"Inactivity is Death!": Day 2

Or so said Il Duce!

At about 5:30 a.m. Monday morning, traffic returned to Via Labicana with a vengeance. I heard it but it didn't really wake me up until about 9:00 a.m. I called Nancy, confirmed her arrival time (she was switching to my hotel that morning) and went out for a stroll to get my bearings. I walked down past the Colosseum with the Forum on my left and on my right. The bits of the Forum on your right are not accessible but there are some good views from the street.



I had mistakenly thought that it would be pleasant to go for a stroll so early in the day but Rome's climate is odd. It's hottest in the morning and then about 5:30 a breeze begins to blow that makes it almost pleasant. This breeze then disappears around 9:00 or 9:30 and it's once again muggy and still but not as hot as the sun is not beating down on your sad ass. On Monday, at 10:00 a.m., it was already hotter then hell so I turned and headed back up the hill to sit in the A/C until Nancy and John arrived. I was almost at the hotel when I saw that the entrance to the park was labeled "Domus Aurea". I laughed and wandered up yet another hill.

For those who don't know, the Domus Aurea or Golden Palace, was built by Nero after the fire of 64 AD. "History" famously has him fiddling while Rome burned but that was not true, he wasn't even in Rome at the time. In fact some believe that it was a filthy group of rabble-rousers known as the "Christians" who were responsible for the blaze and that this is perhaps why they were very shortly persecuted without much mercy. Since these same "Christians" are responsible for much of this "history", I leave it to you to decide what you believe. I am pretty sure you all know where I stand.

When I reached the top of the hill, I realized that I was covered in a slick and fabulous layer of sweat so despite the shrieks of Italian bambinos, I headed to a dry fountain in the shade. The fountain was decorated with amphorae that had been embedded in that other of most Roman creations, cement. Accompanied by the shrill voices and the sound of jack hammering (they are currently working on stabilizing the structure), it was a pleasant enough spot and I wondered just what Nero would think if he knew that his prized piece of land was now a baby park for the plebs? I also understood exactly why the Romans made bathing a near religious experience.

Once the sweat stopped pouring off my brow, I walked down the steps and turned right into the hotel. I was sleeping with Nero and I didn't even know it! Nancy and John had checked in and we were going to meet in the lobby in 10 minutes. I had this incredible list of things I wanted to do and not doing them was simply out of the question so we headed down to the Colosseum to catch the hop on/hop off Archeobus. For 18 Euros you get a ticket that allows you to ride their double-decker buses in a loop around the major sites. When you see the map and read their pamphlet it all makes perfect, logical sense but then this is Italy and this is a government bus. All is not what it seems.

We took the bus to the Vittorio Emmanuel Monument and stopped by Trajan's Column. Having studied the darned thing, I wanted to at least give it a walk by. While we were there, we saw some enterprising vendors using a most fabulous Corinthian capital upon which to hawk their wares. I tutted and walked by.


They grunt in our direction. Roman vendor speak for "Buy my shit!" and we grunt back, "Um, let me think...NO". John and I will begin communicating in this fashion on a regular basis. It's very effective and confuses the zombies to no end.

Although John prefers to walk to our next stop (maybe the Pantheon), Nancy has a bad cold and would prefer to ride so we get back on the Archeobus and head to the Ara Pacis. To get there we must cross the Tiber and stop at the Vatican. It is my first view of venerable St. Peter's and it is even more forgettable in person than in pictures. Now anyone who's taken any Renaissance architecture course is taught that this is a horrible example of architecture, Renaissance or not. The facade is so big it make the dome look like an upturned tea cup. The only classy thing about St. Peter's is the colonnade designed by Bernini but without the wide-angle lens, you can't even see it. Hadrian's Mausoleum, known to some as Castel Sant'Angelo, is pretty cool as are the walls around Vatican City (You know I've always wanted to re-write Guns N'Roses' Paradise City. Take me down to Vatican City, where the Tiber is green and the priests are pretty...). We recross the Tiber as I day dream about the bodies that were once tossed willy-nilly into this less than grand waterway, we head right smack dab into a traffic jam. Apparently a bendy bus has bent and can't unbend. We take our first route detour on our first Archeobus ride (this is a common thread) and are dropped off near the Ara Pacis, or, as our Archeobus tour guide tells us, "on the other side of the wall" from the Altar of Peace. We walk around and see Augustus' Mausoleum and a modern white building. We are confused, I lament the lost art of signage, but then I look at my notes and realize the damned thing is closed today. How nice it would have been for the "guide" to maybe have mentioned that but this is Italy. They are now up 2-0.

