Tag: New Jersey

The Computer As An Auto

I am a computer hobbyist. This is neither good nor bad – just a fact of life. I’ve been attracted to them since my first touch of a keyboard in high school circa 1967. This computer I’m typing on, and the one next to it, were built on my floor from parts – some ordered for the projects, others that I had lying around.

I remember my friend Jerry Emdur in Cherry Hill, NJ, who owned an Imsai 8080, a very early personal computer. It really couldn’t do anything – but it was very cool.

For years, I have subscribed to Computer Shopper. It was, at one time, the great builder magazine, published every month. I used to feel guilty when the mailman delivered it. It was heavy as a brick and as thick as the Manhattan Yellow Pages… OK, almost as thick.

Back then the ads were for little specialty houses. Some sold custom built computers, others components. There were even actual designers and manufacturers selling down at the retail level. All these people knew we were on to something that would be big. They all wanted to be involved.

I’m not sure if he advertised in Computer Shopper back then, but this was the age when people like Michael Dell could start a company in his college dorm, correspond to customers via CompuServe – and sell a PC to my friend Peter in New Jersey.

Dell is huge, but so many of those companies are no longer around. It’s very sad.

Today, the Computer Shopper is a shadow of its former self. I just got a 166 page issue today. If I remember correctly, they were often 10 times that size. There are more articles, or at least they stand out more without the deluge of ads. Most of the editorial content is how to and hobbyist, versus business, oriented stories.

Missing are the page upon page of ads. Often they were long lists in tiny type of things I just had to have – but wasn’t going to get just yet.

I suspect most of those companies failed during the dot com bust. Many have probably just moved to EBay, where the cost of doing business is much lower.

I miss the ads.

Hey, this isn’t TV. I’m not getting a random mix of adult diaper and Viagra spots. These were targeted ads for products I was interested in. And, I figured the more ads, the more non-advertising content. That wasn’t necessarily true.

The problem with this kind of magazine today is that computers are commodities. You get one right off the line. They’re made to be mass produced. You can buy off-the-shelf hardware that’s fast enough for any application and buy it for less than you’ll pay to build it yourself!

I won’t be surprised if some day soon my ability to build my own machine is taken away, victim of digital rights management or some other tough to control power of the PC. When it’s just an appliance, in every sense of the word, I’ll feel we’ve lost something.

We’re Home

I am writing this page grudgingly. In my heart of hearts I know I want to write and share some experiences. On the other hand the trip home was so awful and exhausting. We left this afternoon and spent nearly five hours driving through rain, much of it torrential. And somehow, either through a weird driving position or more likely while carrying our overstuffed bags upstairs, I pulled something in my upper left leg that needs little provocation to be painful.

But I digress…

Monday was another awful weather day in Atlantic City. Looking back at some of my photos, I see hints of blue. Trust me, if you were there in it, you wouldn’t have used the color blue in any description.

As I mentioned earlier, Steffie was not particularly thrilled with the Boardwalk. Still, I hadn’t been in at least ten years and Steffie had nothing better to do, so the three of us got the car and headed out.

I believe there’s a tax issue here, but another way Atlantic City differs from Vegas is that you’re charged for parking. We went to one of the Trump hotels and were hit up for $5 for the self park garage.

I should get a break for the mere fact that I was a registered New Jersey voter who originally voted to bring casino gambling in. Is there no loyalty?

The Boardwalk remains as tawdry as ever. Unfortunately, the first thing you notice is, there’s no beach to be seen! Oh, it’s there, but it’s hidden behind dunes which have been built to stave off erosion. Somehow, I would hope there’s a compromise between the beach disappearing physically and the beach disappearing visually. Maybe not.

All the casino hotels back on the Boardwalk. Because of the salty sea breeze they are stucco or ceramic facades. It would be foolish to expose too much metal here. Still, the lack of chrome and glass and the salty coating makes everything dull, including the colors.

