James and Marissa Come Out To Play

There are some impulses so strong in the mind of man, it is almost as though they have been chiseled into the marble of man’s psyche. The allure of the high seas, the call of the open road, the native drive westward. There are forces almost beyond man’s control. There is an animal call within all of us to fulfill them. Some routes have been scratched deep within men’s souls long before they have been transcribed to mere paper maps. The draw of these journeys are so strong you may embark on one and only realize after you have already begun that you walk on the path of myth. So it was for me when I stepped onto a simple train, but onto the route of legend.

It was nothing, just a simple trip to the aquarium, a way to spend a day on my most recent trip to New York City to visit some family. It seemed an innocuous activity. Marissa, my charming fiancé and adventuring companion, loves aquariums. It was on Coney Island, a part of New York I had yet to visit. It was not until we had already been on the train – as we passed the Fordham station in the Bronx – that it hit me. We were travelling from the Bronx to Coney Island by train and subway. We had found ourselves quite unwittingly following the exact path of the Warriors.

Can you dig it?

Well, I can and I did. I dug it. I dug it real good. I giddily reported my realization to Marissa. She seemed interested and intrigued although I am not really sure if she has ever really seen the film. She does have enough nerdy friends – and one fairly nerdy fiancé – that she understands these sorts of things. In case you have never seen the film, it is about a simple, desperate journey. The Warriors attend a meeting of all the gangs of New York in the Bronx. Cyrus the leader of the largest gang is killed. The Warriors are wrongly accused of the murder. They have to make it back to Coney Island with every other gang in New York after them. Oh yeah, and every gang has a theme with costumes and – sometimes – face paint to match. There is even a gang that dresses like mimes. That’s right mimes. They’re called the High Hats, and I can only assume they’re awesome. I have to assume because you only see them for a second at the beginning, but they never actually do anything.

As soon as I realized we were following in the footsteps of the Warriors, I knew our journey would be fraught with peril. It was. Just as the Warriors fought to return to Coney Island before countless bloodthirsty gangs in kabuki make up destroyed them, we had to get to Coney Island before the Aquarium closed at five. Also, Just like the Warriors we were safe as long as we were on the train, but peril awaited us when we stepped foot outside.

Of course, the Warriors peril took the shape of Baseball Furies, a group of youth who dress like Kiss fans playing sandlot, where our peril took the form of our own stupidity and general lack of experience with the New York subway system. At Grand Central Station, we had a hard time figuring out which subway line would be the quickest. We ended up staring at a subway map forever. Making an abortive attempt to get to another stop, before coming back to Grand Central and actually asking for some assistance. In true NYC fashion, the girl in the booth was brusque and seemingly annoyed at having to talk to some rube from out of town. The directions where given through one of those microphone systems like they have at McDonald’s making it almost impossible to discern. We did finally figure out which train to get on. I’m still not a hundred percent certain we made the best decision, but I knew we would get there. Eventually. At least we didn’t have to fight anyone on roller skates.

Sadly, we did not run into any gangs. Although we did see a couple on the train dressed disturbingly alike. A youngish couple – late teens early twenties – sat across from us for about twenty minutes. They both wore a Batman logo tee shirt, khaki shorts, a necklace with a shamrock pendant, sandals, and carried black messenger bags. I did not hear them say anything, but they did occasionally whisper some secret back and forth. For our part, Marissa and I didn’t say anything and occasionally whispered to each other secrets such as: “what’s up with those guys?” “ “Why don’t you ask them?” “I don’t want to ask them. They might be in a gang. Why don’t you ask?”

After a long trip by subway, we finally reached Coney Island. We rushed from the train to the aquarium. It was 4:30. We discovered the aquarium closes at 5, but they stop selling tickets at 4:15. We were crushed, but it was donation day when the aquarium accepts donations instead selling tickets. I floated the idea of bargaining a $5 donation just so we could see the sharks. Because, really, the sharks are the coolest part of any aquarium., and if I wasn’t going to see any High Hats I might as well see sharks, which was the name of a gang in the other movie I’ve seen dealing with New York City gangs. On a related note, I have a warped view of actual gang culture. Unfortunately, the guy in the ticket booth was having none of it.

Crushed, we went out to the boardwalk. We figured as long as we couldn’t see the aquarium, we might as well see what Coney Island is all about. Picture a seedy carnival built among the projects and you pretty much got Coney Island. I quite like it. There are various rides available. I did drop $8 dollars to ride the Cyclone, the world famous roller coaster Alvy Singer grew up under. I almost got duped into playing some sort of carnival game involving fishing ping-pong balls out of a bucket. I’m not really sure how it worked, but the guy with an accent assured me I could be a big winner if I gave him $5 dollars. I managed to get out of that without losing any money and I won an American flag keychain, which is awesome, I guess. Then Marissa and I stopped for a beer in some tourist trap called Beer Island – or Oasis or some other such nonsense. Basically you could drink beer behind the beach on a patio made to look like a beach. It was okay, but we were subjected to a terrible classic rock cover band. I don’t why I needed to travel almost 400 miles from Pittsburgh to New York to hear yet another shitty cover of Hotel California. When it comes to shitty classic rock cover bands I think Pittsburgh has it pretty well covered. As a matter of fact, that might be one form of culture we have all over New York.

We walked around Coney Island a little longer soaking in its majesty. We saw the Wonder Wheel. We thought about getting a hot dog. We saw a carnival style barker trying to get us into an honest-to-God freak show. We saw a scary looking haunted house like ride with an dummy made to look like it was projecting vomit and diarrhea at the same time. We didn’t go into any of these. We did go into a public bathroom, which was scary enough. Finally, we completed our Warriors-styled adventure the same way the Warriors did, with a long walk on the beach. Only where the Warriors walked alone along a clean stretch of beach, we were greeted with a beach strewn with every type of refuse known to man. There were broken bottles, empty potato chip bags, a lonely swimsuit, and more needles than I care to think about. Maybe, we did have it as tough as the Warriors all along.

Shalom