alright already

I'm tired of all you fools crying like I shot the easter bunny just because I didn't update my blog.

So you got one comin'. I've got a bar crawl in our Nation's capital on Saturday, which I'm sure will lend fuel to the literary fire.

keep your head on a swivel.

J

Ice is back with a brand new edition...

I've broken one of the ten commandments, well I've broken a couple of them, but I broke one of the big ones recently. Captaining my new truck home from work, I was put in a position of making three choices, hit the brake, swerve left, or swerve right. I chose the brake. The possum chose to turn around and head back towards the parked car that I couldn't swerve towards. New truck 1, North America's only marsupial 0. I'd prefer to stick to coveting my neighbors wife.

Speaking of neighbors, I haven't really met any of my new neighbors. The hood be pin drop quiet. I have a girl that lives downstairs from me, she's got a shamrock on the door so she can't be all bad, but not even a hello yet. There is probably a good reason for it. I'd imagine she isn't too psyched to be living below a guy that is the size of an NFL lineman. I try not to stomp or anything, but something tells me she knows where I am in my apartment most days. The other people in my unit seem nice enough, I've only talked to them once. Its probably better that way, they probably just think I'm quiet and keep odd hours. This way they'll be surprised when something bad happens to me. Why do I assume something bad will happen? Born under a bad sign I guess. I just got done lighting one of the pilot lights on my stove and the only thing that went through my mind as the match met the gas was “Somehow it will be fitting if I blow myself up right now”. I'm not sure what that says about me, I think I've transitioned from low self esteem to Karmic grudge. I'm just a realist though, the universe has it in for all of us, I just accept it and look for some irony as proof of higher power.

What happened to the parkway rocket? It ate the reinforced steel tow hitch of a Chevy Trailblazer. I had been pushing my luck, I needed tires and a suspension, both may seem like things that just affect your ride, but under heavy braking it tends to help if you can grip the road and your car doesn't dive like Greg Louganis. So yeah I hit the brakes, the nose went down and the tow hitch went through the Japanese plastic like Paris Hilton through Valtrex. Besides it doesn't take much to total a car that costs less than the unpaid parking tickets inside of it. So I have a new truck that I'm really happy with and a car payment that I'm really unhappy with.

You may be questioning my choice of vehicle. The pickup isn't terribly practical, but its already come in handy. I sucked up some liberal pride and economic prejudice, for a car I can fit comfortably in. I'm not a huge tree hugger anyway. I made my concession to reducing consumption by moving down here. Yeah everything in the back gets wet or stolen. It's a crew cab so ladies there is a backseat. I've proven its a danger to wildlife. Time will tell, as of now I'm happy, my lefty friends are a tad disappointed, my Mom bought me a cowboy hat and I'm thinking of instituting a Southern rock only policy, but that might be hard to live by.

How is the new place? Good. A lot of people ask me if I've adjusted to living alone. This seems like a loaded question, I think what they are really asking is “do you poop with the door open and walk to the kitchen naked?” I'll let your imagination wander for a bit. I never thought that I would ever be on the lookout for Bed, Bath, and Beyond coupons, but even an ardent hetero man like myself needs a paper towel holder. Don't worry, everything that I've purchased for my apartment has been chrome. Cold and colorless like tools and engines, you know, man things. I made an exception to my Neanderthal credo. Apparently my apartment smelled like “new paint and grandma”, so I've been lighting a few candles here and there. I figured I was in the clear because candles involve fire, and really if the plan is to pull women with loose morals back here after a night of drinking I don't want them to be reminded of Septuagenarian Aunt Tilly wallowing away in a home somewhere, I want them arching their back and ignoring the camera.

I haven't spent a full weekend here yet, I've been commuting home to stand at the door of the bar. We've had some excitement as of late, but I don't think I'm at liberty to discuss it. There actually is a pending court case, and in this day and age, I'm actually worried that by describing the events that unfolded I might be setting myself up for legal action. Who is going to be reading my blog and using it against me in court? I have no idea but rather than end up as a legal side note, I'll just talk around it. There is a hole in the wall at the frog, created by a fist that had my name all over it. However I have cat like speed and reflexes, plus a mean counter, if you have questions ask Art.

I worked Thanksgiving-eve, and some guy that was on line for the bar was like “I miss reading your blog”. He followed that with “thats kind of weird isn't it?” Yeah bro, I don't know you and as much as I'm flattered that you like reading what I write, your choice of words is astounding. I've been duct taping my ass shut before I go to bed for a week now. Why is it always some guy? Girls always say they want a guy with a sense of humor, well check the blog action ladies, I already covered possums, Greg Louganis, and duct taping my butt. That right there is a full season of South Park.

I've been having pain in my hip for a while now. I decided to go get it checked out. So I went to the Orthopedist, he took x-rays of my hip. Note to anyone that cares, when they x-ray your hip, they don't put the lead apron over your nads. So if the fruit of my loin has a harelip or retractable claws you can pinpoint the mutation. I'm sure my kids will be fine, and thankful that only their mother has the ability to give them fetal alcohol syndrome. Turns out its not my hip, more gonad irradiation. This is the doctor that looked at x-rays of my separated shoulder in college, and remarked “these look like animal bones.” So I thought it was curious when he remarked how large my spine was. Fine then refer me to a veterinarian, just give me the diagnosis. Squished disk, get an MRI . So I brought the films home for Mom to see and to bring with me for my MRI. Mom looked at my spine and said “Jesus your spine is big.” The woman who has been calling me “moose” for 30 years is shocked, SHOCKED, that I'm literally big boned. They're half your genes lady, so the jokes on you.

So I went to the radiology center today and got loaded into a giant tube like some sort of primate torpedo. They asked if I was claustrophobic. I wasn't really sure because last time I checked it was R. Kelly that was trapped in the closet, not me. Good news, I'm not afraid of small spaces. I found it interesting that I sort of didn't fit into the MRI machine, I had to scrunch my shoulders a little. No amount of weight loss is making my shoulders any less wide. I wonder what they do for really big people, lots of lube I suppose. So I'm waiting to hear back on that. Considering that most days I have pain shooting down my leg thats so bad at times I wish all this radiation would turn me green so I can smash stuff. Jamie hurt world that hurt Jamie. Not much I can do. Who knew there were health risks to being big and not exercising? I blame gravity, and if I ever get my hands on Sir Isaac Newton, I'll show him an equal and opposite reaction. Stupid 17th century scientists.

