April 7, 2008 - May 28, 2008

Wednesday, May 28, 2008


Moment
Current mood: confused

I'm having a moment where I think that I want to move back to NYC. Wait. Hold that. Everybody that I've met tonight is FROM NYC. Or close to it. Whatevs.

Currently listening :
Invisible Jet
By Black Helicopter
Release date: 2006-06-20

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Monday, May 26, 2008


The Kindness of Strangers...
Current mood: confident

So much has happened over the past month and a half, that it's been almost impossible for me to sort it all out in my head and write about it. I've decided that since I have a little quiet time, all by my lonesome, that now's the time to get it all out on paper - or on computer screen, as it were.

I've now been in Raleigh, North Carolina for two weeks and one day. How did this happen? Probably the main reason that this has happened is that I've met some people that have been so kind as to let me stay with them, even though I just met them a little over a week ago. Many thanks to Carlos and Joey for everything that they've helped me with in the past week. Beyond that, though, there's something rather magnetic about Raleigh, I must admit. I didn't really feel the same way about Wilmington and Charlotte when I traveled to both places to see the Heroine Sheiks, though. I did, however feel very homesick for Minneapolis having seen people from there that I had not seen in many, many years. As I lugged my stuff through Charlotte, downtown to the Greyhound station, I had my first moment of confusion and anxiety over the fact that I was considering moving to North Carolina. I seriously considered while waiting for my bus to Raleigh to actually just go to Minneapolis instead. In retrospect, I'm glad that didn't happen. Moving to a town like Raleigh is just the sort of challenge that I need at this point in my life. I'll probably go back to Minneapolis at one point, but that point isn't right now. We'll see how I feel about that in August when it's 5,000 degrees and 80,000 percent humidity. Ugh.

Things are starting to happen. I have two interviews this week, and even have an almost definite lead on a place to live. I won't say it's definite until I actually have paid the rent and have a set of keys in my hands. One can never tell what people will do at the last minute. I've even met a bunch of people, most of whom I like quite a bit. People are quite warm, inviting and helpful here, but I think I mentioned that in my last blog.

My next step, to get everyone in New York to move down here.


Currently listening :
Black Rainbow
By 400 Blows

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Friday, May 16, 2008


The Raleigh Vortex
Current mood: adventurous

I seem to have found myself in Raleigh, NC. Not only have I found myself in this lovely little city/town, but I'm actually considering moving here! Where is the sense in this? I've lived in quite a few places, but Raleigh? Let me see now. Minneapolis, Los Angeles, New York City, uh Raleigh? Actually, it's kind of nice here, and with my intentions of being on the road all of the time, what does it matter where I live, as long as it's affordable. Ultimately I do need a place to hang my hat, do I not? Plus, the people that I've met have all been super friendly and very helpful, a quality that New York sometimes lacks. One person actually gave me written directions to a club that were so detailed that I thought he was writing a novel. Now that's service. On top of that, it seems to have somewhat of a music scene, which is always of great importance, I'll have you know.

Tonight's plans include a meeting with Jim to see about getting more tour work. Hopefully something will pan out. Y'all keep your fingers crossed, ye hear. Also, I'm going to the Pour House to see a new friend's band by the name of the Bleeding Hearts. Not sure what to expect, but I'm sure they'll be a lot better than last night's Helmet show. Why won't Page go away? And why did I pay $20.00 to see the show? To say they were boring wouldn't come even close to describing how bad it was. Caltrop and ASG were good, though. Caltrop were sort of, how shall I say, mathy, psych-metal. ASG made me think of The Adolescents, but only if they were a metal band. There was another band by the name of H.O.W. that were quite frankly an embarassment. Enough on that. Off to Mecca I go to sample what seemingly will be good simple Southern fare. Good thing I'm walking there.


