This is a photo from the bowels of Dodger Stadium and, on first glance, it looks pretty nondescript. But, look closely.
We know umpires miss calls from time to time. But, indeed, they might actually be blind.
Dinner last night: Bratwurst at the Dodger game.
The seventies are dead. Thank God!
Would you let your child take a violin lesson from this guy? 
You just know this guy drives a souped-up Nova, works as a bagger at Grand Union, and frequently stares at other guys in the gym shower.
Somebody actually spend good, hard-earned money to have Sears photograph their cat. 
I love the fact that the kid in the front is wearing a leisure suit from the Sammy Davis Jr. collection, sold exclusively at K-Mart. Don't you want to know which waitress in town Dad is doing?
Just what the hell is she looking at? A meteorite? Some ceiling tiles? Or maybe she's sitting on the floor and the photographer has dropped his drawers?
Dinner last night: Grilled chicken teriyaki with side salad.
If the barometer of a Broadway show’s success is how many times I see it, the greatest hit ever would be the musical “They’re Playing Our Song.” I saw it six times, which is remarkable given that it only ran a little over two years. I was so enamored by it that I had to see new cast iterations, etc.. And, of course, I felt compelled to see it with all my friends as if I was showing off my new car.
However, there is another musical that comes in at a close second to “They’re Playing Our Song” with respect to Len-attendance. That would be the superlative “A Chorus Line,” which I saw five times. Spaced out a bit more judiciously given that it originally ran on Broadway for over fifteen years.
I remember my first time at the Shubert Theater. The show was fresh, new, and the hottest ticket on Broadway. I desperately had to see it just to keep up with the party conversation amongst my friends. So I took a date to the very top row of the balcony. There’s a problem seeing a musical about dancers when you can only see the tops of their heads. The evening was made worse by my evening companion who was a pill on her very best days. There was one nosebleed joke after another, until I literally wanted to toss her to Donna McKechnie’s feet on the fly. Needless to say, on that particular night, I didn’t get “A Chorus Line.”
The second time was the charm. Through a friend at work who went to the same temple as one of the Shuberts, I wound up with house seats. Tenth row center, on the aisle. And, on my own, I had ditched the bitch in favor of a more pleasant compatriot. And then I got to see the magic that was truly “A Chorus Line.”
While it’s about show business, there is a thread of life that all can identify with in that story. Getting a job. Achieving something. The pain of trying and not succeeding. The joy of trying and succeeding. Set against some of the most glorious music ever penned for Broadway, “A Chorus Line” deserved every kudo it ever got.
And now, you can relive it all with the amazing new documentary “Every Little Step.” In a story set in a story set in a story, this film follows the journey of those auditioning to be in the 2006 revival of the musical. Juxtaposed against the original tapes of dancers in conversation with show creator Michael Bennett, history from over 30 years ago is miraculously updated and even rewritten. I did not see the recent revival primarily because it looked more like a museum piece than a new rethink on a classic. But, now I regret my decision. Having met the cast and the would-be cast in this movie, I shouldn’t have been so quick to shortchange their talents.
Oddly enough, when I first saw “A Chorus Line,” I was under the mistaken impression that the show changed every night. I was convinced by some urban legend that different characters were selected on different nights. I couldn’t have been more wrong. “A Chorus Line” was carefully crafted and done to the letter every night. I did learn from this documentary, however, a fascinating factoid about the character of Cassie, a successful dancer desperately looking for one last job. When it first previewed, Cassie does not get the job. Oddly enough, actress and then-wife of Neil Simon, Marsha Mason, came to see the show one night and noted the empty feeling in the audience when Cassie is not selected. Marsha made a beeline for Michael Bennett and told him that Cassie’s non-selection sabotages the show for the audience. The next night, they did it Marsha’s way and the standing ovation at the end lasted for ten minutes. The rest was Broadway history.