Thats about it, I've missed about 69,000 good stories since I lost the will to write. I apologize, these things happen, I'll get back into form. Hope this holds you over till next time.

J

I haven't retired....

I've had plenty to write about, fisticuffs, moving, the hunt, and wrecking my automobile, my heart just hasn't been in it and I refuse to post a blog that doesn't live up to the standards i've set forth. I understand I'm way overdue and its unfair to keep loyal readers waiting. I promise to have something by the weekend. I think I've defeated the large brown spider that I was sharing my new one bedroom apartment with, so things are looking up... I'll get my mojo back. Stay tuned.

J

Play like a champion today...

Searching for an apartment is kind of like a Korean bar-b-q. You have to go through a lot of dogs before you find one you like. I've been perusing a section of Monmouth county for a place where I can pay way too much for very little space for about 2 months now. Thankfully the search is over. As of last Thursday my days as a Morristown resident are coming to an end. Its been a good run, but its time for something new. I'm doubling my rent to shed 3 roomates, save hundreds of dollars in gas, tolls and wear and tear, and buy back 2 hours of my life each day. It's definitely the right choice. You get a different kind of people near the beach. I think I'll fit in because Red Bank is more of a commuter town and kind of artsy. I have to find a whole new group of bartenders to put up with my antics and give me fuel for my only creative outlet. Though I will have to keep myself under control, this isn't prison or the wilderness. I don't think picking out the largest guy in town beating him near death and then urinating to mark my territory is necessary, but you never know. It has been a while since I lived somewhere new. One of the things that put the new place at the top of the list was that I have a garage. I have escaped the evils of on the street parking. I can't wait till the first time I can hunker the scrap heap that I use for transportation into its new home. Keeping it out of the elements might buy me an extra week before it disintegrates into a pile of bolts and cloth seating.

So anyway in between making dealings for my new abode, I had way too much work to do and ended up getting out of the office real late. This was problematic because I was procrastinating all week, didn't do any laundry and hadn't packed for my trip. Needless to say I didn't adhere to many traffic laws. Thankfully the five-o was none the wiser and I made it home to shed the skin of my office's casual dress policy, and once again don the grey shirt that has been an albatross around my neck for two years. I really don't want a second job anymore. Thursday's crowd was decent. I told Art that I found a place, and he told me what a bastard I was, and that I can't quit and even if I have to drive an hour home each night I'm stuck working there until his body is cold and in the ground. So I've got that going for me. I'm going to need to work in October because paying two rents will cut my cash flow down just a bit. By a bit means I'll probably be selling my blood, if you want some let me know. It's mostly clean, besides alcohol is a antiseptic. So really if you've been reading this blog, what could I possibly be harboring in my body? Ok don't answer that I don't want to know. I kind of limped around the bar, it really dropped off after happy hour. There were a disproportionate amount of women in the bar Thursday, had some good convos but didn't pull any numbers. I was a little disappointed, then I realized that telling girls that you were moving an hour away doesn't really increase your dating potential.

So the bar reached the skeleton crew of weeknight customers. Art let me go early, so I shoveled down some cold rigatoni, untucked my shirt and walked home. This is about 1am, about 1:01 I realize that I don't have any clean underwear, my brother borrowed my small suitcase, and I had to be up in 4.5 hours. This is when flying by the seat of your pants becomes a problem. I've been really good lately about planning and doing things ahead of time, now all of a sudden I'm FEMA and there is a hurricane in the gulf. So I set my alarm first. I can wear dirty clothes, I can't miss my plane. I throw a load of laundry in, just stuff I'll need, and I go lie down and hope that I don't fall asleep before I can put stuff in the dryer. You never realize how hypnotic the white noise generated by a washing machine is. That damn industrial lulaby contraption almost knocked me out like Tyson. Thankfully I had my eyes on the prize, and got the wash in the dryer before disaster struck. I woke up at 0 dark hundred, hopped in the shower, came out and jammed my belongings and toiletries into a duffel bag with a bad zipper. Kevin, Brendan and I made it to the airport in plenty of time. Navigated the check-in kiosk and headed toward the gate. Then I remembered that the terrorists had won in the name of inconvenience and I had to check my bag in because I was carrying toothpaste and hair gel. I don't like checking luggage on a short trip, but I also don't like being strip searched and interogated at Guantanamo Bay, so I chose the lesser of two evils.

Brendan had sprained his knee a few weeks ago, and was wearing a knee brace on the plane. I'm not sure if he planned on a game of one on one at 35,000 feet, but I guess it made him feel better. He got stopped at the metal detector, and they needed to call the wand guy over. I got the security gaurd to laugh by making six million dollar man jokes. "Where is your red jumpsuit, Steve Austin" and "He can sit on a plane, we have the technology". I ditched the steve maddens and the digital camera for the x-ray and made it through without a hitch. I changed my Prince Albert to plastic a while ago for just this reason. Anyhoo, I bought a bottle of water in the terminal and had to leave the cap at the counter because of the dangerous dihydrogen oxide. I moved to an aisle seat because getting hit by the drink cart is better than being sweated on (depending on the company I suppose). I zonked out after my complimentary OJ and muffin.

