Hey You, Check That Baggage

...pardon the following rant.

I've flown enough to develop a few perspectives and opinions about checked baggage versus carry-on luggage. As a business traveler, I am well aware of the advantages of carrying-on. I get it. Congratulations on saving 30 minutes by avoiding the lines on both ends of the trip...BUT your carry-on luggage is slowing all passengers down! No matter how awesome you think you are in the security line, it DOES take you longer to get through security, get your luggage into the overhead bins, and to deplane. Heaven forbid the overhead bins become full by the time you decide to board and we have to wait as you pass your luggage from row 24 to the front. If your carry-on is responsible for a total 2 minute slow-down and 100 people are on the plane, then your 30 minutes saved comes at the expense of 200 minutes to the rest of the plane. Ouch.

Second, I have a deep seeded disdain for those who extend themselves beyond the rules, boundaries, or their abilities knowing that their inconvenience on those around them will ultimately become a form of self serving assistance. Sorry ladies, this one's most frequently related you. :-(.

I'm sure you're familiar with this type of person: technically, they're carrying no more bags than the rules limit but each bag is oversized, overstuffed, and way too heavy for them to manage with their present company. I don't want to help you with your luggage so don't expect me too. I am perfectly content standing directly behind you in line, watching you struggle, and offering no assistance as you not-so-suddenly discover that you cannot get your stuff into the bins. By the way, in public, wearing the word "Juicy" on one's arse just draws attention to your obesity.

So, my plea to the world is this: next time you're heading to the airport, do me a solid and just check your luggage. You'll be surprised at how navigable an airport becomes and spacious an aircraft can be when your not wheeling your wares behind you.

...OK, I'm off the soapbox now.

Green Monster Madness

Thank God for the Misses. If it weren't for her, I'd be a corporate blob; glued to the glow of my HP laptop.  Fortunately for me, she's here to pry me away from the 9 to 5 (yeah...right) and save me from myself.

This weekend, we had tickets to the Red Sox - O's game at Fenway. Not just any tickets, Green Monstah tickets!  These are the 'once in a lifetime' seats at Fenway. Our seats were underneath the Sports Authority sign and did not disappoint.

As a thank you for our charitable donation, Fenway provides loads of extras for the Monster ticket holders.  For starters, Gate E and the Monster stairs are virtually synonymous. The lines were short and stairs were close (so close that we walked by them the first time).

Once we got up to the Monster section and through the second line of security, we found our way to our seats and then the Monster concession stands.  Do you remember that I'm trying to get below 200 lbs?  Well, Fenway Franks have never tasted so good. I had 3.

During last nights game Ortiz and Gregg got into a scuffle. Is it still a scuffle if neither landed a punch?  We were (sorta) glad to see that, despite a few hit batsman, the tempers had been tempered.

It was a good night for a ball game. It was cool, we were in the shade, had a great view, and the Sox won.  It's taken 6 years for me to be happy when the Sox beat the O's...too bad it's not a more of a contest.  ;-)

An added bonus for this game was that I got to play with my new megazoom point-and-shoot camera.  Here's the first pitch.

And here's a picture of the Red Sox announcers Don and Remmy.

Fenway is one of those great reasons to live in Boston.  We walked both to and from the ballgame.  No need to drive, ride, or otherwise take public transportation.  ...it's just a short stroll down Comm Ave. Ahhh, I could get used to this.

A Boston 4th First

I recall many memories of July 4th weekends while living in the DC metro area. The holiday was (and is) something for the record books. Our typical firework routine was to take a picnic dinner to Germantown to our favorite vantage point for the fireworks at the Montgomery County Fairgrounds. Every couple of years we would break from the norm and try a new location. I have trouble remembering the deets but I believe we made it to the National Mall one year. With these memories and expectations in tote, Ali and I (well, mostly me) prepared for the Boston 4th.

Boston expects to welcome 500k spectators on Sunday. This is not the weekend for running errands that require personal automotive transportation. My plan is to get out of the office early on Friday and find a weekend-permanent home for the car. If it can be helped, the car will stay put for the next 3.5 days.

Wifey and I have fortunate access to the heart of the action. The hatch shell is 2 blocks away and the fireworks are launched from only a short stroll down the Esplanade. In fact, the Esplanade is part of my favorite dog walk and jog route. We've gotten an insiders glimpse of the preparation in the days leading up to the 4th. Have you ever wondered what the barges look like?

