THE PIG

A cautionary tale of embarrassment and near death at the hands of a baby pig

*The names of all involved have been changed in order to protect them from being associated with me and the overall events of the evening*

It was beautiful Friday afternoon in New York City.  I had arrived to work early that day in hopes of cutting out a little short to meet a high school classmate of mine whom I had not seen in 22 years.

My friend, Evan Chadswick, had finished his appointment in midtown and we decided to meet at The Gingerman for a few pints.  Over the next hour, we enjoyed catching up on old times and discussed our lives over from the past 2+ decades.  As we were paying the tab, Evan mentioned he was meeting a friend of his from college and her boyfriend for drinks. He invited me to come along. This was shaping up to be a great evening!  Hitting Manhattan with a friend I hadn't seen in years for dinner and drinks.  What a great way to wrap up the week!

It proved challenging to get a cab, so Evan and I walked south to Maialino Restaurant at Gramercy Park.  It was a great spot and there was a man playing the violin for onlookers right outside the front doors as we entered the establishment.  We ordered a drink at the bar and were quickly escorted to our table in the front of the restaurant.

Here I was at a nice restaurant in NYC with my old friend Evan.  We had met up with his friend Sally and her boyfriend Toby for a wonderful dinner.  We raised a glass and toasted to what was going to be a fantastic meal.

We ordered a few appetizers and another round of libations.  We talked, we ate, and we drank.  Good times!  While deciding on our main course, the waiter explained that they were known for their meats and, specifically, the Full Suckling Pig.  I had obviously heard of suckling pig but had never eaten it.  We ordered it for the table.  

Suckling Pig!  What a night!

The main course arrived and it looked delicious.  The moist sections of tender meat glistened underneath the darker pieces of crispy fried skin.  My mouth immediately began to water.  We all grabbed a section for our individual plates along with a side of roasted carrots and proceeded to dine on the perfectly prepared swine.

First bite.  It was delicious.  The flesh of the pork was moist and flavorful.

Second bite.  I added a piece of the fried skin.  It added a welcomed crunch in contrast to the melt-in-your mouth pork.  I remarked to Evan that it tasted a bit like fancy pork rinds, if such a thing exists.  He agreed.

Third bite. In recollection, I believe at this time I could hear the faint sounds of the man outside with the violin as he began to play the "Theme from Jaws".  Duhn-Duhn…

There was a little tightness in my throat.  Duhn-Duhn…

I coughed.  It didn't help.  Duhn-Duhn-Duhn-Duhn…

I grabbed my vodka-tonic to wash down the food that seemed to have gotten lodged in my throat.  I tried to take a couple of big gulps.  Duhn-Duhn-Duhn-Duhn…DUHNTITA…

Then things got...interesting.

I gagged.  The drink not only wouldn’t go down my throat but it was beginning to come back up with full force.  My throat was about to become the vessel of a human version of Old Faithful.  I quickly clasped my hand over my mouth trying to stifle the cocktail from emerging.  It began to leak through fingers.  I gave one more attempt to swallow.  Instead I coughed.  My drink sprayed through my fingers, in a fine mist, and onto my tablemates.

If the sun had been shining in through the window, I'm quite certain it would have produced a lovely rainbow.

However, this was no time for rainbows.  I panicked as I ran through the doors and out onto the sidewalk. I found the closest tree and let out a sound similar to what I image a yak would sound like if it had swallowed a live cat.  

My eyes were bulging.  I couldn't catch a breath as I bent over the base of a tree with my mouth agape.  I truly could not breath.

Suddenly (and I'll omit the awful details), I threw up and the welcomed air off Lexington Avenue gushed into my lungs. I straightened myself and took a deep breath.  Bleary eyed I could sense a few people near me were clearly mortified.  Whatever.  I could breath.  I walked back into the restaurant.

Obviously, I was embarrassed and apologized to Evan, Sally and Toby.  They took it well and I tried to make a joke about spitting on the table.  They laughed it off and told me it was no big deal. They were gracious.