We were in Chicago in no time, picked up our bags, hit the rest room and was dazzled by this turbo hand dryer. I'm pretty sure it exfoliated my outer layer of skin, but my hands were dry in five seconds. I had to ponder if anyone ever used it as a marital aid, and then I had to ponder what kind of hospital they were going to lock me in. Kevin, Brendan, and I waited for what seemed like eternity for the Avis bus to pick us up. It finally arrived and brought us to our rental whip, a maroon Chevy Impala. This boat had a trunk that is literally bigger than my new apartment. It swallowed luggage like Linda Lovelace. Leather seats, a cd player, we were rolling to South Bend like pimps, 50 year old middle management pimps. It actually was pretty comfortable, until Brendan started driving like an epileptic on a cell phone. I think we missed every exit. Of course it didn't help that Kevin and I started circling like vultures, its probably hard to pay attention to the road when you know if you make a mistake two misanthropes will be questioning if you grew up under power lines. I did get him to pull over for breakfast, at White Castle, in the ghetto. Nothing bad happened, but if you are taking notes at home this is probably the point in my life where Type II diabetes sets in. Sliders for breakfast, granted it was very close to lunch, and we had changed time zones. I've made better decisions in my life. Though if you are going to make bad decisions, lets hope they are delicious. We rolled on down the highway for over an hour, and finally made it to South Bend. South Bend is awash in everything that is wrong with America. Four lane highways peppered by strip malls. Cheap gas, cheap cigarettes, and no motorcycle helmet laws. We swung into a liquor store and bought a case of beer for some nominal charge and headed to the nexus of our upcoming weekend.

Tailgating for college football is a religion for many. Notre Dame doesn't allow you to park RVs on campus, so if you are so inclined you can find a house just off campus to moor your land yacht for a small fee. We pulled up to the RV, tents and coolers were out, flat screen tv was on, 500 watt sound system ready. I've seen this before, Kevin was awestruck, this is one of those RVs that expands so it has a full living room, bedroom, shower and bathroom. One of the Ron's was there. There are 3 over 50 gentlemen that pilot this roaming den of debauchery, two Rons and a Jim. The other guys were out on their motorcycles. We hung around for a bit and then went to meet some of Brendan's friends at this place called CJ's. We met Pat, Jess, and Jess' brother John. Started going through pitchers like we were bailing water from a row boat. Brendan and I split a basket of fries and onion rings. Kevin was enjoying being able to smoke in a bar. We all returned to the RV to get primed for a night out.

Cheap beer was torn into like dingoes on a carcas. We played hillbilly golf, which is kind of like the cornhole game or horseshoes. You have to throw golfballs attached by rope over this rack system for different sets of points. Its kind of hard to explain, but its just slightly safer than lawn darts. At some point we decided to go throw the football around. I had just enough beer to think that I was in shape and started running patterns. I've got soft hands, should have been a tight end. I also should get some cardiovascular exercise sometime this decade because I was out of breath and sweating like a farm animal in no time. It started to get dark, we were in full swing, mingling with the other RVs and the local people. I like to use the term "Whiskey Tango" for people that burn their trash, but they were nice. Kevin and I were having a great time, and were reminding each other that we had nothing at all to think about other than drinking and playing games. I had two cajun hot bratwursts with sauerkraut and onions for dinner. My liver gave up on me long ago, but I'm pretty sure I angred the rest of my internal organs with that move. One of the Ron's made a drink for this local girl that was hanging out, he said it was a "Captain Ron", I'm pretty sure it was a "Roofie Collada". Apparently, Kevin had caught a story about a stag party involving a German Sheppard. I hope thats really all I need to paint a picture of what we were dealing with.

Eventually Brendan, Kevin and I headed out to one of the local watering holes. At the Linebacker you got in for 5 bucks and got a free drink ticket. We exchanged ours for LITs because thats what we needed. The bar was loaded with middle aged alums and tailgaters, we headed outside to sit for a bit and wait for the crowd to turn over. Kevin and Brendan ordered hot dogs, I couldn't imagine eating any more tubular meat. We were shooting bull for a while checking out the scenery. The rest of the younger crew was at the bar so we headed inside. Even though I'm 30, I look younger, and if you look young and have money to buy drinks you should have no fear talking to college girls. I didn't have a problem, I was all over the place. I never switched to beer, so I stayed on the LIT train, because thats a safe choice. I talked to this one Library Science major, really pretty, from Poland. She thought I was cute, so maybe I'm not a big horrible monster after all. Between the LITs and the ego boosting, I was dellusional and had intentions of staying out till 3am and passing out in the motorcycle trailer behind the RV. Thank god Brendan was in charge of being sober driver and reasoning. We had accomodations in Michigan City, Indiana. We stopped at BK on the way out of town, I had to be the hero and dropped a Jackson for 4 chicken sandwich meals.

Although Michigan City was about 30 miles away, Kevin and I thought it was right at the end of the BK driveway. Passed out in the back seat. I woke up in a children's bed, with a picket fence headboard and my feet sticking over the edge. I know no one carried me inside since I weigh as much as a volkswagen, apparently I lumbered in and hit the deck. We headed back out around 9am, taking a swing by Lake Michigan, its very large, a great lake so to say. We headed back to the RV, parked the car in some guy's yard. The first thing that hit my stomach was a tequila jello shot that some guy in the lot gave me. Drink like a champion today was my motto. We had a few beers and headed out for a tour of the campus. Brendan spent 4 years there, but between his lack of direction and the new construction, the tour was only partly informative. We hit the big spots, the dome, touchdown jesus, the grotto, the bookstore. The bookstore was mobbed, literally, people were trying on hats and throwing them on the ground. It was clearly a fire hazard, so we decided to return after the game.

We headed back to the RV, and this is when the fun begins, Brendan's ND boys and the RV guys had recruited some tailgaters to party with. The sound system was cranking out the ND fight song and an assortment of hits from an iPod. More hillbilly golf, and a flip cup tournament. I played on a team to start against some current ND students, the kid I was lined up against was talking smack and explaining things like I haven't wasted my years after the age of 18 playing drinking games. I had to walk away before I scattered his remains around the RV. Eventually we assembled an all Jersey team, putting on a display of flip cup prowess never before seen by mortal men. We headed into the game under the most beautiful weather imaginable. It would have been nice if ND showed up, I'm pretty sure they were replaced by the South Bend HS team. They were dominated by Michigan, which sucked the air out of an amazing day. It was so bad we left the game early, so we didn't have to hear any more of the Michigan fans. I dropped a bunch of loot at the bookstore for merch, you know because the most famous football college in the country needs my money, and I need to remind people that I'm Irish.