We opt instead to move on to the Trevi Fountain and the Pantheon. We hop on and then hop off at the Trevi stop and make our way to a small piazza and there looming like an 800 pound gorilla in a small room is the Trevi Fountain.


It's lovely but very crowded and since the piazza is so small, there is no where to go. There are too many people to wade through to get to the water and the area smells like the University Circle Rapid stop so we admire and walk towards the Pantheon and lunch. It is very crowded here so we are kind of stuck walking slowly. At one point Nancy thinks she might just brush rudely past these two short dudes who cut her off and are engaged in some intense conversation. For some reason, she waits. It's probably a good idea because they are like SWAT team carabinieri. That said, they were both about 5'8", swarthy and handsome if you go for that sort of thing. What I found most amusing is that they all look like Fendi models. I mean even their kevlar vests more stylish than our cops wear. They have this little leather braid that hangs down from the back of their haughtily cocked berets and their uniform trousers fit like skinny jeans. I really can't take these guys seriously despite the Berettas.

As we enter another little street, we are flagged down by some guy whose job it is to flag people down and convince them to dine at his establishment. He is annoying and a caricature of the Italian male but we sit. The pizza is pretty crappy but they have cold, tasteless beer served in liter sized mugs. Fortified, we move on to the Pantheon. Now at this point I will say that in this particular part of town there is some signage designed to assist the pedestrian tourist. Where this meager signage fails, helpful tourists have scribbled "Pantheon" or "Panteon" and arrows on other signs. Thanks mostly to the gut (thanks John), we make it. Say "Hi, Nancy".

It's still quite impressive but when you go in, it's sad because there is an altar and pews and people praying. It's a downer and it depresses me that everything Roman must be topped with a cross or an angel or something about a pope. We linger. I laugh at the old ladies around Raphael's tomb. He's really not my favorite despite the reproduction portrait hanging in my dining room. I like that because it's an elegant line drawing and it's a portrait. He's just no Caravaggio!

As we exit, we head for the Gelateria. I get pistachio and panne chiocolatto and it is delicious but it is mostly melted by the time we find a place to sit. It's my only gelato of the trip as I spent more time savoring the varieties of pig products (prosciutto, salami, speck...). At this point, it is decided that we should head back to the hotel for a rest as we are going to take the Archeobus all the way around this evening. It is also at this point that I surrender to the chaos! I no longer feel that "Inactivity is death!". I no longer care if I miss the Cornaro Chapel or anything other than the Colosseum or Ostia Antica because it's just too stressful to stay on an itinerary and even if you do, there is a chance that Italy will still win and the place will be closed. From now on, I go with the flow. Italy 2 - US 1.

After a brief rest, we meet on the rooftop bar for drinks. This is easier said than done because either the elevators in Italy are as temperamental as the people or the elevators at our hotel as possessed. If they are possessed, I say one is Nero and one is Agrippina. I am not sure which is which but both thought they were in charge. The view is nice once you finally get there and Perroni actually makes a double (doppo) that is tasty and is served on tap. Now when I say "tasty", I mean that is has "some" taste.

After drinks, we head to the Archeobus where we ride around Rome. First we pass the Circus Maximus which is sadly unkempt. I really think they should restore it and have chariot races. That would be something to see. For now it is a dusty, grassy plain off the Forum and Palatine where people walk their dogs. Lucky dogs.


The ride is nice and the route is once again unique. We pass the Ara Pacis so I now know where it is and make plans to see it tomorrow afternoon. At Termini Station we are told to change buses. This seems to happen every time you ride it to Termini Station. When we arrive back at the Colosseum, we stop for dinner at a very blue trattoria. The food is mediocre but we are sitting next to the Colosseum. Every couple of minutes I have to keep looking over at it. It's marvelous. At about 9:00 p.m., my body hits the wall and we all retire a bit early. I read and fall into a dead sleep fraught with a very strange dream but that I will save until tomorrow!

