Forget everything I wrote in the last entry.

When I said that our flight would be landing around 2pm, I said it because that’s what someone else had told me. I won’t name names, but this someone is the person who made this whole trip happen, the person who holds onto everyone’s passports, the person who has the airline tickets.

Earlier today, I asked this someone exactly what time our flight lands on Thursday. “If it’s 2:06 or 1:58, I need to know,” and I explained why.

Turns out the flight lands at exactly 3:15pm.

C r a p.

That, umm, kinda makes it hard to get to Yankee Stadium by 5:00pm. Now, I only have 105 minutes to get off the plane, get my luggage, pass through customs (which I’d somehow forgotten about in yesterday’s entry), go home to Manhattan, gather my things for the game, head back out on the subway, run halfway around the ballpark (with a half-sister who’d prefer not to run anywhere), wait on line, buy a ticket, run back around the stadium and get on line at the gate.

I told Martha.
She’s no longer interested in joining me.
HelpThat’s a shame.
I still think it’s possible to get there on time.
I want to try to make it happen.
But I need help.

My parents offered to help by waiting for my luggage while I run off and slip through customs and jump in a cab.

But I need more help. You see, I’ll never make it on time if I have to go home, so I need someone to get my glove, rubber band, Sharpie, Yankees cap, and Tigers cap — and meet me at the airport. That way, I can take a cab straight to Yankee Stadium.

I’m hoping my good friend Jules can do it. Not only is Jules a huge Red Sox fan who’d enjoy rooting against the Yankees with me, but he’s been staying at my place while I’ve been gone. That’s half a month of Manhattan rent for free. He owes me bigtime. (Jules, are you there? Are you reading this? Whaddaya say? Want to meet me at the airport? I’ll pay for our taxi to the Bronx. I’ll buy you a beer at the game. I’ll even pay for your ticket. Oh! That reminds me, we should probably have our tickets BEFORE we arrive. Any chance you could swing by the Yankees clubhouse store and pick up a couple of upper deck seats? It’s on 59th between Park and Lex, right next to the Argosy. That would be a big help. Thanks. I’ll tell everyone who reads this blog what a great friend you are. Wait, I just thought of something…would you rather meet me AT Yankee Stadium? That would save you a bit of a commute, but perhaps since I’ve been gone so long, you’d rather make the trek to JFK so we could spend all that extra time together in the taxi. Yes? Maybe you could bring me a sweatshirt, too? says it’s going to be a bit nippy. Anyway, could you let me know about all of this ASAP? If you can’t make it, I need time to find someone else who can do it. Thanks. You’re a real pal.)

So this is what I’m up to in Israel: stressing over making it on time to batting practice at Yankee Stadium. It’s hard to find time to go to games. And when I do find the time, there’s not much left over for anything else.

(THE NON-BASEBALL TRAVEL UPDATE, DAY 11: Took a four-hour drive to Eilat at the southern tip of Israel. Visited an underwater museum. Took a dip in the Red Sea. Went swimming with some dolphins. Popped over to Egypt for a few minutes and danced an “I’m in Africa” jig. Happy to show you the footage sometime…)


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