Back at the RV we faced different levels of dejection. Brendan, Kevin, Andy and I headed back to Chicago. Kevin passed out in the back seat. I found the greatest hair metal station in the world. We got to Andy's after some traffic, Brendan was probably shell shocked from the amount of abuse he received about his driving. We cleaned up and squared away our sleeping arrangements and headed out to Yakzee's. Yakzee's has awesome chicken wing pizza, toasted ravioli and cheap beer. We were all clearly drained, but we needed to eat and a few beers wouldn't hurt right? At this point my insides felt like I was swallowing light bulbs in the freak show. Jess and Pat showed up, we were all tired and bitter. The sun and about 600 beers had sapped our strength, so we actually went home. Had ND won, we probably would have raged till dawn. I hit an aero bed at Andy's house and aparently was in a diabetic coma, because Brendan and Kevin couldn't even get me to stir in the morning. They checked out Chicago while I was slumbering like a narcoleptic sloth. They came back, we packed the car, and headed to Joe's. Joe's is a sports bar, the ND guys met us there. We ordered some Bloody Marys because a little hair of the dog never hurts, and its got some vitamins and stuff. I remembered we were in Chicago when the bloody came out garnished with a pickle, celery stalk, and a skewer with peperoni and swiss cheese. I guess I needed to drink meat this weekend. It was actually delicious. We started watching the Giants crumble, started to put down pitchers. I ordered a BLT with avacado which was excellent. I think I reached 20,000 calories at that point and my body was starting to run on a nuclear reaction instead of a biochemical one. The G men decided to pull the game out in OT. We headed for the airport, Kevin tried to keep the party going, looking for hotels and flights to go home the next day. When I finally said no, he pouted in the back seat for a while because we were stuck in traffic.

The flight home was delayed because of rain, we caught the late NFL games at the sports bar in the terminal. We actually ran into my old roommate and his wife who were on our flight. Brendan was in another terminal because he was flying to London, I think because that's what workaholics do after vacations. I lucked out with a middle seat on the flight home. Thankfully I was between to older ladies who didn't want to talk to me, and didn't take up space, because I was wedged in like a clog in a drain. The flight got off ground, took a little longer than expected, but we were home. Picked up the bags, hit the car, and was home and in bed before midnight.

You need weekends like these every once in a while to remind yourself why you aren't still in college. I was almost happy to return to an unmade bed and 7 loads of laundry. I've haven't done jack with my website but there are pictures up from this trip, the full images are very large, I would suggest browsing the thumbnails. www.jfdavidson.com/pictures I should have more galleries up in a while. Thats it for now, stay tuned for more adventures.

Remember...

I've previously discussed some of the advantages of driving a crappy car. One important one is it attracts very little attention, granted this means it pulls less wool then a Chihuahua shearer, but it has an ability to hide things in plain sight. When you are in a band, this is very important. Chris learned this lesson well when he took my bass cabinet home one time after a gig and left it in the back of his Cherokee in Brooklyn. Not smart, but these things happen, and needless to say he had to replace a car window and my bass cabinet. The Mitsubishi has a trunk that works well for a guitarist, I was able to wedge my Rivera amp and my guitar in the back and not really worry about my car being messed with. This was before it truly looked like something that should be rolling around a fairground with a number 5 spray painted on it. I didn't have the aftermarket stereo, just the stock tape deck with a poorly working FM tuner. I had entered the CD era early so I didn't really have many tapes. If I recall correctly I had an infinite loop running with one of three choices, Weezer's green album (which was an actual promo copy from the record label, why they would send an audiocassette to be reviewed I'll never know, but I was thankful), Soul Asylum's "And The Horse They Rode In On", and the greatest hits of the Spencer Davis Group (As far as I'm concerned they had one hit and one other good song, but what do I know). Needless to say, thieves weren't enticed by the stereo system, and the faded cloth interior probably didn't make it any better.

I was relying on this large chunk of urban camouflage the morning of September 11th, 2001. JLT had a gig in the city that night at the rock club Continental. My plan was to go into work a little late to avoid the morning rush, park the car somewhere mostly safe and hope for the best. After work, slide downtown and force feed rock and roll to a couple bartenders, and whoever else we convinced to show up that night. Obviously that plan didn't come to fruition. I ended up pulling over somewhere on Route 80 to listen to someone on the radio describe people jumping from the towers while watching smoke rise from the southern part of the skyline. I was in the WTC 2 days before when NJ Transit was doing a marvelous job of botching my commute. For some reason I had to go to Hoboken then I took the PATH to the WTC and hopped on the subway to get to Chelsea. I don't really remember why that worked that way, but that was fresh in my Mom's mind when I called her to let her know I never made it in that day, and was home safe. There is a clip in the commercial for that Oliver Stone movie where two of the firefighters are running in front of stores. I have vivid memories of navigating the mall that was underneath the WTC trying to get to work, so I get a little weirded out when I see it on TV.

So watching the Giants game Sunday night, with the continual aerial shots of the big reminder that is scarring downtown, I had to reflect a little bit. I was thankful to be around, and thankful that none of my friends were hurt. I lost a couple of acquaintances and people I never really knew but would see on the train, or just around. I had to remember being evacuated from a karaoke bar a few days after the 11th. I was back into work ASAP because the power outages had knocked our email server down, and the magazine I worked for was having an extremely large music festival right around that time. I got everything up, the festival was delayed, and a few of us went out to unwind. Having a few beers and singing Elton John can actually help. Some moron called in a bomb threat to the Empire State Building and New York's finest had to throw us out on the street. 9/11 was the nail in the coffin for the dot com era, I eventually lost my job, and was unemployed for some time because the market was so flooded with people with computer skills. I look back at all this and think about how lucky I really am, I hope all of us do. I also hope that the end result isn't just American flags on pizza boxes, and a bunch of jingoistic hatred of non whites. I've long been concerned with our consumerism and apathy. George Bush's first term was predicated on an election with the lowest voter turnout in 40 years. If you wonder why there is still a giant hole in the ground in NYC. Take a gander at Iraq. How much money and resources are we spending fighting a war and having Haliburton put up walls and fortifications? Think any of that could have been used over here? I understand its not a popular view, and I certainly don't think we can just turn our backs on the situation over there now. Though I don't think we can turn our backs on the situation over here either.

