Sparts

Sparts: Arts and Sports. Depending on your viewpoint, we went from the sublime to the ridiculous, or from the ridiculous to the sublime. Tuesday, we visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Yankee Stadium.

We started, mid-morning, by taking the subway to the west side of Central Park, right by the American Museum of Natural History, and wandering through the Park to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which is on the Park side of Fifth Avenue. We saw several athletic fields and the Obelisk, and eventually the Museum came into view.

TIP: it is very useful to have a good map of Central Park and its walking trails. The roads curve, and the trails don't always follow the roads. You're never so far from an edge that you're in real trouble, but finding the occasional landmark and re-orienting yourself to your place in the Park can be a comfort. If there are places you wish to see in the Park, this is even more useful. Believe it or not, there is a locator code on the light posts along the walks, based on the assumed cross street and how far you may be in from east or west. BUT: if you spend all your time worried about where you're going, you might miss where you are.

Arriving at the Museum, we entered and split up. My goal was to see the Frank LLoyd Wright Room, which was CLOSED. We did find the Louis Comfort Tiffany room: he was a painter and furniture designer as well as the best stained glass artist of his time. We found the Egyptian Temple, the Turner exhibit, a fascinating display of musical instruments, a room filled with Monets, another filled with works by Paul Klee (I've had a weakness for his work since high school), a marvelous Rodin hallway, several works by Grant Wood and by Edward Hopper, and a hallway with arresting photographs by the greats: Brassai, Cartier-Bresson, and others. This in two hours. I still don't know where Laura and Ross got to, but we met up in the gift shop. I spent a little but we escaped with minimal damage; what a wonderful selection of great gifts and accessories, none necessary.

TIP: There's just too much. Pick a few things from the daily guide to see, and do limit yourself to a couple hours. Then swear to go again and again. If I lived within 200 miles, I'd buy a membership. If I didn't say this for the AMNH, I'll say it now: they're both more than you can hope to absorb in a week, much less a day, much less a couple hours, which is all most of us can handle in any museum on any day. There was one hallway in the Met that smelled of pee, but I'll bet that doesn't stand for long. Somebody with too much money, possibly a donor of that wing or a descendant, will piss and moan, as it were, and the problem will go away.

We tore ourselves out of the Museum at 2 p.m. and set off through the Park, seeking the cafe at Loeb Boathouse. We ended up at the walk-up snack bar rather than the white-tablecloth cafe, as we hadn't reserved, but we found things to eat. I won with the thick but rather ordinary chili and the good beer. We ate outside and Laura got bombed by a small bird, which had all of us covering our food from the pigeons in the trees above. No food or drink was sullied, but we didn't tarry.

We walked through the Park, past the Bethesda Fountain and on to Strawberry Fields, the tribute area to John Lennon that grew up after his assassination, and includes several permanent plaques and a steady flow of fresh flowers, laid out when we saw them in a peace symbol on the memorial. About 160 nations have endorsed a peace statement that appears on the memorial, and yes, the USA is one of them. Exiting Central Park near Strawberry Fields brings you to the Dakota, the fabled apartment house where John lived and Yoko still resides. This 1884 building also figures in a wonderful novel, "Time and Again," which Wendy and I both enjoyed some years ago.

We left the Park and looked for a bus back to the hotel; this is when I discovered I'd misplaced my Metrocard, and we had to scrabble for $2 in change (no paper money) for my bus fare.

TIP: always carry at least $2 in change, for fare in an emergency. You can buy one-day unlimited Metrocards for $7.50, or other cards, at most subway stops, but not on the buses. Except for that, buses accept the Metrocards and are a poor person's alternative to Gray Line to get a look at the city. The subway is faster but offers no views of Manhattan except for people-watching.

We got back to the Edison for a regrouping (read: showers, change out of the most disgusting sweaty underthings), then set out again for the Bronx and Yankee Stadium. Once under the East River, the subway becomes an elevated line and drops you off across the street from both the old and the almost-finished new stadiums. There is just enough time above ground for the rider to absorb where s/he is headed, and then the train stops. It's too bad that the billion dollars or so spent on the new stadium couldn't include some work on the stop.

