So before I begin to bitch about how god-awful cold it is here, I wanted to tell you all about a few other things.
Last week, I got a call from my friend Mark Partlow. Mark is a guy I've known for at least 7 or 8 years now and he is a super cool guy and a great guitar player. He and his wife Tish, who also happens to be super cool, were in New York to see another friend of theirs who dances on "Broadway". So Saturday night I head down to the part of Manhattan know as Chelsea. It's kind of on the west side of the lower third of the island. I end up meeting Mark and Tish at a bar called the Viceroy. It's a cool little place that has almost an old diner vibe to it, that has been transformed into a bar.
So we're having our drinks and enjoying a conversation. I met their friend Trey, who had just finished a performance in "Moving Out" (the musical with Billy Joel songs). Soon enough, the DJ, who had been spinning some old R&B tunes, announces that the "Candace Cane Show" is about to begin. Everyone turns their attention toward a spotlight pointing to the back of the club.
A really terrible song begins to play and a woman dressed in a see through black dress and bra and thong begins to lustfully wander toward the stage while singing along with the awful pre-recorded track.
As I crane my neck to observe the spectacle at the front of the bar, I notice first that this chick has a massive set of fake breasts. I'm not talking Pam Anderson-huge.....but big enough to catch a person's eye for a moment or so. As I begin to glance up I notice a pronounced adam's apple and strongly chiseled jaw bone. I was able to process pretty quickly that I was taking in my first ever transvestite drag-queen show.
It was shortly after I was finished processing this equipment that the following realization hit me (I'll guide you through exactly what popped into my brain):
I'm at a drag show.
I'm at a drag show with Mark Partlow.
Mark Partlow plays guitar.
Mark Partlow played guitar in a band with my old youth leader.
I know Mark Partlow through my old youth leader.
I know Mark Partlow through church.
I'm at a drag show with Mark Partlow.
It was incredibly surreal to be standing next to this guy while watching what ended up to be a pretty funny show! Candace was incredibly funny and had the ability to keep balance in these really tall, skinny heels while doing twirls and kicks. Even though it was about 25 degrees outside at the time, she used her entire surroundings, meaning she would walk outside of the bar and dance in the street and on the sidewalk and interview passers-by.
I ended up having a blast and to capitalize on the surreal nature of the evening, Mark and Tish and I had our picture taken with Candace......which I hope to put up as soon as Mark emails me the photo.
On to less hilarious fodder......
Goddamn it's COLD!!!!!!
I seriously am freezing to death.
It got really really cold, really really quickly!
Last monday it was like 65 degrees. Today it was 34 degrees.
The cool part is that it has snowed a few evenings and is supposed to snow three inches tonight. The uncool part is that the wind is blowing sometimes close to 25 mph, which is BRUTAL!
Two more news snippets before I leave you to ponder your life.
-Mixing is finished for my record! I hope to have it mastered and manufactured incredibly soon!
-I'm coming home in twelve days!
Thursday, December 8, 2005
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Jersey House Parties and GoGo Dancers
What a weird weekend. It started early for me, but the last few days have been incredibly odd. It all began on thursday, when my friend Anibal (whom I work with at the museum) had some of his artwork on display at a benefit show for a girl who is my age, but is stricken with ovarion cancer.
So I end up at this art benefit, which is being held in this very tiny room above a bar. The place is packed with artists, hipsters, hip-hoppers, punks, freaks.........and me. After a $10 donation at the door, which I was more than happy to give since the money went directly to the girl with cancer, they give you two green tickets which I happily exchanged for two Red Stripe beers. Since the place was so packed, I decided to get both beers at one time and just walk around "double fisted".
I meet up with Anibal and his buddy Ron (who looks exactly like Bernie Williams) and we hang out for a while at the art opening. Also hanging out were Al's brother Ed, this guy Ken and Ron's neighbor, Mel. These are all characters that come into play later in the story and the weekend in general. After about half an hour or so, the plan changes because somebody who knew somebody was having a party that somehow involves models and free drinks, and so that means we're off to a club!
I swear we must have killed another twenty minutes standing outside waiting for the whole crew to assemble and my only problem with this was that it was 35 degrees outside. So as we're standing outside, and I'm personally freezing my nuts off, more details come to light about where we're headed. Basically, everyone but me knows this one guy who works with a modeling agency and the agency was hosting a party for their models at a club called "GoGo". Now, where I'm from gogo is simply a type of dancing where a scantily clad young lady is essentially trapped in a cage and forced to dance. According to Ed, in New York "gogo" is just another form of strip joint. As we finally arrive, we are all on the guest list (nice) and are escorted into the area that the party was just getting started.
BEAUTIFUL GIRLS TO MY LEFT!
BEAUTIFUL GIRLS TO MY RIGHT!
I'm astounded by how many gorgeous girls there are at this party. Wandering up to the bar, we discover that the free drinks consist of Budweiser bottles and house vodka drinks. I'm not a fan of either variety but I am not one to discriminate when the word 'free' is involved. I order a Bud and the bartender apparently thought i asked for two, so again I'm double-fisted. Things could be worse.
As it turns out, "GoGo" was not in fact a strip club, but a dance club with the gogo dancers that I was expecting. Everyone was fairly disappointed. The models made up for it. And then there was the VIP hostess. Holy crap. This girl was quite hot and she made every guy in the room stare at her. She was wearing some tiny little tank top that barely covered the special bits of her ENORMOUS fake breasts. It was like I was in seventh grade squinting at scrambled porn, I just couldn't keep my eyes off of them. And she knew it too, which made things worse, because if I happened to be looking in her direction she knew I was gonna glance down!
As the evening progresses, the free drinks begin to catch up with everyone. Ron and Mel are standing in front of one of the dancer's platforms taking pictures in an attempt to get a dancer in the background. Ed and Ken are trying very hard to get up on the VIP platform to dance with these two Madison Ave. princesses. Al and I are nursing beers from each hand, just scoping the crowd. It is during this moment that Al leans over and points out a person in the room that was famous. It was Wonder Mike, of the legendary hip-hop group "The Sugarhill Gang", known for their song "Rapper's Delight". I'm not saying I wasn't impressed by seeing the guy, but I was more impressed (as was the rest of the room) when Sugarhill Gang took the stage and performed. It apparently was a performance that wasn't planned. The whole place went nuts!
The "show" was over and we're ready to split, but quickly notice that Ken has disappeared. As we step outside, Al calls Ken and asks him where he went. Turns out, Ken felt like he was getting sick, so he bolted out of the club and proceeded to wander up 6th ave from 19th street to 23rd street, ralphing on every block along the way. I find this funny, but its even funnier to me, because I'm glad it wasn't me.
That was a long story for one night, but it is not where my weekend stopped.Friday night, Mel was having a party at his house in Jersey City, NJ. This was my first venture into the odd and twisted land that is the Garden State.
I ride over with Anibal and Ed and as we leave the city through the Holland Tunnel and re-emerge in another state, it was strangely similar to entering an alternate universe. Life seemed to slow down to a snail's pace. Traffic was non-existent. People seemed happier and in less of a rush. All of these things are pretty odd considering I haven't left the city in 7 months.
We get to the house at around 10pm, and it was actually very familiar. I miss the house parties that used to be such a staple of life for me, living in the south. But that is where the similarities ended. Mel greets us and is busy DJ-ing (not well, I might add). There is a ton of beer and alcohol and people are pretty well into it by the time we arrive. The highlight of this party of the story is really the people that were in attendance, so I'll skip ahead to my two favorite characters.
First, after several beers, I ended up in a coversation about music with a nomadic Australian kid who had been all over the world, just because he didn't feel like having a day job. We discussed the influence of Pink Floyd and other bands on today's indie music. It was after a long talk that we got into the "favorite bands" category. He spouted off some band I had never heard of and I rattled off "The Beatles". It was at this point that I lost the majority of interest in the conversation. The guy spent the next ten minutes raising his voice about how "overrated the Beatles are". I basically tuned out and began to notice my second favorite character of the night.
Near a door frame, a girl who had arrived much later than my friends and I but was somehow WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY more drunk! I'm pretty sure that the door frame was the only reason she was standing up. Soon enough, my suspicion was proven correct. Let me set this up for you. She was not a small girl. I'd venture to say 5'8", 260 lbs. VERY DRUNK. And then it happened. The girl fell over like a toppled building. She hit the floor so hard it hurt the tile.......no literally, two of the tiles cracked! She was helped to her feet and put in a chair at the kitchen table. Two young ladies proceeded to fix her a glass of water and check to see if she was ok. The next time I turned around, the girl was still sitting in the chair, but the glass of water that she was supposed to be sipping had been replaced by a fresh can of budweiser. Not a bright idea. She then stood up and began dancing near the chair she was sitting in, but sadly had not suddenly regained her balance and she fell over again, this time taking the flimsy table and chair with her. People again rushed to her aid and when asked "Are you ok?" the girl responds "I spilled my beer, get me another one!" I wish I could say that was the end of it, but the girl seriously tumbled like four more times, each subsequent time making terrible attempts to bump and grind with some poor soul that couldn't avoid her fast enough.
Last night was pretty weird too, but I want to save a few stories for when I get home, or else you guys will all think I'm boring and uninteresting. Let's just say I did get to watch the football game (GEAUX TIGERS!!), then later had my Tarot cards read, and ended up taking a cab home at like 6am. Yeah........I'm gonna go take a nap!
So I end up at this art benefit, which is being held in this very tiny room above a bar. The place is packed with artists, hipsters, hip-hoppers, punks, freaks.........and me. After a $10 donation at the door, which I was more than happy to give since the money went directly to the girl with cancer, they give you two green tickets which I happily exchanged for two Red Stripe beers. Since the place was so packed, I decided to get both beers at one time and just walk around "double fisted".
I meet up with Anibal and his buddy Ron (who looks exactly like Bernie Williams) and we hang out for a while at the art opening. Also hanging out were Al's brother Ed, this guy Ken and Ron's neighbor, Mel. These are all characters that come into play later in the story and the weekend in general. After about half an hour or so, the plan changes because somebody who knew somebody was having a party that somehow involves models and free drinks, and so that means we're off to a club!
I swear we must have killed another twenty minutes standing outside waiting for the whole crew to assemble and my only problem with this was that it was 35 degrees outside. So as we're standing outside, and I'm personally freezing my nuts off, more details come to light about where we're headed. Basically, everyone but me knows this one guy who works with a modeling agency and the agency was hosting a party for their models at a club called "GoGo". Now, where I'm from gogo is simply a type of dancing where a scantily clad young lady is essentially trapped in a cage and forced to dance. According to Ed, in New York "gogo" is just another form of strip joint. As we finally arrive, we are all on the guest list (nice) and are escorted into the area that the party was just getting started.
BEAUTIFUL GIRLS TO MY LEFT!
BEAUTIFUL GIRLS TO MY RIGHT!
I'm astounded by how many gorgeous girls there are at this party. Wandering up to the bar, we discover that the free drinks consist of Budweiser bottles and house vodka drinks. I'm not a fan of either variety but I am not one to discriminate when the word 'free' is involved. I order a Bud and the bartender apparently thought i asked for two, so again I'm double-fisted. Things could be worse.
As it turns out, "GoGo" was not in fact a strip club, but a dance club with the gogo dancers that I was expecting. Everyone was fairly disappointed. The models made up for it. And then there was the VIP hostess. Holy crap. This girl was quite hot and she made every guy in the room stare at her. She was wearing some tiny little tank top that barely covered the special bits of her ENORMOUS fake breasts. It was like I was in seventh grade squinting at scrambled porn, I just couldn't keep my eyes off of them. And she knew it too, which made things worse, because if I happened to be looking in her direction she knew I was gonna glance down!