"Italy is a Shitty Country!": Day 1

He said it not me so calm down! I wouldn't say it's "shitty" as much as chaotic, disorganized, and defiantly unlabeled other than the manhole covers (they're rectangular), fire hydrants, and other banal public instruments which all display the iconic 'SPQR". I am not really sure how this applies but I get ahead of myself....

I flew in via Charlotte on the fabulous US Airways which neglects to give you free booze and headphones on international flights but who are still at least two hundred dollars cheaper than their competitors. My flight is full and is composed of love turds who have to hold hands and watch romantic comedies and old people who have to combat phlebitis for nine straight hours. Despite the $7.00 Becks (awful but laid quality groundwork for the bad biera to come) and the idiots, the flight did go quickly. Before I knew it the flight attendants were coming around with coffee and some sort of cream filled pastry. Upon landing I expected the usual announcement with instructions on passport control and luggage but this is Italy so there was none. We stumble off the plane and follow the signs and eventually make it to Passport Control where there are two booths attended by two Customs Agents who look bored as shit except when they look at your passport photo. Then they smirk, shrug their shoulders, and stamp your book while you nod your head and say, "Sorry, Scavullo was busy that day!" Humiliated I head for Baggage Claim.

Baggage Claim was awesome. You could actually see the guys at the top of the ramp throwing the luggage down slowly, very slowly. After about 50 bags, there is a lull in the action. A couple next to me, late 50s, are still waiting for their bags as am I and about 75% of the flight. The husband is bright eyed and is wearing a polo shirt and slacks that bare no creases. He has not a hair out of place. The wife is a little over weight and looks like she just came off a red eye transoceanic/transcontinental flight. She stands next to me, bored, waiting for the espresso break to end and the resumption of luggage service to begin. He stands next to the belt and says repeatedly, like a 5 year old, "Is that all of the bags? Our bags weren't there. Where are our bags? Did they lose our bags?" She says, "No dear. Yes, dear. No dear." I look at her in sympathy but then bail because I see my bag! I collect it and head to the Taxi line where I am happy to report, there was no line. I hop in, say "Buongiorno" and give the driver the address to the hotel. Before I know it I am sweating and at my stop. The meter says 49.80. I say 40. He shrugs his shoulders and I give him 45. Hey, it's the law!

When I get to the desk, they ask for a name. I say "Sinning" they say "we got a lot a Sinning" but I track down Nancy in the restaurant. I quickly down a double espresso and we head to Nancy's room so I can take a shower, brush the teeth, and change. We decide to spend the day at the Forum and as soon as everyone is ready, head up to the Campidoglio where we hope to find an entrance but first we must climb a hill and a lot of steps. By the time I reach the top, I've lost that freshly showered feeling. The view kind of makes up for it all.

As we enter the Forum, we all buy the Roma Pass for 25 Euros each. When they get to Nancy's friend Jay, they charge him 500 Euros. Since they can't cancel out the charge, he ends up with 450 Euros in change. The score is now Italy 1, US 0.

The old Roman roads are uneven and dusty so I trip a lot. As we wander, we see young Eastern European girls in short dresses posing for what we can only assume are their mail order bride catalogue photos. We also see lots of exhibits about Nero, or Nerone as the Italians call him. I can only assume this is because the Domus Aurea is closed as he really didn't have much of an impact on the Forum. I see lovely statues of Messalina (wife of Claudius) and Agrippina (mother of Nero) so I run over and call them puttana (well, she was very rotten to Clau-Clau and I don't feel at all bad that Nero eventually poisoned his mother).

Among my favorite sites at the Forum is the House of the Vestals or pre-nuns. The picture above is of the atrium. The living quarters would have been behind the row of statuary. The young ladies who entered the priestesshood (yes, I made that word up) were of patrician class and sworn to celibacy. If they got caught with a man, they were buried alive. Nasty.

At the far end from the Campidoglio and outside of the Forum proper is the Arch of Constantine and the Colosseum. I say my first "I hate you! This is all your fault!" to anything Constantine related.