The past few days have reminded me that I've lost sight of a few things I believe strongly in. I've been procrastinating for a while now. I was on the lookout for a non-partisan organization that promotes voter turnout. Suffrage is something that not too long ago was denied women and blacks in this country, people fought and died for that right and so many people think that their voice doesn't matter. So I've resolved to get in the game and figure out what I can do to help. If anyone can point me in a direction it would be appreciated. MoveOn is a little too far left, and Rock the Vote doesn't really grab me. I would really like something as neutral as possible, I try not to inflict my politics on anyone. It really doesn't matter to me how people vote, just that they use one of the few gifts from the founders of this country that hasn't been tainted. Anyway, I'll do my best to follow through with that. I hope we all still remember and we all do something, no matter how small, to show our respect to those people and this country.

In other news, I realize I went a little off the deep end last blog. Thanks for those of you who were looking out. I'm really fine, just a little stressed, and I have some anger issues to work out. Its times like those when I miss rugby. It would have been nice to go out and just level someone, but I'm stuck keeping things on the inside, walking around like Bruce Banner hoping no one sets me off. Its really not good, and I've been doing it for a really long time, but put it on the list of things to work on. Besides you have to dive in the deep end if you want to learn how to swim, you can't always touch bottom.

Thursday I had a bit of a rough night out. A few drinks in Red Bank, then a long drive home. I was way fine to drive if you were concerned. I can't mess with that with an hour commute each way and the dismal state of public transportation. I ended up stopping in at the Frog to pick up my check, with full intention of going home and going to bed. I knew full well that I had a rough week and a weekend filled with bouncing. Of course I ran into my roommate at the bar. Why yes I'll have a drink. And no why would I want to eat something? So I ended up hanging out on an empty stomach, it was nice to be out though, I really haven't made much time for myself in a while. So a few beers at the Frog, then down to the Grasshopper. It wasn't that busy surprisingly since summer was over. I was by myself, even though I really can't be by myself in Mo'town. I found a few familiar faces to hang out with. One of which bought me a shot at the end of the night, had me walk her home, and made out with me in front of her house. An interesting end to a Thursday night to say the least. Nights like these help promote the mythology of going out. What I mean is we all have feelings from time to time that if we sit at home, we are going to miss something good happening. You can't meet boys/girls on your couch, really its just a fallacy and all you end up doing most nights is spending money on a hangover. Every once in a while, sometimes more often, sometimes less, you get a night where something does happen and you forget all those nights where your team lost and you drank a beer that someone put a cigarette out in, or that time you sent a beer to that transvestite that was making eyes at you. So the night ended as it was supposed to, the way I least expected it. You might be wondering what my next move is. I don't know. I'm leaving town in a month, there are other mitigating circumstances, and frankly I might just want to leave it where it lies, its kind of nice and simple the way it is, and I'm fine with just having a Thursday night make out story.

Friday was another issue altogether. I was starving in the morning and felt like I went 10 rounds in a cage match with Mothra and Mickey Rourke. Thankfully the office gods were kind to me, and I was able to spend time hydrating myself. I'm sure people thought it was weird that I moved the water cooler next to my desk, but it was much easier to get my head under the spout from the comfort of my own chair. I escaped the confines of my white collar work camp on time to jump right into the indentured servitude of my second job. I'm pretty sure everyone is home from the shore and they were all out Friday night. Its so much better when the bar is busy, more ass to look at, more meatheads to size up. Its like you are actually accomplishing something. Yeah I realize I spent 3 paragraphs on 9/11 and the right to vote and I'm referring to standing around a bar as "accomplishing something", go somewhere else if you don't like it. I got picked up by some girl from Hacketstown, but lost track of her before digits could be pulled, the downside of being busy is it allows less time for game. I'll have to get back into the 2 minute drill rather than the cricket match of summer. Not a bad night though, no problems, and its good to see the regulars.

Needless to say I slept in Saturday. I put a hurting on my pillow, thankfully all I had to accomplish was watch college football. I went over to my friend Brendan's house, he's been there since April, this was the first time I'm seeing it. Think we've been busy? Its a nice two floor townhouse in Morristown. Brendan bought the largest LCD TV known to man. I believe it was constructed by 25,000 Egyptian slaves and houses the sarcophagus of Jackie Gleason. Notre Dame kicked the hell out of Penn State. Which is good news because Brendan, Kevin and I are traveling to South Bend on Friday. The ancient rivalry of ND vs. Michigan will be viewed live under the Indiana sky, but that will probably pail in comparison to watching it in HD on Brendan's TV. I left B's to get to the bar a little early. We have a new bouncer who hopefully will be filling in for me when I finally get the hell out of Dodge. Training a bouncer is probably the most ridiculous thing you could ever do. As long as you can read numbers and stand around you are in business. Granted paying attention and being able to handle yourself is a bonus, but you can't really train that. I welcomed Mike to the easiest job in the world. It was slower Saturday, so I got to hang out with some people and walk around more. No real action to speak of, some girl lost her lunch in the bathroom, spinach is never nice the second time around.

Sunday was the true return of football season. I got a late start because I had work to catch up on. I caught the second half of the first games. The Jets almost snatched defeat from the jaws of victory, which seems par for the course. Dallas looked bad, Reggie Bush looked good. I started feeling under the weather around 3pm. Didn't drink much at all, choked down some food, I wasn't sure what was up. It kind of put a damper on the night game. The Giants should have won that game, that pass interference was a bad call, but they didn't capitalize on any of Indy's miscues. They looked good though and I think it should be a good season to watch.

I carried my illness into Monday. Didn't really eat much, I think it was a 24 hour thing because I'm fine today. I got a copy of the Wolfmother album, its everything I hoped it would be. Though I was really only hoping for an album that would make me feel like I was driving a Camaro to a Judas Priest concert. Last night I helped my roommate's parents set up a wireless network. I really don't like helping people with technology outside of work hours, but I figured the karma could use a boost these days, and I think Darren's dad was going to start using the DSL modem to open coconuts. So thats where we are, the apartment search continues, stay tuned for more adventures.

Laboring Day...