Currently listening :
We Must Obey
By Fu Manchu
Release date: 2007-02-20

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Thursday, May 01, 2008


South Cackalacky
Current mood: curious

I start this segment of my tour tales sitting in my hotel room at The Hilton in Columbia, South Carolina, also known as South Cackalacky. It's raining and gray outside. Every once in awhile, to break up the insanity of living on an RV with six people, Mark and Sue will get everyone their own hotel room. I feel that it's an excellent idea, not only because it's nice to have a real bed after two weeks, but it's also nice to have some time to your self. It's a no brainer, really.



It's been an action packed week, here in South Carolina. Here are some of the highlights:



As I told you before, we found the oldest bar in South Carolina, and it just so happened to be right down the street from the stadium parking lot. The second night that we were there (or was it the third), we made our way to another bar in the neighborhood called the Loose Cockaboose. It was me, Dan, Steve and Tom Cat. Out with the boys again, as if that's going to change over the next five months. We had a great time, shooting the shit, talking shop, and fitting in a few drinks as well. We even met the bartenders, the owner, and some of the locals while there. That's the thing about South Carolina, everyone's very friendly, but often some can be a little too friendly. It can be a little weird around there as well, what, with all of the racist, closed minded sentiment that I hear all day. At about 2:30 a.m., we made our way back to the RV. We had a 6:30 a.m. call, and our numbers were going well over two hundred because the rest of the crew would be arriving, and rest was much needed.



A couple of new people had arrived the day before to "try-out" for a job, and also help out for the show. They both seemed alright at first, but as the first day progressed, I realized that one in particular was definitely not okay. As a matter of fact, he was an outright pig. Not only was he a pig, but he was a pig from Lodi, NJ. The worst pig of them all. Now I know that all the guys that I work with are, well, they're guys, but this guy took it to another level. Not only that, but he was super lazy and arrogant. Such awesome qualities, I say. Well, we got through it, and let's just say he won't come back. Either will two of the dishwashers that were there to help. Rodney, one of the local people that helped us out said that it was like the TV show Survivor, and I was the one that kicked them all off the island. Obviously I didn't fire them (not my job), but I didn't exactly hold back my opinion of them either. So be it.



One of the nights that we were here, Dan and I decided to go out to the Five Points area of Columbia. It's where all of the nightlife is for the city. We first went to a bar called Delaney's, which was an Irish Pub. It was alright, but we wanted to find something a little more lively, and perhaps someplace with some live music. Our friendly bartender suggested a couple of places that were off the beaten path, one being The Wig, and the other being Art Bar. Wow. Yet another Art Bar? It kind of makes you wonder how many Art Bars there are in the world, doesn't it? I would describe Art Bar in Columbia as a rock n roll bar that looks like it came off the set of 1984, mixed with an Indian restaurant on 6th Street in NYC. I only say that because there were an awful lot of Christmas lights strung up around the bar. Festive in an arty sort of way. We ordered our beer, chatted with the bartender a bit, when suddenly a guy from across the bar was waving at us. I had no clue as to why he was waving at me, but I waved back anyway. The bartender informed us that they were working for Kenny Chesney. As it turns out, they were part of Kenny's video crew, and they recognized me from catering. Jay and Josh are both from Nashville, and I believe Jay is the Director of the video crew. I think Josh is a camera operator. Nice guys. We chatted a bit, and then they went on their way. We exited shortly after.



Finally on Saturday, the show came about. It seemed as if we had been in Columbia for a month at that point, and we were all obviously sick of being there. The doors opened sometime around 2:00 p.m., and in rolled the 44,000 Kenny Chesney fans. There they all were, hootin' and hollerin', in their cowboy hats and boots. Occasionally I would go out to the backstage area to check out what was happening, and I of course was greatly amused. It was a sea of rednecks, all singing along to the songs, dirty dancing, and just generally causing a ruckus. Yes, a ruckus. Kenny hit the stage at about 9:00 or so. I didn't see the opening, but apparently what happens is that he comes up on a hydraulic lift from below the stage. It is a very dramatic entrance, according to Steve. Well, this time, something went wrong. Apparently Kenny's foot got caught between the lift and the actual stage, essentially crushing his foot. Amazingly, he played through the entire set, obviously in a large amount of pain. Of course everyone was thinking the worse, and as Dan and I had burgers and beers at Jaco's I started thinking about my contingency plan if the tour was cancelled. We waited until morning and as we were preparing breakfast, we got the word that all systems were go. Proceed to Austin as planned. Amazingly, Kenny didn't break a single bone in his foot or ankle. Clearly his cowboy boots saved his foot.