As the evening progresses, the free drinks begin to catch up with everyone. Ron and Mel are standing in front of one of the dancer's platforms taking pictures in an attempt to get a dancer in the background. Ed and Ken are trying very hard to get up on the VIP platform to dance with these two Madison Ave. princesses. Al and I are nursing beers from each hand, just scoping the crowd. It is during this moment that Al leans over and points out a person in the room that was famous. It was Wonder Mike, of the legendary hip-hop group "The Sugarhill Gang", known for their song "Rapper's Delight". I'm not saying I wasn't impressed by seeing the guy, but I was more impressed (as was the rest of the room) when Sugarhill Gang took the stage and performed. It apparently was a performance that wasn't planned. The whole place went nuts!
The "show" was over and we're ready to split, but quickly notice that Ken has disappeared. As we step outside, Al calls Ken and asks him where he went. Turns out, Ken felt like he was getting sick, so he bolted out of the club and proceeded to wander up 6th ave from 19th street to 23rd street, ralphing on every block along the way. I find this funny, but its even funnier to me, because I'm glad it wasn't me.
That was a long story for one night, but it is not where my weekend stopped.Friday night, Mel was having a party at his house in Jersey City, NJ. This was my first venture into the odd and twisted land that is the Garden State.
I ride over with Anibal and Ed and as we leave the city through the Holland Tunnel and re-emerge in another state, it was strangely similar to entering an alternate universe. Life seemed to slow down to a snail's pace. Traffic was non-existent. People seemed happier and in less of a rush. All of these things are pretty odd considering I haven't left the city in 7 months.
We get to the house at around 10pm, and it was actually very familiar. I miss the house parties that used to be such a staple of life for me, living in the south. But that is where the similarities ended. Mel greets us and is busy DJ-ing (not well, I might add). There is a ton of beer and alcohol and people are pretty well into it by the time we arrive. The highlight of this party of the story is really the people that were in attendance, so I'll skip ahead to my two favorite characters.
First, after several beers, I ended up in a coversation about music with a nomadic Australian kid who had been all over the world, just because he didn't feel like having a day job. We discussed the influence of Pink Floyd and other bands on today's indie music. It was after a long talk that we got into the "favorite bands" category. He spouted off some band I had never heard of and I rattled off "The Beatles". It was at this point that I lost the majority of interest in the conversation. The guy spent the next ten minutes raising his voice about how "overrated the Beatles are". I basically tuned out and began to notice my second favorite character of the night.
Near a door frame, a girl who had arrived much later than my friends and I but was somehow WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY more drunk! I'm pretty sure that the door frame was the only reason she was standing up. Soon enough, my suspicion was proven correct. Let me set this up for you. She was not a small girl. I'd venture to say 5'8", 260 lbs. VERY DRUNK. And then it happened. The girl fell over like a toppled building. She hit the floor so hard it hurt the tile.......no literally, two of the tiles cracked! She was helped to her feet and put in a chair at the kitchen table. Two young ladies proceeded to fix her a glass of water and check to see if she was ok. The next time I turned around, the girl was still sitting in the chair, but the glass of water that she was supposed to be sipping had been replaced by a fresh can of budweiser. Not a bright idea. She then stood up and began dancing near the chair she was sitting in, but sadly had not suddenly regained her balance and she fell over again, this time taking the flimsy table and chair with her. People again rushed to her aid and when asked "Are you ok?" the girl responds "I spilled my beer, get me another one!" I wish I could say that was the end of it, but the girl seriously tumbled like four more times, each subsequent time making terrible attempts to bump and grind with some poor soul that couldn't avoid her fast enough.
Last night was pretty weird too, but I want to save a few stories for when I get home, or else you guys will all think I'm boring and uninteresting. Let's just say I did get to watch the football game (GEAUX TIGERS!!), then later had my Tarot cards read, and ended up taking a cab home at like 6am. Yeah........I'm gonna go take a nap!
Monday, November 7, 2005
I am NOT a Hockey Fan!
What I didn't realize (being a southerner), is that even though baseball is over, football is in full swing, and basketball is about to start, northerners still manage to focus all of their attention on hockey.
What the f***?!?!?!
I attended my first NHL game tonight. The New York Rangers lost to the Pittsburgh Penguins 3-2. I'm not saying it wasn't exciting, I'm just saying that somebody should've thrown a punch or two. The pansy refs wouldn't even let guys get close enough to try and fight.
Remember when you were a kid, and the coolest thing around was playing "Blades of Steel" on your Nintendo gaming console? Boy, I do.
Fighting was the coolest thing you could manage to do in that game. I used to spend hours skating around that computer animated rink just waiting for someone to hit me. Hell, if they'd even look at me wrong, I was gonna throw down!
Which brings me to my next point.
I'm buying an iPod.
I know, I'm a total sellout.......I'm just tired of being the ONLY person in this city that doesn't have one. Seriously, I have a long commute to the museum every morning, and goshdagnabbit, I wanna listen to the Backstreet......er, I mean.....um......Metallica!
So....stay tuned for my triumphant return to the deep south. Be afraid, be very afraid.
What the f***?!?!?!
I attended my first NHL game tonight. The New York Rangers lost to the Pittsburgh Penguins 3-2. I'm not saying it wasn't exciting, I'm just saying that somebody should've thrown a punch or two. The pansy refs wouldn't even let guys get close enough to try and fight.
Remember when you were a kid, and the coolest thing around was playing "Blades of Steel" on your Nintendo gaming console? Boy, I do.
Fighting was the coolest thing you could manage to do in that game. I used to spend hours skating around that computer animated rink just waiting for someone to hit me. Hell, if they'd even look at me wrong, I was gonna throw down!
Which brings me to my next point.
I'm buying an iPod.
I know, I'm a total sellout.......I'm just tired of being the ONLY person in this city that doesn't have one. Seriously, I have a long commute to the museum every morning, and goshdagnabbit, I wanna listen to the Backstreet......er, I mean.....um......Metallica!
So....stay tuned for my triumphant return to the deep south. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Random Acts of New York-ism
So I've had some really random weeks for the past few weeks. These stories aren't necessarily connected or chronological.......but I thought they were funny.....so here you go.
The other night as I was leaving work, I swear I saw the asian version of Kid 'n Play. There were these two kids and one had his hair stacked up about a foot high on top of his head and a really bald undercut while his buddy had these really tiny dreadlocks. They both had these HUGE puffy coats on and really baggy jeans and were trying so very hard to convince the doorguy at some club that they were "hip-hoppers" (their words, not mine). I laughed very hard..... because I (and most of my friends) had an undercut in middle school.
During the day I work at the Isamu Noguchi Museum as an art handler. Noguchi (1904-1988) was a stone sculptor and designer. You can learn more about him and see pictures of the heavy rocks that I move at Noguchi.org. In the office, my buddy Al and I found a picture of Noguchi and Don Johnson. Yes, Don Johnson from Miami Vice. And yes he's wearing a white blazer with a t-shirt. Well, very covertly my buddy Al scanned the picture and made t-shirts from the image.........I laughed my ass off.
..
So my first gig in New York is this monday night. I'm not really all that nervous, i just don't wanna screw up. So wish me luck......
Rock on!
The other night as I was leaving work, I swear I saw the asian version of Kid 'n Play. There were these two kids and one had his hair stacked up about a foot high on top of his head and a really bald undercut while his buddy had these really tiny dreadlocks. They both had these HUGE puffy coats on and really baggy jeans and were trying so very hard to convince the doorguy at some club that they were "hip-hoppers" (their words, not mine). I laughed very hard..... because I (and most of my friends) had an undercut in middle school.
During the day I work at the Isamu Noguchi Museum as an art handler. Noguchi (1904-1988) was a stone sculptor and designer. You can learn more about him and see pictures of the heavy rocks that I move at Noguchi.org. In the office, my buddy Al and I found a picture of Noguchi and Don Johnson. Yes, Don Johnson from Miami Vice. And yes he's wearing a white blazer with a t-shirt. Well, very covertly my buddy Al scanned the picture and made t-shirts from the image.........I laughed my ass off.
..
So my first gig in New York is this monday night. I'm not really all that nervous, i just don't wanna screw up. So wish me luck......
Rock on!
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
The Pain of Getting Older
As my close friends know, i turned 24 recently.....and boy, it hurt!
The week leading up to my day of birth was great. The guys from Lucid Soule came in town and it was so much fun to have my friends near me. I can honestly say that I had more fun in those four days than I have in the now four months since I arrived. The only possible way that the weekend could have been better is if some asshole hadn't slashed the trailer tires on the boy's transportation. Luckily there was a tire shop right down the block from the incident..........my theory of course being that the employees of said tire shop are to blame for the holes and they performed the hanus act in order to bleed business out of poor, traveling musicians. Bastards.
Anyway it was a great time nonetheless, no matter what Adam says. I already miss those guys.
So after the fellas took off on sunday morning in the cold rain, i trekked off to work. I had decided that I would do something I hadn't done in a while and actually celebrate my birthday. Sadly, I got off of work later than expected and had to turn 24 at 12:01am riding the subway with Jose Rodriguez who kept begging me for money even though I had turned him down four times. I guess that's what happens when you are the only person on the train with the bums.
I arrived at the bar that I've begun spending my time and hard-earned money in and was greeted by my buddy Dan. I mentioned to Dan that it was my birthday and he proceeded to basically announce it to the entire bar. While I and my wallet are very thankful for such treatment, as I didn't pay for anything the entire night, my liver now hates every single one of those people that placed shots in front of me.
I got home sometime around 5am and in some manner negociated 4 flights of stairs. I woke up on the living room floor having apparently made a series of dinosaur calls. My sister (who i didn't know was home) came from some dark corner of the apartment with paper towels and plastic bags.
I awoke at 4 o'clock on monday afternoon, with half of my clothes on, after having spent the night on the floor. My mouth was so dry I could barely close it. I have a bruise on my hip from sleeping on my side and at some point in the evening's activities, I must have fallen down, 'cause i have a very large bruise on my back. Sadly, my state of being prevented me from enjoying another evening on the town and I have now vowed a personal prohibition.....as temporary as that can be. My goal is at least a week.
So here's to hoping that when I turn twenty-five, I'll at least be smart enough to steer clear of someone who offers to buy me a shot. I'm gonna run now.....no real plans tonight, but man i need a beer.
The week leading up to my day of birth was great. The guys from Lucid Soule came in town and it was so much fun to have my friends near me. I can honestly say that I had more fun in those four days than I have in the now four months since I arrived. The only possible way that the weekend could have been better is if some asshole hadn't slashed the trailer tires on the boy's transportation. Luckily there was a tire shop right down the block from the incident..........my theory of course being that the employees of said tire shop are to blame for the holes and they performed the hanus act in order to bleed business out of poor, traveling musicians. Bastards.
Anyway it was a great time nonetheless, no matter what Adam says. I already miss those guys.
So after the fellas took off on sunday morning in the cold rain, i trekked off to work. I had decided that I would do something I hadn't done in a while and actually celebrate my birthday. Sadly, I got off of work later than expected and had to turn 24 at 12:01am riding the subway with Jose Rodriguez who kept begging me for money even though I had turned him down four times. I guess that's what happens when you are the only person on the train with the bums.
I arrived at the bar that I've begun spending my time and hard-earned money in and was greeted by my buddy Dan. I mentioned to Dan that it was my birthday and he proceeded to basically announce it to the entire bar. While I and my wallet are very thankful for such treatment, as I didn't pay for anything the entire night, my liver now hates every single one of those people that placed shots in front of me.
I got home sometime around 5am and in some manner negociated 4 flights of stairs. I woke up on the living room floor having apparently made a series of dinosaur calls. My sister (who i didn't know was home) came from some dark corner of the apartment with paper towels and plastic bags.
I awoke at 4 o'clock on monday afternoon, with half of my clothes on, after having spent the night on the floor. My mouth was so dry I could barely close it. I have a bruise on my hip from sleeping on my side and at some point in the evening's activities, I must have fallen down, 'cause i have a very large bruise on my back. Sadly, my state of being prevented me from enjoying another evening on the town and I have now vowed a personal prohibition.....as temporary as that can be. My goal is at least a week.
