captainsblog | May. 29th, 2017

Our Ithaca contingent split up after eating and visiting the comics store- Scott wanted Eli to see the diorama in Carl Sagan's honor of the extended solar system, which begins on the Commons and stretches to near the lakeshore at the Ithaca Science Center. So I headed along my usual South Hill route to Owego- playing Harry Chapin on the drive through Candor as I always do- and got to my sister's in time to check out her own household project status:

That's from a few weeks ago, when a windstorm blew through the Southern Tier. Nobody was hurt, and the pool behind the tree suffered no damage (not even the cover took any), but the outbuilding for its filter and such is toast, and we're still not sure whether the filter inside the building is okay or not. But as of this weekend, you don't see the tree anymore. A passing chainsawer came and chopped it up. Another contractor will be replacing the building and doing some other work around the yard.

We then got a text that Eli was still stuck somewhere in the vicinity of Neptune and that we'd have to drive to the game ourselves. No problem; JARVIS can handle two people.

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In her just-turned-71 years on the third planet (just outside the M&T Bank on the Commons), Donna had never been inside a baseball stadium of any level of play. Even Sandy, I remembered, had visited Yankee Stadium when she lived in the Bronx, and all the rest of us in the immediate fam had been inside Shea, or Silver, or one or another more than once. But she would get the unique experience of seeing the local Mets affiliate in her own home town. Until last year, they were known as the B-Mets, but after a contest to rename the team to sell more minor-league merch, the winner was, wait for it:

....the Rumble Ponies.

(See, Binghamton has carousels in its public parks. With ponies. Who, you know, rumble. Nobody caught that the "B-Mets" moniker could easily be morphed into "Bronies" None of that merchandise was on offer in the gift shop, and I saw none in the stands, but it clearly was yet another only-the-Mets moment in marketing.)

We found the park (eventually), parked (4 bucks across the street), and got our whole crowd of five in for less than it cost three of us in Buffalo the previous weekend. Seats right behind home plate, screened and roofed, and free Bronie hats for Memorial Day weekend for both of us. Moments later, Donna's first selfie:

The interplanetary travelers joined us in time, and the rest of the evening was watching the game, the experience and even the occasional weird: this, for instance, right outside the beer stand, pimping the local economy:

My first thought about that was about the website- something right out of Animal House- but the line above it now seems more evocative of the whole Twilight Zone theme of the weekend- of everybody telling the evil little boy Anthony, "It's a good life!"

(I will be returning to Billy Mumy in the third installment, but I digress.)

Unlike the majors, where access to batting practice is strictly limited to premium seat holders, this is how close anybody with a ten-dollar ticket can get to the players:

This is AA baseball, two rungs from The Show, and I knew of no hot prospects in the Mets organization or of anybody rehabbing at this level- but one name finally rung true: L.J. Mazzilli, playing second base for the Ponies. That would be the son of the Lee of that name, a phenom with the Mets in the 70s who returned for a brief time in their '86 World Series run:

The game was close and quick- like AAA, this league has the 20-second timer on pitchers between throws, and that got us out barely two hours after first pitch. Maz drove in the only run of the game with a sacrifice fly, the Binghamton pitcher made it to the eighth with a shutout (BRING HIM UP TO THE METS!), and the bullpen survived a ninth inning scare to send us all home happy.

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I had one more planned stop for the next day, which will come in the next post, but I ended my time in the Greater Binghamton Metropolitan Area a little lost. With the Memorial Day theme still strong, I thought it was a good time to visit my mother.

Donna wasn't quite up to the haul up the hills, so I gave it my best recollection of where in Vestal Hills Memorial Park she was. I have directional notes (for all my favorite cemeteries) of specific locations, but they remained in the glove box of Emily's now-car. I knew it was "by the gazebo," so I pulled up near it and did a lot of walking. Even called my sister back for some more triangulation- and no, sorry.

