Below are the 10 most recent journal entries recorded in thecline's LiveJournal:

Tuesday, September 12th, 2006
5:16 pm	Marah Karaoke - The Iota (9.11.06) YouTube Videos: http://www.youtube.com/view_play_list?p=0F95901567D5596D One of these things is not like the others, One of these things just doesn't belong, Can you tell which thing is not like the others By the time I finish my song? For those of you who don't know, I've been following a band from Philly called Marah (http://www.marah-usa.com) since 98. A rather unique opportunity presented itself to me yesterday. The band posted on their message board that their Iota Cafe (Arlington, VA) show would be a little different. For 3-4 songs, fans would have the chance to get up and sing with the band. The thought process to decide on an impromptu road trip to the Iota went something like this: 1. I missed the Brooklyn show. 2. I can possibly share the stage with Marah. 3. Gas prices are down. 4. I can possibly share the stage with Marah. 5. Chuebner can help share the driving. 6. I can possibly share the stage with Marah. I raced home from work, changed, and headed down to Chadds Ford to meet Chris Huebner. Traveling south on the Blue Route, I saw a pickup trip, fully engulfed in flames. An omen? On several levels and in several ways, yes. CH piles in to the giant blue spaceship and we hit the road. I drop some Sleater Kinney science on him and he fills me in on some of the Brooklyn details. We have one disagreement about the directions. He thinks we should've gotten off at one exit and I thought he had both the road & exit # wrong. But I told him nicely. We figure it out and get off of 295, thinking we're almost there. Well, we would be almost there if DC would invest in 1 GODDAMN STREET SIGN!!!!. I'm not exaggerating to say we came to 5-10 intersections that had no signage whatsoever. We went around and around a couple of times. You couldn't blink or else you end up in the wrong turn lane. It was like a video game where you have to make split-second decisions without any information. Eventually you just memorize Left-Left-Right-Triangle-Left-Start and you're on to the next level. We finally find our way and get to the Iota halfway through the Bloodline set. They sounded pretty good, but my priorities were to piss and get pissed. Having crossed off the first item on my list, I inhaled a couple of beers and a mini bottle of Jaeger that Janet provided, and signed up for Catfishermen. My goal was to try and find the right balance of inebriation and coherency. My liquid courage levels topped off, I'm (mostly) ready to go. I show CH how to work the camera, and also make sure that Scooby gets some shots as well. As they make their way to the stage, Kirk says that my song will probably be about midway through the set. OK, I can do this. I'm Chris MOTHERF@CKING Cline, dammit. Even as I'm singing along to the first couple of songs, I'm constantly repeating the Catfishermen lyrics in my head. Mind you, once I decided to make the trip, I listened to a live version of Catfishermen on Repeat. Again, and again, and again. It did help hammer the lyrics (http://www.lyricshosting.com/artists/13/marah/the_catfisherman.html) into my head and get familiar with the timing of the verses. One thing I wasn't sure about was whether they'd bust into another song during the jam portion of the song. I was ready, if they pointed to me at that point to bust out into "Breakaway", "Gimme 3 Steps", or "Careless Whisper". So after 3-4 songs, Serge starts talking about the what and the why of the Karaoke portion and they call me up. I think they said something about me being a long-time fan, but they could have been talking about the French Connection in Portuguese for all I knew. I was ready, wasn't I? Was the band ready? Was the crowd ready? The answers are irrelevant, because it was time. I ditched my sandals at the side of the stage (not wanting to trip over anything), and headed to my mike. Kirk offered some helpful advice to sing right up on the mike, and I tried to do that as much as possible. I had a good one-liner about Kirk's shirt being too fancy for a Monday night (it was, at minimum, a Thursday-caliber shirt), but I don't think anyone would have heard me. Before the song started, I whipped off my outer shirt (I had a Sleater-Kinney one underneath) and threw it to the side. Very rock star. Kissed both biceps (i.e. the Albino Pythons), and it was go time. So the drumroll kicks things into high gear. You'll notice a bit of a false start as I'm not sure exactly when to start singing, but Dave helps me out with a nod, and we're off to the races. I remember all the lyrics, even if I don't sing them coherently. My motto for karaoke, since I cannot sing, is to find a song you know and yell it. Theatrically, if possible. That advice served me well. I had so much fun jumping around, bopping my head to the beat, and yelling my guts out. It was hard to enjoy the moment too much though, since I was concentrating so hard on not screwing anything up and nailing all the lyrics. It went by very quickly. If I ever get the chance to do something like that again, I'll definitely be looser and more in the moment. Big hugs from Serge & Kirk, a fist bump from Dave, and my moment on the stage had come to an end. With a big ol' grin, exited Stage Right, grabbed my shoes and became part of the audience again. I guess I did OK because no one was shunning me or asking me politely to leave. I even had drinks bought for me. Life is good. Other than a balky mike stand, things could not have gone better. In a very minute way, I understand why these guys (and others) put up with the crappy vans, the long drives, the bad food, the long hours, the low pay, the grind of it all. It is, to put it mildly, a giant fun burger with fun bacon, fun pepper jack cheese, and plenty of fun sauce to dip your fun fries into. And don't forget the fun vanilla coke and fun napkins. If songs are truly songwriters' children, then I cut myself a switch and beat the fear of God into those poor bastards. And I'd do it again. I have to thank Chuebner for joining the road trip with me and driving my drunk and tired ass home afterwards. And that was a nasty cheeseburger & fries we had at the rest stop, but it did the trick. Couldn't have made the trip without ya. And great camera work, even if you did miss my booty-poppin' 2 Live Crew butt shimmy. But most of all, unbridled thanks and love to this band I love. I'm obviously not an aspiring musician, but to have a chance to be a rock star, even if only for a few minutes? Color me eternally grateful. Now where the hell are those damn groupies?!? Cline Some of these files are pretty large, especially the QuickTime ones, so be patient. I recommend right-clicking on the link and Saving the file to your hard drive before viewing. Windows Media Player: Marah - Baba O'Reilly (MPG) Marah - Feather Boa (MPG) Marah - Love Train (MPG) Marah (f. Tom- Faraway You (MPG) Marah (f. Morris) - Boat (MPG) Marah (f. Cline) - The Catfishermen (MPG) QuickTime: Marah - Baba O'Reilly (MOV) Marah - Feather Boa (MOV) Marah - Love Train (MOV) Marah (f. Tom- Faraway You (MOV) Marah (f. Morris) - Boat (MOV) Marah (f. Cline) - The Catfishermen (MOV) Current Mood: giddy Current Music: Oasis - Definitely Maybe (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, July 13th, 2006
12:36 am	Delaware Beach Hizzle (7.7.06 - 7.10.06) Dewey & Rehoboth, Delaware Pics: http://picasaweb.google.com/agolinkoff/Beach2006 Friday: Shane & Evan showed up for the car pooling and we were on the road. Evan told us about his recent trip to Peru, and Shane laughed. We (OK, I) panicked a bit when we thought we had passed the last Waffle House on Rt. 1, but luckily there was another glorious one in Smyrna. We "entertained" the waitress, Shane ate about a quarter-waffle, and I assimilated a plate of grease in the shape of a bacon cheeseburger wrap and hash browns Scattered, Smothered, Covered, Chunked, & Peppered. Ready to do some serious damage to *someone's* plumbing, we hit the Beach Hizzle with drinking already in progress. Some beer pong to get caught up, and then we headed to a Dewey bar that had too much perfectly good rug that needed cutting. I ordered some famous local drinks (Dewey Devils) for a couple of people, and decided to splurge on the extra $2 splash (i.e. shot) of rum on top. Those drinks did not screw around. They were not the local, they were the express. They were not the dump & swing, they were the full-field huck. They were not "I Wanna Hold Your Hand", they were "Da Butt". They were not they guy in the PG-13 movie everyone is rooting for. They were Double-Down Motherfucking Trent. You get the picture. A little flip cups (nailed it on the first flip every time, thank you) and on to the sandy dance floor. I'm a fan of the sand. It's like lubricant, except gritty and for your shoes. Evan busted out some of his moves (including a much-better-than-The-First-Robot Robot), and elicited looks from a group of neighboring femmes which was no less than a cocktail of awe, revulsion, & arousal. We closed that shit down, which would be impressive if it weren't fricking Delaware, whose bars close at 1. Saturday: There are few better ways to be woken up than that of the coquettish wisp of an aroma tip-toeing down the stairs, opening the door to the jungle room, lingering a second on the black lacquered & mirrored surfaces before plunging deep into my soul (via my nose). Said aroma? Why bacon, of course. Some kind souls were cooking up copious amounts of bacon, eggs, & hash browns (not WH-caliber, but still pretty damn good). Bellies filled, we headed for the first beach run. I lathered up with sun screen (not all of us can have the golden brown complexion of a McDonalds hot cake), and 30 minutes later was ready. The weather was warm and welcoming. The ocean? Not so much. It was good for a quick dip, but it felt like God had emptied his cooler full of ice leftover from tailgating at the Hendrix/Joplin/Buckley show. And to get to the sandy part of the water, there was about 10 feet just covered in rocks. Not too bad, except when you body surfed. I was pulling stones out of my trunks for hours. We passed the time relaxing, reading (I greatly enjoyed David Sedaris’ “Dress Your Family in Corduroy & Denim”), and hitting the volleyball around in a circle to see how long we could keep it going. I think we topped out at ~120. It was no SpongeBob ball, but it was still a hoot. There was talk of go-karts and miniature golf, the former of which piqued my interest. A bunch of us went, except that we unfortunately went to a place that only had miniature golf. I sank my first 3 practice putts, but once we started playing the holes for real, so too started the suck. By the 10th hole or so, I was so annoyed with my putter that I started using my foot for all shots. That embarrassment complete, it was back to the house, and more importantly, back to the hot tub. I had decided it was going to be a vodka night, so the vodka tonics started. I made my first, and then called in favors for others to make me more so I wouldn’t have to leave the hot tub. I'll tell you one thing, Kari Reese makes a mean vodka tonic. We headed into Rehoboth for dinner. Some chose Mexican, but a smaller group (me, Dallas, Evan, Kristen, Emily, & Shane) chose seafood. And Shane of course decided to annoy the hostess. There was some confusion about whether we could be seated for 6 or 5, so I tried to hide, thinking that making us 5 would help our chances. Turns out they wanted all 6 of us, so I was actually hindering us. Whatever. Dinner was quite excellent (crab bisque, crab cakes, vodka tonic), until we played credit card roulette. I didn't have a good feeling when our waitress put her hand in the hat, and it turned out to be an accurate feeling as my brand new, crystal clear Delta Amex was pulled out. It was fitting, as I had hectored a couple of the people at the table into playing who were sweating being stuck with the $170 bill. At least I didn't lose our bet as to the ethnicity of our waitress, even though Shane tried to cheat by asking the hostess. The hostess of course, exposed his chicanery by cluelessly stopping by to tell Shane that she thought our waitress was Polish. Turns out she was from Belarus... Belarus is what we were looking for... Belarus... Another night, another dance club. This one much more crowded, but no less fun. I enjoyed freaking out a guy or 2 by dancing up on them after Katie Drake was done with them. Though there was an annoying circle of dried-up cuntrags (i.e. a bachelorette party). First, one of them comes up and dances with me and everything's cool, until I drop to the ground and do a little floor humping/booty popping. She looks like I had crapped in her drink, so I laugh and move on. Later on, another cuntrag (CR2) makes a big deal of protecting CR1 from me, even though I have my back turned to them and am staying in my space. Amazingly, CR2, not 5 minutes later, tries to dance up on me. My inner Latifah gets all fired up and I slur a recap of what just happened and if she thinks she can dance up on Cline, she should get over herself. That's right, no one better mess with a strong black woman such as myself. We close this place too, and head back for a little more hot-tubbing. Katie gets into the tub all naked and whatnot, so I fling off my trunks too. Sadly, that's where the naked hot-tubbing action came to a grinding halt. Yeah, that wasn't awkward. Sunday: No bacon, but there were Krispy Kremes. A late-morning trip to the beach, followed immediately by a trip to a bar called Irish Eyes in Rehoboth for the World Cup Final, where legend had it, PBR drafts were only $1. The legends turned out to be true. The drafts were slightly smaller, but they were only a dollar, so we ordered round after round. I was, of course, wearing