Sunday was our final day to feed people, and our numbers dropped from three hundred and fifty to seventy-five. Sunday was a cake walk. Actually, despite the fact that we had the moron from New Jersey, the whole week was a cake walk. I have to say that it's really been a pleasure to work with everybody on this crew, because they're all so professional and just want to get the job done. Not only that, but they do their jobs well. It's a far cry from my last year's experience working the music festivals. This time around I definitely am not seeing hippy girls smoking pot in the dry storage truck, and for this I am thankful.



Sunday night a plan was made with my new friend, Rodney to go out to Art Bar. It was his friend's birthday, and he invited me to join them at a place called Congaree Grill in the five points area of Columbia. It was a good group of people, I must say, and I ended up having a great time. The food at Congaree Grill left something to be desired, though. I had an appetizer by the name of seafood martini, which lead me to believe that it would be chilled, and somewhat like ceviche. Not true in the least bit. It actually was more like a hot crab dip, and it was served with Texas toast. It wasn't horrible, but it definitely wasn't what I expected. For my entrée, I had shrimp and grits, but with their shrimp and grits they douse it with some sort of a balsamic sauce. It was completely overwhelmed by the flavor of the balsamic, and frankly I couldn't even eat half of it. I guess I'm somewhat of a purist when it comes to food, and often object to dishes being altered. I do enjoy innovation with food, and creativity, but sometimes some things are just better left alone. Congaree Grill's shrimp and grits is a strong case for this. After dinner, we made our way to Art Bar for more cocktails. At one point, I made a call to the boys to coerce them into joining us. Nuge (Robert) and I spoke, and he said that they all would be joining us at the bar. Bob then called me, turned the tables on me, and suggested that we join them at a place called Flying Saucer instead. I'm thinking, of course, how the hell am I going to find the Flying Saucer. Well, as it turns out, the Flying Saucer is a mere one block away. Rodney offered to escort me there, so all was fine. We made our way over to find a very drunk catering crew. Bob, Nuge and Tom Cat were all wasted, which greatly amused me. I've seen Nuge and Tom put away a few, but I've never seen Bob drink more than a beer. After a beer and a shot, we finally talked the three of them into going back to Art Bar. We made our way back to supposedly wrap up the evening, but no, there was more fun to be had. Rodney lead us to more than likely the one and only gay club in Columbia. I have to say that at this point the evening was rather blurry, but I do know that we made our way to the IHOP after that. All in all, it was an action packed evening in Columbia, SC.



Next stop, Austin, Texas.

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Monday, April 21, 2008


CT to SC
Current mood: tired

A flood of memories from a tour that I did with a little indie band back in 1996 was brought back today. We jumped in a van and had no troubles at all, the whole entire five weeks that we were on the road. Our final show was in Sioux City, Iowa. We started out, and made it as far as Colorado, when our windshield suddenly was struck by a rock, which created this huge spider web of a crack, which was pretty much threatening to implode the further that we drove. It was Sunday at about 5:00 in the morning, and had to wait until we could find a service station that could help us with our situation. We found one, but of course they didn't have a windshield. Why would they? They did have a "cousin" down the road that might be able to help us, though. We waited for said "cousin". They finally arrived, and brought us down this back road to yet another service station. We followed back woods, said cousin to their service station, somewhere in Colorado. They finally got the appropriate windshield, and were about to install it, when they decided that it would be a good idea if we moved our van so they could move a truck out of the garage. We moved the van – not a problem. They moved the truck – big problem. They actually ran over the brand new windshield! This, as you might guess, was not a good thing. We were so frustrated that we had them put the windshield in (half-assed, I might add), and then we reinforced it with duct tape. We drove away from Colorado, and made it back in LA a day and a half later, with a nicely cracked windshield, and one roll lighter on the duct tape supply.