Other than the casinos, here’s what you’ll find on the Boardwalk: psychics, t-shirt shops, old arcades, a few food joints, Steel’s Fudge and birds. The number of birds on the Boardwalk is astounding. Some hotels and other businesses have strategically placed metallic spikes to keep the birds from roosting. But they’re around 24/7. There are constant sources of food, both discarded and offered.

There is one older apartment building that seemed to be home to thousands of birds. They would fly in an intricately choreographed swarm and then light on small outcroppings.

Some of the outer structure of the building, hopefully not weight bearing, has crumbled away. Maybe it’s because of what the birds leave behind. Maybe it’s the salt air. Probably it’s a combination of the two and too little maintenance.

Steffie and Helaine went to Steele’s to get some fudge. It’s really great. A true Atlantic City treat. I believe pound for pound Steele’s fudge has more sugar than sugar!

We popped into Trump Plaza on our way to and from the beach. I remember thinking, years ago, how gaudy and yet upscale it looked. Not anymore. Everything seems small, crowded and a bit seedy.

As we walked by an outside window, a Trump Security vehicle pulled up. It was old, sort of beaten up, and had letters missing from its name. The Donald would not be thrilled – though this vehicle is the least of his Atlantic City problems.

Back at The Borgata we had dinner at the buffet again. There’s no doubt I’ll be dieting again as soon as I can! Buffets are my undoing.

The comedy club at the hotel runs seven days a week. Monday is when the new acts begin. So Helaine got tickets and we got to see another three comics working hard.

First up was Jim McCue. He just couldn’t get started – couldn’t get the audience warmed up. About 15 minutes in, he started talking to the audience, again going nowhere. He had some funny bits and maybe as second up he would have done better.

Next was Rob Magnotti. He is a talented impressionist, but he needs better material to support his voices and movements.

The ‘headliner’ was Kenny Rogerson. He was very funny – top notch. It’s interesting how a comedian’s performance often hinges more on his command of the stage and audience than jokes. I thought this guy took charge from the beginning and there was no doubt he was going to be funny. That’s very important and then he followed through.

It was 10:30 when the show ended. We said goodnight to Steffie and I headed to the basement and poker. Unlike the weekend, the list for the $10/$20 Texas Hold’em table was short. Within 10 minutes I was in the back ‘room’ playing.

The players at this table were older than those I had been with over the weekend. One man, who the dealers called by his first name, sat a few chairs down from me. I had played with him earlier and he had been a putz. He continued on that track.

Of the ten at the table, I would guess 5 or 6 were regulars or semi-regulars. This was tougher competition than what I had faced earlier.

Within the first few hands I played a big pocket pair (I think it was Kings, maybe Queens) only to get busted on the river (someone had caught good cards to beat me – the best hand when dealt). I was down over $100 and the night was young.

I wavered a little, crawling up and down, but by the time Helaine stopped downstairs to check on me (she called me on the cell phone from within the poker room because she couldn’t see me in this back area) I had shed nearly $200. My play was fine, but the cards weren’t great and the competition was.

I had bought in with $300, getting $20 in white $1 chips and the rest in $5’s. The chips at Borgata are a good idea gone bad. They are clean and new. Unfortunately, they have a tendency to stick together. Mention this to anyone and you’ll be told there’s a magnet inside – but that’s not true. If there was a magnet, at least some of the time it would repel. These always seems to stick together.

Over hours and hours of playing I had lots of time to look at the chips. I think I know where the problem lies. The chips are quite smooth. There are no grooves or ribbing anywhere around. The center inset is depressed ever so slightly – a few fractions of an inch. When two chips come together, a vacuum is formed between the chips in that tiny cavity. It’s enough to make it cumbersome to separate them easily as their natural tendency is to stay together.

Before Helaine left, I won a hand. It was fairly big and I quickly moved from minus to plus. I continued playing until nearly 2:00 AM. At one point I said to myself, as soon as I won a hand, I’d walk. And, I won the very next hand from the small blind position.