So here's to hoping that when I turn twenty-five, I'll at least be smart enough to steer clear of someone who offers to buy me a shot. I'm gonna run now.....no real plans tonight, but man i need a beer.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Drunk and Stupid (the abridged version of my life)
I can officially say that I'm starting to enjoy the city. It's taken me three hard months, and I'm still incredibly homesick, but the city has its bright points. The weather is nicer. Public transportation (when it's running on schedule) is great. This week is "Fashion Week" which simply translates that there are thousands of beautiful models all over the city. They walk in packs and puddles of drool gather at the feet of every male that happens to witness such a spectacle.
But that (surprisingly) is not the best part of the city.
Do you want to know what is?
BUYBACKS!!!!!!!
Let me explain......or at least fail miserably in an attempt.
When I first arrived in the city, I had a hard time getting adjusted to higher prices. Everything costs more here, except a bottle of water is still roughly a dollar. Me, being in the habit of drinking heavily (thanks Northgate!!), I was appalled at the price of beer! A six pack of good beer can cost you anywhere from $9 to $13 dollars. A pint of beer at your local watering hole can easily be $7 or more. Try drinking a Guinness for less than $8.
Or so I thought.
I've recently discovered that there are much more "wallet-friendly" establishments here in the city, once you know where to look. Happy Hour is also something I've never looked forward to until now. I now know places where I can drink Guinness for the amazing price of $3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Try getting that back home (the cheapest I can remember is Monday night at the Chimes is something like $4.25?)
The fun comes in when the buybacks start. You see, after you've paid for and systematically guzzled your first few drinks, a bartender will usually offer to buy you the next round. In order to keep the buybacks coming, the trick is to continue to tip the barkeep even though you didn't pay for the drink. It's essentially like buying beer for a dollar.
Buybacks have gotten me in a world of trouble. You see......I have a problem.
No, not the type of problem that requires an intervention (unless you just really want to come visit), but a problem nonetheless. I don't wake up craving beer (mmmmm......beer), but if someone offers me a drink and does not ask for money in return for said drink, I cannot say no. Thus, my problem.
Being that I'm a creature of habit, I was in Queens the other night, enjoying a nice after-work beer with my co-workers. We arrived shortly after 5pm, right in the midst of Happy Hour, and began drinking our $3 draught beers. Sometime close to 12:30am, having accidentally skipped dinner, I realized that I should probably make some attempt at stumbling home. I weebled and wobbled all the way to the train, and that is as far as my story goes.........simply because I cannont remember anything else. Thankfully I ended up safe in my slightly uncomfortable futon/bed with half of my clothes on, including one shoe and my hat, but not my pants.......
Don't feel bad for me or my liver. I am actually in the midst of a self-imposed dry period. Mostly because after my adventure and subsequent hangover, I can't look at a beer without wanting to blow chunks. The hangover was not quite as bad as when Corey and I floated the Abita Keg @ Brian's Party.......but it did not make work easy at all today.
So enough about alcohol and hurl. I'm off to bed, so that I can wake up and have some other incredibly random events that never seemed to happen when I lived back home.
But that (surprisingly) is not the best part of the city.
Do you want to know what is?
BUYBACKS!!!!!!!
Let me explain......or at least fail miserably in an attempt.
When I first arrived in the city, I had a hard time getting adjusted to higher prices. Everything costs more here, except a bottle of water is still roughly a dollar. Me, being in the habit of drinking heavily (thanks Northgate!!), I was appalled at the price of beer! A six pack of good beer can cost you anywhere from $9 to $13 dollars. A pint of beer at your local watering hole can easily be $7 or more. Try drinking a Guinness for less than $8.
Or so I thought.
I've recently discovered that there are much more "wallet-friendly" establishments here in the city, once you know where to look. Happy Hour is also something I've never looked forward to until now. I now know places where I can drink Guinness for the amazing price of $3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Try getting that back home (the cheapest I can remember is Monday night at the Chimes is something like $4.25?)
The fun comes in when the buybacks start. You see, after you've paid for and systematically guzzled your first few drinks, a bartender will usually offer to buy you the next round. In order to keep the buybacks coming, the trick is to continue to tip the barkeep even though you didn't pay for the drink. It's essentially like buying beer for a dollar.
Buybacks have gotten me in a world of trouble. You see......I have a problem.
No, not the type of problem that requires an intervention (unless you just really want to come visit), but a problem nonetheless. I don't wake up craving beer (mmmmm......beer), but if someone offers me a drink and does not ask for money in return for said drink, I cannot say no. Thus, my problem.
Being that I'm a creature of habit, I was in Queens the other night, enjoying a nice after-work beer with my co-workers. We arrived shortly after 5pm, right in the midst of Happy Hour, and began drinking our $3 draught beers. Sometime close to 12:30am, having accidentally skipped dinner, I realized that I should probably make some attempt at stumbling home. I weebled and wobbled all the way to the train, and that is as far as my story goes.........simply because I cannont remember anything else. Thankfully I ended up safe in my slightly uncomfortable futon/bed with half of my clothes on, including one shoe and my hat, but not my pants.......
Don't feel bad for me or my liver. I am actually in the midst of a self-imposed dry period. Mostly because after my adventure and subsequent hangover, I can't look at a beer without wanting to blow chunks. The hangover was not quite as bad as when Corey and I floated the Abita Keg @ Brian's Party.......but it did not make work easy at all today.
So enough about alcohol and hurl. I'm off to bed, so that I can wake up and have some other incredibly random events that never seemed to happen when I lived back home.
Wednesday, September 7, 2005
Three Month Heartbreak
can't believe that it's been three months here already.
I also can't believe how heartbroken I am about my hometown.
I guess that some people might not know, but I was born in New Orleans. Even though I didn't grow up there, I still have this strong yet strange connection to the city. I have spent the last week fighting back tears and holding back screams. It hurts so bad that so many people have passed away and even more are forced to leave their homes after a horrible act of nature. It bugs me that everyone knew that the threat of New Orleans sinking was real, but nothing has ever been done about it.
I don't want this to turn into a political rant so I'll state my piece and be done. The Bush administration's response to this tragedy is appalling!
I feel so helpless this far away from home. I can't do anything to help from 3000 miles away. I've given to the American Red Cross and I encourage you all to do the same.
I'm proud of my friends who are back home for being strong and helping in the ways they have. You all are inspirations and I wish desperately that I could be among you. Sadly, I know that if I come home, I won't return to the big apple. Homesickness is truly a sickness indeed.
On another note, I hit the cover off of a baseball yesterday. Granted, it was a cheap baseball that the seams were already split on, but nonetheless, I crushed it.
I hope those who read this are ok and your families are ok. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help you, even though I'm so far from my home. Peace.
I also can't believe how heartbroken I am about my hometown.
I guess that some people might not know, but I was born in New Orleans. Even though I didn't grow up there, I still have this strong yet strange connection to the city. I have spent the last week fighting back tears and holding back screams. It hurts so bad that so many people have passed away and even more are forced to leave their homes after a horrible act of nature. It bugs me that everyone knew that the threat of New Orleans sinking was real, but nothing has ever been done about it.
I don't want this to turn into a political rant so I'll state my piece and be done. The Bush administration's response to this tragedy is appalling!
I feel so helpless this far away from home. I can't do anything to help from 3000 miles away. I've given to the American Red Cross and I encourage you all to do the same.
I'm proud of my friends who are back home for being strong and helping in the ways they have. You all are inspirations and I wish desperately that I could be among you. Sadly, I know that if I come home, I won't return to the big apple. Homesickness is truly a sickness indeed.
On another note, I hit the cover off of a baseball yesterday. Granted, it was a cheap baseball that the seams were already split on, but nonetheless, I crushed it.
I hope those who read this are ok and your families are ok. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help you, even though I'm so far from my home. Peace.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
The Soundtrack to Pornography
Man, I have had the weirdest week.
I know that I must say that at least twice each and every week since I've been here, but I think this one takes the cake!
I was at work last Wednesday at the rehearsal studio. I had been at my other job all day, so by the time I got to Ultrasound, I was incredibly tired. I only had a few bands spaced out here and there over the evening. Normally, while the bands rehearse, I sit in this hallway, in case they have any stupid questions like: "Why am I not getting any sound out if the bass amp?" (Generally, it helps if you turn it on jackass)
So, during a break in the "action" [this joke will be funnier in a minute], I got up and used the restroom. A short time later, as I'm counting the seconds pass by, a weird looking bald guy walks by me on his way to the bathroom. He's singing at the top of his lungs, but not listening to anything like an Ipod or cd player. Immediately, I think the guy is a nutjob [this will also be funnier in a bit]. The guy apparently takes care of his "business" [c'mon....there is a pattern developing here], and walks back by, still belting it out at a ridiculous volume for a capella.
About ten minutes later, it was close to the time when the last band in my section would be finished so I decided to start cleaning up. My cleaning duties are relatively easy in that I have a few chairs to pick up and clean the bathroom. The latter is where the problem started. I walked into the room with my bottle of 409 and a roll of paper towels to clean the rim of the toilet and the sink. It was at this point in time that I happened to look into the toilet and notice a condom floating in all of its recently used glory. To further elaborate on the situation, the bathroom in my section is a one seater, and nobody had been into it since our buddy left.
Obviously disgusted, I went downstairs to ask if the other techs had seen the guy on our video monitoring system. They said they had seen him walk into room "6" [which is funny, because it is only one letter removed from 'sex']. I at this point ran upstairs to tell my manager, Jeff, the situation. He jumps from the chair behind his desk and hurries downstairs to inspect the situation. By this point, without the security of my watchful, but very tired, eyes....someone had used the toilet and flushed our evidence. Thankfully, Jeff took my word for it and we hauled of to the rehearsal room in question.
In most of the studios, there are opposite-facing double doors that serve as sound proofing. As Jeff opens one and begins to open the other, someone from the inside begins to push against the door in order to prevent entry to the room.
Disclaimer: For kids that are reading this unsupervised by an adult 21 years or older, please ask your parents before continuing. What follows is an eyewitness account of the events, complete with dialogue, profanity, nudity, and pornographic material. Thank you.
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW!" Jeff screams through the tiny crack between the door and its frame.
The door opens slowly to reveal six persons, (Four men and two women) all of whom are completely naked, three of which are engaged in sexual intercourse.
Some of the naked people are holding a video camera and another is aiming a light fixture toward the afformentioned action. [get it now?]
"Oh shit" Jeff mutters, hanging his head. "Stop whatever it is you're doing. Get your clothes on and get the fuck out of my studio!"
Startled and apparently embarrassed, the "actors" scramble to get dressed and out of trouble as soon as possible.
"We're awfully sorry about this, man" says one guy, hiking his shorts on to cover his junk.
"How the hell do you people think that this is ok?" asks Jeff. "Do we look like a porn studio to you? You guys don't even have instruments for Christ's sake!"
"I'm a drummer," says another guy, who happened to be standing behind the drumkit.
Without skipping a beat, Jeff scratches out "That's a shame, kid. 'Cause it looks like you've only got one stick." (can i get a rimshot, please?)
So that's my story. Funny how life happens. I can't express to you how weird it feels to go into work now, not having any clue what I might walk-in on. So keep your eyes peeled for an upcoming porno movie, filmed on location at Ultrasound Studios.
Maybe if I'm really lucky and/or they forgive me for ratting on them, I can get a song into the film or on the soundtrack!
I know that I must say that at least twice each and every week since I've been here, but I think this one takes the cake!