Parched and starving, we head to lunch at Il Gladiatore Pizzeria. The pizza is good and as expected, the beer is pissy but it's cold. After lunch we head all the way back to the Campidoglio and down the hill to the hotel where I get a taxi to the Hotel Mercure which is back by the Colosseum (the back and forth is a recurring theme). My taxi driver is less pleasant than this morning's and after communicating to him that I am not in fact heading back to the airport tomorrow so he can't pick my up, he drives off with my bag in the trunk. I quickly run after him, pound on the trunk, and yell "aspettare"! He does. He apologizes. I grab my bag and check in. Nap for 45 minutes and meet everyone in the lobby for drinks (yes, they all hopped in a taxi and came all the way back as well). Drinks are in fact on the roof but I will save those pictures for Day 2 as they are spectacular.

After drinks, we head to dinner. Jay has a place in mind so we head pass the Colosseum (it's so pretty at night with the lights and no vendors or tourists).

Although we never do make it to the restaurant, we eventually find another. It's classic. The walls are covered with photos of the famous people who have eaten there (I really only recognize Sophia Lauren) and for whom they have cooked (Il Papa PJP II). We get a ton of dishes and split them all. The grilled radicchio is my favorite. Stuffed and a bit drunk, we head back to the hotel. It must be noted that Nancy wanted to cab it from the restaurant but that I had had my fill of cab drivers and did not want to have to ride by myself so we walked. This was okay until Jay looked for a short cut and as Nancy noted, there are no short cuts in Rome. Go back the way you came or prepare to pay the piper. I cut a Bataan Death March joke (yes, if you are Nancy and I you can make them) or two and thanks to some helpful locals, we eventually made it back to my hotel but not before we pass a titty bar and come to realize that John's sense of direction is uncanny. It will save my butt for the next three days.

At the Hotel Mercure, everyone else piles into a cab and heads back across the Forum. About 12:30 (6:30 pm Cleveland time) I finally hit the bed and fall asleep. By my count it's been about 36 hours minus a nap. I did damned well.

This Is A Public Service Announcement!

The Good, The Bad, and The Fugly

The Good

Handicapped Seats! Since we recently learned that Joanna's walking cast is like an actual "casty" type cast and not the walking boot thing we figured it would be (we had our orthopedic surgeon hats on that day), we decided to see what kind of tickets we could get in the Jack Handy section. Turns out, pretty good! Section 152. Directly behind home plate and in the shade with a lovely breeze out of the west. Not a bead of sweat formed all day long. As we sat down the pleasant old usher man came and told us to keep our eyes peeled as foul balls were as common as a Grady Sizemore knee injury. Okay, that was not the exact metaphor he used but you get the drift, we should expect a lot of balls! Needless to say only one was close.

No Douche Bags! Up until the later innings when the sweaty folks moved back into the shade, Joanna and I watched the game in total peace. That means all my pent up emotion will be spent on just about everyone except Handsome Jack...No wait! There was that one time I uttered a loud "Goddammit!" in front of the children. Normally I don't think of the children but I had only had an Orange Crush to drink.

Jack Hannahan! Okay, he struck out thrice but he had a hit and an RBI. Plus he was solid at 3rd as usual. What was really nice was getting to see him warm up in the on deck circle (seen above although images in the photo appeared a lot closer in real life) and do his stretches when he assumed the field position. Smashing. The man is limber. They were raffling off chances to meet some Indians but I didn't buy a ticket because Jack was not one of my options. Whatever!

Fuk U, Do Me! Joanna got involved in the nickname game with an excellent submission. It's all about the inflection.

Shelly and Sandy - Separated at Birth? Submission! You be the judge.



The Bad

Big Screen Appearances! There were two although I only saw one. This has never happened before. Of course I have never been to an Indians game and not had a beer before so sobriety might have been the issue. I don't think I'll test the theory because if I have to sit through another game like that sober, I might explode.

Chisembop was the DH! 'Nuff said.

Seattle Mariners! Last time I checked, they sucked. Curse you, Ichiro (shakes fist to the heavens)! We so needed Mothra on the mound this week. You blow, Wily Mo! Seriously, tell your momma that "Willy" is spelled with two "Ls". Casper?!? He's a friendly ghost and not a guy who gets a clutch hit. Carp?!? That's a damned ugly fish and I hate you.