I think of this incident, only because of what happened today (well, yesterday, now.). There we were, cruising down I-81, when suddenly it appeared as if Joe (the driver) was pulling off the road. He stops (thankfully) every once in a while, so nobody really even thought about it in the least, but as soon as he pulled over, he came back around to our trailer and announced that he had a blowout! Uh, really? Out of curiosity, a couple of us piled out of our trailer, into the parking lot of yet another Flying J, to find that the rear tire of the rear trailer had completely disengaged from the rotor, and was nowhere to be found. That's funny. It was there a few minutes ago. Joe noticed a "tire repair center" at the other side of the parking lot and pulled the rig over to the facilities. Seeing as I know nothing about putting tires onto trailers, I decided to go and have a bite to eat with Dan instead. Wise choice.

When we returned, we were informed that the something fell off the something something, and there would have to be another something put on in its place. Okay, let's do that. Well, the problem was that even though it was a "tire repair center", there was nobody there to actually replace that certain something something. Well, that's awfully convenient, isn't it? The guy did step forward and offer to call another guy in town that may have been able to help, but only after Joe ripped into him and his garage for a couple of minutes. Okay, bring the alternate guy. The guy showed up, and he was awfully nice, although I couldn't understand a word that he said. Those rural Southern accents do get me sometimes, but I digress. The only problem was that he didn't have the right size part, and seeing as it is Sunday in rural Virginia, there would be nowhere to get said part. Oh, wait. That might not be true. He says, "There is a woman that I can call that has a parts store with her husband." He tried calling her, but to no avail. He tried and tried, and then finally he was able to reach her, "What? You're in Roanoke at a funeral?" All was not lost, though. She said that her Father (or maybe it was her cousin) would be able to let him in to the store to get the parts. Perfect. Let's do that. Further incentive was thrown in when we told him that we could get him some Kenny Chesney tickets. You should have seen that guy run. I guess he likes his music. Or maybe just his cousin does. Maybe they both do. I don't know. All I do know is that it definitely it put a spark in his step when he found out that he would be able to get a couple of KC tickets for his trouble. And to think, I didn't even know who KC was until I got offered this job.

He came back, fixed the tire in mere minutes, and off we went into the sunset. We have now arrived in Columbia, SC. The trucks are unloaded, the dining area is set up for breakfast, and I'm back in my bunk ready for my 5:30 a.m. wake up.

More tales to tell.

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Sunday, April 20, 2008


Connecticut to South Carolina
Current mood: excited

I have been sleeping in a truck in a parking garage. It was parked outside of the loading dock for the Mohegan Sun Arena. We worked backstage in the kitchen, but for the most part, will be working in a kitchen that is in a trailer that is pulled behind our house. The quarters are small, and I sleep in a bunk about the size of a very large, rectangular surf board. Tis small, indeed. As a matter of fact, I am in it right now. We just left Mohegan Sun, and are headed South to Columbia, SC.



My roommates. Ha! What a funny bunch. Let's start with the kitchen. Bob is the chef. He makes the menus, he runs the kitchen. He's more or less in charge, but doesn't act like your typical chef. He's actually quite laid back, and has a pretty good sense of humor. I like him. He's from Vermont originally, and acts as such. In a nutshell, Bob is quirky, yet laid back, plus he can cook! It's never anything fancy, but damnit, it all tastes good. He also lives on a steady diet of sugar, coffee and every single caffeinated beverage under the sun, and his hands seem to be constantly shaking. Mountain Dew seems to be a steady favorite. Then there's Jeff. He's second in command. The Sous Chef, if you will. He and Bob have worked together for years, and you can tell immediately upon seeing them together. They're a very well oiled machine. Jeff is a good natured, thirty-something, originally from Louisville, KY. Jeff is hilarious, and his red hair and freckles just make him that much more funny, in a very endearing sort of way. He is a pig, though, but most men who work in kitchens are, now that I think of it. He makes no attempt to hide it, either. He loves the "C" word like no one I know. He's lewd and crude, but in a very harmless way. I see the truth, though. Next, is Dan. Dan is our salad guy. He's originally from Portland, and has that sort of Portland slacker way about him. At first I wasn't 100% sold on him, but he certainly has grown on me. I sense that he will become a good friend in the end.