a counterfeit Italian jersey (Del Pietro) that I bought from Bernardo (San Francisco character I met earlier this year). Was it the shirt of a man who Bernardo had killed or at the very least not obstructed the killing of? Possibly. Even better, there was a big table of real French (or at least French Canadian) people with flags and everything. Every important play I yelled something nonsensical and barely Italian (TONYDANZA! GORGONZOLA! DOMDELOUISE!), and answered their real French songs with the only Italian ones I could think of (O Sole Mio, That's Amore, & Volare). Oh, and when anyone asked, "Why yes, I am Italian. Northern Italian. Tuscany to be precise." I was happy that the Italians won, but felt a little bad for the Frenchies, some of whom were crying when the game ended. Turns out they all work in a crepes restaurant. Irony can be so ironic sometimes. So, full of beer, piss, & vinegar, we returned to the house. For some reason, imbibing lots of PBR, nachos, fish & chips makes you feel somewhat logy a couple of hours afterwards. We vegged for a while, cooked out on the grill, and then took the Jolly Trolley back into Rehoboth to meet up with those still around (a bunch of suckers had to work). Those that stayed were pretty gay, so naturally we met at the Frog Pond, Rehoboth's best, and probably only lesbian bar for some karaoke. Our deal was that all songs had to be by female or gay male artists. I did one of my standards (Dusty Springfield's "Son of a Preacher Man") and broke in a soon-to-be standard (Miss Kelly Clarkson's "Breakaway"). But the stars of the night were clearly Cat & Evan who did Love Shack, & (I've Had) The Time of My Life to an enthusiastic and rather butch audience. Speaking of the audience, my favorites were the Gay Twins/Gay Proclaimers (depending on which part of the night I was naming them) and Gay John Malkovich who could do splits and kick his foot over his head. Oh, and he wore knee-high socks/hosiery. Only one foot. Awesome. Allegedly a former Miss Oklahoma was also in attendance, and some annoying women who could sing a little did bad pop country songs. After one of Cat & Evan's #s, I yelled out, "Try following THAT!". The woman running karaoke, knowing who was up next, snidely responded "You wait and see who's following that". So, of course, a local bar band’s singer got up and literally raised Janis Joplin from the dead with "Another Piece of My Heart". She was really good, so I bought her a Corona for her performance. Of course, we closed this bar too with a little dance party after the karaoke was over, though the bitch wouldn't play Since U Been Gone to close the night. Maybe they didn't have enough insurance. Because that would have torn that place DOWN. Rather than waiting for the Jolly Trolley, we decided to walk, which took FOREVER, and afforded Evan the opportunity to throw a dead fish at us. Monday: A final trip to the beach, and this time we actually used a net as part of our volleyball game. It was a lot of fun, though the sand was REAL hot and full of shells/rocks, despite my continued anal-retentive attempts to turn it into our own private Wildwood. Evan & I also invented a game called Ass Rock, where we would toss rocks onto Katie Drake's ass while she sunned herself. The rules were simple. 1 point for throwing a rock on her clothed buttocks, and having it stay there. Another point for knocking it off. Small rocks were good for the first part, big rocks better for the second. Katie, then Kristen were not fans of the big rocks. Growing bored of rocks & asses, we went and did some go-karting & grabbed a seafood dinner. The highlight was the paper tablecloth and crayons. There was a competition to see who could draw Dallas the best. I made a starfish in the medium of hot sauce, and it was dubbed "Red Fish, Hot Fish" by Kristen. After that, Evan & I hit the road and made it home in 2 hours flat. All in all, a great time at the beach. The weather was perfect, & the company tolerable. I stayed the perfect amount of time. Long enough to do a lot of stuff, but before I started getting sick of people. (Comment on this)
Sunday, February 19th, 2006
7:04 pm	Toothy Bl0wj0b hits Sin City: Trouble In Vegas (2.2.06 - 2.6.06) Yeah, like the guy using the $2,000 keyboard is going to be concise with his recap... COME ON! Pictures from various folks can be found here. The reason for the trip to Vegas was for the inaugural edition of Trouble In Vegas, an Ultimate tournament. We put together a team nicknamed "Toothy Bl0wj0b". Classy, huh? Half of us play Germ Circus and the rest were culled from various Philly club teams. We also picked up a few Germ Circus Alumni (West Coast chapter). THURSDAY 2/2 The previously immutable laws of space and time decided to take a day off this day. The 7 hours I was at work stretched into an interminable time swamp from which I was finally able to drag myself out of and down the stairs at 4 to wait for my ride. Unfortunately, my ride was on KJST (Kathi Jenkins Standard Time), which meant I had to wait another 20 minutes. She made up for it by having the second best thing R. Kelly ever did (Ignition Remix) pumping on the stereo. Well, 13th-best thing if you count each chapter of Trapped in the Closet as its own entry. And OK, 14th if you include his incredible DVD commentary. Screw it, the whole DVD counts as 1 big shrink-wrapped care package from a higher power truly merciful in his greatness. Anyway, we get to the airport, and have a moment of panic when we don’t see our flight on the board. We had forgotten that we were idiots and were looking at arrivals instead of departures. We meet up with newly-engaged Pretzel & Cheese Cup and get in line to board Comrade (i.e. Southwest) airlines. This was the first time I’ve flew SW, and wasn’t entirely prepared for the no-seat-assignment thing. Somehow Kathi & I get seats together, but Jon & Kristen are 2 rows apart. I consider moving so they can sit together, but realize they have the rest of their lives to sit together. 5 fewer hours on a plane can only help prolong things for them. The time on the flight was passed making a drinking game out of Sudoku (each correct square merited a drink), which resulted in us basically drinking the plane out of all their good beer (Foster’s & Heineken). Yeah, the 3rd guy in our row LOVED us. It got so bad that we ordered a round of Bud Light. Luckily, the waitress was distracted and forgot about our order. Talk about dodging a bullet. We land and after walking quite a distance, we meet up with Coyne who had gotten there the day before. He drives us to the fabulous Gold Coast Hotel & Casino (http://www.goldcoastcasino.com/index2.html) where we check in, freshen up, and hit the Monterey Room. The Monterey Room, was, in a word, interesting. Anyplace that offers a full Chinese food menu AND a $9.95 T-Bone & Beer special, that’s a place that’s OK in my book. Was the special a bargain? No. Did I get ripped off? No. I got exactly $9.95 worth of beefy enjoyment. I was wise enough to order it Medium because I was skeptical of their precision cooking skills. Most of the T-Bone was a nice pink, but parts were food-coloring red inside. Not sure how they did it, but it was impressive nonetheless. Minus the early-to-bedders Coyne & Kathi (in separate rooms & beds), we then headed over to New York, New York to meet up with Furf & Jill. Pretzel, Cheese Cup, & I sorely underestimated the distance between the Barbary Coast (where the free shuttle dropped us off) and NYNY. After a while we figured that we were either chasing a mirage or else we had somehow already passed it. Neither was the case, and we found them and we settled down for some video poker and Vodka Sobes to perk us up. That seemed to do the trick, and we headed over to the MGM Grand for the 2nd best bargain in Vegas. Large, potent, $2 Jell-O shots at this little bar just inside the door after going over the elevated walkway from NYNY to the MGM. All flavors are highly recommended. It was 1-ish by that point and 2/3rds (Evan & Adam/B.A.) of the Cali contingent had just arrived. The 7 of us piled cozily into their sweet ride and headed to the old strip. Fremont St. 2 AM on a Thursday night. Practically a ghost town. Eye contact is avoided, for those that are walking the street probably have the motive, weapon, and opportunity to make next year’s tournament named the “ Memorial”. Binion’s Horseshoe Casino, however, is a different story altogether. The craps table is hot, as is the 1 Cent Star Wars Slot Machine. Adam hits that to the tune of nearly $100 on a $1 investment. His strategy? Play it when there’s a red light around the screen. Apparently there are still a few bugs to be worked out because my attempt to simulate his success fell far short. By this point it’s around 3:30 and we head back to the GC. We start getting ready for bed. I’m brushing my teeth and down to a pair of subtly revealing boxers. Evan pokes his head into the room and persuasively, yet casually, mentions that they’re going over to the Palms. That’s all I needed to hear. I put my pants back on, spit in the sink (was it Friday already?), and headed back, once more, into the breach. During this time, we decided to call & message those still back on EST. Flav, getting ready to go to work at 7 in the morning, was a big fan of us. We thought we would similarly torture Cleary, but he was off work anyways. As with any endeavor that lasts till the wee, wee hours, a plan is needed. And so, a plan is formulated. Adam spins us a yarn of 9 AM bingo with free donuts back at our hotel. It’s a promise almost too good to be true. If it weren’t we would surely shove porn leaflets down his throat until he choked to death. But we trusted him because he’s tall. Our goal became to (a) make it back for the donut bingo (b) get as many free drinks as possible, and (c) lose as little money as possible doing so. At the Palms, we work damn hard on all 3 aspects of the goal. I discover that you can play Nickel Video Poker for quite a while, get free drinks, and basically come out even. It doesn’t hurt when you have a crystal meth addict next to you, rapidly playing some Keno machine whose theme apparently involves loud lava. Another highlight was observing the 15-minute mating ritual of an alleged working girl and some guy near an ATM. Did they ever find true love? Only his wang and her huffing habit know for sure. We lost those crazy, newly-engaged Kristen & Jon while at the Palms, so we were down to me, Furf, Adam, & Evan. We decided that the Palms is kinda dead at 5 in the morning, so it was across the street to the Rio. 2 things stood out in my mind. One, Adam playing the Match Game slot machine, and failing miserably. Two, at about 6:30 in the morning, one of the waitresses gets up on this little stage in a skimpy outfit and dances suggestively to a couple of songs. A single security guard applauded her, and then she left. Surreal. Later, she came around seeing if we wanted drinks. We queried her about the odd timing of her little show, and she said there was supposed to be one of those done by the waitresses/dancers every hour. I forget what I said to that, but I remember Evan busting on me for it sounding dumb. That seems about right. Around 7 we decided to return to the GC and get ready for Donut Bingo. I love that in Vegas, they truly don’t care about anything except you gambling. We’re walking out of there with our hands full of drinks in glasses and nothing was said. I think we could’ve taken chairs and maybe a waitress or 2, no questions asked. We were about to get our karmic comeuppance, however, for the sun had decided to rudely rise while we were passing the time in the Rio. It burned… IT BURNED… IT FREAKING BURNED!!! I was crying as if I just found out that Waffle House was declaring bankruptcy. We killed some time at the GC and then went upstairs for…BINGO! While waiting for the donut & beer line to be open, we passed the time freaking out the, shall we say, less-than-young, clientele. A kindly housewife-type helped us out, patiently explaining all the ins & outs to a wide-eyed Furf. Apparently, this Bingo is more complicated than most home security systems, because they give you these little laptop-type things to play. The numbers come off automatically and you just sit and wait and watch. Not the most thrilling of activities, but some of the winning patterns resembled Rorshach drawings, so we probably would’ve been lost trying to do it by hand. The donuts were fabulous, though Evan’s decision to mix in some Foster’s Lager with them was unwise in the extreme. He gave something back to the community, and returned with a vengeance. Well, as much vengeance you can have on no sleep, watching tiny screens filled with Bingo numbers and bathing in the smoke of your neighbors. It usually doesn’t bother me, but I felt compelled to start smoking after a couple of hours there. It would probably have been healthier to limit myself to one cigarette at time, rather than the tobacco orgy I had blithely wandered into. Though each of us got within 1 number a couple of times, none of got a chance to yell BINGO! That’s probably a good thing, since we might have gotten kicked out after yelling “BINGO! BINGO, YOU HUMPS! MOTHERF*CKING BINGO! SUCK ON IT!” On the plus side, they did have some real quality cups. Finally, at about 10:30, it was time for some shuteye. All 3 hours of it. FRIDAY 2/3 After one of the best showers I’ve ever taken, there was some light horseplay by the pool. I stayed dry and well out of Evan’s clutches. I asked the pool boy if he had a ball we could play with. For some reason, he looked at me funny. We almost had to resort to playing with copper tubing by the yet-to-be-built hot tub. We met up with everyone else and decided to do some damage on a buffet. Plan A was Harrah’s, which according to Evan rivaled Hammurabi’s court for