A Couple Fall Holidays and a Trip to New York and Back

Fall came and went in the village of Raleigh, and here we are at the end of December. New Year’s Eve is a mere day away, and honestly I would not have known that if it weren't for the houses throughout the city that are still adorned with Christmas lights, and their accompanying Santa Clauses and reindeer, and other fancy, sparkly things. Every time I hear someone say Merry Christmas, or happy holidays, or happy New Year, I expect to be surrounded by an Arctic chill and perhaps even see some snow on the ground. What I’ve experienced instead were 65° temperatures and running about town with bare legs and short sleeves. Honestly, it’s throwing me off, but I’m making a concerted effort to embrace it.

I have ninety-five percent of my stuff here with me in Raleigh. I finally made the pilgrimage up to New York, and what an adventure that was. I finally made my way out of Raleigh at about 3:30 p.m. on a Friday afternoon. There was a slight chill in the air, but the sun was out in full force. I picked up the van with my friend, and then of course realized as I was about to get on the beltline that I left a bag in my friend's car. Nothing can ever be that simple, can it? I was only a few blocks from my house, and he was kind enough to cruise by the abode so I could have my things along side me for the ride. It's the little things, don’tcha know.

I have yet to figure out the inner/outer beltline concept. Of course, I entered the beltline going in the wrong direction. After wasting twenty extra minutes getting to Interstate 40, I finally was on my way. A smooth ride I had all the way up. No traffic at all, because of course, I was traveling at night. No real stops were made, except for my one stop in Virginia to get gas. I pulled into the gas station to find not one, not two, but about fifteen cats roaming around the gas station off of Interstate 95, some eighty miles outside of D.C. I stepped out of the van, and it was cold, I mean really cold, and windy, and all I could hear was the hum of someone’s engine and cats crying out, “meow, meow, meow”. I couldn’t resist but to pet a couple of the cats (actually I was tempted to take them with me, but that’s a different story) and they proceeded to follow me about the gas station. It was somewhat surreal and sort of made me think of Twin Peaks. I’m not sure why. It just did. I turned a blind eye and pulled out of the gas station with a full tank of gas, and made my way closer to the city.

I finally made it into the city at about 2:00 a.m. My friend Dave (who I was staying with) was at the bar already/still, so I drove around the city streets of the lower east side to find that perfect parking spot so I could meet him for a few hours of late night drinking. If you are familiar with New York City at all, there is no such thing as a perfect parking spot -- at least in Manhattan. I finally settled on a spot on 6th St., right on the FDR, fully expecting that the van would be tagged in the morning. No such thing happened, but I did get a sixty-five dollar parking ticket, so I guess I was tagged in one sense of the word. So be it. Life goes on.

I made my way down the windy and well chilled streets of the LES to meet Dave at what is now called Rehab. It used to be called Midway, and at one time had more of a rock ‘n roll feel to it. Now it has that cocaine fueled, bridge and tunnel feel to it, and they seemed to be playing an awful lot of hip-hop. The last time that I was there, you’d be more apt to hear something like The New York Dolls, or Joy Division, but not this night. I felt out of place, and somewhat crazy from my nine hour drive, so I made the request to make our way down to Manitoba’s. To Manitoba’s we went. Home sweet home.

Manitoba’s, as you may or may not know, is a little dive bar on Avenue B, between 6th and 7th Streets. It’s owned by Handsome Dick of the Dictators fame, and has a really decent juke box. It’s somewhat of a hole, but I like it quite a bit. It’s basically a relaxed, punk rock dive bar that pours decent drinks and doesn’t have a lot of attitude. Plus, Kevin, one of the bartenders, is a great guy, and very entertaining.

Dave and I had every intention to have one drink and then go to his apartment to drop off my stuff so we could carry on with our late night drinking plan, unencumbered by my multitude of bags. As luck should have it, though, two bar stools opened up, so we just set the bags down and skipped the trip back to his house. Smart move, if I do say so myself. It was cold out there, and windy ta boot! We drank our shots, and then some beer, and then some more shots, etc., until Kevin finally had us leave at the conservative hour of 5:30 a.m. Ah, New York. We made our way back to the corner bodega on 10th and B to procure some sandwiches, soup and more beer - yes, that’s how we roll – and roll we did, back to Senor Dave’s house to eat half a sandwich, spill some soup, drink a quarter of a beer, listen to two Effigies songs and then pass out. It’s a glamorous life, indeed.

To be continued.