So the Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin died. Its kind of sad that I don't really care, I think we all assumed that he would probably be killed by interacting with dangerous animals in their own territory. I don't really believe in fate, I believe more in percentages, so I was a tad surprised to find out he was stabbed in the heart by a stingray. I would have thought poisonous snake or crocodile would have been much more likely. I used to enjoy his antics, but I gave up on him when he brought his infant son into the croc pit for feeding time. You would think he would be safety conscious, once again percentages. Sure you believe that you understand crocodile behavior, but accidents happen, you slip and Wally Gator has a baby McNugget for lunch. I try to explain this to people at the bar, invariably some moron will try and stand on their stool for some idiotic reason. I tell them to get down, they tell me its ok, their mom was Mary Lou Retton and their dad was a ninja, or they were state champion stool standers in high school or some such nonsense. Its very simple, I'm sure you are a premier athlete. Why else would you be getting drunk in a bar in New Jersey? Its not so much that I think that alcohol inhibits your equilibrium and you might just lose your balance and I'll be sweeping your gray matter under the Golden Tee machine. I just think its likely that the person next to you doesn't realize that you are going through your Cirque du Solei routine and might bump your stool and the world could be denied another double jointed flag pole sitter. But what the hell do I know, I intellectualize everything, I'm a misfit in this era of extreme sports and shows where people kick each other in the crotch.

I got a call Wednesday that I knew was inevitable but still wasn't expecting. Apparently my Dad's bad habits wore a hole in his stomach and he was pumping half digested food and air into his abdomen. A little emergency surgery and a liver biopsy later and I'm driving down to Delaware confronting 30 years of buried emotions. I usually don't share these things ever, I tend just to keep everything bottled up inside. But why not throw my demons on the Internet? I haven't seen my Dad in probably 5 years, 2 of those years we didn't talk at all. So it kind of sucked to walk into the critical care unit in some podunk hospital and see him lying there with a tube in his nose. I'm really having a hell of a year, hey look its me whining again, but really can't anything good happen? I realize things could be a whole hell of a lot worse, I've got friends, a job, a car, and a roof over my head, but I'm supposed to. I'm glad I don't live in Rwanda, but just something I can put in the plus column. Just existing is dandy, but maybe a gentle reminder that God doesn't hate me. Why did I have to take all those science classes? No wonder Jesus never calls. Listen Evolution and the Big Bang don't preclude a higher being buddy. How about I get some frankincense and myrrh and I'll trade you for a winning scratch off ticket or an insurance settlement. When people ask me how things are going, should I tell them that I've resorted to making wishes to invisible superheroes? Anyway back to Dad, he is going to be OK, I don't have a whole lot of hope that in 2012 I will be writing a blog telling you how good things are between us and how healthy he is, its much more likely I'll be angry that he died because I missed the chance to do the job myself. Well that was a nice story. Should I get back to misanthropy and drunken adventures? Yep.

Anyway, needless to say I didn't do much on Thursday. I had plans to get stood up for drinks after work and irony of ironies I'm the one that had to cancel. I got home, ate leftovers and watched CSI. Sleep couldn't come fast enough. Sometimes you just need the sun to go down so you can start over again in the morning. Friday at the day job was mostly uneventful. I enjoy the days before holiday weekends, I seem to get more done because its quiet and the people that are there are focused on getting out at 5pm. I of course am a giant loser and had no grand plans for the weekend, I was working at the bar Friday and Saturday. The remnants of the hurricane made for a wonderful ride home, and I decided to walk to the bar and got drenched because I didn't realize how hard it was actually raining. The crowd was ok Friday night, and we actually got to toss some people. Little bit of drunken testosterone caused a scuffle, so we tossed two of the culprits and left some of the guys in the bar under recommendation from one of the bartenders. Always throw everyone out, that should be rule number one. Even if you feel guilty because its slow and the bartenders need to make money, throw all the culprits out. Trying to do the right thing got us an extra dose of adult adolescence. This waste of 26 chromosomes that was involved with the scuffle previously started with some poor guy at the end of the bar, who actually looked like he could rip phonebooks in half even though he was kind of small. He was doing a good job of ignoring the mutant with the crappy goatee. Art tosses white trash facial hair, he gets loud, his buddy picks him up and takes him outside. This guy's friend was large, and apparently in charge, which was fine by us. I follow them out so they can call me fat and I can say something a tad more intelligent and hopefully provoke him into doing something he will regret. He was all fired up anyway, Art came outside and stood in the door, I was to his left next to the open door. Johnny Temper starts coming at Art, this guy has no clue that I'm about to demonstrate Newtonian physics on his larynx. I've got a shot that bouncers dream of, my feet are set and if this guy takes one more step I'm about to try and decapitate him with one hand. All the anger from the week could have been resolved, but I was denied, the big guy grabbed him before I could do my Darth Vader impression and jack this guy up and ask him the location of the rebel base. Foiled. That was the only drama of the evening, we ended up staying real late just because. Its been awhile since we all hung out till the wee hours and its good for morale sometimes. Random side notes: thanks to some trivia from the regulars, I now know that the only words in the English language that start with “dw” are dwarf, dwell, and dwindle. I did know that facetious was the only word that had all the vowels in order. Also I got a nice goodbye kiss from one of the semi-regulars (it was on the cheek but still nice), she is a hot mom and made me seriously consider why I waste my time chasing girls that are younger than I am. Perhaps a cougar hunt is in my future.

Saturday I slept in, checked up on my Dad, and met Rob and Priscilla at the Dublin Pub for a late lunch. I had onion soup, grilled pork chops and mashed potatoes. A little bit of comfort food, that Rob and Priscilla kept commenting on, I suppose I could have shared, but I'm a hungry hungry hippo and the more marbles in my belly the better. I came home and changed, Rob was nice enough to give me a lift to the bar. Rob and I hadn't shaved in 2 days, John C. asked us if he pays us to look like animals. Hmm lets see, we get paid to be bigger than everyone else and you make us wear horrible gray shirts that make us look like elephants, I think that would be a yes. 2am couldn't come fast enough, no action just a bunch of mutants. Holiday weekends attract the strangest crowds. We spent the end of the night poking fun at Rob's desire to work one night a week. Frankly I can't wait to move and never have a second job again, but he gets all sensitive and its much more fun to prod someone who clearly gets uncomfortable. I actually don't get made fun of that much, I like to think its because I'm a good person, kind of funny, and generally self deprecating anyway, but its probably that I'm a dog thats been kicked to many times.