I was enthralled by some of the dancers/characters trying out for the 2006 version. One is this girl from Parsippany, New Jersey, who had no Broadway experience. But, having done "A Chorus Line" in a college production, it was her lifelong dream to do it on the Great White Way. Another actress is almost a cinch to play the hardboiled character of Sheila. But, between callbacks, she totally forgets how she plays the role from one audition to another. Having worked with some actors in showcases, I can identify. When we were casting for our series of table reads, there was one actress who got her role immediately. Except she completely lost it the very next time. It was like the girl had disappeared. We literally had to work with her day and night over numerous dinners to help her find it again. I realized then what an amazingly difficult craft acting is. And how wobbly it can be from one day to the next.
"Every Little Step" is also one more prime example of just how good a movie documentary can be. Even if you never saw "A Chorus Line," you'll love this snapshot of hopes and dreams.
I am convinced, however, that my first Chorus Line date would find plenty wrong with it.
Dinner last night: Back in LA---got bumped up to business class so I had AA's reuben sandwich.
My grandmother probably would have called it "schwein" flu.
---Here in NY, I actually saw people walking around with face masks, so I guess this disease is for real.
---But, then again, New Yorkers are already stocking up on flu medicine and clearing it off Duane Reade shelves.
---That's sort of like thinking you're going to get arthritis so you amputate your leg ahead of time.
---So how does a prep school in Queens wind up with 28 cases of this illness when it started in a Mexican pig farm?
---George Orwell doesn't look so silly now, does he?
---The news reports here tell you to practice good coughing etiquette.
---Huh? I had no idea this was an issue until I watched people on the train coughing and sneezing on one another with nary a hand to the face.
---Who are the real pigs here??
---When I had my stomach issues over the weekend, I had a few moments where I thought I had Arnold-itis. Turns out it was nothing but sloppy restauranteuring.
---With all the disease floating around, I compounded it by somehow winding up in front of Ground Zero. Lord knows how toxic I am now.
---Excuse me.....hack, hack, hack.
---It's Obama's 100th day in office and I want to know when do we start counting how many days he has left.
---He's going to celebrate by making a primetime press conference. Which Fox won't even air since it's time for American Idol results.
---I'm thinking that, in a competition with Idol finalists Danny Gokey and Adam Lambert, Obama comes in third.
---That fossil, Arlen Specter, is switching parties. From Republican to Democratic. This supposedly makes the Dem votes a lock on most issues.
---Except the guy is 140 years old and still thinks we're better off ignoring Churchill's pleas for help against the Nazis.
---Who elects these old farts over and over and over? And that means you, Massachusetts. The state that hasn't figured out to get that piece of shit, Teddy Kennedy, out of office.
---The once junior senator of Massachusetts will soon be the senior senator of Hell.
---Excuse me. Hack, hack, hack, hack.
---In Manhattan, you can lots o' signs of a bad economy.
---No lines for lunch.
---No wait for tables at restaurants.
---Hookers are honoring discount coupons that have expired.
---No traffic. Which is convenient since most of the streets in Midtown are so torn up with potholes that they're undrivable.
---But, still, you can walk through Times Square and look at all the lighted signs and have laser eye surgery at the same time.
---Another telling sign I have noticed: since the recession, most restaurants don't have after dinner mints for you as you exit.
---Who knew they were that expensive???
---Lots of nifty luxury apartments along the West Side Highway.
---All empty.
---Lots of great seats behind home plate at Yankee Stadium and Citi Field.
---All empty.
---My lungs? Feeling like they're filling up with fluid.
---Hack, hack, hack. I'm headed back to LA.
---I hope.
Dinner last night: Some sliced salami and a salad.
Like the challenge its weird outfield dimensions present for some hitters, it was going to be very hard for the New York Mets' new home, Citi Field, to hit a homerun with me. After my initial game there on Saturday, April 25 with my new partial seat plan, I can tell you that all the place gets with me is a single. Hard hit. A line drive. But a single nonetheless.