The Fugly

Indians Pitching! Words can't explain how mad I am at everyone except Bat right now. Long Ball Tomlin was useless. Raffy Perez was so bad Joanna thought it was Chick Hips (he is officially back to "The Douche Bag" after Monday night) out there! I called Chad "Durtbag" and he didn't even give up a run although he did pop someone (I think Pena) and by that time, it was kind of funny. Because we were behind home plate you could really hear the ball hit flesh. We flinched and then laughed. I think we gave up about 30 hits between last night and today.

Indians Offense! 2 for 12 or something like that with men in scoring position. At some point the EMT's went by with a stretcher. It did not appear to be an injury from a foul ball so I can only assume someone else was sober and had a stroke watching our pathetic attempts at the plate.

Carlos "Fatman" Santana got popped! Yeah, we need that. He sat there for sometime after taking a foul tip off the mask. I sat in the stands and yelled "What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is the airspeed velocity of a coconut laden swallow?" to no one in particular.

No (S)Hitter! WTF?

Look on the bright side Kosuke, it's only 63 years now!

I suppose I should consider it an honor to have seen a "No Hitter" in person but they totally suck when you're getting no hit! Plus, I can't help feel that the initial error that led to the run was a pretty well tagged ball that *could* have gone for a hit or that it was less about the pitcher and more about us sucking, except Handsome Jack who wasn't even given a chance. Thank goodness Chisembop got his at bats! Then there were the 5 errors, one of which led to Austin Kearns new nickname, "Not Choo".

In any event I was able to trash the family dude behind me who admitted to being too scared to ride the Top Thrill Dragster and was not happy on the Raptor (he didn't like the dangling!). He did show me pictures of the stuffed animals he won for his kids - as if that somehow made him a man again - but not after admitting that they cost him $150.00. Sad. He is now known as "Not Man".

On a more pleasant side, the Tigers can't win either! Pornstache was in attendance and I do believe Grace and I saw him shake his moneymaker when they played YMCA. Plus I now have two super powers as I can add prescience (I accurately predicted the results of most of our lame ass at bats) to incredible healer (at least according to Doctor Handsome). Before you all come knocking down my door, I can only heal myself so you'll have to take your afflictions elsewhere! Travis, Fuck! has been sent down and I now have to start thinking of a nickname for Kosuke "Thunderdome" Fukudome because that one is just too easy and when you're hitting .273 with 3 home runs you just ain't bringing the thunder.

Ain't That America Somethin' To See Baby!

No, not really John "Cougar" Mellencamp. Not really! Before I begin a rundown of the thrills and spills, I'd like to say that Mid-America is horrible. From Michigan to Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin and points south (I did see a St. Louis Cardinals shirt), comes nothing but lardy, starchy, bloated white people wearing too skimpy clothing in an attempt to display their less than artistic body art. They also seem to be unaware of sun screen and the burning sensation that they no doubt must be feeling with skin the color of liquid hot magma. Their offspring are either obese by the age of five or are slim and sexually active by the age of twelve. This of course will lead to early marriage and child birth which will then lead to premature aging and morphing into the aforementioned parental units while at no point becoming self-aware. The cheap Wal-Mart flip flops, nylon shorts, and ripped t-shirt (either your high school sports team's or heavy metal band's logo are acceptable) are staples of the male's wardrobe while short shorts (unzipped of course), bikini tops or tight tight tank tops suffice for the female of the species. At no time during your life should you ever assume that you are too old to wear these fashion combos or that you are too fat. What looked good at twelve, looks as smashing at thirty-five and two hundred and fifty pounds. Amongst this mass of unhealthy humanity are the uber-fit douche bags, tools, and the combination tool bags sporting bulging muscles, fake tans, fake nails, fake tits, and small brains.

As I haven't been to Cedar Point in a few years, I noticed something new: the ride prerequisites now include the stipulation that "you must be able to buckle your own seatbelt". That's right! Unlike the airlines, Cedar Point does not provide seatbelt extenders and you can not hog the other end of the seatbelt from the other seat. If the belt don't fit, you must ex-it (you have to read that with Johnny Cochrane's voice)! This leads to some delay as the little porkers stuff themselves into the seats and inhale in an effort to close the clasp before they need to take a breath. I was expecting someone to pop but sadly, that never happened. Now off to the rides.