Sunday I was supposed to go to the Yankee game, but my ticket fell through. So I used the opportunity to do laundry and get things together around the apartment. I went over to Mom's for the usual Sunday night dinner. I ended up in a conversation that I didn't really need to have ever. This whole Dad thing has opened a hole that you could drive a car through. I really want to get back to swallowing my emotions and growing a tumor. I went back to my apartment to change, Rob wanted to go out and I needed a little escape. I went to the Frog for one drink, the crowd was decent for a Sunday. My real plan was to go to the new bar in town, Tashmoo. I have no idea what the hell a Tashmoo is, apparently its a section of Martha's Vineyard, or some such nonsense. Wanna head to the “moo”? No actually I just want a shot and a beer and ponder my navel, not wonder what the hell the etymology of the bar's name is. They don't have Harp on tap, strike two. Its not a bad place, saw some familiar faces, it helps that the bartender has been a family friend of mine for a couple hundred years. Music was provided by an iPod, with what seemed to be a playlist designed to expose latent homosexuality. Rob had a good laugh at my expense when a girl I've mentioned before came to say hello, after she left Rob wondered if she was looking for a ride home. Yeah that one, so so awkward. Priscilla lifted my spirits and claimed that girls are pretty much evil and manipulative, thats good to know, so I'm not crazy, but since I'm straight I kind of still need women around. We were on our way out, Safe Ride Home told me she liked the new haircut, score one for me, I might be a shell of a human being at this point but at least my hair looks good. I should get some head shots so when I go feral and decide to live in the Canadian wilderness, the picture on the back of the milk cartons will have the stylin' new hairdo.
We went down to the Grasshopper just for a change of pace, besides we know everyone that works there and when you are trying to unwind it doesn't hurt to get a few drinks on the house here and there. It was busy, Matty was working the door. I headed to the bar to get beers and shots, there was an attractive girl just getting her drinks, I asked her if she bought her own drinks, she said yes, I said thats too bad because you are too good looking to buy your own drinks. Priscilla thought it was a good line, I'll try and remember it, it of course didn't lead to anything but thats because I didn't follow up. My wingman decided to bring his girlfriend, so I had about as much game as the Kansas City Royals. We headed upstairs, where the fun was soon to begin.

We were at the bar minding our own business, Priscilla goes to the bathroom, two girls barge between us and bump Rob. We were being wise asses, they didn't really take kindly but we don't care. Apparently the guido they were with did. House of pain starts staring at Rob, at which point I'm staring at him trying to decide how far I'm going to put my fist inside his skull. Think I had some anger issues this weekend? Whatever, we supposedly dissed the girls. He is jaw jacking with Rob, he doesn't like me looking at him. I tell him “Wrong guy, Wrong bar”. Allegedly the wannabe goomba is from Newark, and how do I know that he isn't the wrong guy to mess with. Well because Tony Soprano is a fictional character, I outweigh you by 120 lbs. And I'm 6 inches taller, I know everyone working right now, plus the two cops outside. I agree this is a lot of braggadocio, but damn it I grew up here, I bounce here and I don't have to take any crap from anybody. Besides I hate guidos, gold chains and Camaros and club music, good for nothing. I have no problem with Italians, my roommate's last name has an apostrophe and enough vowels to send to Eastern Europe so we know what the hell they are talking about. I explain that we aren't in Newark, we are in an Irish bar in Morristown, and I'm still the wrong guy at the wrong bar, but if there is a problem we can go downstairs. Ironbound didn't like that so much, and didn't realize that we were on the second floor because he didn't want to go downstairs he wanted to go outside, I explained that outside is down the stairs. His buddies kind of came up behind me, he seemed to think he had me by himself, I wasn't backing down and I was actually eerily calm. Usually your heart gets going a little bit when the adrenaline kicks in, fight or flight as it were. I think I'm just ready to unload on somebody at this point, when Matt steps in front of me and kicks all of them out. Matt knows that I don't start shit in his bar, thats why when he saw the guy in my face he just decided to throw them all out, he was relieved that my glasses were still on because the international sign of me about to get ugly is the glasses coming off. I hate fighting, and violence actually, and I won't throw a punch. If you are curious as to what I would do to my friend from Newark, I'd probably let him hit me somewhere that doesn't really hurt, it always hurts, but the back of your head hurts a lot less than your groin or your nose, but this way he is close enough that I can put him on the ground, put my weight on him and start twisting things in directions that they aren't supposed to go. People have epic ideas of bar fights being boxing matches, fights go to the ground awfully quick.

People started asking me what happened because I'm usually the nice one. I think people forget that when it comes down to it I'm a big dumb animal, sure I can write 5000 words about my Bukowskian adventures, but keep your hands out of the cage during feeding time. Don't interfere with my drinking and my pathetic attempts to impress unavailable women. We headed back downstairs to mingle with the women of loose morals, and whatever other bar characters that were hanging out after 1 on a Sunday. After last call we headed to the diner to replay our evening over Taylor ham and disco fries. I ate way way too much, because I woke up Monday feeling like I swallowed a boat anchor. But its good to have 2500 extra calories before you sleep, dreaming takes energy. I didn't accomplish much today other than writing this blog. I've been moping about a subject I can't address in this forum, it shouldn't bother me this much, but with everything going on lately I'm a little scrambled. I've been really good about keeping the train on the tracks, my life is mostly in order, but sometimes you can't see the forest for all the trees or whatever cliché means I have my head up my ass.

I have yet to get my web page together, I've been distracted, but I'll work on that. I've been looking for a lightweight text editor for Mac OS X, but still have yet to find one I like. Right now I'm using Neo Office, seems to get the job done, but its bulky. I'll have more for everyone this week. If you care, Dad is out of the hospital and seems to be ok. I'm not ok yet, but I'm starting to wonder if I was ever ok. Probably not, but stay tuned.

Bringing sexy back...

