the modest, gray-clapboard houses gave way to the rolling dunes of Huntington Beach Park.
I jogged into the park at a break in the sand, following a shallow creek to a pond bolstered by evergreen ...
The Wave
Funny story from Dominican Republic. Sort of.
Our hotel, Casa Colonial, was wedged in the middle of Playa Dorado, a World Bank-funded hotel, golf course and mall development roughly half-way between the Puerto Plata Airport, and Puerto Plata itself. Again, I can't say enough nice things about the hotel itself, and particularly the staff. Playa Dorado, was oddly-contrived (horse-drawn carriages to shuttle pedestrians the literally dozens of feet between hotels, for example) and antiseptic, though. It took me less than twelve hours to ...
Nuestra Magnifica Luna Del Bebé A La Casa Colonial
Remember those single-panel "Family Circus" cartoons where illustrator Jeff Keane drew a rambling, dotted line to indicate little Billy's often-mischievous and always-circuitous routes around his neighborhood?
Were Mr. Keane to illustrate Abbi and my week in the Domincan Republic, he wouldn't need to use much ink.
Casa Colonial provided VIP treatment from the start, ushering us through customs, into a waiting van, and straight to our room. Suite Six (or Doña Rosa, so named for the owner), was a five-room affair: living room, dining ...
The Year In Photos, 2009
What a year. From The Inauguration to The Oscars to my tenth New York City Marathon, no previous loop around the sun has been more jam-packed with mind-blowing moments.
I played the Iowa State Fair, contributed a song to The Nadas "Crystalline" compilation, and helped raise four grand (and counting) for 826NYC with "A Holiday Benefit, Vol. 3."
I spent a week on Bray's Island, one on Grand Cayman, and another in Nantucket. I took in The Brickyard 400 (and many Foster's oil cans), celebrated Abadfest 2: Electric Boogaloo, and narrowly ...
Up In The Air
I accrued 49,000 AAdvantage miles this year. Not Ryan Bingham numbers, to be sure. But enough to get myself to Puerto Rico and back (if I could only find available departure dates).
His is a familiar world: the poetic geometry of the Midwest from 30,000 feet, the satisfaction of finding one's name on the Hertz Gold board, the comforting uniformity of Starwood hotel rooms Admirals Clubs everywhere.
Sure, I loathe take-offs (though I get by with a little help from my friend, Xanax), but I love flying. I love the anonymity, the ...
Goodnight, L.A.
The American Airlines Admiral's Club is actually kinda' rockin' right now. I'm gonna' put occupancy at 74%. And I'm also gonna' bet half of those are on my midnight red eye.
A guy in a brown sweater and wire-framed glasses just ladelled some Ranch Dressing onto a plastic cup of carrots and celery. A woman in a black Ed Hardy wife beater stepped to the bar. And the fella' next to me just emptied his mini-magnum of champagne. Me, I'm tearing through a Sam Adams; all the better for sleeping, you see.
And so concludes another thirty-six ...
That Dust Cloud Disappears Without A Trace
Yesterday morning at 11:27 I Tweeted, "Noon meeting. Two o'clock flight. Nine o'clock U2 show. Bets, anyone?"
At the time, I wouldn't have wagered even a gentleman's handshake; the communique derived from Overland Park, Kansas, some 1,201 miles west of Giant's Stadium.
Too many moving parts were in play, not the least of which an airplane. Worse, my noon meeting was over thirty miles south of KCI Airport. So I stacked the deck.
First, I booked a car service, and had the Towncar poised just steps from the corporate headquarters in ...
Pretty Good Shape (For The Shape I’m In)
The Abads are a force to be reckoned with.
Example. Last Saturday night, The Abads celebrated Chris' 31st birthday with a roucous night of Cranium (yes, the board game). I showed up from VMA rehearsals well after one o'clock. The shenanigans didn't wrap until just before five.
The next morning, Chris send an email to the assembled: "Thanks for the birthday hang; a mellow night with close friends was just what the doctor ordered."
Another example? Last year's Abadfest put me in Lenox Hill Hospital.
Still, Abbi and I loaded ...