Christine, her daughter Morgan, friend Sarah, and I arrive about 11:30 (we spent the ride discussing "bad" words and in honor of this conversation some of them are scattered through this piece) and proceed directly to the Magnum. It's a classic and a good starter ride plus they play the cheesiest of 80's music. The line is short and the ride is uneventful but fun. Christine laughs hysterically through the entire ride. Unbeknownst to me, this is how she reacts to riding a roller coaster and she will do this all day except once....

Next up, the Top Thrill Dragster. The line is a mere forty-five minutes long but that's a lot of time to listen to the screams and watch the people go up and come back down, some crying. Christine begins to get a little nervous (seen below getting a little nervous).



The girls go up before us and show no signs of wear and tear as they exit and wait for us. Christine and I enter the car and it proceeds to the starting line where they rev the fake engine and make you wait. Christine says she wants to hold my hand. I tell her I had cancer and that's a little scarier so she doesn't hold my hand. That's good because she probably would have broken it. Anyone human would crush anything in their hands during that ride!

If you haven't experienced Top Thrill Dragster, you aren't really missing all that much. That's not to say it's not a rush and that it's not fucked up, it is. Totally and completely fucked up. For those seconds before you take off, you do nothing but look at the four hundred and twenty feet you have to go before you can come back down again. It's pretty intimidating until you take off at break neck speed and your stomach is back at the starting line. As you make your way up, you lose a lot of speed and you just climb a lot and then your at the top and you are just plunging back to earth. I looked but saw only sky. I believe Christine closed her eyes but she did not laugh. Then, almost as if it never happened, you are back on earth and it's all over. You must do it once at least but after that, it's a "meh".

Upon departing the Top Thrill we head to my favorite non-coaster, the Power Tower where the line is only fifteen minutes long. While in line, the little ambulance buggy stops at the Top Thrill Dragster to attend to some girl. Wuss. Now in comparison to the Dragster, the Power Tower is a baby ride. Not just because they put you in a seat that's very similar to the seat of a high chair and that you have to dangle and swing your feet like a toddler, but because it just goes up or down. I prefer down because you go up slowly, get a totally beautiful view of the lake and park, and then go completely weightless on the way down. For some reason, Morgan doesn't want to go on the Power Tower! We mock her and then pity her and tell her she doesn't have to go on the baby ride even though she did the Top Thrill. Our taunting works and she rides it. It's lovely as usual. We all scream and then head for the Corkscrew.

The Corkscrew kind of sucks but Sarah has never been on it and the line is only fifteen minutes long. Apparently it's the thirty-fifth anniversary of this ride. You'd think since it's so short and no one really rides it much that they'd let you go twice but they don't. Christine laughs hysterically for forty seconds and we move on to the Raptor. Ah, the Raptor. Hands down the best coaster at Cedar Point because it combines dangly high chair of the Power Tower with a roller coaster and I believe it's the longest as well. The line is again only about forty-five minutes long but time enough to learn to hate the ultra skinny, faked tittied pole dancer with the huge rock on her finger. Well, I didn't hate her as much as Christine. We (read: I) spent the time mocking the tunes (Billy Joel, Oasis, Aerosmith, Pink Fucking Floyd) and being hot, very very hot. For the ride, we get our own row. I "woo hoo" and Christine laughs. It awesome. On to the Millenium Force but first we stop for Icees because you get to mix and match. They charge $5.99 for a 10 cent cup and probably 5 cents worth of food coloring and flavoring but it's delicious. Unfortunately a few of the options weren't quite frozen enough so the middle of my drink looked like poop. It was still delicious and cold.

I had never been on the Millenium Force as the last time I was there, the line was over two hours long so I was damned excited with the one hour wait. The hour did drag on and it was super hot. When we finally arrived at the gates, Christine decided we should sit in the last row. Unfortunately, they pre-load the handicapped or injured folks and we had to wait a little longer for a car with an empty row. After all that, I was not that impressed with it. The first hill is fantastic but after the Raptor, it just didn't cut it for me. It goes in the pile with the Iron Dragon and the Mantis as coasters I won't ride again unless the line is thirty minutes or under. Hey, I've got standards!