I was at work last Wednesday at the rehearsal studio. I had been at my other job all day, so by the time I got to Ultrasound, I was incredibly tired. I only had a few bands spaced out here and there over the evening. Normally, while the bands rehearse, I sit in this hallway, in case they have any stupid questions like: "Why am I not getting any sound out if the bass amp?" (Generally, it helps if you turn it on jackass)
So, during a break in the "action" [this joke will be funnier in a minute], I got up and used the restroom. A short time later, as I'm counting the seconds pass by, a weird looking bald guy walks by me on his way to the bathroom. He's singing at the top of his lungs, but not listening to anything like an Ipod or cd player. Immediately, I think the guy is a nutjob [this will also be funnier in a bit]. The guy apparently takes care of his "business" [c'mon....there is a pattern developing here], and walks back by, still belting it out at a ridiculous volume for a capella.
About ten minutes later, it was close to the time when the last band in my section would be finished so I decided to start cleaning up. My cleaning duties are relatively easy in that I have a few chairs to pick up and clean the bathroom. The latter is where the problem started. I walked into the room with my bottle of 409 and a roll of paper towels to clean the rim of the toilet and the sink. It was at this point in time that I happened to look into the toilet and notice a condom floating in all of its recently used glory. To further elaborate on the situation, the bathroom in my section is a one seater, and nobody had been into it since our buddy left.
Obviously disgusted, I went downstairs to ask if the other techs had seen the guy on our video monitoring system. They said they had seen him walk into room "6" [which is funny, because it is only one letter removed from 'sex']. I at this point ran upstairs to tell my manager, Jeff, the situation. He jumps from the chair behind his desk and hurries downstairs to inspect the situation. By this point, without the security of my watchful, but very tired, eyes....someone had used the toilet and flushed our evidence. Thankfully, Jeff took my word for it and we hauled of to the rehearsal room in question.
In most of the studios, there are opposite-facing double doors that serve as sound proofing. As Jeff opens one and begins to open the other, someone from the inside begins to push against the door in order to prevent entry to the room.
Disclaimer: For kids that are reading this unsupervised by an adult 21 years or older, please ask your parents before continuing. What follows is an eyewitness account of the events, complete with dialogue, profanity, nudity, and pornographic material. Thank you.
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW!" Jeff screams through the tiny crack between the door and its frame.
The door opens slowly to reveal six persons, (Four men and two women) all of whom are completely naked, three of which are engaged in sexual intercourse.
Some of the naked people are holding a video camera and another is aiming a light fixture toward the afformentioned action. [get it now?]
"Oh shit" Jeff mutters, hanging his head. "Stop whatever it is you're doing. Get your clothes on and get the fuck out of my studio!"
Startled and apparently embarrassed, the "actors" scramble to get dressed and out of trouble as soon as possible.
"We're awfully sorry about this, man" says one guy, hiking his shorts on to cover his junk.
"How the hell do you people think that this is ok?" asks Jeff. "Do we look like a porn studio to you? You guys don't even have instruments for Christ's sake!"
"I'm a drummer," says another guy, who happened to be standing behind the drumkit.
Without skipping a beat, Jeff scratches out "That's a shame, kid. 'Cause it looks like you've only got one stick." (can i get a rimshot, please?)
So that's my story. Funny how life happens. I can't express to you how weird it feels to go into work now, not having any clue what I might walk-in on. So keep your eyes peeled for an upcoming porno movie, filmed on location at Ultrasound Studios.
Maybe if I'm really lucky and/or they forgive me for ratting on them, I can get a song into the film or on the soundtrack!
Sunday, August 7, 2005
Two Month Anniversary and Crabby Old Ladies
So today is now two months that I've been lost in this giant city. I've had some interesting times the last few weeks and I hope desperately that I can describe them all to you accurately before I have to go to work.
Anyone that has ever met me has most likely met me while I was wearing my most prized posession, my Kansas City Royals hat. I'm a huge baseball fan, and spend entirely too much time obsessing about the Royals, even though they are the worst team in baseball (two years running). I wear my hat proudly and have done so for at least six years now. I always am delighted to see someone else show support for my favorite bunch of losers, and usually inclined to point out that I, too, am wearing my KC hat (because I usually am).
About a week ago now, I was on a train home from Brooklyn and was about to transfer trains. As the train came to its usually screeching halt, and as I waited patiently for the doors to magically open, I noticed a portly young gentlemen with a bright, shiny, new Royals hat on his pudgy head. I could feel the corners of my mouth stretching into a big smile. As I exited the train and he began to board, I casually made a comment "Hey man, nice hat!" Now, I can see how one might have taken my phrasing, out of context, as demeaning or rude. But I swear to you, I said it with a degree of elation in my voice that is usually only found in toddlers who are thanking their parents for the Tickle Me Elmo doll they just unwrapped from under the Christmas tree. I was flat out STOKED that this guy was wearing a Royals lid. And like any true New Yorker, he turned and looked at me (somehow not noticing that I was wearing the exact same hat he was) and said "Fuck You."
Last Monday, I started my new job as an art handler at the Noguchi Museum in Queens. The first day went off without a hitch. I have to be in Queens by 9am, so I have to leave my apartment at roughly 8am. Being that I hate mornings and struggle to rip myself from the comfort of my deep sleep, I have very little extra time in the morning to sit down to a well-balanced breakfast. So as I get into Queens early Tuesday morning, I exit the Subway Station to catch my bus transfer, the trusty Q103, to take me all the way to the museum. I noticed that I had a few minutes before the bus came barrelling down Vernon Blvd, so I popped into a deli and purchased a muffin and a pint of orange juice ("It comes in pints?!"). I must have timed it perfectly because just as I exited the afforementioned deli, the bus was seemingly waiting for me to board. I got on and sat down pretty close to the front. At this point, it was only me, the bus driver, and this old guy with the HUGE wrap-around sunglasses.
So I begin my meal, being a diabetic, by taking my blood sugar, calculating the correct amount of insulin and then, in crude terms, shooting up. Yes, there are needles involved in my process, and I never realized how other people might take it when they saw me shooting up. Forgive me for the graphic description to follow, but just as I inserted the needle into yhe region around my belly, the old guy pipes up with a "OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!?!?!?!??"
I have to explain to you the weeny, whining, drawl this poor sap used when he spoke. Do you remember the Jerky Boys? They were huge back in the mid-90s or so, and they had a character named Sal Rosenburg who was a nerdy guy who complained about everything from his "hemmerroids" to how fava beans had made him ill. If you can place this character's voice, please use the sound of that voice to hear how this guy on the bus talked.
After I explained that I was a diabetic and was taking my insulin to the old man, he proceeded to tell me that he "came from the Optometrist," (apparently explaining the absurdly oversized sunglasses) and that "they told me I have no diabetes in my eyes." Of all the conversations to get into with strangers......
For my final installation, I'd like to begin by saying that northerners are generally much more rude individuals than southerners.
Mabe has been here for the last week or so, and it has been quite awesome to have a friend around. It makes me realize that I miss my friends and I am very happy to have her visiting. We got to go to the Mets game yesterday at Shea Stadium. It was her first Major League Baseball game and it was a blast that the Mets won 2-0.
As we're riding our series of trains home, the subway was packed. I was resigned to standing near the door because of lack of seating. I was not the only one in the doorway, much less the other doorways were also full of people. Generally, as people got onto the subway I would squeeze myself into the corner in an effort to make it easy for the people boarding the train to get into the doorway. As we got to the 59th Street station, a lady (who was the first to get on at that stop, with ten other people behind her) taps me on the shoulder and proceeds to complain "Don't stand in the doorway! It makes it hard to get on the train!" I told her that I'd work on that and as she walked away to a freshly untaken seat, she mutters "Asshole!"
Nobody that got on after her, including a lady carrying a baby palm tree, complained to me about my position in the doorway. Two of them even made fun of the lady's complaint and got me to giggle a bit. The lady huffed and puffed the whole time she was on the train and got off at 72nd Street, only two stops up.......why couldn't she just walk the thirteen blocks? Lazy.
So those are my most recent adventures. Until next time.
Same Crap Time, Same Crap Channel.
Anyone that has ever met me has most likely met me while I was wearing my most prized posession, my Kansas City Royals hat. I'm a huge baseball fan, and spend entirely too much time obsessing about the Royals, even though they are the worst team in baseball (two years running). I wear my hat proudly and have done so for at least six years now. I always am delighted to see someone else show support for my favorite bunch of losers, and usually inclined to point out that I, too, am wearing my KC hat (because I usually am).
About a week ago now, I was on a train home from Brooklyn and was about to transfer trains. As the train came to its usually screeching halt, and as I waited patiently for the doors to magically open, I noticed a portly young gentlemen with a bright, shiny, new Royals hat on his pudgy head. I could feel the corners of my mouth stretching into a big smile. As I exited the train and he began to board, I casually made a comment "Hey man, nice hat!" Now, I can see how one might have taken my phrasing, out of context, as demeaning or rude. But I swear to you, I said it with a degree of elation in my voice that is usually only found in toddlers who are thanking their parents for the Tickle Me Elmo doll they just unwrapped from under the Christmas tree. I was flat out STOKED that this guy was wearing a Royals lid. And like any true New Yorker, he turned and looked at me (somehow not noticing that I was wearing the exact same hat he was) and said "Fuck You."
Last Monday, I started my new job as an art handler at the Noguchi Museum in Queens. The first day went off without a hitch. I have to be in Queens by 9am, so I have to leave my apartment at roughly 8am. Being that I hate mornings and struggle to rip myself from the comfort of my deep sleep, I have very little extra time in the morning to sit down to a well-balanced breakfast. So as I get into Queens early Tuesday morning, I exit the Subway Station to catch my bus transfer, the trusty Q103, to take me all the way to the museum. I noticed that I had a few minutes before the bus came barrelling down Vernon Blvd, so I popped into a deli and purchased a muffin and a pint of orange juice ("It comes in pints?!"). I must have timed it perfectly because just as I exited the afforementioned deli, the bus was seemingly waiting for me to board. I got on and sat down pretty close to the front. At this point, it was only me, the bus driver, and this old guy with the HUGE wrap-around sunglasses.
So I begin my meal, being a diabetic, by taking my blood sugar, calculating the correct amount of insulin and then, in crude terms, shooting up. Yes, there are needles involved in my process, and I never realized how other people might take it when they saw me shooting up. Forgive me for the graphic description to follow, but just as I inserted the needle into yhe region around my belly, the old guy pipes up with a "OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!?!?!?!??"
I have to explain to you the weeny, whining, drawl this poor sap used when he spoke. Do you remember the Jerky Boys? They were huge back in the mid-90s or so, and they had a character named Sal Rosenburg who was a nerdy guy who complained about everything from his "hemmerroids" to how fava beans had made him ill. If you can place this character's voice, please use the sound of that voice to hear how this guy on the bus talked.
After I explained that I was a diabetic and was taking my insulin to the old man, he proceeded to tell me that he "came from the Optometrist," (apparently explaining the absurdly oversized sunglasses) and that "they told me I have no diabetes in my eyes." Of all the conversations to get into with strangers......
For my final installation, I'd like to begin by saying that northerners are generally much more rude individuals than southerners.
Mabe has been here for the last week or so, and it has been quite awesome to have a friend around. It makes me realize that I miss my friends and I am very happy to have her visiting. We got to go to the Mets game yesterday at Shea Stadium. It was her first Major League Baseball game and it was a blast that the Mets won 2-0.
As we're riding our series of trains home, the subway was packed. I was resigned to standing near the door because of lack of seating. I was not the only one in the doorway, much less the other doorways were also full of people. Generally, as people got onto the subway I would squeeze myself into the corner in an effort to make it easy for the people boarding the train to get into the doorway. As we got to the 59th Street station, a lady (who was the first to get on at that stop, with ten other people behind her) taps me on the shoulder and proceeds to complain "Don't stand in the doorway! It makes it hard to get on the train!" I told her that I'd work on that and as she walked away to a freshly untaken seat, she mutters "Asshole!"
Nobody that got on after her, including a lady carrying a baby palm tree, complained to me about my position in the doorway. Two of them even made fun of the lady's complaint and got me to giggle a bit. The lady huffed and puffed the whole time she was on the train and got off at 72nd Street, only two stops up.......why couldn't she just walk the thirteen blocks? Lazy.