People seem to want to know what's up. Well lets see, we are still fighting a war in Iraq, that John Karr guy might be the creepiest guy on the planet, and I made egg salad for dinner last night but I didn't have any bread to make sandwiches so I used chocolate chip cookies. I'm an innovator, and I won't be recognized as a revolutionary thinker until after my time on this earth has passed. I took a little break from blogging, I wasn't planning on taking two weeks it just sort of happened. I haven't had a whole lot of action in my life these days, and I don't want my blog to just me complaining It's a lot more fun when I can make fun of people and expound on the ridiculousness of suburban living.

I don't have a whole hell of a lot to report. I've entered a new game/phrase into my lexicon. While at my friend Cliff's bachelor party, we were tooling around in my friend Dan's VW Vanagon, like the Libyans from Back to the Future. Dan installed an aftermarket stereo so he could interface with his iPod while driving, very nice. We discovered though that when the iPod is on random, you have two choices either whatever comes up is "gay" or "Slayer". No not that Slayer is new slang for cool, I mean Slayer the band, because whatever isn't Slayer is gay. Yeah its insensitive to use the word gay that way. Its also insensitive to pick on people for being mouth breathing mongoloids that get confused when the front door of the Frog says pull. I've been doing that for months now and nobody complains.

My automobile situation is worsening. Apparently driving 600 miles a week isn't so good on the front tires. It was a little rainy this morning and I put power to the pavement coming out of a turn and the front end started going sideways. Fun. Yesterday I did an online appraisal of my car, the trade in value of a beat up 97 Mitsubishi Galant with 180k miles is about 150 dollars, I can get 500 for it street value. So in order not to die driving to work, I'm going to have to spend half of the car's value on two new front tires. I was an Econ major in college and I can tell you its not a worthwhile investment. The nice thing is I have no choice right now because I'm getting a new apartment, I have no idea what my monthly expenditure is going to be, and if I get a new car I will lose one quarter of my blogging material. New cars are stupid though, why anyone would pay for something that depreciates 15 percent of its value in the first year is beyond me. I have to say though, this is probably the best car I have ever owned, its nothing special but I've beaten it like a rented mule and it still starts up every day without complaint. I haven't poured money into it. And yeah it burns about 3 quarts of oil every 5000 miles now, but that has a whole lot more to do with my driving than it does the reliability of the engine. I'm probably not going to be able to drive it the average distance to the moon, but I can't complain about getting 200k miles out of a car in 10 years without replacing the transmission, head gasket, universal joint, or whatever the hell else usually takes 1500 dollars out of your pocket at 120,000 miles.

Nothing new on the lady front, I pulled some digits last Thursday that was hopefully going to turn into going out for drinks Friday, but it didn't come together. Working Thursday nights has been good for getting numbers, granted its a giant pain in the ass Friday morning, but there are some fringe benefits. Why I'm even talking to girls in Morristown when I plan on moving in a couple of months I don't really know. I suppose I have to stay in practice so I can get accustomed to getting shot down in Red Bank. I despise dating, its all way too much work to find out that people are shallow and uninteresting. I'll find that diamond in the rough, and hopefully I'll get to spend 6 weeks with her before the aneurysm that I developed from chasing around bimbos and passive-aggresive emotional wastelands pops in my brain. Shout out to a certain red haired friend of mine, I'm glad you enjoy my blog, I was going to mention that guy that turned down the Fields medal, but I'm a big enough nerd already.

Apparently some of my friends feel like I'm abandoning them. It's not my first choice to move away and start all over. I think its a matter of perception, I haven't partied like a rock star in months, I made a decision to cut down on going out during the week a long time ago, and I've been working on the weekends for 4 years now. Its just the fact that I'm moving away highlights the fact that I don't spend a lot of time with anyone anymore. If I'm abandoning anyone it happened 6 months ago not now. It's not even that drastic anyway, its just guilt. I'm going to put together a tally of my friends that come to visit me in Red Bank and keep it online and we'll compare it with how many times I go out in Mo'town in the first 6 months of me moving and we'll see who is abandoning who.

Speaking of online, I bought a domain name and some hosting so I can flesh out some of this here blog and have a place for me to post pictures of the usual suspects, the places I go, and things I do. Stay tuned for that, because you know this blogging thing has gotten me a lot money and ass, I'm sure by having a web site I will be an overnight porno rock star. I'll be writing more soon, part of my problem was that I got depressed and that tends not to motivate me much. I have no idea what I was depressed about, its never anything specific, but it seems to build up to the point where I feel like there is a giant weight on my shoulders and I don't want to do anything. It happens from time to time, I'm sure it happens to everybody, or probably not and I need to be medicated and kept away from society. I told a friend of mine once that I was depressed at the time and they said "Why don't you just be happy?". Oh yeah I forgot just to be happy, I'm sure the pharmaceutical industry is going be ecstatic when they find out people can just be happy. I should go ride on my unicorn across rainbows and marshmallows and everything will be perfect. Anyway, my doom and gloom is lifting, things aren't bad, its just life. Its good when life kicks you in the ass, it gives you an excuse to kick back. I was driving home yesterday and Van Morrison was on the radio, and that made a lot of things better. Why aren't there more Van Morrisons on the radio? Don't get me wrong I appreciate that Justin Timberlake is bringing sexy back. You need a good dance jam, but have you listened to It Stoned Me? Ah whatever kids these days. If anyone has the Wolfmother album, I want it, not just because of the band name but because they rock out.

Speaking of band names, when JLT was just getting going I sat down and made a list of like 75 potential band names in 15 minutes. I'm not entirely sure how Joanie Loves Trotsky won, because there were some real gems like Joan Lunden Calling, Gonorrhea Perlman, and Pol Pot Pie. Obviously I like puns. I think it came down to three choices; Ninjavitis, Pontius Toilet, and Joanie Loves Trotsky. I often wonder what would have happened if we were Ninjavitis. Anyway, apparently that list I had is lost and gone forever, no one seems to be able to find it. I know some of the extended friends of the band had access to the list, if anyone can dig it up I'd be very appreciative.

Thats all for now, I'll get back to my usual lamentations shortly.