10/13/14
Scarsdale, New York
I’m tired, I’m exhausted, tonight’s entry will be short. I made no progress on my meditations from
last night, and I am prepared to say that, in the end, free will is an
irrelevant topic for the philosophers.
Sure, the biologists and neuroscientists and psychologists can debate
and research the topic, but, with our present knowledge, there is no point
continuing the debate. If free will is
not possible, none of it matters.
Otherwise, free will is possible, and the debate is over. Until and unless the biologists or
neuroscientists or pyschologists have found a way to disprove free will, the
proper philosophical answer is to continue to live our lives as if free will is
possible. With that out of the way, I
can now move on to recounting the events of today, the adventures that brought me back through New York to my parents house in Scarsdale.
I slept as late as could, until I knew that I
could not fall asleep. I had thought
that I was on no set schedule, that I could take my time, that the only
variable would be how late I arrived in Scarsdale. However, I was wrong. I had forgotten that I wanted to arrive at
the State Capitol in Albany before dark.
I got out of bed around 10 AM, having woken up around 9 AM and not being
able to get back to sleep. I probably
should have just gotten out of bed when I woke up at 9 AM, that would have
given me more of a cushion, but it was what it was. I had completely forgotten about that
variable until it was too late.
I did go
to the Frontenac for breakfast, stopping at Parliament for my Official picture
along, and I was glad that I didn’t just eat at my hotel, my parents always
reminding me how good that buffet was when we went half a lifetime ago. They had not lost their touch. It was probably the best breakfast I’ve had
in North America, other than some that I’ve had in Manhattan. The best part was the eggs, they were
perfectly cooked French-style scrambled eggs.
When scrambled eggs are prepared right, they are as good as any
food. These were cooked right.
After breakfast, I lit up my Churchill and
went to pay homage to the plaque again.
I got some more pictures, not that I didn’t have enough pictures with
the plaque from the three other times that I went there. As I explored a different part of the old
city, I realized the time crunch and that I was risking not getting to Albany
before sunset. I found my way to the
fortifications and walked back to Rue Saint Louis atop the wall.
I took my traditional picture with the
Winston Churchill statue, having him smoke my cigar, getting a kick out of it
that I was smoking a Churchill, before walking back to my hotel. I considered stopping at the Casa in
Montreal, but, when I put in the State Capitol into my GPS, it was showing an
arrival time mamash at sunset. There was
no time to spare, and I wanted to pick up a bottle of whiskey at the duty
free. I lit up a Gurkha and was on my
way.
Due to construction and holiday
traffic, I lost even more time. As I was
driving, I saw someone tailgating a gas tanker.
As I approached him, I thought to myself how stupid it would have to be
for someone to do that. Either pass him
or keep a safe distance. Then I saw the
car flash its brake lights three times as I went to pass him. He was obviously warning, about what
though? Was the tanker driving
erratically making it unsafe to pass?
Then I saw it, a cop on the median.
I slowed down and, for the second time in two days, I narrowly avoided
getting a speeding ticket in Quebec. I soon made
it to the border, not quite having finished my Aging Room, which I ditched in
the parking lot, and the lines at Duty Free took far longer than it should
have, costing me 5 precious minutes.
When I got back in the car, my arrival time said 6:40 PM. Nautical twilight began at 6:44 PM (dusk as
it’s more commonly called). I figured
that I would make up some time on the road.
By the time I crossed the border, it was now showing 6:50 PM. When the officer asked me where I was from, I
said New York. He said, “New York’s a
big state.” I did not think that to keep
repeating New York until he realized that I meant the City of New York would be
conducive to getting to the State Capitol before nautical twilight began. Instead, I replied by saying “Park Avenue and [my cross street] in Midtown Manhattan.”
“Oh, downstate.” I set my cruise
control for 13 mph above the speed limit.
By simple math, the arrival time should have went down by a minute every
6 minutes. It was not. Had my GPS gotten used to me usually driving
13 mph above the speed limit and accounted for that? Something was definitely off. I lit up an Opus, and I resigned myself to
defeat.
I knew that the Capitol would be
well lit and that I could take a good picture of the building. The photo with would just be shit. I was right.
I wound up ditching the cigar outside the Capitol, and I got a decent
enough picture to say “New York Complete,” adding that it only took 27 years,
but I would like to come back to take a more Official picture. I’m sure I’ll have a chance to stop by Albany
at some point in the next three years. I
called my father, telling him I was in Albany and to turn the oven to 200
degrees. My parents know what that
phrase means. It means that a bucket of
wings will be getting delivered within the hour. I called Candlelight and made it so.
As I was driving away, I realized that I
hadn’t realized the significance of that moment, that I finally said “New York
Complete.” Without the daylit picture,
it just didn’t feel triumphant. I
stopped at the first service area I found on I-87 and filled up. I debated if I should take a U or “make it
interesting” for the two hours to Scarsdale.
It turned out there was no way to drive from the gas pumps back to the
service area, it being one way. “I guess
I’m making it interesting,” I announced as I drove off, putting on Les Miz and
lighting up an Avo, a combination I have used to close out so many trips and
long drives.
The last song came on as I
was pulling into the driveway, and then I heard a crash. 1500 miles of driving
with no problem this trip, in addition to the 25,000 or so I had done this year
without an accident, only to hit something as I pulled into my parents
driveway? It was just a tree branch that
hit the mirror. I doubt it did any
damage. The wings were ready for me, and
I polished off most of the bucket while I chatted and joked with my parents,
absolutely starving since I had had nothing since breakfast other than a liter
of water and five cigars. The funniest
quote was as follows. We were discussing
the “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” painting.
I said that it was painted by Van Gogh or Cezanne or Picasso, some
French guy. My father replied that
they’re all French. I shot back that Van
Gogh was Dutch and Picasso Spanish. He
agreed with that, leaving only Cezanne.
The three of us cracked up for a good minute.
I then had some ice cream and went to weigh
in. Figuring between all the crap I had
eaten this week (and the last seven weeks for that matter, since I weighed in
Portland), and the pound of wings and the two large glasses of water, I must be
well over my most recent weigh-in. I was
wrong, I had stayed at the same weight and will be even lower in the
morning. That also means that I have
weighed in lighter than my brother for the first time in probably a
decade. I sat down with my father and
chatted some more before I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now
close so that I can get some sleep. In
the end, I set out to say NE/NB/NY Complete, and I suppose that I did. I still don’t have that last stamped brochure
from Saugus, I didn’t get my souvenirs in Fredericton, and I need a better
picture in front of the Capitol, but I did say NE/NB/NY Complete. Next stop: Jamaica, man!
No comments:
Post a Comment