buffet splendor. But a traffic accident on the strip scuttled that, and we were left with the Rio. Plan B turned out to work pretty well. Sushi, crab legs, stir fry, huge desert bar, etc. Evan had Thanksgiving and made empty threats about heading down south Mexico way. I bought Trey a giant girl drink (Banana Kiss) that was so huge, it needed a second glass. One that Kathi was all to happy to help with. LT was unable to obtain cheesecake from the dessert bar, and she was none too happy when I came sauntering back with an easily obtained dessert of the same name. LT, Trey, Kathi, & I had gotten Penn & Teller tickets, so after some Roden-dealt blackjack (Mothra had the night off), we headed back to the Rio. I had brought my disc in case some good picture opportunities arose. The Fool’s Fest team I’m on needed some pictures for our bid, if that makes sense to anyone. The show was great, the people around us were annoying. I can only assume that the people to my left were Penn’s cousins, or more likely, psycho fans. They were able to provide a running commentary on everything from the next trick to Penn’s relative weight loss/gain. LT was a big fan of the guy who was stroking his date’s hair with the same light touch that Lenny used in Of Mice and Men. After the show, Penn & Teller hung out in the lobby and in a very low-key manner, signed autographs and took pictures with everyone. Trey had forgotten his camera, so we were left with LT’s camera phone. She was forced to delete a couple of her 37 pictures of Ginger and/or sunsets. She wasn’t optimistic she could get them off her camera, but eventually a team of experts was called in to help. We headed back to the GC, where the Asian cover band entertained us relentlessly. And we were in for a very special treat, even better than the high level of consistent enter-freaking-tainment we’d experienced so far. Apparently Albert Maligma, hands down the brightest star in the Asian cover band universe, was in the audience. It took a little coaxing, but the rabid crowd wore him down and Albert “The Metastisizer” Maligma hit the stage for at least 5 different funky tunes. I’ll never forget it, nor shall anyone who was there. I’ll also never forget the old guy who was either dancing or having rhythmic groin seizures. Unfortunately, we had to pull ourselves away from the magic, for the rest of our group had arrived. We got everyone settled into their rooms and headed out to the Barbary Coast in search of some free drinks and low-minimum gambling. We soon discover that Vegas is hard to do with large groups, so we split up and people play in different areas. Some more break-even $.05 Video Blackjack for me. This doesn’t last too long, so we regroup and head back to the GC. Trey hasn’t moved from his spot on the craps table, and for good reason, because he’s on a hot streak. I plays some real card-based Blackjack, not very successfully. Finally, at around 4, down to about $25 in my bankroll, I use the patented P57MAS (Passenger 57 Money Accumulation System). In a nutshell, “Always Bet on Black”. I hit 2 blacks in a row, turned $25 into $100, and went to bed. SATURDAY, 2/4 3 more precious hours of sleep, and it was time to get everyone organized and over to the fields. I put my life in the hands of Pat (hell, if I can start off 2006 with him driving us home from the Media Inn with all the car windows totally fogged up, then a sunny Saturday morning in Vegas is nothing), and we headed to the fields. We were seeded 5th out of 6 teams in our Pool. 4 games today, 3 the next. Surprisingly, lack of sleep and free drinks can affect how you start your playing day. Game 1: Lost to Ocean’s 16 (#1 seed) in our pool easily. I booted after the second point. Gruden did so after the first. Game 2: Lost to NuTex (#6), a team we probably should’ve beat. They were pretty good, however, and we let them get out to a lead. We came back to make it respectable, but couldn't get over the hump. Game 3: Won an epic 18-17 classic over Slut Wars (#3). Because we started early, it took forever for the cap to go on. We had a couple of game points before we let them get up 17-16. We scored the next 2, including Universe Point at 17-17 to win an intense, but largely spirited affair. Flav d-ing up this large Bavarian giant (hereafter Helga) of a woman on consecutive hucks. OK, maybe it was more a case of her annoying Helga into missing it. Still, results are all that mattered. The real highlight was after the game when Gruden was in line for the port-o-johns. One of the guys from the team we just beat was ribbing him a little bit, albeit in a friendly manner. “We should’ve beat you guys…”, etc. Helga then comes out of the john and gets in Gruden’s face. “You guys didn’t deserve to win that game!” is how I’m paraphrasing what he told me. Gruden, of course, responded, “Well, that may be, but when you wake up tomorrow morning, we still won the game.” Helga then threatens to break Gruden’s hands. Seriously seriously. Gruden again has a great response, “I don’t hit women, but I recommend you don’t touch me.”. She storms off. Classic. Game 4: Won 14-5 over Rad Ultimate (#4). We went up early and really never looked back. Highlights: (*) Coyne's fugly no-look backhand on the goal line (after I was screaming my head off for it from the sidelines), followed by Kathi freaking out as to what the hell he was doing. She was cutting open-side and was incredulous as to why he was turning his back on her. Luckily he was able to call a foul. Mind you, it was 12-4 at the time. Which makes Kathi’s reaction even funnier. (*) Evan’s awesome greatest to Furf for a point. Too bad Rachel didn’t have a record of this rather than his unsuccessful attempt on Sunday. (*) Kristen yoinking the disc away from one of our male players for the winning score. We took a team picture, did a sit & spin circle, and then at Trey’s behest, we tried to do a 5-level human pyramid. I think we got 2 ladies on the next-to-highest-level, but that’s as far as we got. It was straight back to the Rio for another attempt to beat the buffet. While riding in Evan’s aromatic car, we listened to several chapters of Trapped in the Closet, and attempted to deconstruct the masterpiece of our generation. Most of us quickly entered into a food coma and napped in preparation for the Saturday night activities. A couple of hours later, I made the rounds, trying to motivate folks out of bed, into the shower (single-file, naturally), and onto the strip. The first stop was the Bellagio Fountain show, where we ooh-ed and ahh-ed at all the right moments. We took a walk through the Bellagio, and tried to figure out our next steps. The general energy level was decidedly non-electric. There was some talk of heading back to Binion’s in the Old Strip, but New York, New York was chosen instead. Vegas is tough to do with a large group (19 at this point, I believe). Saturday night of Super Bowl weekend is even harder. So we kept splintering and re-forming as we went through NYNY. Some of us drifted towards a hair metal cover band that was playing to a packed bar. Pour Some Sugar on Me was at least one memorable war horse they made indelibly their own. Starting to get a second wind a couple of us took the walkway over for some $2 jell-o shots. After throwing back a round, we decided to bring back a tray of them for the rest of the team. There was only one problem. After getting the shots, we were totally unable to get a cab. We walked for half an eternity, the second wind leaving our sails with each step. We finally get back, and hand out as many of the shots as possible. Flav was playing craps and naming the players at the table. There was Sweater Vest, BK (Buffet Killer), and a girl who bore, at best, a passing resemblance to Kelly Clarkson. So, of course, that’s what I named her. I don’t think she loved it, so I started serenading her with some selections from the Clarkson catalog. All that good will didn’t seem to pay off, as I lost $150 in about 30 minutes. It’s lucky I didn’t have an axe, because that table would’ve been firewood. Later on, Pat treated the 5 of us still up at 4 in the morning to a bunch of Gravedigger Specials. Eggs, meat, hash browns, toast, for $2. I mean, it’s only fair that the guy who won $1000 playing video poker would spend $13 on breakfast for 5. I was falling asleep at the table. SUNDAY, 2/5: Thankfully, this was a slightly later start. It was also slightly windier than Saturday. Well, “slightly” would be an appropriate modifier only if the word had an alternate definition which would indicate a huge disparity. I mean, the poor person holding the arrow directing people towards some real estate thing finally had an excuse for why it was perpetually spinning rather than remaining in a consistent pointing stance. It really affected play, as some of the points were bowling shoe-ugly. Game 1: Lost the last game of Pool Play 13-5 or so to Dinosaur (#2 seed). They were slightly jackassish, but whatever. After finishing pool play 2-3, we were in a 3-way tie for spots 3-5 in the pool, but ended up 5th due to tie-breakers. So we were now 1 of four teams battling for 9th place. Game 2: Won a tight game 9-7 over Heavy Dew, a team from Boston. Some of them recognized us from Ommegang. A tad less windy, and we were able to move it better in the zone. They were a fun team overall, though one girl did travel like she was enrolled in a Frequent Travelers reward program. Pulling that game out was a great way to end the weekend, since more than half our team had a 5 PM flight, and the epic battle for 9th never took place. One of the biggest highlights from this game included Pat’s non-push pass. It was like he was gently releasing a baby bird back into the wild. “...you’re free, little disc. Fly free with your brethren, unfettered by any rotation to speak of... ” The other was Coyne’s no-look hammer for a beautiful point to Pat in the back-left corner of the end zone. We packed up and headed back to the hotel, so that folks could shower and pack up in time for their flight. After seeing them off, those of us who remained (Trey, LT, Gruden, Pat, Rachel, Jon, Kristen, myself) were trying to figure out a plan of attack to watch the Super Bowl. Well, after we partook of the best bargain in Vegas. $0.75 hot dogs in the GC sports book. Since time was short, we decided to stay at the GC and partake of the party the casino was throwing. Nothing fancy, but we more than availed ourselves to the cheap beer (a nice change after many, many vodka-based drinks over the course of the weekend), cheap pizza, popcorn, & wings, and a big screen TV in one of their conference rooms. My personal highlight was the 7 minutes it took me to leave the conference room, race upstairs, shower, race back downstairs, and take my seat minutes before kickoff. The game itself wasn’t the most exciting ever, but we had a blast. I won a $2 breakfast from Rachel (which I could have collected had I been able to stay awake), lost a $20 bet on Shaun Alexander’s rushing yards, and nearly won $1200 in a block pool (I needed Pittsburgh to score another TD at the end of the game). And for a halftime show, we played flip-cups. After the game, Rachel and I went to play some video poker. As I was going through my $20, the collective weight of the weekend’s lack of sleep, alcohol consumption, and physical exertion came crashing down on me. After losing my bankroll, I was passing in and out of dreamland, my only interruptions being Rachel poking me in the ribs to ask my advice on which cards she should keep. Obviously this was vital. I mean, each hand was costing her $.05. I took this as a hint, and decided to take a “nap” and meet up with everyone else later in the night. That nap started around 8:30 and lasted till we had to get up the next morning. I didn’t care. After sharing a king bed with Jon & Kristen the previous 2 nights, (they were out of rooms with 2 double beds), I had a rollaway bed all to myself. Sweet, sweet, luxury. Apparently the rest of the folks either played some more craps, or went to NYNY for video games and bauble accumulation. MONDAY 2/6 We had just enough time to get up, get our act together and head to the plane. The only interesting part was Pat’s vehicular navigation through Vegas’ slightly confusing airport. I did make the mistake of sitting next to Rachel for 5 hours or so, and it took all of my energy to keep any written words out of her line of sight. All in all, a kickass weekend. We brought out Fun Trey for an entire weekend, discovered many things about sleep deprivation, and generally wallowed in our own crapulence. We’ll be back in 2007, going right down everyone’s throat. Chomp, chomp, chomp... (Comment on this)
Monday, November 21st, 2005