So those are my most recent adventures. Until next time.
Same Crap Time, Same Crap Channel.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Movie Reviews
Note to self:
When living in a large city, with virtually no friends, do not go see a movie alone on a thursday night. Especially a movie regarding weddings.
To the Amazing Brand-O, I have no clue how you can do it. I remember when we lived together you used to go see movies by yourself all the time. For God's sake, man, that has to be the most depressing activity in the world. Well, maybe not. Perhaps burying your dead kitten might be more depressing......but it's close.
My sister had a "date" tonight. So for some reason, since the guy was coming over to pick her up, I had to disappear. I thought to myself that I'd just wander down the street, grab some food, hop the train down to my local cineplex, and catch a movie. It subsequently dawned on me that I would be involved in all of the afforementioned activities alone. Not thinking anything of it, I decided to pop into a sandwich shop and sat down to a decent sized meal. One startling revelation is that "Diet" Snapple still has sugar in it. What the hell? That does me (being a diabetic) no good at all.
So after my grabbing of food, I did in fact hop the train that I mentioned I would. I'm used to riding the train alone, so there is really no anecdotal rambling to introduce at this point in the story.
I arrived at the movie theater at about 8:30pm and couldn't decide what to see. I've seen "Batman Begins" (very good), "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (decent), and Star Wars: Episode 3 (twice....i know, i'm slacking). "Fantastic Four" had just started and wouldn't play again until 10:30pm. "Wedding Crashers" previews have looked funny on TV, plus Vince Vaughn is funny and I've like Owen Wilson in all of the Wes Anderson movies. I shuffled my feet up to the ticket counter and forked over my $10.75 for the 9:00pm feature.
As the theatre began to fill up slowly, I realized my first mistake in my first attempt at solo movie watching: I picked the super-ultra-mega WRONG night to see a movie alone. Thursday is apparently "take a date to the movies" night here in Manhattan. I think I saw a four year old walk in with a hot girl on his arm. No really, they were making out later too!
The movie was funny, but somehow got all serious at the end, which was a buzzkill. As I left the theatre I had a movie moment occur before my eyes. As I walked along the crowded streets of the city, I swear to you that every single person was walked hand-in-hand with a significant other. Hugging, kissing, holding hands.......hang on, i've gotta hurl.........
(unpleasant noises)
Back.
Seriously though, didn't these people get the memo? Spring is for lovers. Right now it's summer! And it's really, really, really HOT. Being that close to someone has to have some profound effect on a person's well-being due to body heat or proximity effect or reverse osmosis. It's just not healthy.
So the moral of the story is that there are 8,000,001 people in New York, and there are 4 million couples that go to the movies on thursday nights. Are you as bad at math as me?
When living in a large city, with virtually no friends, do not go see a movie alone on a thursday night. Especially a movie regarding weddings.
To the Amazing Brand-O, I have no clue how you can do it. I remember when we lived together you used to go see movies by yourself all the time. For God's sake, man, that has to be the most depressing activity in the world. Well, maybe not. Perhaps burying your dead kitten might be more depressing......but it's close.
My sister had a "date" tonight. So for some reason, since the guy was coming over to pick her up, I had to disappear. I thought to myself that I'd just wander down the street, grab some food, hop the train down to my local cineplex, and catch a movie. It subsequently dawned on me that I would be involved in all of the afforementioned activities alone. Not thinking anything of it, I decided to pop into a sandwich shop and sat down to a decent sized meal. One startling revelation is that "Diet" Snapple still has sugar in it. What the hell? That does me (being a diabetic) no good at all.
So after my grabbing of food, I did in fact hop the train that I mentioned I would. I'm used to riding the train alone, so there is really no anecdotal rambling to introduce at this point in the story.
I arrived at the movie theater at about 8:30pm and couldn't decide what to see. I've seen "Batman Begins" (very good), "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (decent), and Star Wars: Episode 3 (twice....i know, i'm slacking). "Fantastic Four" had just started and wouldn't play again until 10:30pm. "Wedding Crashers" previews have looked funny on TV, plus Vince Vaughn is funny and I've like Owen Wilson in all of the Wes Anderson movies. I shuffled my feet up to the ticket counter and forked over my $10.75 for the 9:00pm feature.
As the theatre began to fill up slowly, I realized my first mistake in my first attempt at solo movie watching: I picked the super-ultra-mega WRONG night to see a movie alone. Thursday is apparently "take a date to the movies" night here in Manhattan. I think I saw a four year old walk in with a hot girl on his arm. No really, they were making out later too!
The movie was funny, but somehow got all serious at the end, which was a buzzkill. As I left the theatre I had a movie moment occur before my eyes. As I walked along the crowded streets of the city, I swear to you that every single person was walked hand-in-hand with a significant other. Hugging, kissing, holding hands.......hang on, i've gotta hurl.........
(unpleasant noises)
Back.
Seriously though, didn't these people get the memo? Spring is for lovers. Right now it's summer! And it's really, really, really HOT. Being that close to someone has to have some profound effect on a person's well-being due to body heat or proximity effect or reverse osmosis. It's just not healthy.
So the moral of the story is that there are 8,000,001 people in New York, and there are 4 million couples that go to the movies on thursday nights. Are you as bad at math as me?
Friday, July 22, 2005
Let's Go METS!
I've seen two baseball games in a week now.
Last Saturday, I trekked down to Coney Island and watched the Brooklyn Cyclones play the Auburn Doubledays. The game was very close, but the Cyclones won 3-2. The game was cool for a few different reasons.
First, it was Mookie Wilson Bobblehead night. The first 2,500 fans received a Mookie Bobblehead. For those of you that don't know who Mookie is, he is the guy who basically won the 1986 World Series for the Mets. Remember the "infamous" Bill Buckner spoof at first base in Game 6? No? Then you need to watch more baseball. For those of you who are familiar with that play, Mookie is the guy who hit the ball "through" Buckner's legs, giving the Mets the victory. He also is now the coach of the Cyclones.
Secondly, the game was played between two Single A ballclubs in the New York-Pennsylvania League. Single A ball is the lowest form of professional baseball. These players are kids who are right out of high school or college, having just been drafted earlier in the summer. The season doesn't start until the end of June because the Major League Draft in on June 15. Anyway, two former LSU Tigers were members of these teams' rosters. Ivan Naccarata (3B) played for the Cyclones, who are the Single A team (or affiliate) of the New York Mets. Ryan Patterson (OF), who just finished his LSU career this season, played rightfield for the Doubledays, who belong to the Toronto Blue Jays.
The third reason that the trip to Coney Island was cool, is that it was cool. I mean, the weather..... When I got to the park at about 4:00pm it had to be 90 degrees with a high humidity (due to the proximity to water). But as the game entered into the second inning, a fog from the ocean swept into the ballpark and covered up the sun and made it very misty. The temperatures cooled off to about 65 degrees. It was a much more pleasurable experience.
Speaking of the Mets, today I went to my first Mets game! They won 12-0 over the San Diego Padres. I got off the train and was amazed at the size of Shea Stadium. The place is huge, but looks so small on TV. Then i started thinking about how cool it must have been back in 1964 when the Beatles played a concert there. There were so many screaming fans in the stands back then that the stadium was shaking......I can't imagine the noise level required to shake a STADIUM that big! Anyway, the game started at 12:10pm and we were back on the train by 3pm. What a way to spend the day.......$12 bleacher seats, $6 beers, $4 footlong hotdogs and America's past-time. B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L!
Last Saturday, I trekked down to Coney Island and watched the Brooklyn Cyclones play the Auburn Doubledays. The game was very close, but the Cyclones won 3-2. The game was cool for a few different reasons.
First, it was Mookie Wilson Bobblehead night. The first 2,500 fans received a Mookie Bobblehead. For those of you that don't know who Mookie is, he is the guy who basically won the 1986 World Series for the Mets. Remember the "infamous" Bill Buckner spoof at first base in Game 6? No? Then you need to watch more baseball. For those of you who are familiar with that play, Mookie is the guy who hit the ball "through" Buckner's legs, giving the Mets the victory. He also is now the coach of the Cyclones.
Secondly, the game was played between two Single A ballclubs in the New York-Pennsylvania League. Single A ball is the lowest form of professional baseball. These players are kids who are right out of high school or college, having just been drafted earlier in the summer. The season doesn't start until the end of June because the Major League Draft in on June 15. Anyway, two former LSU Tigers were members of these teams' rosters. Ivan Naccarata (3B) played for the Cyclones, who are the Single A team (or affiliate) of the New York Mets. Ryan Patterson (OF), who just finished his LSU career this season, played rightfield for the Doubledays, who belong to the Toronto Blue Jays.
The third reason that the trip to Coney Island was cool, is that it was cool. I mean, the weather..... When I got to the park at about 4:00pm it had to be 90 degrees with a high humidity (due to the proximity to water). But as the game entered into the second inning, a fog from the ocean swept into the ballpark and covered up the sun and made it very misty. The temperatures cooled off to about 65 degrees. It was a much more pleasurable experience.
Speaking of the Mets, today I went to my first Mets game! They won 12-0 over the San Diego Padres. I got off the train and was amazed at the size of Shea Stadium. The place is huge, but looks so small on TV. Then i started thinking about how cool it must have been back in 1964 when the Beatles played a concert there. There were so many screaming fans in the stands back then that the stadium was shaking......I can't imagine the noise level required to shake a STADIUM that big! Anyway, the game started at 12:10pm and we were back on the train by 3pm. What a way to spend the day.......$12 bleacher seats, $6 beers, $4 footlong hotdogs and America's past-time. B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L!
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Treading Water.
I've hit rock bottom.
Ok, maybe not, but it's not far off.
It's Friday night, well.....now it's Saturday morning.....but that's not the point.
The point is that I'm sitting here in my apartment in the most populated city in America with nothing better to do than type. I even have some money (for a change) and I still sit here tapping away at these letters that are completely out of order.
I guess the good times and the bad times come in waves. I think I'm caught in the undertow.
I was looking forward to seeing Austin and Lane while they were in town this week with their band, but our schedules didn't match up just right and I missed getting to see them on a couple of occasions.
My friend Glenn is coming on Sunday. He's in the area with his bandmates (the Red Stick Ramblers for a week or so before they fly off to their next set of gigs. I'm happy to get to see him and hope that I can muster enough "oomph" to show him a good time in the city.
Thankfully more friends are on their way in the coming month. It'll be good to see familiar faces.
As it turns out, I'm missing two weddings while I'm away. Lee Abbott is getting married, and so is my cousin Eric Sallinger. Not that either of them will ever read this, but congratulations. Sadly, I don't have the extra cash floating around to mosey on home and catch the ceremonies. I remember having double birthday parties with Eric, who is exactly three years older than me because we share the same birth date.
I apologize that this blog isn't as carefully and (because I think I'm funny) hilariously worded. I don't really have anything exciting or humorous to say tonight. I just felt like writing to get it off my mind so that maybe I can crawl into bed and fall asleep in the next few hours.
Tomorrow, well.....later today, I'm going to my first Minor League Baseball game. The Brooklyn Cyclones are the Single A affiliate of the New York Mets. I hope for a good time. Afterall, it is Mookie Wilson Bobble-head night.
Ok, maybe not, but it's not far off.
It's Friday night, well.....now it's Saturday morning.....but that's not the point.
The point is that I'm sitting here in my apartment in the most populated city in America with nothing better to do than type. I even have some money (for a change) and I still sit here tapping away at these letters that are completely out of order.
I guess the good times and the bad times come in waves. I think I'm caught in the undertow.
I was looking forward to seeing Austin and Lane while they were in town this week with their band, but our schedules didn't match up just right and I missed getting to see them on a couple of occasions.
My friend Glenn is coming on Sunday. He's in the area with his bandmates (the Red Stick Ramblers for a week or so before they fly off to their next set of gigs. I'm happy to get to see him and hope that I can muster enough "oomph" to show him a good time in the city.