The challenge for taking-in all the the event has to offer is to juggle the Boston Pops concert with a good seat for the fireworks. While the Hatch Shell is the best seat for the Pops and National Broadcast, the surrounding tree layer prevents a good view of the fireworks. Fortunately, the Pops do a full dress rehearsal (complete with Martina McBride) on the night of July 3rd.

On the 3rd, we were surprised that we couldn't hear the rehearsal from our window. We decided to cruise over to the Beacon Hill side of Storrow Drive. It was nice to be on the periphery of the chaos.

The big day/night finally came. The number of people that pour onto the Esplanade is astonishing. The people, coolers, tents, and food have been piling up since before the morning dog walk (8a). The boats have been anchoring in the Charles for even longer. We are SOO glad that everything is in walking distance for us!!

The wind was blowing the firework remnants directly at us (smoke, debris, etc). The smoke doesn't bother us and the debris is few and far between. Although, a guy to our right got hit with (what we believe was) an ember. This is the closet I've ever been to the fireworks - in Germantown, the fireworks were several times further away. Fireworks look a lot bigger when you're this close. ...the concussions are much bigger too. I loved it but felt sorry for what Jake must've been going through back at the homestead. I video taped the whole fireworks show from our vantage point but will spare you the 20 minutes of amateur video.

Now that it's over, I'm happy to have properly attended theBoston Fireworks Spectacular. Next year, we'll be free to do what the true Bostonians do: avoid the crowds by heading for the islands. :-)

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Sunday is here. We're excited to welcome our second year of marriage but we're also trying to avoid one inconvenient truth. We're leaving fantasy land and submitting to the gravitational pull of our regular life: e-mail, deadlines, and stress. We temper the sadness by knowing Jake is waiting for us on the other side. He makes it worth it.

Before we go, we'll enjoy as much as we can, one last time. Breakfast at LPL is magical. We're served on the large veranda overlooking the lake (of course overlooking the lake, everything is situated to take advantage of it's serenity). As hard as we try to avoid the pastries, the still warm croissants beckon to our cravings. For the second day in a row, I order the eggs benedict and wifey, two eggs over easy. This is the first EB that I've ever raved about that used ham instead of Canadian bacon.

After spelunking around the main lodge one last time, we're returning to our suite to breath in the fresh mountain air and begin packing. We agree that the suite is probably too big for our summer needs; we spent all of our time in the bedroom and on the patio (and very little time in the living room). If we come back by ourselves, next time, we'll downsize. If we bring Jake along, then we're limited to the larger (but cheaper) lakeside cabins - not to mention that we'll need to find a new motivation for returning home. We're also laughing about the fireplace/smoke ordeal from Friday night. Mental note, turn on the chimney fan before lighting either fireplace. We jest about our round of putt-putt on Saturday afternoon. She won, so I change the subject.

We finally make our way to the gift shop and down the road. On the way out of town, we're making one final stop at the 1980 Olympic Center, home of the greatest sporting event of all time, The Miracle on Ice. Once on the inside, it doesn't feel like a lot has changed in either of the two hockey rinks encased in the sprawling structure. The 1932 rink looks very unassuming. And the 1980 rink...well...it's hard to believe that I'm standing in the building where a handful of young amateur hockey players lived a dream. In case any guest has trouble recalling the final second of the game and the 'Do you believe in miracles!?' voiceover, the came is on replay in the onsite museum.

We've decided to take a different route home throughout VT and NH. We came around a turn and, to both of our surprise, we were being stopped at a border patrol checkpoint. The officers weren't messing around either. They even questioned why we were taking the less direct route to Boston (answer: to go through Woodstock along the way). What really got us was the German Shepherd that jumped up onto Ali's open window to sniff the cabin for drugs. After a bit more harassment, we were on our way. Apparently, NY Route 9 is a road frequently used for drug trafficking. Wood stock wasn't that nice...we're skipping that section of NY (and VT/NH) next time.

We're home now and looking through the Relais & Chateaux catalog of romantic hotel chains. It looks like we've found ourselves a bucket list! My only complaint about LPL is that 1) there's no place for carrots, celery, and the sort in a crab cake and 2) lump crab meat, LUMP.