It was fitting, though. Mom would've gotten lost, too;) And I'm sure she knew I was there, even as she knew the last time I was there and took this picture:

My only hope is that they kept the stone clear for people to find. Lots of them were covered in grass. I cleared probably 30 stones so the Peases and Sandwicks and Copes will have an easier time of it if they show up this weekend.

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After that, it was back on the road, y'all, for a final stop- leaving the past, and heading for the far future.....

The shortest drive home from my sister's is west, then north, then a rather disfavored detour due northwest to Batavia, and finally a familiar half-hour home on the 90. The route has a string of long established tourist attractions- from a racecourse-turned-casino in Tioga County, to Mark Twain mania in Elmira, to the Corning Glass experience, to Watkins Glen racing just north, and finally past the southern tips of the winery trails of the three westmost Finger Lakes. Keuka, closest of those to home, bottoms out at Hammondsport, about 10 miles north of the highway. There are also aviation attractions throughout this area, and one of them, the Curtiss Museum, began a push this summer to expand its base by promoting, HEY, KIDS!,

Mmmkay. Hadn't heard of those last two, but I'm always down with the memorabilia. So I claimed my dollar AAA discount (still too young for the senior admission:P), and found my way to this fabulous new installation.

There wasn't anything Doctor Who in there other than me in a TARDIS t-shirt, but the theme of this exhibit was very weeping-angels like: Don't Blink, or you'll miss it.

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Don't get me wrong. The stuff they had was good. All ten display cases of it, in a section of the exhibit floor not much bigger than our living room. They led with the best they had: a full-size replica of the Lost in Space robot, completing my Billy Mumy trifecta:

"Please do not touch" was part of the overarching theme. Everything was either under glass or behind barriers. Nothing interactive or interpretive about any of it. Even the robot was not a genuine prop but a replica which appears to have come from a builders club member in Kenmore. I amused myself remembering all of Dr. Smith's insulting names for the dear boy, then moved along.

Next was Trek, with the deepest bench of the entire exhibition. Probably five whole displays, ranging from a redshirt getup from the original Khannnnnnnn!-

- to this, wow! actual interpretation!, depiction of how Federation technology has become ours even before the birth of Zefram Cochrane-

You want Galaxy Quest? That was next. Here it is- all of it:

(Now I'm going to be speaking in a high-pitched vocal-fry voice for the next hour;)

Throw in the not two but THREE shows I'd never heard of-

- and it was pretty much time to move on to the permanent collection. (Okay, Andromeda, I finally remembered, was a Roddenberry one-off descended from the Genesis II project he worked on after TOS's demise- best remembered for Kevin "Hercules" Sorbo leading them into space.)

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Much more here if you like planes. Old ones, big ones, even a HEY KIDS! seat or two to "fly" from. Perhaps most famous among the creations of the museum's eponymous Glenn Curtiss? His Jenny:

(I'm surprised they didn't hang it upside down. They're way more valuable that way;)

I spent more time waiting in the Bath-area Mickey D's drive-thru than I spent at this sci-fi exhibit. I won't complain about 10 miles or 10 bucks, but I wouldn't bring a boatload of kids down here from points far away until they significantly expand or improve.

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On the final leg home, though, I saw something artistic that was as uplifting as anything under this roof. If you've traveled on 390 between Corning and Rochester, heading northbound, you've probably noticed the Rock- big and on the roadside on the right, and gets painted regularly by competing high schools, fraternities, and such. I always look for it, because it's something of a landmark that tells me I'm getting close to home. On that last leg before the bypass to Batavia, I saw it beautifully repainted with LOCK HIM UP and hashtagged #45. And this is in the heart of REPEAL THE SAFE ACT country.

Finally home after stops for pet meds (Zoey came down with ear mites) and groceries. We're caught up on Who and Class (although somehow zapping through the final scene of the latter which seriously changed the tenor of what we saw happen to Miss Quill), and will be hotdogging and maybe doing some minor yardwork for the rest of this day of Memorializing.