Saturday, May 8, 2010

Marathon Man

This afternoon I went to the Brooklyn Museum. Their big draw is their Egyptian collection, which is one of the largest in the nation if not the world. Impressive as it is, I'm just not into it.

I likes my Western art, what can I say.

I arrived later than I had planned, 4 PM, and did not get to spend as much time there as I would have liked--I may well return again and pretend (again) that I'm still a student, to be able to take in the art on a less harried schedule. They closed at 6, giving me two hours to get to the Brick Theater to see a show. It should have been more than enough, and was, I guess, but by a much slimmer margin than I'd hoped.

My New York City map only includes significant Brooklyn streets and so I spent 45 minutes trying to get to Fulton from the museum: up Hanson and back, down Flatbrush, backward, forward, through an absurdly large C Train station, and finally to the Fulton Street G Train. I should have been in the clear, but the train only went three stops, to Norstrand-Bedford-Lafayette, before we were all told that was as far as the train would go and many of us swore loudly.

Up top I asked one of my fellow travelers how to get to Metropolitan Avenue, and he said the best bet had been the subway. There were a couple buses pulled up, but I didn't know where they were going (I don't have a bus map, and the routes confuse me), and they were going the wrong way besides. I tried to call a friend who lives in Brooklyn for help, but to no avail.

And so I headed north. I walked. And then I ran. And got tired and walked. And ran some more. I tried to flag a cab, but they are shockingly scarce in Brooklyn, and those that did pass me were either occupied or aloof (one of them waved to me). So onward I jogged, down Nostrand, until I ran into Flushing, which I knew was significant. Across a bit and then up another street, probably Marcy or Wallabout. Then I happened onto Lorimer, which I knew was very significant (the Brick is between Lorimer and Union), and followed until Grand Street, whereupon I called a friend to ask if I was close. He gave me the Metropolitan address, but said I should ask for directions to the street. Escaping the wind in a restaurant as I was, I asked a girl at the register how to get to Metropolitan. She pointed yonder down Lorimer and said four, holding up as many fingers to see that I got the message. I thanked her, and found it a couple minutes later, some 27 minutes and 2 miles after I had started, and still with a half hour to spare. I had made damned sure I was going to see my show, because I had bought my ticket ahead of time, because it sounded like it would be good. Sounded.

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