After the kitchen staff, we have the front of house staff, or dining room staff, if you will. First, there's Steve. He's the owner's Nephew. He's very young, but really a great guy, and for the most part, quite mature for his age. Twenty-one? He won't be doing the entire tour with us, which is a shame, but I think he wants to go to school, so all the best to him. There's another guy by the name of Robert. Robert is from North Carolina, somewhere about an hour south of Raleigh-Durham. He's a country kid, through and through. I really enjoy Robert's company, but I'm not so sure he's going to make it on this tour, or on any tour, for that matter. I hope he surprises me by pulling through the whole thing. I watch him as he slinks from dining room to kitchen (and I do mean slink), and sometimes he looks absolutely miserable. Poor guy. And just for the record, I'm not being sarcastic with that comment. That might change, though, as my patience for moping often wears thin rather quickly. Also in the dining room is Tom, AKA Tom Cat. He's a forty something year old guy from Detroit. He's been doing the road thing since 1990. Well then. I guess that is eighteen years. Woah hey. It shows in that burned out road guy way (if you know what I mean), but I like him. He seems to enjoy life, and he's a very hard worker. What more could you ask for?



Those are my "truck mates". Now for the additional cast of characters. The non-roommates, if you will. First, there is Sue. She's the co-owner, along with her "husband", Mark. Sue is nearing sixty, and spent a good portion of her life working on boats. She started doing the backstage catering thing with Mark, because he had experience in the music industry in the security arena, and also in merchandising. People he has worked for have included Aerosmith, Michael Jackson, and many others equally as big. Oh, and speaking of big, Mark is huge, hence him having worked in the security sector. He's essentially a big, burly biker with an acerbic wit, paired with a tremendous ego. Interesting combo, I must say, but I also get the impression that he really looks out for his employees, and truly appreciates them. Sue appreciates her employees as well, but she's somewhat neurotic about everything pertaining to her business. I suppose I would be too, so I try to put myself in her shoes. Bob and Jeff do a lot of eye rolling when it comes to her. Now, a few words about Joe. Joe is our driver. He drives our "house" which is essentially a truck that's made into an RV, plus an additional trailer, which is our kitchen. He's another one from the country of North Carolina, but a little more seasoned. He has his "baby girl" back at home, but he'll pick up another temporary "baby girl" anywhere along the way. Joe is a laugh riot, to say the least. He has the Southern charm, yet you know that he's a bad boy through and through. I trust him, though, and like him quite a bit. He's, how shall we say, a character. His motto at the bar is "a vodka every seven minutes and beer every three". It's a life.





We'll probably be in South Carolina in about another six hours, and will be there for about five days. First we feed the steel guys (the guys that build the stages) for the first three days, then the production crew and artists. After that, Austin! Right now we're somewhere in Pennsylvania. It's raining, and gray and gloomy. Everything is green with lots of pink blooming trees dotting the landscape. The hills are rolling, which leads me to believe that we'll be in West Virginia soon. We just made a pit-stop at a Flying J and it's about 8:30 in the morning. Everybody else went back to sleep, but I chose to stay up, as I'm guessing that it will be difficult to find time for myself. Carpe diem, as it were. More later.

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Sunday, April 13, 2008


A Second Chance
Current mood: awake

I had the opportunity last night to say goodbye to a few people last night at The Second Chance Saloon, and quite frankly, I had an awesome time. For those who were there, thanks for coming out! For those who weren't, I'll miss you, and will look forward to seeing you when I come back.