But hey, we were at f***in' Yankee Stadium. Never mind that our tickets took us to the gate farthest from our seats. Well, maybe an issue: we got in and walked the old, narrow concourses toward Monument Park, the fabled memorial to Yankee greats. It's posted to close 45 minutes before game time. It was so busy that they cut off the line even earlier, just as we got within twenty feet of the line after coming around from the stupid distant gate. This took a bit of the bloom off the rose for Ross, and for me as well.

But hey, we were at f***in' Yankee Stadium. We climbed the several ramps to the upper deck, and the climbed down the thirty steep, worn steps to the front row. Great seats, except the signs hung on the wall cut off our view of the foul line below. Laura unfurled her "Circle us, Bert" sign (Twins broadcaster Bert Blyleven often uses his Telestrator to highlight such signs), and looked for a place to display it.

We went out for beers (Bud Light, 16 oz, $9) and Ross and Laura looked for sandwiches (pretty good Italian sausages, served with peppers), and, by God, the service was slow. The trays for carrying food and drink weren't pre-assembled. The servers seemed to go at their own pace, not the speed required by hundreds of hungry and thirsty fans. I finally bought a 24-oz Foster's, poured from its oilcan into a plastic cup, for $12, and, beer fans forgive me, I bought a 12-oz Coors Light in the stands from a vendor for - I can't stand to think about it - $7.50.

But hey, we were at f***in' Yankee Stadium. All right, it's old, it's tired. The concourses are narrow and uninviting. The signage is not real good in getting you to your seat. The restrooms are fair. The scoreboards are actually well-placed and informative. I couldn't help but think the lighting was uneven, especially near home plate. Monument Park is only cool if you get to go. And the Yankees beat the Twins, which made our cheering seem empty and forlorn. Almost all of the fans nearby were fine, and some had rooting interests other than the Yankees, so we enjoyed chatting.

We joined the thousands trying to board the elevated subway, and discovered that Wendy had misplaced not only her metrocard but a coin purse with a bit of cash and - we didn't know for sure - possibly her driver's license and a couple credit cards. We let Laura and Ross go on ahead, and went back to the stadium to see what we might do. We ended up sitting outside the press gate while stadium staff took a feeble swipe at looking, and we saw the players coming out to their bus (Twins) or the hotshot parking lot (Yankees). Joe Girardi, the Yankee manager, took a minute to greet a child in a wheelchair, and Giambi's porn stache was in good form.

No luck on the little purse; we called in one credit card on a cell phone to cancel it, and let the rest ride until we found out what was actually gone, and went for the subway: the gates to the elevated station were padlocked! We found a nearby underground station, got a pass for Wendy (I was on a one-day), and got a train... which proceeded to fly eight of the next nine stations, being some kind of express. It stopped at a transfer point some twelve blocks from our hotel, and I panicked and had us get off, not knowing where it might stop next - maybe Brooklyn at midnight.

As it turned out, we had a lovely walk down twelve short blocks of Broadway. We went by the legendary Brill Building, where generations of composers, arrangers and agents worked to make the music we all know and love. I think Irving Berlin (an Ellis Island immigrant!) had an office there. Better yet, the driver's license and one of the cards in question were safely in our room. Best, I had a Brooklyn Lager in our ice bag to celebrate the safe journey and the minimizing of the loss.

TIP: Know your credit card stuff. If it's a card you both carry, be sure you both have one. Otherwise, make a list of card numbers and the customer service phone numbers, so you can call and put the brakes on a lost or stolen card as soon as possible. Don't carry the list in the same wallet that the cards are in. Hey, there's nothing wrong with a money belt inside the trousers.

I was asleep when Ross and Laura came in, with their own story which I bet will be told at SpicyMinnesotaKisses.Blogspot.com. There's just a little more to go.