1:50 pm	Matrimony in Paradise: Jim & Elizabeth get Married in Barbados (11.11.2005) Here's my day-by-day journal of happenings in Barbados, culled from notes jotted down on the plane ride home and half-truths pulled from the cobwebs of my mind. For those of you who don't know the reason I was in Barbados was the wedding of my good friends Elizabeth & Jim. It was truly an honor and privilege to be there to share their wedding day. And it gave me an excuse to spend a week in Barbados. Pictures & videos from the trip can be found here. SATURDAY, 11/5 Obviously, I had been packed for several days and on Friday night decided to go to bed early. After all, my flight was at 8:45 Saturday morning. In Newark. OK, there are several things with the preceding paragraph that slightly conflict with reality. 1. I was out until 2 in the morning and got up at 4 to drive to Newark. 2. I furiously packed for about 30 minutes in between getting home from Mike Carroll's friend's art gallery exhibit and heading out to Media for more drinking. Yeah, so my drive to the urban paradise that is Newark wasn't the most awake and alert one I've ever made. Which showed in the stopping at several rest stops to try and stay awake. And it was most evident in how I got off at the most wrong exit of the New Jersey Turnpike I possibly could have. Instead of 13A, I got off at 13, which is the Goethels Bridge onto Staten Island. OK, not good, but I could just cross the bridge turn around and come back, right? No, that would make sense. No, the Goethel's Bridge was closed going into NJ. Obviously, it must be construction or some kind of fun run, right? No, that would make sense. According to a co-worker, apparently that bridge is closed going into NJ at regular (if irritating) intervals and has been as long as he's lived in the area (20+ years). So I follow some detour signs and half a NY map I pulled out from underneath some Waffle House menus in the back of my car and make my way southward to the Outerbridge Crossing bridge. After fighting through the obligatory Saturday 6 AM rush hour, I'm back on the NJ Turnpike, only 3 exits below where I got off in the first freaking place. Luckily I know my traveling ways well enough to build in getting-lost time to my trip. I arrive at the airport around 7:30, which, for an international flight, is cutting it a bit close. Had a bit of scare when the first Continental line I get into is about a mile long and moving ever so slowly. After about 5 minutes of mental panic, I realize that I'm in the wrong line. I find the line for Barbados travel, which is much shorter and faster moving, and eventually board the plane without further incident. After ignoring Madagascar & some crappy rom-com (forget which) on the flight, we land in Barbados. I exit the rear of the plane (2 exits? More flights should have this) and am hit with a big blast of Caribbean heat. I'm digging it. On the way to my hotel (http://www.barbados.org/hotels/divi/), I experience the narrow, 2-lane, driving-on-the-left roads for the first time. It's comforting to know that your driver is honking before he goes around a turn to let oncoming traffic and pedestrians know that he's coming. Truly, it is. The road in front of my hotel was so torn up, I was wondering why the cab was stopping where it stopped. I kept waiting to get to the resort area. Once inside the resort, however, everything was fine. I check in, unpack and vegetate a bit. I grab the first of a plethora of Bank's beers at the hotel bar and then decide to catch the Fish Fry in nearby Oistins. The woman at the front desk says the best way to get there is take one of the vans that go up and down the street. Being an adventurous type, I decide to take her advice. The cab I take to there is overflowing with folks, reggae music is blasting, and I am, of course, the only Caucasian. It stops at irregular intervals and each time I have to get out of the van to allow others deeper in the van to get out. But I get there without any kind of hate crime being committed by or against me. I had read that the weekends were the best night to check out the fish fry because it's a big party with bands and everything. Well, apparently Friday is better than Saturday for that. It was very subdued, but the food was still quite good. In 2 other firsts for the week, I sampled a spicy fish cake as wells as 2 big filets of King fish smothered in the traditional local yellow pepper hot sauce. Washed down with Banks #2, it was a fine culinary start. I take another, slightly less sketchy van back to the hotel and then head down into the main drag of St. Lawrence Gap. The Gap is the main area for resorts and bars and nightlife. The first bar I went into was the Bay Bistro. That's where I met Roderick, a very friendly Bajan bartender. He was a great guy and made the bar a regular stop on my nightly travails. He was invaluable for getting the scoop on what was going down at the different clubs. About here's where I start losing track of the precise # of Bank's consumed. Let's just say it was more than 2 and less than infinity for the trip. I stopped in a little dive reggae bar called, appropriately, the Reggae Lounge for a bit. Met a colorful character called Doc who was only the 4th or 5th person to try and sell me drugs that night. I think the grand total was somewhere in the mid-30's for the trip. He got up and left and the bartender made eye contact with me and it seemed like he was trying to warn me to stay away from Doc. Doc was sketchy enough, that this only served to confirm my impression of him. That's the point I decided to make this the conclusion of a very long day. SUNDAY, 11/6 After a $15 buffet breakfast, I started to try and figure out my plans for the day and the rest of the week. Doc the Drug Dealer had told me about this big surf competition which was happening at the east coast (Bathsheba) that day and it sounded interesting. I asked at the lobby the best way to get out there. The woman behind the desk told me to check with Tyrone, the activities coordinator. Well, he was leading an orientation on the island for the hotel guests. I sat down and listened to the spiel. Some of it was informative, some wasn't. But he described some of the tours you could take, and I began to plan out my week. Since there was wedding stuff starting Wednesday night and running through the wedding Friday night, the next couple of days were entirely free. I decided to do a tour on Monday and another on Wednesday, with Tuesday being a day to hit a random beach. The rest of the day was pretty lazy. Spent some time at the beach, spent a while booking my tours and the rest of the time just taking it easy. Sunday night, I grabbed dinner at the Whistling Frog Sports Pub and watched the Eagles game via satellite. They lost, and I hit a couple of bars before crashing. All in all, not the most exciting day, but it helped set the stage for the rest of the week. MONDAY, 11/7 Today was a full-day tour, called the Natural Wonders of Barbados. Focusing on well, Barbados' natural wonders. Around 8:30, I boarded the already-full mini-van and sat on an always-comfortable fold-down jump seat. The van was kinda quiet with the early start. Our guide, Ricky, said he told us that he liked groups who talked a lot and kept him entertained. I told him, as nice as I could to... Shut. Up. He thought I was joking so it was all good. The first stop was Harrison's Cave (http://www.barbados.org/hcave.htm), which was really breathtaking. I was disappointed that (a) we rode on a motorized tram instead of walking and (b) we couldn't go swimming in any of the cave's pools. I thought I had read in one of the tour books that you could swim if you wanted to. Nothing was said by the guide, and I didn't trust my addled mind, so I guess maybe they stopped that part of the tour. Guess that's what a couple of drownings will do. Still, the caves were beautiful. Next stop was Orchid World. Yep, Orchid World. Beautiful flowers. Great views. Boring as cat litter. Whipped through there so fast you could see the little cartoon dust clouds trailing behind me. Next was some church. It was nice, but I was a little preoccupied that just up the road we had passed Eddy Grant's (http://www.eddygrant.com/) house. Yes, the breathtakingly spectacular genius that created Electric Avenue. The fingers and lips that wrote and sang quite possibly the third best song in the history of mankind lived, slept and crapped little fascinating nuggets just up the freaking road! Right before we were getting ready to leave I told Ricky that I was going to get a picture of the house. After doing so, I headed back to the church and saw the van pulling out onto the road. I don't *think* they would have left without me, but who can really say? Then it was onto the Barbados Wildlife Preserve and promises of monkeys and a free rum punch. Glorious, glorious monkeys. Lovely, lovely free rum punch. There was a wildly eclectic collection of animals. Everything from turtles to deer to iguanas to crocodiles to unicorns. Everything except fricking monkeys. There was some claptrap about how the monkeys needed to roam freely to preserve their territory, but I think it was just that. Claptrap. Allegedly a few other people in the party saw some real monkeys, but I think they were full of claptrap too. At least I got video of turtles having loud, angry sex. The rest of the tour involved lunch (first taste of the local delicacy that is macaroni pie) at a small restaurant and a tour of the east coast's beautiful beaches. Over the course of the trip, the group really loosened up and were cracking jokes and telling stories to entertain each other. The highlights of the group for me were 2 girls from the big city of New York, Andrea & Sherri. At the end of the tour, I gave some folks my email address so they could get the turtle porn. Being on my own the next few nights, I also gave my phone # (surprisingly my cell worked) to the ladies to see if they wanted to hang. Well, I guess we hit it off pretty well, because the 3 of us ended up hanging each of the next 4 nights. More will be written about those nights, but let's just say I'm glad I went to the orientation on Sunday instead of the surfing competition. After I got back, I hit a local bar called Oliver's in the Ocean 11 hotel. It was happy hour (2 for 1 drinks) and I got some more of those spicy fish cakes. I also met a colorful guy from Canada who, when asked by the bartender how he was, responded with the timeless response, "Fat & horny". Dinner was a very nice piece of barracuda in a coconut curry sauce. On my way to the Reggae Lounge, I walked through McBride's (next door) to see what was going on. I *thought* I saw Andrea & Sherri having dinner there, but I wasn't sure and they didn't seem to recognize me, so I figured it wasn't. I headed on to the RL and 5 minutes later I saw I had a voice mail. It was Andrea calling to see whether I wanted to meet up with them and whether that was me who had walked through McBride's a few minutes earlier. So I headed back to McBride's and sat with the ladies while they finished dinner. We had only had a drink or 2 before separating for the evening. They were taking it easy after throwing down Sunday night. We did make plans to grab dinner and hit another place called the Boatyard Tuesday night. I went back to the RL and danced a bit and got shot down by anyone I asked to dance. TUESDAY, 11/8 I decided to hit Mullins Beach, which required catching a bus a good ways up the west coast. I got on the bus (only white guy again) and began trying to figure out where we were and when I should get off. Armed only with a map that showed Texacos & KFC's, I was finally able to get my bearings after about 30 minutes. The beach was very nice, not crowded at all. I think I confused this with another beach, I think Carlisle, which supposedly had shipwrecks you could snorkel out to. This was not that. Within .05 seconds of placing foot to sand, one of the local guys (named Farmer and wearing a cast on his arm) came up and engaged me in conversation. And by conversation, I mean attempting to get me to rent a jet ski for US$60 (for 30 minutes). I told him maybe later and commenced to lounge. He came back later and I talked him down to US$40. This was only the second time I'd jet-skied and the first time I didn't have someone holding onto my waste. I was thus able to really open it up and hit the waves hard. Even with the brief rain that came while I was out there didn't temper my enjoyment. I had planned on getting lunch from the restaurant right on the beach, but Farmer told me about a van out by the road which sold local food cheap. Sounded good to me. On my way to the truck, Farmer came up to me again and asked if I'd buy him a piece of chicken. That must have been in the fine print of the verbal contract we had agreed upon, which I didn't realize when the deal was sealed. Mid-afternoon, I decided to head back and caught a reggae bus (like a normal bus, but more colorful) back to Bridgetown. Figured I'd do a bit of shopping, which was a problem for 2 reasons. One, the jet ski & lunch had depleted my cash reserves to the point where I had enough to get back to the hotel via bus, with about 25 cents left over. And two, I only had my Amex card, not my bank card which would get me more cash. So shopping was pretty much out. I couldn't exactly figure out the bus situation, so I found the road that led back to my hotel and started walking. I figured I could catch one of the buses or vans on the way. But traffic was so bad heading out of Bridgetown (the locals say that there are 275,000 Bajans on the island and an equivalent # of cars) that walking was quicker and better for the environment. After a while, the traffic thinned out and I decided, "Screw it. I'm walking the rest of the way." Not my finest moment in decision-making, I ended up back at my hotel an hour and a half later, with blisters on my feet and a song in my heart. What song you ask? Taps. So a rest was in order. I call Andrea to make plans and we meet up in the lobby of their hotel (Time Out at the Gap). We decide to go to an Italian place around the corner that the fat & horny guy (just remembered his name. It's Pauly. Or Paulie. Not sure.) had recommended. Highlights included a lesson in Italian politics from the female owner, Sherri annoying said owner by wanting to change sauces on everything, running into 2 folks from our tour group, and finally yours truly taking his turn annoying the owner by not finishing my ravioli quickly enough. From there it was onto the Boatyard, where for US$17.50 there was an open bar and a band called Strategy. This was an excellent decision on our part because the night was freaking incredible. High/lowlights depending on your perspective: (*) Walking out on the pier behind the club and watching the fish & barracuda congregate. (*) Heading back into the club after local homeless man began to disrobe and enter the water. (*) For some reason my vodka