The weather was warm enough so we could sit outside in the back patio area. Considering it's a new bar, they don't quite have the seating thing arranged, but all worked out when I spotted some empty kegs in the corner. Linda grabbed a table that had been tossed to the side, and with the help of others, seating and a table was available. How nice. Kegs aren't the most comfortable thing to sit on, I'll have you know, but it would have to do in a pinch.

It's sort of funny who actually showed up, last night, because some of these people I haven't seen in well over three months, and probably up to six months. Evan and Scott were even there! Evan, Scott and I played music together several years back. It was one of those Craig's List arrangements, which, believe it or not, sometimes can pan out. Eventually, and unfortunately, Scott decided that he was tired of playing drums, and really wanted to play guitar. Don't they all? Sigh. That's when Jeff entered the picture to play drums with us. Evan and I went through three drummers over the course of a year, played only one show, and really never had a band name. How's that for initiative? The one show that we did play, we went under the name of "In-bounds to Bird", and we played at Otto's Shrunken Head. I know. Silly, but there was somewhat of an inside joke to the band name. It stemmed from a long winded, introductory voice mail message from Scott when he first responded to our ad. It might be a silly name, but I've heard far worse names. Anyway, it was great seeing Evan and Scott. We even went to Linda's house afterwards to have an Inbounds to Bird disco party!

At about three in the morning, I received a call from Gordon, my downstairs neighbor. Gordon is a percussionist, and plays with a lot of Afrobeat bands in town and all over the country. I met Gordon last Summer up on the roof, and he continued to be the only person that I ever saw up there. I guess the only reason that that is the case is because we're the only people up at that sort of hour. Either that, or nobody goes up to the roof, but I highly doubt that. I immediately liked Gordon, because he is just that sort of guy who lives life to the fullest, and by his rules, but would do anything for his friends. That and he has a wickedly awesome sense of humor. Well, Gordon came over to Linda's, and once the sun had risen, and we deemed it safe to leave, we took a car back to our abode on Belvidere. But first we had to make a quick stop at, you guessed it, the taco shop! Awesome! La Paisa was open and ready to serve us some early morning tacos! We took our lovely little taco packages back to, you guessed it again, the roof of our building. The perfect way to end a really great night.

Now, to move the rest of my stuff. But before I go, here are some pictures! Enjoy.



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Friday, April 11, 2008


I’ve Been to the Roof
Current mood: contemplative

The weather is finally warmish, and I've actually made it up to the rooftop, one of my favorite places to hang both by myself, and with friends. It's really not much of a rooftop. Five stories up, and there it is. Ta da! There's not even really much of a view. I suppose you can see a little of Manhattan, but it's not exactly a clear shot. You do get a lovely view of the hospital down the street, though - a place I often refer to as "The Death Star". You also get to watch the "J" train coming into and going away from the Broadway-Myrtle stop. That's always exciting? That, and watching the planes decend into LaGuardia. The flight path is right over my building, and quite frankly I love watching them come in. I'm not quite sure why I like watching planes fly over my house so much. I guess it just is what it is.

Here it is, four days before I leave my rooftop, and NYC in general. I still have things to pack, but not much. Once my clothes are packed up, that only leaves my records. I'd much rather watch the planes land.

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Tuesday, April 08, 2008


Chicken (I Think) In Aspic?
Current mood: hungry
Category: Food and Restaurants

Here it is. Chicken in Aspic. Everyone’s Russian favorite.

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Monday, April 07, 2008


Is This How Russian Nobility Ate?
Current mood: enlightened

The instructions were called out for Linda’s birthday celebration. Meet at Linda’s house at 6:30, and we’ll take a train down there. Dress up. So, my roommate Phil and I went out into the evening, donning our evening attire to wait for our car service to pick us up. Seeing as it was broad daylight out still, I felt rather conspicuous standing on the corner wearing a dress with sequins, fishnets and high-heels. Don’t get me wrong. I love to dress up, and all, but the corner that we live in isn’t a dressed up kind of locale. Plus, whenever I wear spikey high-heels I hardly feel glamorous, but rather more like a Weeble-wobble; thus enhancing my notion that we stood out like a Christmas tree in July. Our car arrived, and we made our way over to Linda and Jon’s place. We got out, and instead of taking the train, the decision had been made to take another car service down to Brighton Beach. For this, I was grateful.