Thankfully more friends are on their way in the coming month. It'll be good to see familiar faces.
As it turns out, I'm missing two weddings while I'm away. Lee Abbott is getting married, and so is my cousin Eric Sallinger. Not that either of them will ever read this, but congratulations. Sadly, I don't have the extra cash floating around to mosey on home and catch the ceremonies. I remember having double birthday parties with Eric, who is exactly three years older than me because we share the same birth date.
I apologize that this blog isn't as carefully and (because I think I'm funny) hilariously worded. I don't really have anything exciting or humorous to say tonight. I just felt like writing to get it off my mind so that maybe I can crawl into bed and fall asleep in the next few hours.
Tomorrow, well.....later today, I'm going to my first Minor League Baseball game. The Brooklyn Cyclones are the Single A affiliate of the New York Mets. I hope for a good time. Afterall, it is Mookie Wilson Bobble-head night.
Friday, June 24, 2005
The Wizard of Oz and the Late Night Mass-Transit System
So I was watching a crappy tv show the other day before going to work and a character in said tv show made an interesting analogy. Somehow, the topic of the movie "The Wizard of Oz" came up in reference to growing up and moving away from home. For those of you that have yet to realize I've been writing about this very topic for the last few weeks, now is the time to perk up and take notice that I've moved.
Anyway, back to the show. I can't remember the exact phrasing used in the show, so I'll do my best to paraphrase. The point made was that the most famous line in movie history is "There's no place like home" from "The Wizard of Oz". And while in certain cases, this can be true, the movie actually proves the opposite. The feeling of sleeping in your own bed and eating food from your own refridgerator, and crapping on your own toilet are things that we may in fact take for granted. But if there is no place like home, then why in "Wizard" is home a drab, boring, black-and-white place where some crabby old broad wants to kill your dog.
Away from home is in technicolor. Huge buildings, lush greenery, flying monkeys and singing midgets. I actually haven't seen flying monkeys yet, and the midget I saw was actually tap-dancing in the subway terminal at Penn Station, but you can grasp my point. The one thing I haven't quite placed is that in Oz, Dorothy makes the best friends she'll ever have....whereas I'm sitting here typing on this damn machine and drinking alone. My friends are the thing I miss the most, besides my dog. So I suppose that analogy goes only so far.
On to more exciting fodder:
Late nights, riding the subway is possibly one of the most humorous experiences to be had in this city of huge design. Whether your amusement is derived from drunks, whores, bums, or drunk whorish bums.....the subway at 2am has what you're looking for.
I must look like a deer caught in headlights when riding the train, because I can't help but stare at these amazing creatures to see if they might do tricks. I think I even got propositioned by a "working woman" the other night on my way home from work. She was at least a good looking prostitute with all of her teeth, or at least I think it was a "her". If not, that guy paid a lot of money for a pretty good set of melons and to have his adam's apple reduced. No....it had to be a girl. I couldn't help but giggle when she proposed her idea of romance, which included a hotel room, room service and getting "Freeeeeaa-ky" (which was in fact broken up into several extra syllables than freaky generally has).
Another late evening included sitting in between a completely gorgeous Columbia University student named Katie and a horny, drunken Spanish guy named Emilio. I, having had only two beers due to both the expense of alcohol and my lack of financial abundance, was caught in the middle of a poorly executed hook-up attempt and the poor unwilling victim of said attempt. Apparently, I have "I'll be your fake boyfriend" written across my forehead because as soon as Emilio finished slurring his less-than romantic plea to Katie, she blurts out "He's my boyfriend." It was all I could do not to squeak "WHAT?!?!" and play along. Emilio, dejected and still alone, exited the train at the next stop and Katie used the tension-filled moment to thank me. Before I could even muster the courage to attempt to speak more than "you're welcome", the train came to yet another screeching halt and she was gone. Damn. As if I could magically have a ton of luck, just because it was 3am. Oh well.
If (and hopefully when) some of you people decide that it'd be cool to visit, we'll stay up late and ride the train somewhere and stare at all the people. It'll be fun. If you're lucky, I'll suffer through all the tourist bullshit with you too. It's funny that I've been here less than 3 weeks and already I'm totally fed-up with tourists.
Last story, I promise.....
I was walking up Broadway near Times Square (42 St.) and there had apparently been a car accident involving a taxi cab. The front-end of the cab was super-ultra-mega smashed up and that took me all of two seconds to realize. Unfortuneatly, the 350 tourists crammed on each corner of the intersection couldn't arrive at the same realization. It was too exciting for their tourist brains. So they just stood there with mouths agape and eyes bulging from their sockets like a pregnant woman's stomach somewhere in the third trimester. Even though the street sign clearly had a picture of a stick-person walking, signaling the hoards of people to actually shuffle their feet in an effort to move from the spot they seemed to be glued in, they stood in the same spots, each moron with his own perfect view of the crushed taxi that also hadn't moved in thirty-five minutes. Imagine my dismay actually having to struggle my way through the crowd, apparently being the only one with something slightly better to do.
The city is interesting to say the least.
Anyway, back to the show. I can't remember the exact phrasing used in the show, so I'll do my best to paraphrase. The point made was that the most famous line in movie history is "There's no place like home" from "The Wizard of Oz". And while in certain cases, this can be true, the movie actually proves the opposite. The feeling of sleeping in your own bed and eating food from your own refridgerator, and crapping on your own toilet are things that we may in fact take for granted. But if there is no place like home, then why in "Wizard" is home a drab, boring, black-and-white place where some crabby old broad wants to kill your dog.
Away from home is in technicolor. Huge buildings, lush greenery, flying monkeys and singing midgets. I actually haven't seen flying monkeys yet, and the midget I saw was actually tap-dancing in the subway terminal at Penn Station, but you can grasp my point. The one thing I haven't quite placed is that in Oz, Dorothy makes the best friends she'll ever have....whereas I'm sitting here typing on this damn machine and drinking alone. My friends are the thing I miss the most, besides my dog. So I suppose that analogy goes only so far.
On to more exciting fodder:
Late nights, riding the subway is possibly one of the most humorous experiences to be had in this city of huge design. Whether your amusement is derived from drunks, whores, bums, or drunk whorish bums.....the subway at 2am has what you're looking for.
I must look like a deer caught in headlights when riding the train, because I can't help but stare at these amazing creatures to see if they might do tricks. I think I even got propositioned by a "working woman" the other night on my way home from work. She was at least a good looking prostitute with all of her teeth, or at least I think it was a "her". If not, that guy paid a lot of money for a pretty good set of melons and to have his adam's apple reduced. No....it had to be a girl. I couldn't help but giggle when she proposed her idea of romance, which included a hotel room, room service and getting "Freeeeeaa-ky" (which was in fact broken up into several extra syllables than freaky generally has).
Another late evening included sitting in between a completely gorgeous Columbia University student named Katie and a horny, drunken Spanish guy named Emilio. I, having had only two beers due to both the expense of alcohol and my lack of financial abundance, was caught in the middle of a poorly executed hook-up attempt and the poor unwilling victim of said attempt. Apparently, I have "I'll be your fake boyfriend" written across my forehead because as soon as Emilio finished slurring his less-than romantic plea to Katie, she blurts out "He's my boyfriend." It was all I could do not to squeak "WHAT?!?!" and play along. Emilio, dejected and still alone, exited the train at the next stop and Katie used the tension-filled moment to thank me. Before I could even muster the courage to attempt to speak more than "you're welcome", the train came to yet another screeching halt and she was gone. Damn. As if I could magically have a ton of luck, just because it was 3am. Oh well.
If (and hopefully when) some of you people decide that it'd be cool to visit, we'll stay up late and ride the train somewhere and stare at all the people. It'll be fun. If you're lucky, I'll suffer through all the tourist bullshit with you too. It's funny that I've been here less than 3 weeks and already I'm totally fed-up with tourists.
Last story, I promise.....
I was walking up Broadway near Times Square (42 St.) and there had apparently been a car accident involving a taxi cab. The front-end of the cab was super-ultra-mega smashed up and that took me all of two seconds to realize. Unfortuneatly, the 350 tourists crammed on each corner of the intersection couldn't arrive at the same realization. It was too exciting for their tourist brains. So they just stood there with mouths agape and eyes bulging from their sockets like a pregnant woman's stomach somewhere in the third trimester. Even though the street sign clearly had a picture of a stick-person walking, signaling the hoards of people to actually shuffle their feet in an effort to move from the spot they seemed to be glued in, they stood in the same spots, each moron with his own perfect view of the crushed taxi that also hadn't moved in thirty-five minutes. Imagine my dismay actually having to struggle my way through the crowd, apparently being the only one with something slightly better to do.
The city is interesting to say the least.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
"Getting Better all the time....."
Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my complaints of this, my city of dwelling.
New York has gotten much better in the last week!
While, for the most part, it has still been unpleasantly hot, the events of the last week have improved my opinion of both the city and my decision to move here.
I got a job.
Oh, and it ROCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am working as both a sound tech (John, stop laughing) and a repair guy at UltraSound Rehearsal. Today was my first shift and it was a long one. I got to work at about 12:30pm (the funny thing is I wasn't supposed to be there until 1pm.....me? early?) and I didn't leave until 12:15am.
I started my day burning vaccuum tubes.
For those of you aren't snobby guitar players, you probably have no clue what I'm talking about. The nicest guitar amplifiers and the very nicest bass amps still use vaccuum tubes for pre- and power-amp functions. Vaccuum tubes are an antiquated technology that first came to use in things like stereos and televisions back in the 1930s-60s. Since UltraSound only equips their studios with mega-nice gear, all of the amps have tubes. None of that solid-state, transistor bullshit. To get the nicest quality sound out of your amp, it helps to have a "matched pair" (and in some cases, pairs) of power tubes. In order to get that you have spend a ton of time on this machine called a "tube-tester" which is really just an old amp that is re-wired for such a function. For example, it took me five hours to test fifty EL-34 Power Tubes.
I then got a brief break and hurried to get some food. I returned to work to fulfill my duties as a tech. Basically they pay me to go into one of the 28 studios while a band is setting up and ask how many microphones they need and what amps they would like to play through. Then I turn up levels and get the roughest possible mix and then go wait around until someone messes something up. E-A-S-Y!
Now I sit here writing this drinking a "celebratory" Foster's Oil Can Lager which I proudly purchased at the 24 hour Deli just below my building.
When i get some more time, I'll detail how much fun riding the late night subway can be.
Oh, and you punks need to come visit me soon!!! I'm bored and have no friends. I hope someone can come.
~cpk
New York has gotten much better in the last week!
While, for the most part, it has still been unpleasantly hot, the events of the last week have improved my opinion of both the city and my decision to move here.
I got a job.
Oh, and it ROCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am working as both a sound tech (John, stop laughing) and a repair guy at UltraSound Rehearsal. Today was my first shift and it was a long one. I got to work at about 12:30pm (the funny thing is I wasn't supposed to be there until 1pm.....me? early?) and I didn't leave until 12:15am.
I started my day burning vaccuum tubes.
For those of you aren't snobby guitar players, you probably have no clue what I'm talking about. The nicest guitar amplifiers and the very nicest bass amps still use vaccuum tubes for pre- and power-amp functions. Vaccuum tubes are an antiquated technology that first came to use in things like stereos and televisions back in the 1930s-60s. Since UltraSound only equips their studios with mega-nice gear, all of the amps have tubes. None of that solid-state, transistor bullshit. To get the nicest quality sound out of your amp, it helps to have a "matched pair" (and in some cases, pairs) of power tubes. In order to get that you have spend a ton of time on this machine called a "tube-tester" which is really just an old amp that is re-wired for such a function. For example, it took me five hours to test fifty EL-34 Power Tubes.