At the end, I was up $253 for the night and, as I previously mentioned, the trip was a remarkable success at the poker table. Each time I sat down, I cashed out a winner.

Of course that got me to thinking about what I did right.

First of all, I played my cards. I know that sounds foolish, as that’s what you’re supposed to do. Sometimes, a player wants to look weaker than he is, or stronger. I’ve been guilty of those ruses myself – and often to my detriment. When I thought I was leading, I bet. When I felt behind I folded. Simple as that.

I didn’t play crap before the flop – didn’t chase. If a large number of players were in, and I was in a late position so I could see them bet before me, I’d sometimes play two suited cards or ‘connectors’ (like 9-10 or 7-8). Compared to the table, I was conservative.

If there were tells to be seen from me, no one seemed to catch on. And, to my surprise, my betting really didn’t affect many other people’s play. I was surprised at how few players folded to my raises. Weird.

These tables were fairly loose. Not as loose as some I’ve seen at lower stakes. Still, for a $10/$20 table, I was amazed at how many players saw the flop, even after a raise.

I was lucky, but not overly so in having my cards hold up. I would hope I could replicate my play for similar, if not quite as lucrative, results.

At one point I brought up the subject of on-line play. No one at the table played on-line. To me, the thousands and thousands of hands I’ve played have been my real poker education. I can’t vouch for its honesty in ring games, as I’ve heard stories. But it seems that it would be tough to cheat in the tournaments on a regular basis.

I left the poker room, found Helaine and we got to the room at about 3:00 AM.

Today was getaway day, and pretty uneventful. There was one piece of high tech equipment that caught my eye on our way out. At the valet parking stand is a sophisticated computer system. As each car goes in or out, six cameras take a photo, getting a detailed look at the entire car. Any pre-existing damage is beautifully documented! And, as the cars go in and out, the valet ticket and the ID of the driver are both recorded.

I asked the driver who delivered our car if this system pays for itself. No pause, “yes.”

Blogger’s note: I’ve posted some pictures from the trip in my photo gallery. All the shots with this entry are there, but in a larger, more readable size.

The Borgata

The Borgata is a beautiful hotel. It is Las Vegas like. Unfortunately, it’s not in Las Vegas. Looking out my window, seeing the marshes surrounding Atlantic City and the gray, threatening skies, you know it can’t be Las Vegas.

Like the newest of the Vegas Strip hotels, The Borgata has a huge grand entrance. The lobby is bright and oversized, too. I’m surprised by how close the casino is to the common areas. I remember, in the original Atlantic City casino hotels, it was more segregated.

Unlike Nevada, in New Jersey minors cannot walk through the casino.

Our room is on the 35th floor with a view north toward Harrah’s, Trump Marina, and Brigantine. The room itself is very nice with two very comfortable beds. The bathroom has an oversized glass walled stall shower and nicely designed sink. The porcelain stuff is behind a door in a miniature room within the room – if you get my drift.

The common areas, like the hallways, are modern and bright in appearance. The elevator (at least yesterday) had one very strange quirk. At the rear of the car is a video screen. All day yesterday it was playing scenes from “Rear Window,” Hitchcock’s thriller with James Stewart.

We had dinner at Metropolitan, the 24/7 coffee shop. I had a very good, very large bowl of clam chowder. My Chicken Caesar wrap was dry. I didn’t think the actual wrap was particularly tasty.

Helaine and Steffie went to see Rick Springfield at the Music Box. They said his show was great – though they’ve never said otherwise, and probably never will. They were able to finagle their tickets to 2nd row, center.

While they watched, I played poker. Actually, I played twice – before and after dinner. In the early session, playing $6/$12 Hold’em, I won $96. After dinner I won $5. So far, so good.

The players seemed younger than any casino poker room I’d ever played in. This might be as much due to poker on TV than anything else, though I believe Borgata aims for a younger crowd.

