Somewhat Embarrassing Story...

I went to do my usual karaoke thing last night and many nights I sing whatever I want regardless whether people like the song or not. Sometimes I move around and get into the song and sometimes I get a little shy and just kinda sing. But one thing I never do is shy away from is the actual singing. Even if my voice is rough, shot or totally out of sync with the song, I put in the effort as best as I can. I'm nbot shy about my singing one bit.


That wasn't always the case. I was reminded of a time before I went to art school when I pooped out on a singing effort. Now, I've always wanted to be a rock star but to this day I still can't play an instrument. I had sang in my school in plays back when I was in 7th grade but never made any effort to form or weasel my way into a band. Several people in my grade had formed bands but in not being able to play an instrument I never felt I had any right to be in a band.

A friend from the neighborhood had gotten together with his friend to put together a band and they needed a vocalist for a demo. His friend had some pretty good equipment for 1985 and wanted me to sing the song Electric Co. by U2. Although I was a fan of u2, I didn't know the song and I needed a crash course on it before I could sing it. I had the lyrics in front of me but I had struggled with singing it.

My frustration was apparent and my enthusiasm waned because I put myself out there for others to evaluate and felt I wasn't any good. I gave up any idea of helping them out further but in actuality I was moving to New York and the two of them were still in high school. I'm not sure if I had made a more valiant effort anything would have come out of it. but I pretty much gave up singing anywhere in public until 2001 when I finally discovered karaoke as an activity I enjoy. It serves to sate my appetite for performing without having to deal without worrying about preparation.

Years later I realized my problem with the song had more to do with it being out of my vocal range, It had awkward phrasing and I needed to make adjustments to make it work. I was too impatient and embarrassed to make a newer effort.


Still, I wonder what if I had pushed myself more, maybe at least I would have memories of once being in a band. Who knows I might have attracted a future wife.

1991 is still rolling.....

Sept 8, 1991

Woof! All of a sudden, I feel inadequete. I didn't do much at all today. I just continue to buy trinkets at various places. I went to Pioneer Square in a futile attempt at hoping the girl I met Thursday was there. I need a pillow! I need a job! I need a hug! I need someone. I called my parents and wrote two postcards. Other than that I just walked around. I walked from the Broadway District all the way up to the University District. When I got there, I just went back and forth to no avail. I'm bored. I've got to get a phone and get it soon!!!! Dammit!!!

Limbo Day-1991

Sept 5, 1991

Limbo day! I couldn't figure out what to do so I just wandered aimlessly until I hit a store in Pioneer Square area. I was yakking away with this cute chubby chick in a cartoon prop shop (2011-It was a place that sold animation cels and related merchandise) She'sll be heading to Olympia in a few weeks and there may be a possibility of a job there. We talked for at least an hour (business was slow) and man I simply wanted to do her. No way around it, I wanted to do her bad. Some people might think I have no scruples but hey! I'm thinking with my OTHER head. I'll probably visit the store again while she's still there and maybe I could get somewhere with her (2011-nope) Damn I'm a dog, lately.















2011- A good example of bad writing that I edited a little and still it comes across as crass. There was a lot of fear and anger in what I wrote back then. Plus I was desperate to make some sort of friendship with people a problem I still have today. People are friendly in Seattle when you first meet them but are harder to get to be good friends with after initial contact. I could have used a facebook like place to engage people. Heck, In 1991, I didn't have a computer, Heck, I had barely even used a desktop computer. The internet was somewhat nonexistent back then too. And I had no phone, cell or otherwise. This forced me to interact face to face. Lucky the days were very nice then, the only day of rain on my trip at that point was when I went to Lollapalooza.

Setting The Wheels in Motion....

Sept 4, 1991

OK, these days are more momentous and filled with more obstacles than I thought. The Catch -22 situation is around me. I'm simultaneously looking for an apartment, a job and a bank transfer. I didn't make any progress in any of these situations but I did end up in the library and made progress there in noting publications in the Seattle area. Yay.

The guy who helped me out was as cool as was the woman at the bank. Both were transplants. I called Mom but got Dad instead, oh well. I have to call my friend to let him know I gave his name for local reference on the apartment that I settled on. I don't know what my next move will be if I don't get accepted. I don't know if I can burden my friend. I need to get a phone number to be reached at so I might buy a phone answering machine so I can keep track of the messages. (2011-It seems like a lot of my problems back then would have been cured by the internet and cell phones) I haven't seen brooke today so I'm kinda down.