tonics glowed in the club's lights. Must have had a splash of barium. (*) Being the first people out on the dance floor. (*) The dance lesson that my female companions gave me. Essentially, "MOVE YOUR DAMN HIPS!" (*) This awesomely awesome guy who kept doing this kind of galloping in place move for the entire night by himself. (*) This even more awesome woman who came out of the crowd and began to present her hindquarters to the Galloping Gourmet as if she were a puma in heat. (*) The My Humps/Baby Got Back medley done by the band. Really their entire set rocked. Think Black Eyed Peas but with more of a reggae influence. (*) Dancing the whole night, often times in the rain. I may have even been passable by the end. So, after a scary cab ride back where I think we may have almost crashed twice and Andrea felt the need to cover my mouth with her hand (no idea why, it's not like I was drunk and wittily obnoxious or anything), we went back to their hotel pool and hung out there until the wee hours when the guy at the front desk kicked me out. WEDNESDAY, 11/09 Luckily today's tour didn't start until noon. It was a combination of kayaking and snorkeling with giant sea turtles. Everyone else on the boat was coming from a cruise ship that had docked in Barbados. Everyone was very cool. Luckily for me somebody's husband didn't make the trip, so I got paired up with her in the kayak. Not sure where they would have stuck me if he had showed up since everyone else was coupled off. So we kayaked to a couple of beaches near Bridgetown, including one that was in front of a spooky, possibly haunted, definitely abandoned resort. The tour guide said that the guy who owns Sandals bought this resort with the stated desire to have the only private beach in Barbados. Since it wasn't in the best area (right near a rum factory and downtown Bridgetown), that would have been the resort's main selling point. But I guess he couldn't sufficiently grease enough local palms to make it happen (all Beaches in Barbados are open to the public), he just let it go to pot. We then went out to another beach where they began throwing out fish guts to attract the turtles. And we got a whole buttload of 'em. The only problem was that the snorkel equipment I had sucked and water kept coming into the mask. So I couldn't really dive at all. Still, the turtles were very friendly and fun to watch and pet. Headed back to the hotel, grabbed beers/fish cakes at Oliver's, and then a *very* spicy seafood Gumbo at the Bay Bistro ( I battled it and lost. Around 10, there was a scheduled get-together with all the wedding folks at a nearby bar. This was the first chance I had to see Elizabeth & Jim and the first time to meet just about everyone else. I had briefly met E's brother and college friend once before, but that was it. We had a great time for a couple of hours. Not sure I'd ever seen Jim that happy or animated (at least until Friday) as shots & pitchers of rum punch were flowing. I met just about everyone and had a great time. They called it a night around 12 or so (some folks had just gotten in, others had to go back to the Great House a good 45 minutes away on the West Coast). The night was still in diapers for me, so I rang Andrea to see where they were. They were at a chic little place called Pravda enjoying chocolate martinis and a rakish bartender named Neil who was concocting said martinis. I showed up, bought them another round of Fantastic Neil's (who was no fan of Cline after I said his shaved white chocolate looked like parmesan cheese), and then headed over to McBride's to dance to a reggae band. The band was OK, but we had fun. After not even getting past the front desk at Time Out, we headed over to my hotel's pool. This is where we could have drowned for all the staff there cared. Ironically, the Divi Southwinds is much more of a family hotel, while Time Out at the Gap targets a younger crowd. But both their attitudes towards late night swimming seemed to be at odds with those demographics. Nevertheless there was a tiny frog who I rescued from the pool, who I thought I killed in the rescue process, but luckily for the party that bade me remove said frog, it hopped off after a brief respite. THURSDAY, 11/10 Apparently Thursdays in Barbados seem to start earlier the other days in other places because I woke up at about 8:45. Pretty much when I was supposed to meet some of Jim's college friends to ride up to the Great House (http://www.bajanservices.com/popup/viewLarge.php?propertyID=61&pic=1) where everyone was going on a catamaran snorkeling tour. I threw my stuff together as fast as I could, consumed my daily Red Bull & Power Bar cocktail for breakfast and hightailed it down to the lobby. It was 9 and I didn't see any of those guys. Not blaming them for leaving, I turned to go hit an ATM so I'd have money for a cab. Luckily for me, Eric spotted me and great googily moogily, they hadn't left without me. I mean, I wouldn't have waited for me. We somehow thought we were avoiding Bridgetown traffic, but got sucked into it like a stray pistachio shell gets sucked into a vacuum cleaner. Nevertheless, we made pretty good time and everyone lived. I met all the folks who didn't come out the bar meet & greet from the night before, mostly the parents. I was especially happy to meet Elizabeth's parents and sincerely convey what kind of incredible person they raised. So we take turns getting ferried out to this beautiful catamaran. The weather, however, wasn't that beautiful. I learned after arriving in Barbados that even though we were out of hurricane season, we *were* smack dab in the middle of rainy season. That meant we got at least some rain every day, though it never lasted long. True to form, as the day on the catamaran progressed, the weather got perfecter & perfecter. We snorkeled with the giant turtles (again for me), and through a coral reef. Interestingly, I spotted the Andrea & Sherri on another snorkeling catamaran that was just leaving the turtle feeding area. With my snorkel on, I waved and after an educated guess that I wasn't a special needs adult who was waving hello to the sky, the wave was returned. A fantastic spread of local food (flying fish, macaroni pie, Bank's) was laid out for us at lunch. The trip back from the coral reef was long and sunny. I know I fell asleep in the cargo netting (which also worked great as a cup holder) in the warmingly warm warmth. We were on our own Thursday night, so I split a cab back to my hotel with Marc & Angela, who were friends with J&E from high school (graduating class was all of 20 people, so everyone knew everyone). Made plans to potentially meet up with them later that night. After a subdued dinner with the ladies (both were kinda under the weather), we tried to return to Pravda (telling Marc & Angela to meet us there). Well, the monkey wrench in that plan were my long, beautiful legs. Specifically that they were partially exposed my shorts. Apparently there's a dress code at Pravda that isn't enforced on slow Wednesday nights that is on busier Thursday nights. Thwarted in our attempts to get Parmesan Chocolate martinis, we ran into M&A who were also bounced on the grounds of Marc not covering his gams. We all had a drink at the Bay Bistro and headed over to the Ship Inn, where Strategy (the band from the Boatyard) was playing. They were as good as they were that night, but after several consecutive nights of throwing down, we were all kind of beat. So we enjoyed the show, but in a more restrained manner than Tuesday night. The undisputed high point of the night was Angela breathlessly letting us know in her best stage whisper that "Charles Branson" was over at the bar. Now obviously she misspoke, because Charles Branson isn't anyone worth breathlessly saying anything about. Now, "Charles Bronson" is an entirely different kettle of flying fish. The fact that he may actually be dead did nothing to dampen my enthusiasm about his potential presence. As it turns out, she meant Richard Branson, the daredevil multi-billionaire who owns all the Virgin permutations. Sure, it was impressive that Richard Branson was at this random tourist bar, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping that it was Mr. Death Wish at the bar instead of Mr. Rebel Billionaire. Marc & I argued about whether Charles Bronson was, in fact, dead. The general consensus (just confirmed by http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000314/) was that he had shuffled off his mortal coil. FRIDAY 11/11 This was it, the day of the wedding. some folks, including the groom were golfing. Non-players were welcome to come along and observe, heckle, etc. I had said that I would go, but if I did, it wouldn't be anywhere near the 7 AM starting time. As it turned out, I slept in and by the time I got up and thought about being about, I figured they were almost done. So I actually enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at the Bean & Bagel and finished my souvenir shopping. The decisions about sizes and specific fashions are a lot easier when you're buying bottles of rum, by the way. I also wrote my note to the couple on the back of a Barbados postcard (I'm not a big fan of the Hallmark cartel). The wedding was at 4, so I spent a good bit of the afternoon lounging on the beach. I split another cab with M&A and we arrived at the Great House ready for the ceremony. Upon arrival people were milling about, getting ready. The staff at the Great House were infuriatingly effective. What does that mean? Well, early on I took my camera out of my camera bag and set the bag down on a coffee table. A little later, I see that someone moved it to a chair. No problem. A little more later, I notice that the bag isn't on the chair anymore. I figure someone wanted to sit down (the reason I didn't put it on a chair in the first place) and moved it somewhere. Nope. No one knew where it was. I looked everywhere, asked some of the staff, nothing. Ordinarily this wouldn't be a problem, but as luck would have it, my camera's batteries were running low and my spare set were in the bag. Dangerously low. So the ceremony is about to start and I still can't find the bag. I'm frustrated, but can't do anything about it. Luckily I remembered a trick a friend from college told me one time to squeeze a little extra juice out of batteries. You rub them between your hands as fast as you can, and the heat generated by that will keep them going just a little bit longer. It worked and I was able to get all the shots I wanted, if barely. The ceremony itself was lovely, as each person had written their own vows. Both Jim & Elizabeth were quite emotional, but largely kept it together, Elizabeth more so than Jim. ;) Understandable considering they've practically known each other their entire lives. A couple of minutes in, it started to rain. Just a light drizzle at first. Then after a few minutes the intensity increased. Still bearable. And just when you think that, "OK, this isn't so bad.", it rained harder yet. At this point everyone's just laughing about it. Jon, the best man, even grabbed a large golf umbrella to hold over the couple for the last portion of the ceremony. After it was over, we all headed back to the house, where we were given warm towels and cold drinks to dry and wet ourselves with. Once the rain let up, we headed back down to the beach for a cermony where we all threw rocks into the ocean was led by Jim's uncle and symbolized something. A pretty good steel drum band played during a cocktail hour, and we played Name That Tune, which wasn't always easy with the steel drums. Dinner was superb, with many people giving touching speeches about the couple and how their lives have affected them. Afterwards, we took shuttles over to a bar called Olives for a very informal reception (basically hanging out at a bar and talking), but it was closed when we got there. Apparently the rain from the day before had flooded it, and they were afraid it was going to flood again. Luckily there was another bar next door (The Mews) which wasn't too crowded, so we took it over until 12:30 or so. I grabbed a cab back to the Gap with M&A and called it a night. SATURDAY 11/12 This was an abbreviated day, since my flight left at 3:30. There was a brunch for the wedding guests, and then straight onto the airport. I got up early enough to hit the beach real quick for one last dip and then pack. The brunch was delicious, just platters & platters of meat (fish, sausage, bacon, crab cakes). It was also a good chance to say goodbye to everyone and once again let J&E know how much I loved them and how proud I was to be there. The flight back was pretty uneventful. While in the air headed towards Newark, my Fall League Ultimate team (The Lovely Lady Lumps) had won the championship in spite of (or maybe largely due to) my absence. I got a text msg alerting me to this fact and drove down to Philly to meet up with the team and share the celebration. This was fun, though I wasn't entirely energetic. We did all dance to "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas (the inspiration for our team's name and quite possibly, the best song ever) for one last time as a team. Of course, that was only after I climbed a ladder to the DJ booth located in the men's bathroom to make the request. A fitting end to a fabulous trip. If you're still hanging in there reading all this, you should probably get back to your job and/or family. Life's too short for too much of this drivel. Cline (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, September 26th, 2005