As you approach the new park, the outside facade heralds every memory from every picture you ever saw of the old Ebbets Field. Not a surprise since former Brooklyn Dodger fan and current Met owner/Bernard Madoff victim Fred Wilpon has a nightly wet dream over his childhood baseball home. So much so that it's really hard to find much about the New York Mets in their own stadium. As a matter of fact, the rubble that was Shea Stadium lies to the left of the entrance and my baseball memories have pretty much crumbled down with it.
Eventually, the Shea ashes will be removed to create more parking that now costs more money. $18 per game and I wonder how much of that is going to be used to pay off the Ponzi scheme. As a matter of fact, given the Mets' rotating ticket price scale, there are some games this season where the parking fee will actually be more than the price of admission. Go figure. 
Outside the entrance to Citi Field, there are rows of commemorative bricks from fans. I had wanted to buy one that perserved my Shea location forever. Loge, Section 7, Row E, Seats 1 and 2. By the time I got around to it, they were no longer available. Pretty much par for the course as far as the Mets and I go. Too little, too late.
After your bag is checked, your body is patted down, and your ticket is scanned, you enter the Jackie Robinson Rotunda. Named once again for that legendary New York Met Jackie Robinson. And he played how many games for them? Trust me, I have nothing against the legendary #42. He broke barriers and changed the game forever. But, the Mets have existed since 1962 and have some history of their own that should be perserved as well. What about Casey Stengel? Or the Tom Seaver Rotunda? Anybody who has seen the pitcher lately knows that the word "rotunda" fits him well.
And, on huge video screens overhead, Jackie's hits just keep on coming. I felt a need to cross myself and kneel down in front of a can of Chock Full O'Nuts coffee (where Robinson worked when his baseball days were over).
In the Jackie Robinson Rotunda, you head up these two nifty escalators. A ride I should have savored more since they were not working in the opposite direction after the game. As a matter of fact, I couldn't find anything working upon my exit except for stairs. Lots and lots and lots of stairs. More on this phenomenon later.
We opted to do a complete wraparound of the park before we mounted the climb to my new seats. After walking through an area which looked alarmingly like the corridor that connects the 7 train to the Times Square Shuttle, we approached "the bridge." This is supposed to signify one of the many spans that connects the boroughs of New York. At Citi Field, it represents the way you get to one of the four dozen food courts. There is so much commerce being done here that you think about the Bible and Jesus Christ overturning all the tables in the temple. 
Unlike Shea where an usher might shoot you for attempting to enter the Field Level with a Mezzanine ticket, you can wander freely around Citi Field. That is the only thing you can do there freely. Above you see one of the many concession stands adorned by the skylight that once sat atop the Shea scoreboard. There is a myriad of food choices. One stand features the "Catch of the Day." Even if I did eat seafood, I would probably draw the line at fish served a la fast food. By the way, you can get a lobster tail for $17.95. Is there a Met bib that comes with that?
In this area, you can always find a little kiddie baseball park and a waterless dunk tank (what the hell kind of fun is that?). To be honest, Citi Field is nothing more than the food court and amusement area at any major shopping mall. They just happen to have a major league baseball game going on at the same time. If you are so inclined. From what I could see, not many were. Citi Field is the ideal place for those afflicted with Attention Deficit Disorder. There's just too much going on. And nobody seems to sit still for a second.
There is a new Home Run Apple at Citi Field. The old one is there as well and available for photo opportunities. I declined. I always hated the Home Run Apple. Next to Mettle the Mule and Vince Coleman, this was the Met organization's biggest mistake.
As a baseball stadium, Citi Field is almost too quirky for its own good. Indeed, it's not innovative at all. Ever since Camden Yards was built, all the new baseball parks are copying one another to the point where they now all look eccentrically the same. A prime factor in this is that the same architect firm, HOK, is used over and over and over and their originality was probably dried up by 1997. Remember the day when you saw a brick wall behind home plate and you instantly knew the game was in Chicago's Wrigley Field. Now everybody has a freakin' brick wall. Enough.
