I've decided that this season of 24 has hurt more than the show's reputation. It's hurting my blog, too. To clarify, it's been mucking up my posting schedule, and when I update this bad boy.
I mean, it's my own fault for promising an update every Monday after the show. What was I thinking? Monday is when the best stories from the weekend can be shared.
Like how on Friday my once-and-future-housemate came to visit, and flew into JFK. However, since I live in the deepest pit of Hell, and since his plane was delayed, there was a lengthy bit of travel involved, a la The Odyssey, The Incredible Journey, or Adventures in Babysitting. Things were going pretty well, until it came time to head to the Island.
We were on the N train. For those of you not "in the know," the N train late nights goes to South Ferry. It is the second closest subway stop to the infamous Staten Island Ferry.
"Now almost four years without a fatal accident!"
Anyway. I was keeping my eye on the time as we passed the Prince, Canal, City Hall and Rector stops. Still with me? Because I was getting nervous.
"OAFH," said I, "We're gonna have to book it."
Again, to fill in those unfamiliar with the South Ferry R/W stop, the distance involved from the train we were on to the doors of the Ferry can be expressed visually. For example:
Or, more realistically:
The point being, there's a lot of stairs to cover in limited time.
And time was limited.
OAFH and I readied ourselves near the doors of the train. It slowed to a stop... the doors opened and we were off!
Running up stairs, dodging homeless people and making judicious use of the escalator, we were flying. Up, up we shot towards the surface world. At last we burst into the world of the Eloi, starlight and cell phone reception.
Legs still pumping, we dashed across the street (yeah, you have to cross a street without a light, what kind of planning is that?) and towards the ferry terminal, with its subtle and nuanced sign.
A leading theory of this design, that it serves to refresh Staten Islanders' ridiculously short memory spans, was recently exploded citing the largely unfounded presumption of literacy.
Seconds ticking off the clock, we ran and ran and ran a little bit more. Up even more stairs/escalators... Will we make it????
I reached the top of the stairs just in time to see the doors slide shut and the security guards start laughing at the two of us. Seriously. Laughing. I think even the bomb-sniffing dogs got in on the joke.
All in all, it was a pretty good sprint on our part. It was a lot like the jogging up the stairs scene from Rocky, especially if Mr. Balboa had immediately doubled over swearing, crying and vomiting.
Did I mention that this was at 2:30 AM in the morning (as a coworker of mine would say)?
Yeah. That means another boat didn't show up for an HOUR. Insult to injury, I say. However, to make the most of the situation, I took the Once-and-future-housemate on an impromptu late night tour of very downtown Manhattan. Ok, fine, I showed him the Wall Street Bull's Shiny Balls
And just think, because of 24 I nearly didn't tell you that story.
Man, that would've sucked.