9:24 pm	Hurricane? Schmurricane. (Austin City Limits Music Festival 2005) 9/23/2005 - 9/25/2005 Austin City Limits Music Festival Zilker Park Austin, TX A while back, I decided to attend the ACL Festival (http://www.aclfestival.com/). The Drive-By Truckers were playing a club show AND an hour-long set during the festival. With the rest of the line-up looking pretty sweet (Oasis, Lyle Lovett, Wilco, Steve Earle, etc.), the DBT announcement put it over the edge. I figured the worst I'd have to worry about would be high temperatures. Boy was I almost wrong. Hurricane Rita developed in the week before the show. Even though Austin is pretty far inland (~160 miles west of Houston), there was still a good chance it would get hit at least with some heavy storms and wind. My flight was 7 AM Friday morning, and it was Thursday night before I decided I was definitely going. The storm had taken a slight turn to the right, and wasn't going to hit Austin that hard, if at all. It was actually "if at all". We didn't get a drop of rain, even though it would have been a nice respite from the heat & dust at times. Overall, I had a blast. I can't wait to go back because I barely saw the actual city. FRIDAY I had a friend's birthday outing in the city on Thursday night, which didn't end until about 4. Which wouldn't be a problem, except my flight was at the aforementioned awesome time of 7. So, after a strong hour of sleep, I hopped a cab to the airport, grungy as hell. I took the first of my 4 small plane flights. None were that bad, but a couple of times I longed for a larger, slightly more stable aircraft. After a grimy (me, not the plane) flight to Indianapolis, a homeless-person-in-a-bus-station-esque shower at a sink in an Indianapolis bathroom, and a standard-issue flight to Austin, I took a shuttle to directly to the festival. I wanted to hit the ground running. Except the shuttle wasn't. Running, that is. It conked out about 15 minutes into the journey, so we waited at least 30 minutes for another van to show up. The driver barely spoke English and kept getting out of the van to call the office on his cell. The only problem was that the office would choose those moments to try and contact him on the van's CB. High comedy. Luckily the new van was a smooth ride and the driver was pumping Journey's Greatest Hits. It was assuredly an omen, but what kind I'm not sure I'll ever know. The tough screening process at the gate was cursory in the extreme. I could have been bringing in 2 bricks of hashish, several automatic weapons, topographic maps of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., and a copy of Learn How to Fly a Plane in 30 Days, for all this guy knew. It was hot, the sun was high in the painfully blue sky, and only a few clouds made their timid presence known. I twirled around a couple of times, threw my hat in the air, and burst out into a few verses of the Mary Tyler Moore theme song ("...you're gonna make it after all..."). OK, so maybe that's a little gay, even for me, but I did soak in the moment. http://www.aclfestival.com/festival/maps.asp gives you an idea of the layout, which was pretty good. Stages were far enough away to avoid too much sonic overlap, but nothing was too long of a walk. Friday's highlights were Steve Earle, Robert Earl Keen (really good), Mates of State (big, catchy sound for only a keyboardist & drummer), Thievery Corporation, & Lyle Lovett & His Large Band. And boy, was it large. Between all the backup singers and various horn/string players, there were roughly 2,137 folks on stage. I could only stay for half of his set because I needed to make it to a downtown club for the Drive-By Truckers show. And it ended up being a looooonnnnng walk because Chris (one of the guys I was crashing with), and I couldn't get a cab to save our freaking lives. I finally get to the club, and am torn between which demigod to worship. That of air conditioning or that of ice-cold beer. Both were taken into my system as quickly as possible. The show was really good, but about halfway through, I started to hit the wall and hit it with much force. I made it through till the end (2-ish), but barely. Took a cab back to the hotel and crashed. Hard. SATURDAY Saturday dawned much brighter with about 5 hours of sleep and a hearty, free hotel breakfast. My only full day at the Festival, and I was going to make it count. Highlights included Mike Doughty (of Soul Coughing - very funky, danceable set), Buddy Guy (wow - more in a sec), the Frames (really good, though I was meeting folks so I couldn't devote my attention too much), Death Cab for Cutie (better than I thought, but my energy had dipped and I napped a bit under an umbrella, and of course, the Drive-By Truckers. Buddy Guy was freaking incredible. Probably 70 years old and he ripped through an hour of guitar/horn-based blues. I knew and liked a couple of his songs, but he tore that shit up. If I'm 27% as badass at that age, I'll be happy. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the Paradise City/Gambler segue that Mike Doughty pulled off. Impressive. The festival was packed on Saturday (all 65,000 tickets sold), but it was incredibly well-run. No lines of consequence for food, beer, water, or bathrooms. Sets were timed perfectly, and everything ran with almost military precision. It was hot and dusty as hell both days, but there were plenty of places to get out of the sun. After the Trucker's set (9ish), I noticed that the gate to the backstage area wasn't exactly well-guarded. So I snuck back using all my covert stealth ninja tricks (basically walk hurriedly with a cell phone to my ear, looking annoyed), I gained entrance to the open bar where the bands, VIPs, media types and other hangers-on were hanging out. Although I only saw 1 musician I recognized (Handsome Dan, keyboardist for Mike Doughty's band), there were a bunch of scruffy, indy-rocker types who probably were in bands that played there that weekend. So I threw back free beers and vodka/red bulls for a couple of hours. Struck up conversations with random folks, including a guy who works for NBC in New York, and another one who was in charge of the fencing for the entire show. No celebrities, but cool people. I left there as the scene was dwindling and headed back into town. I called 2 people who I knew were in town to see what was what. Xandra, who I play volleyball with, was with her bf/fiancée, but their night was winding down. Lucinda, another volleyball player (and ex-girlfriend, but that's another story for another journal) was in town visiting her brother who lives in Austin. They were at some club called Ginny's Little Longhorn. She assures me that the cab driver will know where that is, so after walking back into town, I grab one. I have to repeat the name of the place several times, but I think he got it. I had assumed that the place was downtown, so when he started getting on the highway, I was surprised. When he kept going on the highway, almost to the exit where my hotel was (7 miles north of town), I was perplexed. And when he kept going for a while once he got off the exit, I was expecting to be taken to some strip mall Steak House Buffet or something. Or knocked unconscious and sold to meet the capricious whims of Japanese businessmen. But I underestimated him and I was actually at the right place. Lu & her brother were there to see this honky-tonk George Jones style singer who they'd seen before. The show was good, the beer was cheap, and I heard stories of Chicken Shit Bingo played every Sunday at the bar. It's as magical as it sounds. Unfortunately it was still Saturday, or it least it had been, back before midnight. Another highlight was a slightly creepy guy who had his pick of the ladies because he could dance. He reminded me of an older, pervier, better-dancing version of myself. I watch a couple of entertaining sets with Lu & Paul, and around 1 or so, they left. I stayed for a bit longer and grabbed a cab back to the hotel. Except I was drunk and wanting eggs. So I had him drop me off at what I thought was a nearby diner place called Jim's. He said I could walk back to my hotel on this road and I couldn't miss it. After a hearty chicken fajita omelet & hash browns, I hit the dusty trail. 45 minutes (at least) later, I saw the beautiful blue & yellow Best Western sign. Thought for a minute that it was a mirage, and I'd discover that the sign was only a Days Inn, but it was as real as the dried ketchup on my chin. This was 3-ish and I crashed hard yet again. SUNDAY I had breakfast and bummed a ride to the airport from a couple of the guys I was with. I assumed that they knew the way, and they assumed they did too. Apparently both of our assumptions weren't wisely made. It didn't help that signs for the Austin airport must offend whatever God they worship down there. Because there was *nothing* until we were about a mile away from the airport (after several u-turns and asking for directions). I barely check in, cut in line (w/ permission) for the security screening, and run to my gate. I make it w/ about 5 minutes to spare, sit down, and then we wait for an hour while they try to fix one of the engines. Gah. Their first attempt was the mechanical equivalent of rebooting your computer. They then come over the intercom that they would have to deplane us because the part was being flown in and the plane wasn't going anywhere soon. So I'm waiting to get my flight possibly rebooked, and waiting for a while because 2 folks in front of me are trying to get to Kiev, Russia from Austin. Yeah, that was simple. Part of me is hoping that I'd be stuck in Austin for at least another half of a day, so I could explore the downtown a little more. Alas, it wasn't meant to be, as they put me on a flight to Philly thru Indianapolis again (the original dest. was Minneapolis) leaving around 2. So I had lunch, watched the first half of the Eagles game, and eventually got home around 10 last night. Gotta give credit to Eric, and his crew (Chris, Mike) who let me crash with them, share rides, and were generous all the way around. A fun bunch of guys, especially Chris whose Saturday night was much worse than mine, thanks to Monte F*&#*&#ing Montgomery. Austin, let's call this weekend a draw. I'll be back for more in Round 2 at some point soon. -- Cline (Comment on this)
Friday, January 28th, 2005
7:43 pm	Pennsylvania Yankees in King Patterson's Court This is the story of Jesse & my trip to Athens the weekend of 1/20/05-1/24/05 THURSDAY We get into town and it's 60 degrees and sunny. A small part of me feels bad for my Northern comrades stuck in 20 degree grayness. Naturally, I name that small part of me Roy and tell it to shut the hell up and get in the rental car with Jesse & I. We roll into the lovely Athens Days Inn and revel in such luxuries as a near-total lack of visible bodily fluid stains. High on our priorities is some food, but our hunger isn't so strong that we don't bask for a few minutes in the Truckers' sound check. After a quick & hearty meal at the Clocked Diner (highly recommended), we head a few doors down to the Flicker Bar. The Flicker Bar's offerings included $1.50 High Life ("The Champagne of Beers") & $2 Dos Equis ("El Vino De Las Cervezas"). Seemed like a very cool place that shows weird movies and local musicians in an adjacent room. I'll try and limit the hyperbole in this summary, but suffice to say every single freaking bar or restaurant we visited rocked and warranted further exploration at an as yet to be determined time. We also met a great guy named Jeff who designs a lot of the Truckers t-shirts. He acted as Athens' welcoming committee, extolling its virtues to us. But now it was time to rock. Over at the 40 Watt, I popped the top on the first of many, many, many exquisitely cold PBR 24 oz. cans. Garbage Island opened up, and to me they were agreeable droning noise to drink to and a decent way to start the night. Jesse dug them a bunch more than I did. Centro-matic was the second act as they were for all 3 shows. I'll gush more later on about these guys, because you need to know them. This set was solid, but paled in comparison to efforts later in the weekend. The Truckers came on and I was pumped until about 20 seconds into the first song at which point I developed a splitting headache that I fought the rest of the night. Really affected my enjoyment level. It was great to hear some tunes they don't play all that often: Road Cases, Birmingham, Guitar Man Upstairs. They finished a great cover of Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love. I was actually kinda relieved when the show was over so I could sleep off my headache. I did love that they played both 99 Problems and Kanye West's We Don't Care before the show started. 