The poker room, in a basement area, but nicely designed and appointed, was very computer dependent. That’s really unusual. The lists for each level of game were displayed on huge plasma screen TVs (and, unfortunately, plasma suffers from burn-in). The floor people walked around the room with some sort of wireless PDA and wireless microphones. On the corner of the podium where table sign ups took place were 4 802.11b antennas with the name TELEX in them.

As the night wore on, the disco upstairs opened. As soon as it did the poker room vibrated to the bass line from upstairs. It was really loud. But, other than that, the room was very nice with lots of drink service and decent action.

On a more somber note, while Helaine and Steffie went out for a while this early afternoon, I settled in and took a test in my Radar Meteorology class. Not the way I want to spend a vacation day, but you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.

Greetings from Atlantic City

The trip down wasn’t that bad. Helaine and Steffie attempted to sleep, but it was nearly futile. A car is not a bed in so many ways.

We left the house around 12:30 AM, stopped quickly at Dunkin’ Donuts and headed out. As we approached I-287 Helaine asked if I was going to take the Tappan Zee? I wasn’t sure – so I did.

It always seems longer to go over the Hudson River with the Tappan Zee, but there were rumors of construction on the George Washington Bridge and a problem with one of the smaller bridges connecting Staten Island to New Jersey which was backing up onto the New Jersey Turnpike.

Real True Honest to Goodness Fact: The Garden State Parkway’s northern terminus is actually in New York. I can’t explain it, but it’s true.

As we headed south on the Garden State Parkway, I was glad to have E-ZPass. The New Jersey Turnpike has a toll booth when you enter and exit the highway. On the Garden State, there’s a toll booth every 20-30 feet! OK – it only seems that way.

The first toll plaza had something I had never seen before. There were a few lanes segregated to the side where EZPass drivers could go through the toll area at full speed. Wow.

We headed south on the Parkway, through Newark and the urban areas of the north and then down, along the shore. As we hit mile marker 72 something strange started appearing by the side of the road – deer. I’m not talking about a deer or two. There were dozens and dozens of deer, all on the right shoulder. Most had their heads down, grazing on the shoulder of the road.

As I buzzed by at 75 mph (slow for me, but I didn’t want to get a ticket in New Jersey where the speed limit is a reasonable 65 mph) I realized that any of them could dash into the road for no apparent reason. I turned to Helaine and told her, should a deer dash into the road, he was lunch meat. I would not swerve at that speed while driving an SUV.

The more deer I saw, the more scared I became. It was eerie with their eyes glowing from the headlights like a road reflector.

We got to my friend Peter’s house at 4:00 AM. He lives in a nice apartment building (it’s condos… but it’s apartments) in Ventnor City. Peter and Elisa have spent the last year or so re-doing their place, and it’s really nice. He said there’s only one or two original walls left!

They have a nice view to the south, looking toward Cape May. They are on the ‘ocean block’ with the boardwalk and beach at the edge of their building.

We were all asleep sometime before 5:00 AM

My next post is from the Borgata.

I Wish I Had Known Jerry Nachman

Jerry Nachman died overnight last night at his home in Hoboken, NJ. If the name isn’t familiar, you might remember seeing him on MSNBC. Nachman was a large man physically and a giant in the business. He was 57, but could have passed for older.

I didn’t know Jerry Nachman. – only met him briefly one night here at the TV station. I had some minimal contact with him while he was editor of The New York Post.

It was a major holiday – probably Easter – at least 10 years ago. Helaine, Steffie and I had driven to Philadelphia to visit Helaine’s parents. On the way back, we waited an eternity to cross the George Washington Bridge. As we approached the toll plaza, I saw some of the booths (on this incredibly busy travel night) weren’t open. I asked, and the toll booth operator offered up, not enough people had been scheduled. The seemed very uncaring on the part of the Port Authority, who runs the bridge.

This was costing people untold hours, and costing businesses money. It wasn’t a story for my station, but it did seem like something for the Post. I wrote Jerry – and he responded. It felt like he was listening, interested and involved… and all because he took 10 seconds and put pen to paper.