The Natural

The weather forecast weighs heavy on our minds this weekend. I imagine that the weathermen sound like a broken record at this point. Despite their apologies and repetition, we were very fortunate yesterday. Earlier this morning, we canceled fishing on account of rain. After much reassurance that, 'fly fishing is better in the rain' and a steep price reduction, we're on our way out the door for our first ever fly fishing lesson.

Our guide has a few rough edges and is certainly upset that he had to pick-up, return, and then re-pick-up our waders at the rental place. He's spending a lot of time talking about his disdain for the people that are in town to train on the course for the upcoming Ironman. He's landed on an interesting topic, but the way he frames the conversation makes him sound petulant. I prefer that he discuss the economic impact of the event on Lake Placid and the surrounding area. Instead, he keeps whining about having to share the road with them...

It took about 30 minutes to exhaust his opinions of the Iron(wo)men. After which, he was quite personable. We pulled off the road onto the shoulder. If you're none the wiser, these pull-offs are a complete mistery. It turns out that they're here to provide parking access to the many rivers and streams that restrain the road and other human development. Wifey's making quite the fashion statement in her tan full length waders. We're heading down a trail to the river (hopefully). Standing in the river up to our waists is an odd sensation. We've finally got the rods in our hands and are ready to start fishing!

I try to be a humble person, but my skills are far too superior to downplay. Maybe it's our proximity to the home of The Miracle on Ice. Maybe it's the distance in between me and my laptop. Or, maybe I'm feeling inspired by our first year of marriage. Whatever the source, I AM A FLY FISHING PRODIGY. Our guide is gushing that, in his 37 years of instructing, he has never seen anyone pick-up the nuances as quickly as I. I liken my performance to that of the elegant deliverance a ballerina portrays as she guides the fickle streamer through the unassuming air. This infuriates wifey. At the conclusion of the session, she points out that she received more nibbles than I did. We are both content and head back to LPL in preparation for the afternoon.

We've been working to gain better control over our diets. In fact, we both have a weight goal for Sept 1 (200 lbs). If we're successful, wifey gets a very nice reward. To help us stay honest, we went to a trainer. To help us stay relaxed, we got massages. It was one of the best that I've ever recieved. I've decided that a good hands, arms, legs, and feet Massuse is better then having a good back, neck, and shoulders massuse. I never ever thought that I would have a preference. What's come of me? Wifey says that the city is making me soft. Does that make any sense?

Wifey and I have taken hiatus from kayaking and canoeing since a certain kayaking experience on thr Charles River. There's a light mist in the air but I'm feeling good about my fly fishing skills. Thus, today marks our return to the canoe. LPL offers a daily boat tour of the Lake, unfortunately, our schedule won't accommodate such an excursion. Instead, we're paddling out to get a few pictures of the lodge (and our room) from the lake. I have no injuries, close calls, or drownings to report. Life is good.

Our new diet keeps us from enjoying many of lifes conveniences. Tonight, we're having a romantic night to ourselves on the balcony of the Placid suite (courtesy of McDonald's and Heineken). How do you like me now, Diet?!

Feel the rhythm, feel the rhyme. Wait a sec, it's Bobsled time?

Our first anniversary is upon us. We're heading northwest with the comfort of warm memories from a year gone by. We've both put in a full days work on Thursday and are anxious to get on the road. Lake Placid is a five and a half hour drive from Boston which is why we decided to stay the night in Saratoga Springs at a cheap hotel (Marriott, of course. It's hard for us to turn down the points).

Wouldn't luck have it, I married the best vacation planner I've ever met. Knowing that I'm in the presence of greatness does not grant me access to the days agenda. I'm told that I will learn of the days plan over breakfast each morning. Today (Friday), starts with an early bakery breakfast at Mrs. London's in downtown Saratoga Springs.

In addition to superb vacation planning skills, wifey is a sophisticated gas pedal maverick. The remaining 2 hour drive to Lake Placid went by quickly. It was just after noon when we arrived at the Lake Placid Lodge. We are both pleasantly surprised with the room, amenities, and especially the service. Over the years, we've both become service snobs... It turns out that Wifey was corresponding with Nancy, a manager at LPL. When we arrived, Nancy poured us a glass of champagne. While our bags were being sent to our room, Nancy sent us on a guided tour of the Lodge and grounds.