99 Problems was played each night. They even added a couple of verses of We Don't Care into Hell No I Ain't Happy later that night, which was cool as shit. Non-hip-hop fan Jesse was emphatically apathetic about this development. Towards the end, we were engaging in some rather loud E-A-G-L-E-S chants, which had Jesse on the outskirts of Rumbletown with a drunk Falcons fan. Good times. FRIDAY Wake up feeling better and I decide to take Jesse's few remaining shreds of virginity by introducing him to the greasy, scattered, smothered, covered and peppered luxuriousness of the Waffle House. I was able to squeeze in 3 trips there on this trip and I miss it already. The weather is AGAIN 60 degrees and beautiful. I'm sitting in the middle of the Globe drinking a tall glass of Paulaner Hefeweizen and generally loving life. We were there because some folks on the DBT Yahoo Group had announced they were going to meet there. I mostly lurk on that list, but I had mentioned I'd spread some Marah love (specifically the 8/31/00 Khyber show). So we hung with those very cool folks and traveled with them to a few different bars. Especially memorable was at the Road House bar where we met a cute little Southern bartender gal named Melissa. We all were crushing a bit on her. She said she was going to the show that night, so being the ex-Southern still-Gentleman that I am, I promised to buy her a drink. Fast-forward to the nights' musical activities: The opening act was Don Chambers & Goat (sorry to disappoint you bestiality fans out there with my tease). All I knew about these guys was that Don Chambers played with Patterson a lot. There's no other way to say it than to say that Jesse & I were blown away. That's saying something because if I don't know a song, especially by an opening act, it's hard to get into. They were great. We each bought some of their CDs later in the weekend. Funny moment during one song, where the bass player's (think very cute librarian) glasses started slipping down her nose, little bit by little bit, until they were all the way down at the end of her nose. She hasn't missed a note yet, and still doesn't even when she decides "the hell with it" and just shakes the glasses off to the floor. Impressive. Oh, did I mention this band has a guy who plays percussion on a bunch of hubcaps nailed to a ladder. Well, they do. Trust me that I'll be pimping the hell out of these guys if they come up this way. Centro-matic played a much looser set and generally rocked my ass off. They're coming to the Khyber on Sunday March 6th, and you'll regret missing them. The whole reason for these shows was to celebrate the re-release of Gangstabilly & Pizza Deliverance, the former of which they were spotlighting tonight. They also had a bunch of old friends play with them both Friday & Saturday. That includes Adam Howell who played with Patterson before the DBTs formed. The emotional impact of most of the guests is lost on me because I just wasn't around back then. It probably would be different if any of the Rhythm Sections of Marah Past came out and played with them. Anyway, the Gangstabilly songs I knew (18 Wheels, Steve McQueen, Buttholeville, Living Bubba) were out of this world. The rest were slower songs I just didn't know that well. I was also a wee bit preoccupied with the aforementioned Melissa, who I ran into and who I bought the drink I had promised her. With the help of my Playa Coach (aka Jesse), I made my move. We danced a bit during a couple of songs and she seemed to like the Cline. I respectfully stated my intentions, that I was smitten and wanted to kiss her. Alas, this is when the tale takes an exit from the Hollywood romantic comedy path it was on and instead merges with the Independent film cliché of scorn & rejection. Yes, she dared to dis me. Me, king of movie quotes and sarcasm! The unmitigated gall still is causing a tremor in my ironically named gall stones. Actually it was cool. She said she doesn't kiss people she barely knows, which I can respect. Plus she knew we were just in town for the weekend, so I can understand her reluctance. Ah, what might have been. Even through all of that, the show was great and I didn't let any of this detract from my enjoyment of the show, which was phenomenal. The combined bill of all 3 acts was one of the best nights of music I've ever been privy to. The walk back to the hotel was interesting as we wandered the streets of Athens trying to find an after-hours place and/or a local party. Jesse did his best, even stopping to talk to some UGA girls (one of which was Ashleigh and the other remained unnamed). He got some digits, but to the best of my knowledge nothing materialized. He also stopped to talk to some folks for a while. All I could really offer was that everyone should be named Steve. And send funny text messages to him about girls named Cedar. SATURDAY I got up early to go visit my parents, who live about an hour away from Athens, in Lawrenceville. And Jesse whiled away the hours I was gone betting on college basketball, watching college basketball, and drinking. Met back with him at the Road House. Couple of drinks there, couple of drinks back at the Flicker, and we were 40 Watt bound. I was really psyched for that night's show because they were going to be spotlighting Pizza Deliverance, which I listened to up and back from the parents, and had fallen immediately in love with it. Not a bad song on it. We missed most of the first act (Southern Bitch), but they seemed like fun. Best way I can describe them is a toned-down Southern version of The Darkness. Centro-matic was again painfully beautiful. I didn't mention it earlier, but Jason Isbell came out and played with them all 3 nights. I think I've mentioned that I'm looking forward to his solo CD called Sirens of the Ditch, coming out later this year, right? On to the Truckers. How do I say this? Near as I can figure without some combination of hieroglyphics & Japanese calligraphy is the word "Wow". Except "Wow" now has 4 syllables. I've seen longer DBT sets, but I'm not sure I've seen better. They just torched the place. Came out swinging with some DBT staples (Sink Hole, Decoration Day, Hell No, Marry Me), filled the middle rounds with some Pizza Deliverance goodness and put our collective asses on the canvas with a 1-2 punch of Shut Up And Get On The Plane & Let There Be Rock. Both shows Friday & Saturday were more crowded than Thursday, and by the end of Saturday's set we were shoulder-to-shoulder. That didn't stop the barely contained exuberance during the last 2 songs of the set to spill from one person to the next in a near viral outbreak. Jesse & I got separated after the show. I went and got a nice 4 AM omelet at the legendary Grill. Apparently it was one of the cook's last nights so the entire staff took him out in the street and pelted him with mayo and other condiments. He was quite the sight. Since I couldn't raise Jesse on his cell, I figured he was terra firma incognito with a lady. My return to the hotel room alas found him sprawled out solo. THE WRAP-UP As mentioned elsewhere, the snow in Philly kept us in the A-T-L for another day. Finally got back Monday night much colder, but much more in love with Athens. Fantastic town, fabulous weekend. Well worth the trip and coincidental assault up on our livers. Anything I left out Jesse? THE SHOWS They can all be downloaded with the ginormously fantabulous BitTorrent software here: DBT Thursday: http://digitalpanic.org/btforums/showthread.php?t=8871 DBT Friday: http://digitalpanic.org/btforums/showthread.php?t=8892 DBT Saturday: http://digitalpanic.org/btforums/showthread.php?t=8933 Centro-Matic Saturday: http://digitalpanic.org/btforums/showthread.php?t=8909 Centro-Matic Sunday: http://digitalpanic.org/btforums/showthread.php?t=8944 Southern Bitch Sunday: http://digitalpanic.org/btforums/showthread.php?t=8925 (Comment on this)
Friday, November 26th, 2004
12:59 am	The Wrap-Up I know it's late, but this last entry is as much for me as it is for you, so that I get this down before it evaporates even more from my porous brain. I finally got my pics & vids up, which you can see here: http://www.37web.com/RoadTrips/LONDON/PicturePages/pics.asp And away we go... Saturday (11/13): The main thing accomplished this day was my return from The Netherlands. It was a pretty uneventful trip from The Hague to Amsterdam (train) to London Gatwick airport (plane, duh), and from Gatwick back to my hotel (2 train rides). The only exception to the uneventfulness was quite possibly the most surreal outdoor Dutch kids show I've ever seen. At least the most surreal one involving fat Dutch kids in blackface singing songs. See the pictures and the video clip if you don't believe me. Saturday night, I took it easy, had dinner at a pub and hit a couple of others afterward. Was pretty knackered (CAUTION: More British slang ahead), it was an early night. I did go into one bar where I saw a couple of young ladies sitting at the bar, figured "what the hell?" and went in. Of course approximately 20 seconds after I ordered a beer, they sat down at a table with their European (either Scandinavian or Balkan, not really sure which) dates. Oh well.... At least there was a juke box and 2 of my selections (Suspicious Minds & Sweet Caroline) got the bar singing. Sunday (11/14): Sunday started on beautifully, as I walked all around Hyde Park. It was cold, but uniformly sunny and beautiful. After a couple of hours of strolling, I followed Heather's repeated instructions (orders) to check out Speaker's Corner. Every Sunday, people are encouraged to stand up (or on stools or literal stepladders) and speak their mind on just about any topic. And oh, there are some colorful characters. Most are yelling about religion, including one guy with a Star of David flag who claimed to love Jews, Catholics, & Rastafarians, but at the same time hating their religion. Then there was one guy who was bucking for Court Jester, baiting the women of the crowd by saying they should stay in the kitchen, take care of their men in the bedroom, the usual garbage. So of course we bonded immediately. After taking about as much of the religious and non-religious wackos as I could, I decided to take a walking tour of East London. It lasted a few hours and was very interesting. We saw the spot where Jack the Ripper's first victim was discovered & the pub where the Krays (notorious crime lords) hung out and also committed murder, among other things. After this, I headed back to the hotel to get ready for that night's activities. Grabbed dinner at an Indian restaurant in Soho (Masala Zone), and then headed over to the 100 Club (http://www.the100club.co.uk/main.asp). Saw Paul (Paul@TheCow) & Simon outside the club and chatted to them for a bit. Inside, I saw Alec (AlecPappas) & met Dan (Chaosdan) from the boards. Chatted briefly with Dan's friends, Jules & Ben, who had never seen Marah. After hearing their musical tastes, I guaranteed them free drinks if they weren't blown away. My money was safe. The show was one of the best I've ever seen by the band, and I've seen my share. Since it was Sunday night, they had a pretty strict 11:00 curfew. Hence, a very clear sense of urgency to get through as much material as possible was evident. Nick Hornby came up and did one of his readings followed by the Clash's Lost in the Supermarket. I had a shit-eating grin from ear to ear for much of the show. After tearing through their set, and seemingly done, I turned to a clearly-wowed Jules and told her that as good as the show was, they hadn't even played Reservation Girl. RG has been one of their live staples for just about as long as I can remember. There are some simple lyrics about the protagonist getting a girl on an Indian reservation pregnant, but it's basically an excuse for some of the best rock guitar work these ears have ever heard. Each time I hear the song, I think "No, that's the best version I ever heard." [WE NOW RETURN YOU TO THE 100 CLUB WITH THE ANECDOTE ALREADY IN PROGRESS] Almost exactly after I tell Jules how great the show was, even sans RG, the band returns unexpectedly to the stage and blast out Reservation Girl. Un-freaking-believable. During the set the band announces that they're going to be hanging at the Colombia Hotel afterwards, so I hung out and talked to some of the folks I knew. I also met some really cool people who had been filming the show. Paul, Amanda, and some other folks whose name escape me at this point were extremely cool, and just filming the show for their own benefit. Though there may be a DVD of the show at some point, fingers crossed. I caught a ride with them to the hotel and hung out there until about 3:30. Turns out the Colombia Hotel has a pretty rich rock history, including Oasis naming one of their songs on Definitely Maybe after it. Dave relayed a story that Guigsy (original Oasis bassist) told him how Oasis threw a TV out their window onto their manager's BMW. There were a couple of other US bands staying in that hotel, including Hayseed Dixie & the Blood Brothers. Ended up talking to the drummer from BB, Mark, for a while. He was really cool and said he'd put me on the guest list for their Tuesday show in North London. More on that later. Bottom line? A ginormously wonderful rock & roll night. Monday (11/15): I, of course, slept in for a bit following my night on the town. Went back out to the Tate Modern to check out more of their stuff. This time, I focused on the Exhibitions. One was a collection of black & white photos from Robert Frank (http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/frank/) & Time Zones (http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/timezones/), which was a collection of unique films that played with the concept of time. By the time I had lunch there and fully checked out both exhibits, it was already dusk. My original plan was to ride the London Eye, but by the time I would have gotten there, it would be dark, and I wanted a daytime view of London. I decided to grab some food and figure out my plan. On the way to getting a kebab, I passed the Old Vic theatre advertising a performance of a play called Cloaca (http://www.oldvictheatre.com/index2.htm), directed by Kevin Spacey. I figured I'd give it a shot and bought one of their cheaper seats. Because it was a Monday night, I guess the ticket sales weren't that brisk, so they upgraded any of the balcony seats to sit on the floor. It was a pretty good play that was quite funny, but ended on a very dark note. 4 middle-aged Londoners who were school friends are reunited in various stages of life crisis. After the play, I headed back to my hotel and called it an early night in anticipation of my last full night in London. Tuesday (11/16): For various reasons, I had postponed doing some of the sight-seeing on earlier excursions, so my last full day would be spent cramming as many of them in as possible. And away we go.... Finally went to the London Eye (http://www.londoneye.com/), one of the only successful leftovers from London’s' floptastic Millennium celebration. Basically, it's a huge Ferris wheel with very roomy glass pods instead of metal cars. You get an incredible view of London from just south of the Thames. See my pics for