I know of Jerry Nachman because of his reputation. He was a radio newsman, TV newsman and manager, newspaper editor, writer… you get the idea. If you look at all of his jobs, you get the feeling that people met him, realized he was really smart, and knew he could do whatever he set out to do.

There is a story that I’ve heard more than a few times. He was news director at WNBC-TV. There was a break in a big story, but no reporter to cover it. Jerry was in an off-the-air position – a management position. But, he told the crew to stop by his apartment on the way, pick him up, and he would report. It’s tough not to respect that.

Nachman seemed like the kind of guy you’d want to work for. Aggressive in his approach to the business, as if it were sport to him. Smart enough not be threatened. Skilled enough to command respect because he knew how to do his job… and your job too.

He was not a coiffed pretty boy with a ‘ripped’ body. In fact, his face had taken on the shape of a canned ham – not uncommon when you’re physically immense. He was all skill and little glitter. He died too soon.

New York City trip – The Producers

Ivy the dog is still in the hospital There was some improvement today, which I’ll get to later. Still, Helaine felt it was best for her to stay home… and she did.

Steffie and I took our three tickets to see The Producers, got in the car around 9:00AM, and headed into New York City. After Dunkin’ Donuts and gas (there’s a joke here somewhere), we hit the open road, convertible top down.

This was actually risky. The mostly cloudy sky turned overcast as we moved west from Bridgeport (In Connecticut, the east-west Connecticut Turnpike is labeled north-south. This makes a geographically challenged adult population even more confused). I expected to have to pull over, under an underpass, at any moment to get the top up. But, by the time we hit the Cross Bronx Expressway, the sun had returned and the air began to get steamy.

The trip to New York, though shared with lots of other cars, was never hampered by traffic.

We followed the CBE to the West Side Highway (following the Last Exit in New York signs) and headed south along the Hudson River. The view to New Jersey was a little hazy. The river itself was pretty empty.

I parked the car ($30, thank you) on West 44th Street, just west of 8th Avenue. I always put up the top when parking, even in attended parking, and that was a good thing, since it later rained.

It was near 11:00 AM and the show wasn’t until 2:00 PM, so we headed into the subway at the corner and went downtown to Canal Street.

For some unknown reason, I thought the IRT #1 train would be the closest (it wasn’t). I mention this, because the subway stairs at 8th and 44th bring you to the 8 Avenue Line IND station with connecting corridors to the IRT (mentioning IND and IRT only helps to show I’m getting older. These labels, a throwback to the era when some subways lines were privately owned, haven’t been used in decades.) It seemed like we were walking to Canal Street as the narrow, tiled, dingy, hot tubes led up and down, left and right, until we were on the downtown platform. We took the express a few stops and then walked across the platform to take the #1 to Canal.

New Yorkers leave the city in droves during the summer, and I’m sure that’s especially true for Labor Day weekend. At the same time tourists pour in. Canal Street was jammed.

Maybe I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m sure Kate Spade, Christian Dior or Louis Vuitton (is there really a Louis Vuitton?) would clutch their collective chests and fall to the ground in cardiac arrest if they ever saw Canal Street. Everything is a knock off… but a nearly perfect knock off.

When a bag says Prada on the outside, it also has Prada on the hardware and Prada “franked” on the leather inside. It’s a pretty thorough job.

Today, I actually stopped as I bought a bottle of Poland Springs water from a vendor, thinking maybe it too wasn’t the real thing. Hey, it’s Canal Street, who knows?

I continue to look, to no avail, for a Breitling combination analog/LCD watch. Obviously, Breitling has them, but that’s a little out of my price range for a watch… maybe not for a car, but for a watch.

Steffie went bag, wallet and shoe shopping. Is it an obsession? Sure. There should be some 12 step program to get her back on the right track. But, at least on Canal Street you can indulge your fantasy. She bought a few things, including some shoes she had been lusting after.