Conversation picked back up as I picked up my glass of water. I tipped the glass toward my mouth and as the ice-cold water slid past my lips I realized that IT WAS HAPPENING AGAIN!!!

Toby uttered a horrified, "Uh oh" just as I sprayed him with water from the fire hose that was suddenly and cleverly disguised as my mouth.

Less that one minute after coming back into the restaurant, I was running back through the door and around the corner of the building.  Why I ran around the corner is still a bit of a mystery.  I was clearly in distress while choking but my flight response apparently didn't want me to vomit in the same spot twice.

This time the water and some food came up much quicker.  I was hunched over once again gasping for air with certain contents of my stomach on my jeans and shoes.  I looked up and saw a young couple walking toward me.  Instead of asking me if I was ok, they sped up and kept a 5 ft. distance in case I was a rabid animal.  I probably would have done the same.

I stood up after realizing I could breath normally. However, it still felt like something was in the bottom of my throat.  Nothing felt stuck but I was having a difficult time trying to swallow.  Nothing would go down my throat.  That could be a problem.

I had a decision to make and silently weighed my options:

A) Go back into the restaurant - Not a chance in Hell.

B) Go to the nearest hospital - I hate hospitals.

C) Catch the next train home and hope everything works out - BINGO!

I got to Penn Station and threw up in the men's room (note - I'm quite certain more people actually vomit in the toilets at Penn than actually use the facilities for normal purposes).

The commute home was brutal.  I was texting with Evan so he didn't think I was a complete flake for bailing on dinner after spitting on him and his friends.  That was a tough sell.

I got home and immediately my wife (and mother-in-law who happened to be visiting from out of town) knew something wasn't right.  I apparently didn't look to well and when I explained the situation, they insisted that we go to the emergency room.  I tried to explain that I had already decided on Option C and not Option B, but she would hear none of it.

I was admitted into the hospital and was quickly diagnosed with having food (pig) stuck in my esophagus.

The rest of the evening was a blur of nurses laughing that I had a baby pig stuck in my esophagus and laying in an emergency room amid stabbing victims and inebriated assholes.  Finally, after 11 hours, I was the recipient of my first (and hopefully last) endoscopy procedure.

Two months later, Evan was back in NYC and we agreed to meet again for dinner.  

We had a great time at Jamba Juice.

Synchronized Baby Dance

Oh (crap) Canada!

I travel a lot, but this past Tuesday is one of those days that the planets align to knock even a seasoned traveler down a few pegs.

I'm a Delta guy.  I used to live in Atlanta which is the major hub so that's how they got their claws into me.  I now live in NY and prefer to fly Delta to keep up the miles and my priority status.  It is a welcomed (and only) perk when having to travel away from home.

This particular trip was to Toronto for a late afternoon client meeting.  The flights on Delta didn't really work for my schedule so I was booked on Air Canada. The 'ole Maple Leaf was taking me to America's hat.

I used to think the Delta terminal at LaGuardia was bad.  Uh, no.  I would call the Central Terminal for Air Canada a dump, but that would be an insult to trash that gets placed in a landfill.  The seats are all cracked, the carpeting has what I can only guess is blood and excrement on every square inch, and the only option for food is the worse Au Bon Pain I've ever seen.  They didn't have sandwiches.  Sandwiches! I ate cookies for lunch.  Awesome.

Once we boarded (30 minutes late), we were 34th in line for take-off.  Yes, 34!  I hate you LaGuardia!  You are awful.  If you were a person, NYC would have kicked in your teeth and you'd be living as a toothless reject in South Philly!

But I digress.

We finally took off and landed in Toronto at 3:55pm.  I rushed off the plane and into customs where I was greeted by the longest line I've seen since trying to ride "It's A Small World" at Disney World.