examples of the view. From there, I crossed the Thames towards Big Ben, Parliament, Big Ben, Parliament, Big Ben, Parliament, and unsuccessfully tried to get into watch the House of Commons in action. So I walked down to Buckingham Palace. Since the Queen is in residence you can't get in without an invite, and my attempt to pass my self as the Duke of Earl were unsuccessful, all I could do was watch. I then walked back to Westminster Abbey, but decided with my limited time, I'd rather go through the Cabinet War Rooms (http://cwr.iwm.org.uk/), so that's what I did. The CWRs is an exhibit of the actual underground bunkers that Churchill, et al, used during WW2 to run things. They've done a painstaking job of recreating what they looked like and the some of the stories from that era. After a hearty (heavy) lunch in a Leicester Square pub, it was on to the British Museum (http://www.thebritishmuseum.ac.uk/). Went through here pretty quickly, and there was a lot of stuff I didn't get to. I did see the Rosetta Stone, and some amazing statues from ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, etc. Again, based on time, I decided to head over to the British Library. The main exhibit in the British Library (http://www.bl.uk/) is a collection of ancient texts, some famous, some obscure. Included are copies of the Magna Carta, a Guttenberg (Johann, not Steve) Bible, Da Vinci's notebook, & even a collection of Beatles memorabilia. I saw everything, but again could have stayed longer. And then, it was back to the hotel to change and head back out for the Blood Brothers show in Camden Town. I think I'm running late, since I get there around 9 and the show was supposed to start at 8, albeit with an opening act. I get to the club, and there's a sign saying the show is postponed. So now, I've got nothing to do and I'm armed only with a copy of TimeOut London. At this point most of my musical options are out because of the time. I do see that they rave about a comedian called Stewart Lee (http://www.stewartlee.co.uk), and he's playing at a theater in Soho at 9:30. I have just enough time to get there, and my timing is perfect. Why, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. As I crossed the threshold (sans blushing bride), a man asked me if I wanted a ticket to the show, since his mate wasn't showing up. Of course I took it. The show was starting in a few minutes, so I grabbed a seat. As the strains of what sounded like a Japanese girl group sing Mr. Lee, Stewart Lee came down the stairs and grabbed me by the arm and had me stand on stage. Me being the proud owner of a sash celebrating me as 1999's Most Awkward Man on Earth, of course grabbed my coat and went with him. For some reason I assumed he was going to have me sit up front for some unknown reason. Instead, I'm standing on the stage with my coat in my hand, not sure what to do. So, I toss my coat to the side of the stage and wait as 3 other unknowing participants are being positioned on the stage. While standing there waiting, I'm indecisive about whether to get the disposable camera out of my coat and ask someone in the front row to take a picture of me looking like an idiot. First I go over to the coat and start to get the camera, but then change my mind. Then in a stunning reversal, I decide to get the camera, but not do anything with it. Where was I? Oh, still standing on stage waiting for Mr. Lee to get everyone where he wanted. Did I mention I was wearing 2 different shoes? I'm sure you'd expect no less at this point. In a rush to get ready, I just grabbed 1 of each black leather shoe I had brought. Classy. So the whole point for the 4 of us to be on stage was to shoot these streamers over his head. After that visually frivolous start, he started immediately with some 9/11 material. Nice. His act was very edgy, very British, and very funny. I didn't get all of his references to Brit pop culture, but I at least understood what he was going for most of the time. The good bits I remember were: (*) A deconstruction of a joke about the uselessness of a wool balaclava as a shopkeeper (*) The only reason he could think that a very wealthy football announcer would endorse unhealthy crisps is that he was sexually aroused by the thought of obese children dying young. (*) Suggested that the malfunctioning Princess Diana memorial fountain in Hyde Park be replaced by him (or anyone for that matter), lying on their back and urinating. I did warn you it was edgy. I'm also not doing it justice in relating it 2nd-hand. After the show, I walked around Soho and checked out some of the pubs (including the one that Heather worked out back in college) and the local characters. The remnants of London's red light district is around there, so it's interesting. I was in a mellow mood, so I just grabbed a kick-ass falafel and headed back to the hotel. Wednesday (11/17): My flight wasn't until 4:30, so I had some time to kill. My original plan was to walk through Regent's Park, and I actually got out there, but after about 5 minutes of walking around, I had a minor epiphany. What I really wanted to do was check out all the record stores I had seen in Soho in my previous wanderings. Since these wanderings took place at night, the stores were usually closed. So I headed to my natural habitat for some intense CD browsing. I got a whomp-ass 3 CD hip-hop compilation, and a couple of Christmas CDs I'd been looking for (Phil Spector's A Christmas For You in particular), as well as a couple of thank-you gifts for my cat-sitter Heather. As some of you know, Barney got real sick while I was gone and she went above & beyond in taking care of him. So I expressed my gratitude musically. Thankfully for her, it was music that other people performed and recorded. After that, I had a pretty non-eventful flight from London to DC to Philly. All in all, a very fun trip. Going by yourself is great during the day, but it can get a little lonely at night. The Marah shows were definite highlights, and I would love to see London again. That's all I got. Cline (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 16th, 2004
3:41 am	Update, Part Deux Ah, the weekend. Quite a lot jammed in here. Friday: After catching the later flight, I took the train from Amsterdam to Den Haag (The Hague), and found my hotel pretty easily. All the more impressive given the Dutch's aversion to road signs, and unfettered joy for changing street names at random intervals. Got my backstage pass and after-party ticket from Simon (Marah's manager) and walked over to the Royal Theatre. The place was as confusing as the roads, but I eventually got my bearings and started to check out a couple of the shows. Some of the spoken word stuff was in very small rooms that you couldn't get into. Was able to see a couple of short films (1 was a slow motion film of a woman playing with a hula hoop), and then saw this woman named Joanna Newsom who played a large harp and had a voice that made Bjork sound like Tom Waits. I lasted 2 songs. I sat through 15 minutes of a German poet/spoken word guy to make sure I had a good seat for Rufus Wainwright. Didn't understand much, but I do think I caught a slightly disturbing theme that can be roughly translated as "First, vee take Poland." Rufus did a great show, though I wasn't wild about his song selection. Too many great songs (Poses, Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk, 14th St., Foolish Love, etc.) were ignored. I blame the short set and the fact that he has a new CD coming out that he was plugging. He did do his version of Hallelujah, which was amazing. Marah & Nick Hornby were next and yet again the set was too short. I'm not sure the arty types who packed the room were ready for the balls-out rock set interspersed with Mr. Hornby's excellent musical musings. There was an older woman who kept looking over at me spastically rocking out as if I was juggling flaming camel fetuses. By the end, the crowd had thinned out, but those that stayed were clearly loving it. Marah did covers of Lost in the Supermarket (The Clash), Darling Nikki (Prince), Debris (Faces), and maybe a couple of others before launching into a great abbreviated set. Went to the afterparty and ended up talking to the guys from the band and a couple of other fans, including this guy Alec who helped produce their last CD. The clear highlight, however, was talking to Nick Hornby. He had introduced himself to me at the show and said that it was great to meet me. I'll repeat that for those in the back. He was happy to meet me?!?!? I loved his work before I even knew he was a fan of Marah. The odds against my favorite band (obscure) and favorite author (less obscure, but not Steven King) knowing and being huge fans of each other are quite high. Now, I'm talking to him about Marah, music, and life, while a mediocre DJ goes from Gett Off by Prince straight into Ice, Ice Baby. Still haven't quite wrapped my head around that scenario. Decided to take a short cut back to the hotel around 3:30 and of course get hopelessly lost. It's now 4 AM, I'm in a city I don't know at all, I'm freezing, and of course my bladder is about to burst into tiny little pieces from all the urinary pressure I've built up. I can only thank the relative emptiness of the streets for the fact that I'm writing this in an Internet Cafe in London. Because the alternative was being sold into the white slavery and catering to the whims of Japanese businessmen. I did finally get back to the hotel and went to bed, only to be woken up by 3 or 4 wake-up calls at 5 AM. Never mind that I had asked for an 11 AM wake up call. Grrr... Saturday: Walked around The Hague some, which was pretty cool. Lots of stores and restaurants. Not incredibly original, but fun. Had some fries and was going to do the When In Rome thing and put mayo on them, but I couldn't do it. I opted for a curry sauce instead. Running out of time, so this will be continued later. The Cline (Comment on this)
Friday, November 12th, 2004
11:51 am	First Update I know you've all been breathlessly awaiting my update, so here it is. Not much sex or violence, so it won't appeal to my low-class readers. Which is just about everyone, so there you go. Got in EARLY Wednesday morning, took the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station. Went to my hotel, only to find out they never got my reservation. Told me to come back at 1 which is when check-in was. So I walked around a lot (this was 7:30 AM), checked out Portobelo Road (kind of South St.-ish), and walked some more. Got the hotel situation worked out (switched to a similar hotel 2 doors down, watched some British soap operas and slow-paced game shows, and headed back out. My plan of hitting a bunch of the big sights went tits up because of my late start, so I just walked through Leicester Square, Trafalgar Square, and the West End. Grabbed an OK dinner at a Belgian restaurant, my first glass of bitters at a pub near my hotel and went to bed early. Tres exciting, huh? Yesterday was dominated by the Tower of London. Took a 1 hour tour led by a witty Yeoman's Guard, saw the Crown Jewels, etc. One fact I learned was that the Errol Flynn movie Robin Hood (one of my all-time favorites) was actually filmed there. A portcullis that takes 30 men pulling on ropes to open was held open by Mr. Flynn with one hand while fighting off guards with swords in the other. After that, I went over to the Tate Modern and explored some of their gallerys. Very good stuff. Unfortunately, I was running out of time and my stomach was about to start consuming itself. Met a fellow Marah fan & his wife for dinner and (lots of) drinks at his local pub (The Cow). Good times. Which brings me to where I am now. Tired, a little hungover and in need of some grease. I think I'll be able to find some, fingers crossed. The plan is to take the train from Amsterdam to The Hague, check into my hotel, and meet up with Marah's tour manager, who's hooking me up with tickets to the sold-out show with them & Nick Hornby. I'm getting all sorts of tingly just anticipating it. Of course, my cell doesn't work here, so don't expect any calls. My time is running out. Later. The Cline (Comment on this)
Monday, November 8th, 2004
12:41 pm	Pre-London Entry Hello, if you're reading this, you have at least a passing interest in my trip to London. Here are the details: Tuesday 11/9: Fly from Philly to London Heathrow via Dulles: UA 7192S 09NOV Philadelphia-IAD 235P 342P TUE UA 918S 09NOV WashingtonDulles-LHR 610P 620A TUE/WED Wednesday 11/10: I get into town early, so once I check in to my hotel (http://www.adarehotel.com/), I'm going to try and knock off some of the touristy stuff (Buckingham Palace, British Museum, etc.) before jet lag kicks in. Friday 11/12: Fly from London Gatwick to Amsterdam and train from Amsterdam to The Hague for the Crossing Border Festival (http://www.crossingborder.nl/uk/start.php). The main reason is to see Marah & Nick Hornby do a cool show together that mixes Hornby's spoken word with Marah's music. Rufus Wainwright will also be doing a set. I've no idea if it's a full music show, or if it's some kind of hybrid music/spoken word thing. Either way, I'm sure it'll be super gay. Sunday 11/14: Catch another Marah show, this time in London. Will be great to meet some of the London Marah fans I've known only via their message board. Wednesday 11/17: Fly from London Heathrow to Philly via Dulles: UA 925S 17NOV LondonHeathrow-IAD 425P 740P WED UA 7180S 17NOV WashingtonDulles-PHL 925P 1021P WED Besides what I listed above, I'd also like to see the Tate Modern museum, take a ride on the London Eye, get some great Indian food, check out a lot of pubs, and who knows what else. I'll be checking email periodically and maybe uploading some pics from my camera. Don't know how much time I'll have to update things. Cline (5 Comments |Comment on this)