Piping hot, we head to the water rides and Shoot the Rapids, a cheesy coaster but filled with water, water, water! The people in line are ultra fat or ultra tool baggy. It's like a distillation of the elements and the line is slow and smelly and they are playing awful country music. Filthy and awful. The lyrics are filled with references to tight jeans and hillbilly genes! As we near the railroad crossing, you can see the people on the ride and it is then that Morgan indignantly shouts, "No wonder the line is so slow, those cars aren't even full!". To which I reply that each car is limited to 1750 pounds of people and while that used to be ten Americans, it's now about five. So we wait and wait but it's worth it. My iPhone in it's Ottercase is tucked into a zip lock baggie along with our cash and we hop in, Christine and I in the back row again. On the last drop we hit the water and a tsunami rolls over our backs. Utterly drenched, we head back towards the Raptor to attempt a second run. Sadly more people have filtered in and the line is too long so we walk back towards the entrance.

As we near the Power Tower, Morgan, Miss "I don't want to go on the Power Tower", insists we take it for another twirl. Hey, you don't need to ask me twice. As we get in our seats, our foreign game attendant decides we are not displaying the necessary level of enthusiasm for her ride and she appears to take this as a personal affront. We go up and as we sit there waiting to drop, Christine says, "I'm scared". Now she's not of course as we've already been on this ride and she wasn't scared before, it's just coaster fatigue setting in. Once we drop, there is laughter (Does anyone remember laughter? Sorry, I just needed an excuse to insert the corniest lyric ever into this blog.). We pass the Corkscrew. Nah. Then hit the Magnum again. It's the last ride out and my back can't take the wooden track of the Gemini.

As we wait in line they play "Come On Ilene" and then "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go" to which I sung along (only I sang "Wake Me Up Before You Go, Ho") and was given a dirty look by the family woman behind us. Christine and I do the last car and that was a mistake as it's really bumpy back there. I caught some whiplash on the way down one of the hills and then coaster fatigue. Despite the giggles, we both decided we were done but Morgan and Sarah went back for two more rides. All in all, a damned good day of coaster riding.

On the way out we made a wrong turn and ended up on 6 instead of 250 so once again I was denied Sonic. One day, one happy day, I will get to Sonic. I will probably be disappointed but I will get to Sonic.

What (Not) To Wear: New York Yankees Edition

First let me say, this is not a game recap. You can get that anywhere. Hughes returned from the DL to pitch pretty well but not as well as "Bat" Masterson (look it up youngins') and his enormous feet. Once again, Handsome Jack only made it in for the final two innings although I did not get to yell "Jack Hannahan would have had that!". A good thing if a bit disappointing. Jack was wearing the short pants yet I could only admire his stretching from afar. I have decided that I would like to see him play in a kilt and if I am at the game, that he should play first base that night. Derek "Old Man" Jeter (Note: if you are a corn fed virgin boy from Scanton, PA, it's Derek "A God" Jeter and yes, it's a "god" as in Valhalla even if you really have no clue what that means) got a hit and I booed A-Roid so much I am a bit horse this morning. I was also denied a "Sandy Duncan?" but did get to call for "Chick Hips" Perez when old Vinnie made a bit of a "Pestano" of the 9th inning raising the delicate hopes of the loser pseudo-Latina Stankee fans in attendance. But enough of that....

Best Bermuda Shorts and Loafers Ensemble

On a hot, sticky and at times, stinky night in Cleveland your average baseball fan is going to have a hard time determining what to wear. Factor in the weeknight and you had a lot of guys who came from the (law) office, it's only natural that Bermuda shorts and loafers were all the rage. For the grand slam, you really need to pair it with the right shirt. Something in a "hot coral" as it does indeed bring out the tan that you just got on the family vacation last week or on the golf course this summer. The result is a classic "Full Boehner":



Okay, so the dude in front with the jacket tied around his waist is kind of precious as well. I suppose you can never be "too prepared" for a game but it was about 85 at first pitch. He gets an honorable mention for needless accessorization.

Gayest Yankee Fan Attire

Let me begin by apologizing for being so politically incorrect but I am a child of the 70s and calling something "gay" is not an insult to the LGBT community. I think we can all agree that a gay man would never wear either the Jeter shirt (it was that shiny thin nylon) or the World Series year montage hat. This is pure unadulterated undiluted "Fan Boy":



Powerful, I know. Equally powerful was his date because she towered over him like Steve Austin's Sasquatch (if you don't watch the Venture Bros. you won't get this so shame on you!).



A magnificent beast...I mean creature!