After lunch, our next appointment was at the 1932 Olympic Bobsled track (one of approximately 30 functioning tracks in the world). And yes, we went bobsledding! During the summer, the track melts down to reveal it's concrete finish and the sleds are outfitted with wheels. Concrete is slower than ice BUT all of the safety equipment makes the sled twice as heavy as an Olympic bobsled. The net effect is that we speed down the track at the same rate as an Olympic bobsledder. Our time down the track was 42 seconds. How many Cool Running quotes can you repeat in 42 seconds? There is one minor difference though...we only raced the bottom half mile of the track. While we broke 50 mph and pulled multiple G's in the last turn...it's still only a fraction of the effects of racing the full mile track on ice.

Our Olympic Passports are an integral part of our weekend in Lake Placid; they give us access to most of the Olympic venues. Friday afternoon was filled with visits to the biathlon shooting range and ski jump towers. The towers are a prominent artifact in the surrounding skyline. Viewed at a distance, they rise above the peeks in a painfully artificial way. At the base of the jump, the two towers appear equally menacing. We board the ski lift and begin our quiet assent to the top of the hill. The final 120 meters to the top of the ski jump is a squeaky elevator ride in the belly of the beast. At the top of the tower we learned quite a few things about ski jumping. First you're REALLY up there. It takes about 10-12 seconds to reach the bottom of the jump (which would be precisely the wrong time to realize the potential for certain doom). The starting platform on the jump is totally adjustable; based on temperature and other weather factors, the platform is raised or lowered so that the jumpers speed at takeoff is 60 mph (or something like that). We also learned that training can continue during the non-snowy months. The long artificial grass on the jump acts just like snow when wet. In fact, a competition is scheduled for later this weekend. For now, my top priority is escaping the howling wind and creeky tower. It looks like a 1970's construction project up here.

Friday is our busiest day. For dinner we're eating at the LPL restaurant, Artisans. Everything in LPL is built by a skilled artisan, so why not start naming stuff accordingly? Nancy sent us a glass of champagne to help celebrate our anniversary. Any time wifey and I get anything complimentary, we slip into spend mode. To return the favor, we spent over $300 on wine. You're welcome.

As Friday comes to a close, all is well. We're scheduled to go fly fishing early tomorrow AM. We'll have to see if the weather will cooperate. For now, it's time for a cigar, the remainder of the wine, and a great view overlooking the still of Lake Placid.

Preakness, baby. Preakness.

And thus, Wifey and I received an introduction to horse betting. Wifey bet on Sway Away to show and I picked Concealed Identity to win. Outcome? 12^th and 9^th respectively. -$80. Dang. The weather more than compensated!

OK…maybe it was a bit warm for a couple of yuppy Bostonians, but the previous 10 days brought rain, rain, and rain. So we were content. Our tickets were complimentary (thanks, dad)! Despite dad's warnings of the 'Soddom and Gomorrah' atmosphere, we happily accepted the tickets to the Preakness infield.

Infield attendees miss some of the days pageantry but gain access to a wide variety of extracurricular activity (more on that later). We opted to set up camp in a quiet patch of the infield along the backstretch. We had front row seats for all of the days races, a great visual on the main stage, only a short walk to the cleanest port-a-potties, and an even shorter walk to the free sodas (I heart Pepsi).

There were 13 races on the schedule. The Preakness was #12. In my opinion, this was brilliant planning on behalf of the organizers. The 100k person crowd descends upon the exit tunnel at intervals; some leave before the Preakness race, some leave immediately following the big race, some leave after #13, and still others stick around for the late entertainment.

Speaking of entertainment, the spectators are 50% of the show. By the time 4p rolled around, the most ambitious spectators were being escorted to the exits (by stretcher), wanderers started to separate from their herds, and the sun/alcohol combination was otherwise winning the battle.

One of our pleasant surprises was that of the commute and parking options. It couldn't have taken us more than 25 minutes to get there (or back) from dad's house. We quickly found side street parking for only $20. The funny thing was that the side street parking is actually public and free! The homeowners have learned that they can make some $ if they block-off the roads with their children and only "allow" cars that fork over the cash. The only downside is that you have to worry about the health and welfare of your car during the ENTIRE event.

As with every trip to MD, the greatest joy is catching-up with the Fam. Dad's hospitality was top notch (e.g. steak and crab cakes on Saturday night) and accommodating (e.g. an extra/unexpected 6a trip to BWI on Saturday morning).