Gumby was in town for one fun-filled day, on his way from Connecticut to California, having returned recently from Germany and Iraq. He, Chan and I attempted to make the most of the time. We started at the Gracie Mews restaurant for dunch. I ordered a veggie burger, but, per my 15% lifetime success rate at restaurants, they said they were out of veggie burgers. So I had a GrCh. I thought that was a good selection. Betsy could have had anything she wanted. And by that I mean Gumby had, I don't know, some food. We actually saw that winning goal by Germany while we were there. (No, it didn't convert me. The thought of waiting 90 minutes for that one goal...)

Then we bought Aerobies at the Modell's. There I saw a large man in a "Hey Red Sox, Who's Your Daddy?" t-shirt. Despite that he was three times as big as me, I kept laughing out loud when I'd pass him, muttering to Chan that I have answers for the guy if he wants them. While we waited on line, he came by, saw me, and just walked away, pretending like he needed to buy more stuff. Seriously, what was that guy thinking when he got up in the morning and put that ridiculous shirt on? Ross Perot is never gonna win that election, and the yanks are never gonna win the 2004 World Series. Time to face reality, Dunbar District.

We whipped Aerobies around the Great Lawn of Central Park for a while. There's nothing cooler (in this sentence) than sprinting to catch a floating frisbee. I love the moment when you're running after it, and even though it's thirty yards away from you, you realize you're gonna have enough time to get there. While playing, we kept an eye on the softball games around us. I noticed that the combined fielding percentage rivaled my restaurant success rate.

As day turned to night, after a little rest from all he running around, we walked through the park toward the Delacorte Theater, and noticed a bunch of people filing in. This was obviously a Shakespeare in the Park deal. We decided, Why the hell not? So we walked up to the ticket office, were given three free tickets that had been returned, and scampered inside (meaning outside) to our sweet seats.

This is the coolest thing about NYC. One minute, you're firing a frisbee sixty yards, hoping your buddy catches it without trampling any babies, and the next you're watching Mac-friggin'-beth under the stars.

Mickey B was played by Liev Schreiber, that dude from, among other things, the Scream movies. It was pretty damn cool. This wasn't like seeing Al Street as Mercutio or whatever. This was a professionally done Shakespeare play, and as abonus, it was outside and in a "t-shirts (and frisbees) are allowed in" environment.

The coolest thing about it was the sound effects and visuals from the natural surroundings. Macbizzle would be goin' nuts, screaming out his lines, and as his momentum built, the sound of a roaring jet plane overhead would match it, and they'd both fade away together. When he appeared on stage for the first time, three Canada geese flew over, from right behind him, going the same direction. And at the moment he died, the wind kicked up and the leaves of the lit-up trees behind the stage danced eerily. It was amazing. If I was watching this as a taped performance on tv, I'd have guessed it was all a setup. But those were the only geese, the only wind gust. And every plane flew over at the perfect moment.

Of course, when I brought this up with Chan later, he said "I thought the planes ruined it." Classic Chan. But Gumby definitely caught the wind gust of death (which Chan missed).

I recommend going to one of these shows if you're ever in Central Park.

Then we walked to the East Side and ate lupper at Googie's. I got a brownie hot fudge sundae. Betsy could've had anything she wanted.

As we finished up, at around midnight, five firetrucks came screaming by, stopping next door. We went out there, and watched them axe their way into a building, who knows why. As a superficial girl posed for a picture with ten loitering firemen, Chan pointed out that what they probably do is send out one "real" crew to do the work, and one set of calendar hunks dressed up like fireman to keep the riff-raff away from the actual emergency, and be in charge of photo ops. I think it's a legitimate theory. Maybe my cousin the fireman can verify...

Wait a minute, what girl on the Uppper East isn't superficial? Dudes, too, of course. Except for me and Chan.

Then we went home, and I found out the Sox lost 8-1. Oh well, at least I had fun.

Note: the website I linked earlier is crazy. I found it randomly. It's a site where this dude, Hideo (Nomo?) gets all these celebrity autographs and posts them on line. Sift through, and maybe you'll find some funny ones. I like the '82 Scott Baio one. I found this site randomly doing a google image search for Schreiber.

Note about title: Sunay was a kid in my high school Shakespeare class. And that can also help you figure out the line about Al Street. The Betsy lines, well, you're on your own, but you really should know.

[Update: Lots of tix now available for the Nationals series next week, Mon thru Wed. I'm talkin' two loge together, field box, Monster Seats, SRO. You people who live in Boston are lucky. Quit complaining about all games being sold out and go buy these tickets that are totally available before I snatch them up on principal.]

photo courtesy bridgeandtunnelclub.com