I then got a brief break and hurried to get some food. I returned to work to fulfill my duties as a tech. Basically they pay me to go into one of the 28 studios while a band is setting up and ask how many microphones they need and what amps they would like to play through. Then I turn up levels and get the roughest possible mix and then go wait around until someone messes something up. E-A-S-Y!
Now I sit here writing this drinking a "celebratory" Foster's Oil Can Lager which I proudly purchased at the 24 hour Deli just below my building.
When i get some more time, I'll detail how much fun riding the late night subway can be.
Oh, and you punks need to come visit me soon!!! I'm bored and have no friends. I hope someone can come.
~cpk
Friday, June 10, 2005
My Theory on "Getting Your Hopes UP"
You know when you were a kid, and you and a friend made plans to spend the night and one of your houses?
Do you remember how those plans were always contingent on your parent's permission?
Do you also remember that if you and said friend made plans that were too intricate and spent all day "getting your hopes up", that the decision-making parental unit always said "NO"?
Here's what I think. (Obviously since I'm writing this)
If you spend too much time thinking about something and how you would like it to work out, it almost always fails, miserably. This is called "getting your hopes up". And I have no idea why I keep placing that phrase in quotations, it just seems like it emphasizes my point.
So now that I'm in New York.....I'm quickly realizing that I got my hopes up. Granted, I've only been here for three days (creeping into my fourth as I type), but so far, everything has gone totally and utterly wrong. Things have gone the exact opposite of the way I "mentally strategized" them. I should have seen the flight cancellation as a bad omen, but that was hard because I got to meet Sam and Catherine and have a drink. (for more on that story, see my other blog on my other myspace profile)
So after arriving a day late and a buck short, I had to walk down to my sister's office to get some keys, then had to traverse this scary new place, just to find my door. I basically sat around and waited and waited for something to do, since I'm too much of a pussy to actually go do something by myself. Wednesday was supposed to be full of excitement. Alas, everything fell through. I couldn't meet up with either of the guys that could possibly help me find a job. I couldn't get in touch with my two new friends. I couldn't get my fucking debit card to run so that I could buy lunch.
Today was worse. I get up, excited that I could get done what had not been done the day before. I get showered, dressed, and ate breakfast and was about to go on my merry way when I realized that I was a bit short on ca$h. "No problem," I think to myself as I wander downstairs to the tiny little grocery store's ATM.
INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
Try again.
INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
What about in savings?
INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!
Run back upstairs, check my account balance: OVERDRAWN.
I'm officially screwed so I call the bank to see what happened. As it turns out my last paycheck never got deposited. That's definitely not good. All my bill payments will probably bounce and the best part is that I have $7 in cash and $2 in quarters for my next subway ride, should my MetroCard be expired. Dammit.
Then, perhaps out of sheer frustration, my body freaks out and my blood sugar drops like a mosquito that ran into a bug zapper. 45 mg/dL. I know that looks like something odd to most of you. But normal range for blood sugar is between 80-120 mg/dL. I get sweaty and think nothing of it, since it's like 95 outside and there is no A/C in the apartment. So, I finally realize that I'm shaking because of the low sugar and not because of frustration, only to realize that the only thing in the fridge is tonic water, tofu, and some weird type of kosher cracker. Nothing with sugar or carbohydrates.......oh, and I only have $7 (did I mention that this city is fucking expensive?!?!).
Somehow, I get everything sorted out. So I make my way to midtown, roughly 50th St. I decide to go down to Sam Ash music store and see if Rich, a friend of my friend Ray, is working. He told me to come see him when I got to town and he might be able to help me locate a job opening. I get to the store and ask to speak to Rich. His off-day is today. Son-of-a-bitch. Just my luck. So I decide to wander down to 30th to try and take a peek at Ultrasound Rehearsal. Basically another friend-of-a-friend that I'm supposed to talk to now that I'm in town. And of course, I can't find the place.
So I figure I'll call my friend and see if she wants to hang out. She says she's shopping in SoHo and I could come meet her. Great, only about 30 blocks to SoHo, I can just walk. So about half an hour later, I'm in SoHo, and I call to see where she wants to meet up. "Oh, I went back home." FUCK! I just walked from 50th all the way to 1st and then to streets that don't have numbers (10 points to anyone who thought I was gonna say "Where the Streets Have No Names") and she's not even here anymore?!?!?! What's the point.
So I figure that I'm close and may as well do the tourist thing and go visit Ground Zero. It's sad because the first time I came to New York in '97, I took the WTC tour. Got to stand on the roof and everything. Now, there is a big nothingness. It was incredibly sad. They have a wall with names on it and a timeline of the events of that tragic day. Hopefully, something more permanent will be constructed. I've seen the Memorial in Oklahoma City at the site of the bombing of the Federal Building, and cried like a baby because I was so moved. I'm sure someone will pay proper tribute to the Fallen Towers.
I could go on and on about crap that happened to me today. The retard at Burger King that wouldn't give me a fucking refill on my $2.50 SMALL drink because "this is New York City." Who cares? I'm thirsty, bitch! I'd feel bad if she were actually retarded. Anyway, perhaps I've done enough complaining for one night. I'm sure more crap will happen in the coming days and I'll feel obligated to bitch and moan on this wonderfully addicting website. I miss my friends terribly. I want someone to wander around the city with. I really miss my puppy. There are so many people here with dogs and I just want mine too. I'm in a really whiny mood right now, but I'm too broke to go get drunk and sleep it off.
Do you remember how those plans were always contingent on your parent's permission?
Do you also remember that if you and said friend made plans that were too intricate and spent all day "getting your hopes up", that the decision-making parental unit always said "NO"?
Here's what I think. (Obviously since I'm writing this)
If you spend too much time thinking about something and how you would like it to work out, it almost always fails, miserably. This is called "getting your hopes up". And I have no idea why I keep placing that phrase in quotations, it just seems like it emphasizes my point.
So now that I'm in New York.....I'm quickly realizing that I got my hopes up. Granted, I've only been here for three days (creeping into my fourth as I type), but so far, everything has gone totally and utterly wrong. Things have gone the exact opposite of the way I "mentally strategized" them. I should have seen the flight cancellation as a bad omen, but that was hard because I got to meet Sam and Catherine and have a drink. (for more on that story, see my other blog on my other myspace profile)
So after arriving a day late and a buck short, I had to walk down to my sister's office to get some keys, then had to traverse this scary new place, just to find my door. I basically sat around and waited and waited for something to do, since I'm too much of a pussy to actually go do something by myself. Wednesday was supposed to be full of excitement. Alas, everything fell through. I couldn't meet up with either of the guys that could possibly help me find a job. I couldn't get in touch with my two new friends. I couldn't get my fucking debit card to run so that I could buy lunch.
Today was worse. I get up, excited that I could get done what had not been done the day before. I get showered, dressed, and ate breakfast and was about to go on my merry way when I realized that I was a bit short on ca$h. "No problem," I think to myself as I wander downstairs to the tiny little grocery store's ATM.
INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
Try again.
INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
What about in savings?
INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!
Run back upstairs, check my account balance: OVERDRAWN.
I'm officially screwed so I call the bank to see what happened. As it turns out my last paycheck never got deposited. That's definitely not good. All my bill payments will probably bounce and the best part is that I have $7 in cash and $2 in quarters for my next subway ride, should my MetroCard be expired. Dammit.
Then, perhaps out of sheer frustration, my body freaks out and my blood sugar drops like a mosquito that ran into a bug zapper. 45 mg/dL. I know that looks like something odd to most of you. But normal range for blood sugar is between 80-120 mg/dL. I get sweaty and think nothing of it, since it's like 95 outside and there is no A/C in the apartment. So, I finally realize that I'm shaking because of the low sugar and not because of frustration, only to realize that the only thing in the fridge is tonic water, tofu, and some weird type of kosher cracker. Nothing with sugar or carbohydrates.......oh, and I only have $7 (did I mention that this city is fucking expensive?!?!).
Somehow, I get everything sorted out. So I make my way to midtown, roughly 50th St. I decide to go down to Sam Ash music store and see if Rich, a friend of my friend Ray, is working. He told me to come see him when I got to town and he might be able to help me locate a job opening. I get to the store and ask to speak to Rich. His off-day is today. Son-of-a-bitch. Just my luck. So I decide to wander down to 30th to try and take a peek at Ultrasound Rehearsal. Basically another friend-of-a-friend that I'm supposed to talk to now that I'm in town. And of course, I can't find the place.
So I figure I'll call my friend and see if she wants to hang out. She says she's shopping in SoHo and I could come meet her. Great, only about 30 blocks to SoHo, I can just walk. So about half an hour later, I'm in SoHo, and I call to see where she wants to meet up. "Oh, I went back home." FUCK! I just walked from 50th all the way to 1st and then to streets that don't have numbers (10 points to anyone who thought I was gonna say "Where the Streets Have No Names") and she's not even here anymore?!?!?! What's the point.
So I figure that I'm close and may as well do the tourist thing and go visit Ground Zero. It's sad because the first time I came to New York in '97, I took the WTC tour. Got to stand on the roof and everything. Now, there is a big nothingness. It was incredibly sad. They have a wall with names on it and a timeline of the events of that tragic day. Hopefully, something more permanent will be constructed. I've seen the Memorial in Oklahoma City at the site of the bombing of the Federal Building, and cried like a baby because I was so moved. I'm sure someone will pay proper tribute to the Fallen Towers.
I could go on and on about crap that happened to me today. The retard at Burger King that wouldn't give me a fucking refill on my $2.50 SMALL drink because "this is New York City." Who cares? I'm thirsty, bitch! I'd feel bad if she were actually retarded. Anyway, perhaps I've done enough complaining for one night. I'm sure more crap will happen in the coming days and I'll feel obligated to bitch and moan on this wonderfully addicting website. I miss my friends terribly. I want someone to wander around the city with. I really miss my puppy. There are so many people here with dogs and I just want mine too. I'm in a really whiny mood right now, but I'm too broke to go get drunk and sleep it off.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Here I go again....on my own.
Boy, I tell ya.....I wish my adventure could be marked by the dancing of Tawny Kitaen on the hood of my Jaguar. But somehow I doubt my venture into the real world will be as marvelous as that Whitesnake video from years back. Plus Ms. Kitaen doesn't quite look as good now as she did then. And then there was that episode where she beat the ever living hell out of her husband, former major league pitcher, Chuck Finley.
I digress.
It's official: I'm nervous as hell. I'm off to New York and I have no plan whatsoever. Who knows how that's gonna work out? Not me! I decided that flying by the seat of my pants might not have been the best idea in the world. All work related issues aside, and the fact that I don't have a job waiting for me, how in the world do I think I'm gonna cut it in the musically rich culture of New York City? I mean, I couldn't draw more than 10 or 15 people to my "last" show here in Baton Rouge, how am I gonna grab the attention of anyone in nyc?
Don't get me wrong. The people that did come to the show last week are some of the people that I care about the most in life. Great people, great friends! Holly even had a shirt that said "I Love Chris Keegan"! It was awesome.
But a pretty harsh question occurred to me when the 100 people cleared out of North Gate Tavern after the opening band played: How bad am I? To tell you the truth, I don't know. I thought I was fairly decent. I'm not Whitesnake, but I thought I could hold my own.
It's really this question that has me shaking in my shoes when it comes to this move. There is no telling what will happen....but my thought process brings me back to this question each and every day.
Wish me luck. No, really.....wish me luck. Call, write, email. I need all the encouragement I can get. Plus I'm gonna be incredibly lonely once I get there. So I hope to hear from someone soon.
I digress.
It's official: I'm nervous as hell. I'm off to New York and I have no plan whatsoever. Who knows how that's gonna work out? Not me! I decided that flying by the seat of my pants might not have been the best idea in the world. All work related issues aside, and the fact that I don't have a job waiting for me, how in the world do I think I'm gonna cut it in the musically rich culture of New York City? I mean, I couldn't draw more than 10 or 15 people to my "last" show here in Baton Rouge, how am I gonna grab the attention of anyone in nyc?