I found a few computer books. One was on Perl, a computer language (which will not make my spell checker happy) used on websites like this one, that I want to learn. The second had to do with Cascading Style Sheets. Again, it’s a concept used on this website and something I had heard about for years without understanding. Like Perl, if I’m going to administer this site, I need to learn at least a little bit about it. Books on Canal Street go for 1/2 retail price or a little less.

A few Canal Street observations. There is a street side display ad for Tag Heuer watches. These watches are sold on Canal Street… they’re just not real. It’s an odd place for an ad like this.

Canal Street is old and tired. There hasn’t been new construction here since the 1930’s or maybe earlier. Little shops are crammed into spaces no larger than a small closet. And, my guess is, this was never an upscale neighborhood, even back in the day. That’s why it was interesting to see beautiful detail work on some of the older industrial buildings.

Finally, even in the midst of urban congestion, people find comfort in things growing. I found this ‘city garden’ on a fire escape. There’s no doubt it’s against fire code, but it is nice to see.

With a 2:00 PM curtain, we headed back into the subway and north to the 42 Street stop on the E train. Up the stairs and, astoundingly enough, we were a half a block from the theater. But, there was a problem. We had Helaine’s ticket!

A try outside the theater yielded nothing. It didn’t seem like the right place to sell it. So, we headed to the TKTS booth in Duffy Square. This is where you’d likely find people looking for tickets, and Producers tickets were always tough to come by.

I walked parallel to the line at TKTS. “Single ticket to The Producers.” Once, twice, three times… and then as I was about to try one more time, Steffie turned me to a woman in line who was interested. She asked how much? I hadn’t thought about it, so asked her to make me an offer. She said half, and the deal was done.

As it turned out, she was Japanese, in New York by herself (though she said she had friends there) and had only come in earlier in the day. She was about to sit dead center in the 6th row, and I was subsidizing 50% of the cost.

The Producers was excellent. It is everything the movie was, though the story has been adapted and simplified for the stage. The current cast is considered “B” next to Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane. Even then, like most New Yorkers, some of the biggest players were out-of-town, replaced by stand-ins. Lewis J. Stadlen, the lead, was replaced by John Treacy Egan, which meant Egan was also covered by an understudy.

I would very much like to see the show again, with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. As the originators of Bialystock and Bloom, and with the theatrical clout to be a little ‘over the top’, my guess is they bring the show up a few notches.

The dialog and sensibility of the show was pure Mel Brooks. You could hear his voice in nearly every line. And, in fact, his voice was heard (lip sync’ed by an actor) during Springtime for Hitler; “Don’t be stupid, be a Smarty – sign up with the Nazi Party!” I believe he did this line in the film as well.

Brad Musgrove as the astoundingly gay Carmen Ghia was a hoot. He got the biggest ovation of the non-principals.

After the play broke, we headed away from the car, and back toward Times Square. Steffie wanted a henna tattoo, which we never found.

We did see a few things in Times Square that you only see in Times Square. The most notable is the “Naked Cowboy.” It is, stripped to its essence, a man wearing a cowboy hat, boots and underwear. That’s it. He charges to pose for photos, and does a pretty brisk business.

For the cowboy challenged, there was also Spiderman, available for a price. In the spirit on New York, I doubt any of his take goes to the copyright owner.

What we did find was rain! What had been a sprinkle as we left the theater turned into a downpour. We were near 42nd Street by this point, so we headed to the ESPN Zone. With a 30 minute wait, we turned back up Broadway and ended up at Planet Hollywood.

When in Times Square, Steffie and I eat at Planet Hollywood more often than not. The food was fine, but more importantly, the restaurant was dry. We were soaked when we got in. Luckily, the camera, books, bags, shoes and the like were in plastic bags. Steffie’s purse had been outside, but tonight, it seemed none the worse for water.