I entered the tail end of the line with the rest of humanity.  I was going to be late for my call at 4:30pm.  There was no doubt.  As I shuffled along the line, a little kid behind me kept kicking my bag.  I finally asked his mother to have him stop.  She was Indian and didn't speak English.  I looked at the kid.  He understood English. I could tell. He smiled and kicked my bag again.  Little shit.

Finally I cleared customs and rushed out of the terminal at 4:40pm.

I'm lucky enough to be able to use a car service in Toronto.  In order to have the car pick you up, you must tell a dispatcher outside your name and he will send for the car.  I found the designated contact and said, "Kelly" as I began to dial the conference call number for my meeting.

"Kelly?", said the dispatcher.

"Yes.  Kelly.  K-E-L-L-Y"

"Got it.  He'll be here in 2 minutes"

I dialed into my call and began to speak with my client.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a black town car approach with a handwritten sign which read "Dave Kelley".  People misspell my last name all the time so I waved him down while speaking on the phone and jumped into the car.

Traffic was awful.  There was no way I would make it to my clients office in time to join them for the end of the meeting. Halfway to my destination, I put my phone on mute and told my driver that instead on my location on file, I would like to go to the Park Hyatt instead.  He looked at me strangely but nodded in agreement.

I got back on the phone and was in the middle of a conversation when I noticed the driver was trying to get my attention.  I excused myself and muted the phone again and looked at my driver.

"You were not supposed to be going to the location you told me.  I have you going to the King Edward Hotel", he said.

King Edward Hotel?  What?

I explained that I was never supposed to be at that hotel and there must be a mistake in the reservation.

But wait.

"This is a Global Alliance towncar right?", I asked.

The face of the driver alerted me immediately that it was not a Global Alliance towncar.  I was in the wrong fucking car.

I paid him an extra $40 to keep driving and take me to the hotel.  He swore under his breath the entire trip.


So here I was in Toronto.  I missed my meeting.  I had no dinner plans.  It took me 10 hours to make a one hour flight.  I found the nearest restaurant and ordered a double vodka tonic.

I must have felt great by the time I left dinner.  I ended up going to see a French movie call Pitoche ("Trophy Wife").  It starred Catherine Deneuve and Gerard Depardieu.

 Depardieu is now fat but he still has that douchey haircut.

What a day.

The Real Reason Why Bicycles are the Key to Better Cities | Sustainable Cities Collective

When I graduated from elementary school, we left Michigan and headed to Oregon. My family moved across the country leaving behind all that I had ever know.

Obviously, I would be in a city without any friends. Transitioning from elementary school to middle school is already hard enough. For me it was going to be brutal.

I spent the entire summer getting around town on my 12-speed bike. That's right, 12 powerful speeds in which I would leave those with a mere 10 speeds in my dust. I would go off around lunch and ride through the different neighborhoods and into the city of Eugene. I got to know the city one block at a time.

It was the loneliest summer I ever had as a kid, but it was also the most exciting. Exploring a city on a bike. It's something everyone should do when they move.

The Real Reason Why Bicycles are the Key to Better Cities | Sustainable Cities Collective

Korilla killa

I finally made it to the Korilla Korean BBQ truck today.  It may be 10 vicious midtown blocks away from the office, but it's totally worth the dodging suits and tourists.

My selection: Bowl w/ Bulgogi and Bacon Kimchi Fried Rice, all the fabulous Kimchi toppings, carrots and graced with a spinkle of cheese.  Got both the Korean BBQ sauce and K-illa hot sauce.

It is fantastic.  All for $8 which, by Midtown NYC standards, is a steal.

Track them on Twitter at @KorillaBBQ

WORK GOLF - We suck so we made a movie

http://vimeo.com/20943270

Not just Vegan, Macro Vegan

I just learned something after grabbing a quick snack at the market on E 45th.

Bento Box = Yum
Bento Box + in a plastic container = Meh
Bento Box + in a plastic container + declaring itself Macro & Vegan = Turd on a Fork

I should have walked the 5 blocks to the schnitzel truck.