Don't get me wrong. The people that did come to the show last week are some of the people that I care about the most in life. Great people, great friends! Holly even had a shirt that said "I Love Chris Keegan"! It was awesome.
But a pretty harsh question occurred to me when the 100 people cleared out of North Gate Tavern after the opening band played: How bad am I? To tell you the truth, I don't know. I thought I was fairly decent. I'm not Whitesnake, but I thought I could hold my own.
It's really this question that has me shaking in my shoes when it comes to this move. There is no telling what will happen....but my thought process brings me back to this question each and every day.
Wish me luck. No, really.....wish me luck. Call, write, email. I need all the encouragement I can get. Plus I'm gonna be incredibly lonely once I get there. So I hope to hear from someone soon.
Thursday, May 5, 2005
Big Decisions....
Appearently in life, there are several times in which a person has to make big decisions. As far as I know, I have recently encountered one of those times. I've been out of school for almost a year now. Having received my college diploma from LSU in the mail, after deciding to skip the ceremony because of the intrusion by George W. Bush, I have lived a relatively simple life that including working at C&M Music Center, playing my guitar, attempting to be a good songwriter, and drinking a lot of beer (I've done "Beers Around the World" three times at the Chimes).
I held that same job for just about 3 years and only a few months ago, I decided that I'd like to do something else. I gave up my roster spot to move on to what I thought would be a real career and a decent paycheck. The weekend that I thought that I was supposed to start, I got a phone call informing me the company I was going to work for had folded and the position I scrambled up my life for was no more.
So I'm not one to make snap judgements. Or, at least, I think I'm not. I like to let my situations sit and at some point, if I'm lucky, a solution will present itself. Being unemployed, I was happy to fill in at my old job a few times here and there. I mean, I'm not gonna turn down money. It was around this time (we've progressed to the middle of April, for those of you that aren't following along in your books), my sister proposed an idea. In that she lives in Brooklyn, NY, she suggested that she would pay my way up to and allow me to live with her in New York, as long as I could find something to do to support myself in other monetary ventures.
FLOORED! I can't believe that I have to make a decision like that. In the past, I've had an unpleasant relationship with my hometown. That could be an understatement. I've been relatively unhappy with the quality of life in Baton Rouge. Ok, that's understating the truth again. I fucking hate this town!
Or do I?
I thought at one time that I would do anything to get up and out of this town. Until actually given the opportunity. Most of my friends are here, some have been fortunate to get away, but I've also made more in the last year or so. I'm so used to my routine. My monday night drinking excursions, etc.
So here I am trying to make up my mind. And here are these wrenches being thrown into my spokes of progress. My old boss offers me my old job back with better hours. Brandon and Dana are moving back, and I really miss playing music with B and hanging out with the both of them. I guess I'm realizing that I'm very much into my comfort zone. And as un-manly as this sounds, that's a scary thing to leave behind.
After hearing that some other people I know are leaving town for the summer too, I went ahead and told my sister that I would come. I think I'm out of here on June 1st or so.
The good news is that Brandon will be back for my next gig, May 26th at Northgate Tavern. The bad news is that I still have to find a job up there.
I think I am actually out of things to say.
I held that same job for just about 3 years and only a few months ago, I decided that I'd like to do something else. I gave up my roster spot to move on to what I thought would be a real career and a decent paycheck. The weekend that I thought that I was supposed to start, I got a phone call informing me the company I was going to work for had folded and the position I scrambled up my life for was no more.
So I'm not one to make snap judgements. Or, at least, I think I'm not. I like to let my situations sit and at some point, if I'm lucky, a solution will present itself. Being unemployed, I was happy to fill in at my old job a few times here and there. I mean, I'm not gonna turn down money. It was around this time (we've progressed to the middle of April, for those of you that aren't following along in your books), my sister proposed an idea. In that she lives in Brooklyn, NY, she suggested that she would pay my way up to and allow me to live with her in New York, as long as I could find something to do to support myself in other monetary ventures.
FLOORED! I can't believe that I have to make a decision like that. In the past, I've had an unpleasant relationship with my hometown. That could be an understatement. I've been relatively unhappy with the quality of life in Baton Rouge. Ok, that's understating the truth again. I fucking hate this town!
Or do I?
I thought at one time that I would do anything to get up and out of this town. Until actually given the opportunity. Most of my friends are here, some have been fortunate to get away, but I've also made more in the last year or so. I'm so used to my routine. My monday night drinking excursions, etc.
So here I am trying to make up my mind. And here are these wrenches being thrown into my spokes of progress. My old boss offers me my old job back with better hours. Brandon and Dana are moving back, and I really miss playing music with B and hanging out with the both of them. I guess I'm realizing that I'm very much into my comfort zone. And as un-manly as this sounds, that's a scary thing to leave behind.
After hearing that some other people I know are leaving town for the summer too, I went ahead and told my sister that I would come. I think I'm out of here on June 1st or so.
The good news is that Brandon will be back for my next gig, May 26th at Northgate Tavern. The bad news is that I still have to find a job up there.
I think I am actually out of things to say.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
EMERGENCY ROOM!
Especially in the nation's emergency rooms.
This is the third year in a row that I have made a less than graceful appearance in a local ER, and sadly it is the third year that I thought I was very close to dying. In the summer of 2003, I endured constant stomach pain for a week before I gave in and went to the hospital, only to find that my appendix was going to blow up and I had to have surgery to remove it.
Last year, I got sick and worried my mother, and her fears proved true in that I was diagnosed a diabetic.
This year, my annual excursion was totally my fault. After a fairly mild breakup with my latest attempt at a relationship, I decided that it would be a good week to keep myself at a fairly moderate level of inebriation. So for three nights in a row, I had good success in my attempts. The fourth night is where things got out of hand.
The word "moderate" was replaced with "incredible". I had entirely too much to drink. But thankfully my state of conciousness was not what got me into the situation I am going to describe. As I was leaving the last bar I was at, I decided that in order to expediate my journey, I would "hop" down the only two stairs that said drinking establishment had inside. Apparently, I tend to forget exactly how tall I am when drinking, so I nailed my head on the door frame.
When I blinked back to consciousness, evidently only a few seconds after making my leap of faith, I gathered myself and my vision and proceeded to pick myself off of the ground and walk outside. It was at this time that I felt something on my head. Taking off my favorite Kansas City Royals baseball cap, I felt the top of my head. Examining my fingers, I noticed a lot of the color red. Knowing that my fingers are not normally red, I decided that I was bleeding from my head.
Here's the point in the story that I began to freak out.
I thought I had cracked my skull, or worse, that my brain might be exposed and Hannibal Lecter would cook it and eat it. AAAAHHHH!
Luckily for me, my friend was able to calm me down, get me into a car and to the hospital.
This is the point in the story where I lose all faith in America's Health Care Industry.
I sat (keep in my, I was still pouring blood from my head) in the waiting room at Our Lady of the Lake's Emergency Room for two hours, without even a paper towel to stop the flow. Once I was admitted, I informed them of my status as a Type 1 Diabetic. They checked my blood sugar and I proceeded to endure a lecture from a nursing student about how I was killing myself slowly by allowing my blood sugar to run high. I then decided to respond by saying "Just sew my head up bitch and save your stupid lecture."
Luckily I didn't actually say this out loud and somehow managed to keep what small amount of dignity I still had at the moment.
They then moved me to a room, where I lay in a bed for another two hours waiting for a doctor to at least come look at me. About 6:30am my wish finally came true. This guy walks in and looks at my head, mutters a "Hmmm" and leaves.
What if I had fractured my skull? What if grey matter had been seeping out of said skull fracture and I was getting dumber by the second. I mean, for God's sake, I'm already stupid enough....I need to retain all the grey matter I still have.
What if this was a life or death situation? Apparently, everybody in that entire ER was prepared to have my death on their collective consciousness.
Eventually, the doctor returned with the necessary implements to perform the necessary doctorly performance.
I had four stitches tied ever so tightly into my scalp and was discharged at 8:40am on Friday with a mild concussion and a repaired laceration to my scalp. Walking in a straight line seemed almost more difficult now that I was sober with a concussion than it did while I was sloshed.
The best news of the whole situation was that I only got a very small amount of blood in a very inconspicous spot on my afformentioned "favorite Kansas City Royals baseball cap".
So the moral of the story is:
"Don't jump down the stairs, no matter how few of them there are......in fact, don't pick up your feet more than absolutely necessary. Simply drag your feet when you walk and stay in constant contact with any and all sections of the earth beneath you!"
This is the third year in a row that I have made a less than graceful appearance in a local ER, and sadly it is the third year that I thought I was very close to dying. In the summer of 2003, I endured constant stomach pain for a week before I gave in and went to the hospital, only to find that my appendix was going to blow up and I had to have surgery to remove it.
Last year, I got sick and worried my mother, and her fears proved true in that I was diagnosed a diabetic.
This year, my annual excursion was totally my fault. After a fairly mild breakup with my latest attempt at a relationship, I decided that it would be a good week to keep myself at a fairly moderate level of inebriation. So for three nights in a row, I had good success in my attempts. The fourth night is where things got out of hand.
The word "moderate" was replaced with "incredible". I had entirely too much to drink. But thankfully my state of conciousness was not what got me into the situation I am going to describe. As I was leaving the last bar I was at, I decided that in order to expediate my journey, I would "hop" down the only two stairs that said drinking establishment had inside. Apparently, I tend to forget exactly how tall I am when drinking, so I nailed my head on the door frame.
When I blinked back to consciousness, evidently only a few seconds after making my leap of faith, I gathered myself and my vision and proceeded to pick myself off of the ground and walk outside. It was at this time that I felt something on my head. Taking off my favorite Kansas City Royals baseball cap, I felt the top of my head. Examining my fingers, I noticed a lot of the color red. Knowing that my fingers are not normally red, I decided that I was bleeding from my head.
Here's the point in the story that I began to freak out.
I thought I had cracked my skull, or worse, that my brain might be exposed and Hannibal Lecter would cook it and eat it. AAAAHHHH!
Luckily for me, my friend was able to calm me down, get me into a car and to the hospital.
This is the point in the story where I lose all faith in America's Health Care Industry.
I sat (keep in my, I was still pouring blood from my head) in the waiting room at Our Lady of the Lake's Emergency Room for two hours, without even a paper towel to stop the flow. Once I was admitted, I informed them of my status as a Type 1 Diabetic. They checked my blood sugar and I proceeded to endure a lecture from a nursing student about how I was killing myself slowly by allowing my blood sugar to run high. I then decided to respond by saying "Just sew my head up bitch and save your stupid lecture."
Luckily I didn't actually say this out loud and somehow managed to keep what small amount of dignity I still had at the moment.
They then moved me to a room, where I lay in a bed for another two hours waiting for a doctor to at least come look at me. About 6:30am my wish finally came true. This guy walks in and looks at my head, mutters a "Hmmm" and leaves.
What if I had fractured my skull? What if grey matter had been seeping out of said skull fracture and I was getting dumber by the second. I mean, for God's sake, I'm already stupid enough....I need to retain all the grey matter I still have.
What if this was a life or death situation? Apparently, everybody in that entire ER was prepared to have my death on their collective consciousness.
Eventually, the doctor returned with the necessary implements to perform the necessary doctorly performance.
I had four stitches tied ever so tightly into my scalp and was discharged at 8:40am on Friday with a mild concussion and a repaired laceration to my scalp. Walking in a straight line seemed almost more difficult now that I was sober with a concussion than it did while I was sloshed.
The best news of the whole situation was that I only got a very small amount of blood in a very inconspicous spot on my afformentioned "favorite Kansas City Royals baseball cap".
So the moral of the story is:
"Don't jump down the stairs, no matter how few of them there are......in fact, don't pick up your feet more than absolutely necessary. Simply drag your feet when you walk and stay in constant contact with any and all sections of the earth beneath you!"
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