I understand the Citi sightlines here are all screwed up as well. I know two plan holders who have already had seats moved because they missed part of the field. I remember going to the SF Giants' park and sitting in the upper deck around third base. I couldn't see Barry Bonds standing in left field and he's a pretty big object to miss. Does anybody at HOK even bother to sit in these seats when they design these suckers?
Section 509 is my new Saturday home. It was interesting to note that not an usher was to be found nearby. But, frankly, ushers are not needed. You do, however, want to seek out a sherpa with a pick axe when you want to climb the 13 rows to your seat.
So from a Shea view that was "so close you could touch the Met on-deck hitter," here's the vantage point from my seats now. A trifle high. We met my former Shea seat neighbors who are now next to me in the new park and they are not terribly happy either. Frankly, once I got used to the visual dynamic, it wasn't so bad. But, it's not the same. It's definitely not the same. The good news is that we are under what little overhang there is in Citi Field.
The bad news is that this overhang is also a nesting place for birds who flew up there frequently on Saturday. Perhaps, they're all trying to avoid LaGuardia Airport and getting sucked into another US Airways jet. Of course, my new location is not ideal for foul balls. But other "fowl" projectile will be a given. 
The stairs up to my seats are incredibly steep and one beer too many will get you down to the field level on the fly. I stood up quickly at one point and almost fell over myself. By the way, if you're looking for the Met dugout or the on-deck circle, don't strain your eyes. It's not visible from my seats. But, then again, the pitchers in the bullpen apparently can't see the game either. 
Here's that dopey Pepsi porch overhang which can give the rightfield a little shade if he wants to get out of the sun for a minute. Once again, this is a stadium that is trying way too hard to be cute. Less should have been more. 
Diamondvision is now bigger than ever here and relentlessly assaults the sense even more than it did in its last days at Shea. "Everybody clap your hands." Gag. Note the sponsorship from a tractor company. Because NYC is such a farming community?
Okay, with the big emphasis on the Brooklyn Dodgers, can somebody explain to me why the outfield walls are black with orange lettering? Hello??? Anybody??? Giant colors??? Tres offensive.
The memory of leaving Shea via the ramps is also a distant one here. When the game was over, we looked for an escalator down. There is none. You could wait on line for an elevator. Or, like everybody else, take the freakin' stairs. Down and down and down. Like you're leaving the Statue of Liberty. A Stairmaster workout worthy of your meanest personal trainer. Handicapped people need to watch Met games on TV only. Talk about a misstep. Or three.
Citi Field did mark a first for me in another mysterious way. I woke up Saturday morning with a nasty stomach bug, which manifested itself in the kind of outflow you never want. This explains why, despite all the food options, there was nothing on my bill of fare for the afternoon. But, given the need for some...ahem....relief... Well, in all my years at Shea Stadium, I never once sat on a toilet in that place. At Citi Field, in my very first game? Twice. And I can tell you that the much heralded flushless toilets don't work as well as you would think. First hand knowledge.
Stomach cramping aside, overall, I decided finally on Saturday that this is no longer my home baseball park. Nope, my residence is that classic stadium nestled amongst the palm trees and hills surrounding Chavez Ravine. While there are some things to like about Citi Field, the Mets pretty much got it wrong. And should have copied what the Dodgers are doing with that baseball village they will be constructing in the parking lot. Make the stadium focused solely on the game at hand. Put all the restaurants, museums, etc.. outside so that people can even visit them year-round. And you don't need to buy a ticket to do so.
But, that would have been too easy.
Dinner last night: Fusilli with chicken and sundried tomatoes at Azalea.
In honor of Beatrice Arthur who passed away over the weekend, here's the very last scene of "The Golden Girls." A wonderful blend of poignancy and laughs.
Dinner last night: Ham sandwich.