We arrived at our destination to find Greg waiting for us at a very long table that had already been covered with Russian delicacies. Delicacies? To each their own, I suppose. There were many "meat-like" substances, most of them garnished with canned pineapple rings and black olives, and randomly scattered diced red pepper. There strangly was eel that was prepared in a somewhat Japanese way, but the dish that brought the most attention was the chicken in aspic terrine. Very interesting. Very dated, but actually, in comparison to everything else, it tasted okay - especially if you put enough horseradish on it. There was gefelte fish, and pickled herring and smoked salmon and sturgeon. All of this usually is fine, but for some reason it left something to be desired tonight. I don’t think it was the dishes themselves, but more the quality of what was served. Oh well. As the evening progressed, they kept on bring out more and more food, none of it prepared very well, but in massive quantities. In the end, I would venture to guess that perhaps this is why the Russian people, generally speaking, appear to be unhappy. It’s no wonder. Their food is terrible.

The evening’s entertainment made their way up onto the stage. It consisted of two quintisentially Russian women, one of whom looked like a Mandrell sister if she were Russian, if you can imagine. The rest of the band consisted of two men (also quintissential Russians), one of which played some percussion, and the other played keyboards. They played many supposedly Russian standards (I’m not too hip to the Russian music scene, I’ll have you know), that all had that Casio pre-programmed feel to them. They even threw in some American classics, mostly of the top 40 ilk. We all made our way out to the dance floor to shake our booties to the Russian hits along with a crowd of Russians and Georgians of a median age of fifty, I would say. The exception was a long table of fifteen or so Georgian twenty somethings, clearly there to celebrate a birthday. We noticed that the vodka flowed effortlessly at their table. We, on the other hand, being novices to the straight vodka drinking, we took our time in consuming our complimentary bottle of Russian vodka. By the time the end of the evening neared (about 2:30, or so) the vast majority of the neighboring table was incredibly inebriated, some of them nearly falling down. The ties were off, the shirts were untucked, and they were ready to cause trouble. A drunken handful of this group decided to strike up a "conversation" with our table. As it turns out, they were definitely from Georgia, and it was somebody’s twenty-fifth birthday. One started leaning on Phil and Linda, and I was pretty sure he was going to throw up. This, thankfully, did not happen. I also at one point thought that he was going to crash into our table. This also did not happen. The funniest part was when they decided that we were all from Mexico, and then one of the guys suddenly said (in heavy Georgian accent) "I will say something in Spanish for you now." And then he quickly said something in Georgian, to which we all were roaring with laughter.

We finally decided that it was high time to catch a car back to the North side, and what a debacle this turned out to be. I approached the coat check person to see if he could call a car for us. Suddenly it was time for "Let’s Make a Deal", Russian style. A car was already waiting out front, but it was merely a sedan. What I hadn’t made clear was that we need something for seven people. A sedan would have been far too small. The car driver says (in heavy Russian accent) "No problem. I fit seven people in car." Uh, no thank you. I’m not really into clown cars so much these days. Lenoir procured a telephone number for a car service, and found out that they were around the corner. We waited and waited, but clearly in Brighton Beach, five minutes means thirty. So, Lenoir and I decided to be proactive and check in with the car service around the corner. "Oh yes, a mini-van is on its way." To which I reply, "How much is that going to be?" "Sixty-five dollars." Clearly, extortion is popular in Brighton Beach. We talked him down to $55.00, which was still $20.00 more than what we paid to get down there. Unbelievable, to say the least, but what are you going to do?

We made our way back to the North side for a nightcap, but at this point everyone was tired, and I think just wanted to go home. All, except Linda, so since it was her birthday, Lenoir and I shook off the tired feeling, and went out for one last cocktail...

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