We headed back to the car, only to run into the New York City Fire Department. Something was going on above West 44th Street. Four or five pieces of fire rolling stock and at least a dozen, firefighters (each wearing oxygen packs) stood around chatting as a ladder was extended from a truck and two firefighters climbed to the roof of the theater adjacent to the St. James (where The Producers plays).

If there was cause for alarm, it was well hidden. No one was breaknig a sweat. Steffie wanted to stay and watch, which we did for a few minutes. But, as time went on, it became clear that whatever was going on, was going on out of sight… and wasn’t all that dramatic.

By 6:00 we were in the car, turned north on 8th Avenue, and headed home… with the top down.

Best of New Haven Advocate

Ivy the dog is still in the hospital There was some improvement today, which I’ll get to later. Still, Helaine felt it was best for her to stay home… and she did.

Steffie and I took our three tickets to see The Producers, got in the car around 9:00AM, and headed into New York City. After Dunkin’ Donuts and gas (there’s a joke here somewhere), we hit the open road, convertible top down.

This was actually risky. The mostly cloudy sky turned overcast as we moved west from Bridgeport (In Connecticut, the east-west Connecticut Turnpike is labeled north-south. This makes a geographically challenged adult population even more confused). I expected to have to pull over, under an underpass, at any moment to get the top up. But, by the time we hit the Cross Bronx Expressway, the sun had returned and the air began to get steamy.

The trip to New York, though shared with lots of other cars, was never hampered by traffic.

We followed the CBE to the West Side Highway (following the Last Exit in New York signs) and headed south along the Hudson River. The view to New Jersey was a little hazy. The river itself was pretty empty.

I parked the car ($30, thank you) on West 44th Street, just west of 8th Avenue. I always put up the top when parking, even in attended parking, and that was a good thing, since it later rained.

It was near 11:00 AM and the show wasn’t until 2:00 PM, so we headed into the subway at the corner to head to Canal Street.

For some unknown reason, I thought the IRT #1 train would be the closest (it wasn’t). I mention this, because the subway stairs at 8th and 44th bring you to the 8 Avenue Line IND station with connecting corridors to the IRT (mentioning IND and IRT only helps to show I’m getting older. These labels, a throwback to the era when some subways lines were privately owned, haven’t been used in decades.) It seemed like we were walking to Canal Street as the narrow, tiled, dingy, hot tubes led up and down, left and right, until we were on the downtown platform. We took the express a few stops and then walked across the platform to take the #1 to Canal.

New Yorkers leave the city in droves during the summer, and I’m sure that’s especially true for Labor Day weekend. At the same time tourists pour in. Canal Street was jammed.

Maybe I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m sure Kate Spade, Christian Dior or Louis Vuitton (is there really a Louis Vuitton?) would clutch their collective chests and fall to the ground in cardiac arrest if they ever saw Canal Street. Everything is a knock off… but a nearly perfect knock off.

Today, I actually stopped as I bought a bottle of Poland Springs water from a vendor, thinking maybe it too wasn’t the real thing. Hey, it’s Canal Street, who knows?

I continue to look, to no avail, for a Breitling combination analog/LCD watch. Obviously, Breitling has them, but that’s a little out of my price range for a watch… maybe not for a car, but for a watch.

Steffie went bag, wallet and show shopping. Is it an obsession? Sure. There should be some 12 step program to get her back on the right track. But, at least on Canal Street you can indulge your fantasy. She bought a few things, including some shoes she had been lusting after.

I found a few computer books. One was on Perl, a computer language (which will not make my spell checker happy) used on websites like this one, that I want to learn. The second had to do with Cascading Style Sheets. Again, it’s a concept used on this website and something I had heard about for years without understanding. Like Perl, if I’m going to administer this site, I need to learn at least a little bit about it. Books on Canal Street go for 1/2 retail price or a little less.

A few Canal Street observations. There is a street side display ad for Tag Heuer watches. These watches are sold on Canal Street… they’re just not real. It’s an odd place for an ad like this.

Canal Street is old and tired. There hasn’t been new construction here since the 1930’s or maybe earlier. Little shops are crammed into spaces no larger than a small closet. And, my guess is, this was never an upscale neighborhood, even back in the day. That’s why it was interesting to see beautiful detail work on some of the older industrial buildings.

Finally, even in the midst of urban congestion, people find comfort in things growing. I found this ‘city garden’ on a fire escape. There’s no doubt it’s against fire code, but it is nice to see.

With a 2:00 PM curtain, we headed back into the subway and north to the 42 Street stop on the E train. Up the stairs and, astoundingly enough, we were a half a block from the theater. But, there was a problem. We had Helaine’s ticket!

A try outside the theater yielded nothing. It didn’t seem like the right place to sell it. So, we headed to the TKTS booth in Duffy Square. This is where you’d likely find people looking for tickets, and Producers tickets were always tough to come by.

I walked parallel to the line at TKTS. “Single ticket to The Producers.” Once, twice, three times… and then as I was about to try one more time, Steffie turned me to a woman in line who was interested. She asked how much? I hadn’t thought about it, so asked her to make me an offer. She said half, and the deal was done.

As it turned out, she was Japanese, in New York by herself (though she said she had friends there) and had only come in earlier in the day. She was about to sit dead center in the 6th row, and I was subsidizing 50% of the cost.

The Producers was excellent. It is everything the movie was, though the story has been adapted and simplified for the stage. The current cast is considered “B” next to Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane. Even then, like most New Yorkers, some of the biggest players were out-of-town, replaced by stand-ins. Lewis J. Stadlen, the lead, was replaced by John Treacy Egan, which meant Egan was also covered by an understudy.

I would very much like to see the show again, with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. As the originators of Bialystock and Blum, and with the theatrical clout to be a little ‘over the top’, my guess is they bring the show up a few notches.

The dialog and sensibility of the show was pure Mel Brooks. You could hear his voice in nearly every line. And, in fact, his voice was heard (lip sync’ed by an actor) during Springtime for Hitler; “Don’t be stupid, be a Smarty – sign up with the Nazi Party!” I believe he did this line in the film as well.

Brad Musgrove as the astoundingly gay Carmen Ghia was a hoot. He got the biggest ovation of the non-principals.

After the play broke, we headed away from the car, and back toward Times Square. Steffie wanted a henna tattoo, which we never found.

We did see a few things in Times Square that you only see in Times Square. The most notable is the “naked cowboy.” It is, stripped to its essence, a man wearing a cowboy hat, boots and underwear. That’s it. He charges to pose for photos, and does a pretty brisk business.

For the cowboy challenged, there was also Spiderman, available for a price. In the spirit on New York, I doubt any of his take goes to the copyright owner.

What we did find was rain! What had been a sprinkle as we left the theater turned into a downpour. We were near 42nd Street by this point, so we headed to the ESPN Zone. With a 30 minute wait, we turned back up Broadway and ended up at Planet Hollywood.

When in Times Square, Steffie and I eat at Planet Hollywood more often than not. The food was fine, but more importantly, the restaurant was dry. We were soaked when we got in. Luckily, the camera, books, bags, shoes and the like were in plastic bags. Steffie’s purse had been outside, but tonight, it seemed none the worse for water.

We headed back to the car, only to run into the New York City Fire Department. Something was going on above West 44th Street. Four or five pieces of fire rolling stock and at least a dozen, firefighters (each wearing oxygen packs) stood around chatting as a ladder was extended from a truck and two firefighters climbed to the roof of the theater adjacent to the St. James (where The Producers plays).

If there was cause for alarm, it was well hidden. No one was breaknig a sweat. Steffie wanted to stay and watch, which we did for a few minutes. But, as time went on, it became clear that whatever was going on, was going on out of sight… and wasn’t all that dramatic.

By 6:00 we were in the car, turned north on 8th Avenue, and headed home… with the top down.