2011- I don't recall having spent this much time pining over this woman "Brooke" back in the day. I thought by the time I was away from the hostel we went our separate ways. I'd like to think I'm passed that stage in my life but I just don't write it down. I still have the habit of obsessing a bit over the last woman I either dated or had intimate contact with but I keep it to myself in my head I'm not sure it's better.












There's a joke here somewhere but I never worked this one out. I think I may be able to be able to refine it to 21st Century audiences.

P.S. - I appreciate the feedback I have been getting on this, I know it's a little weird and very self-indulgent but I'm finding it is helping me get out of the blahs a little bit.

Blah Blah Blah...1991....Blah Blah Blah

Sept 3, 1991.

I did some more apartment hunting that had less results than yesterday. I was only able to contact one of the landlords and the neighborhood was so bad (2011-not true) and so far east (2011-true) that I didn't even bother checking it out. The others were "filled" when I called. (I did see some repeats so it might be true) I called on the place that I liked the best yesterday and well, I'm beginning to think I might not get the apartment. (2011- I didn't but the same one that was on the first floor WAS available)

I'm in the mood to work. I'm starting to get antsy and uptight (2011-Not having a job would have caused multiple problems in my apartment hunting in New Jersey) I'm in a Catch-22 situation. I'm not running out of money yet but I'm starting to feel the pinch. I went back to the "Y" for a few days. (You were only allowed a limited time to stay at the hostel) I did head to the hostel where I talked to this woman, diamond (2011-!!) for about 90 minutes.

I met many "positive" people and well it put me in a temporary state of euphoria. I did run into Brooke and yes I believe I have a crush on her. She's staying on Vashon Island for a few days. I called my friend Sean and we had a VERY good conversation. It went well. I think I'll call mom tomorrow.

Bowling Observation.

So my new Jersey City buddies had been craving a bowling outing for a few months. Suggestions of where to go was thrown out. I was gonna offer the Union bowling alley walking distance from where I live but it was too rundown without that desirable rundown charm. Other places were thrown around but it seemed like a forgotten topic until last week. That's when we finally arranged to get together to go bowling.

Now, I like bowling. I don't do it too much mainly because it's not a great activity to do by yourself and I'm never good at getting people together. Now, I'm not that good at bowling but I'm not pathetic at it. If I had to guess my average, It would fall in the 117-119 range. My highest score ever was 198 and I do my best to make sure I bowl at least 100 or failing that not to be in last place. It's getting hard to go bowling these days. Many places continue to close, especially in the Seattle area. However, Some new ones crop up with that modern "spirit" to entice people to come into a place they think is uncool. However, I have some gripes about what they consider an improvement in the bowling experience. It's the same ideas that seems to plague other public gathering spaces. The idea that you need to add loud music, video screens covering all wall space and of course, "gourmet" food.

Consider, Chelsea Piers. When I lived in NYC back in the late 80s it was an underused cargo ship port. A bit of creative urban renewal came into effect in the 90s that created what is now the Chelsea Piers Sports & Entertainment Complex. It includes studios where all the New York set Law and Orders were shot. It also features ice rinks, health clubs, dance studios and an impressive bowling alley called the 300. It's very attractive place with a mostly unused night club hovering over all the action, An impressive selection of video games, and video screens all over the place. And therein lies the problem.

You see the bowling alley at Chelsea Piers is dark with light mostly illuminated by the video screens all over the place. Some of the screens behind the alleys were useful in posting the score and screening little computer animations related to the actions on the lanes. Nothing new, That's been around since the late 80s. Most bowling alleys are dark but have well lit lanes. Chelsea Piers on the other has dark alleys with day glow stripes on the pins and lanes. Not enough to make for good bowling strategy. Then there are the TV screens at the far end of the lane where the pins are located. The whole wall was splattered with either images of the NCAA tournament or videos of today's music that may or may not have been put there by customers on s jukebox I didn't see.

Either way it was a very distracting thing to contend with. It was so loud, You COULDN'T hear the pins drop. Not that it was an excuse for my sub par scores of 117, 119, and (gasp) 87! But I hate going to places where I'm NOT there to hear music and be bombarded with music that I can't even stand. Ugh. Though they did make me aware of a great new Cake song "Sick of You". Nice to see a band in their 40s do a great song.

Another thing about the place that bummed me out a little was the cost of things. Okay, I get it, A bowling alley is like a movie theater and a sports ballpark in that the real money is made on concessions, so I expect that the food and beer is gonna be a bit expensive. However there is this new meme that says that one must make the food an "experience" instead of just something to eat even in places where you're there to do something else.

Looking up the menu, I was looking for something I wanted that was snack but filling. I spotted a menu item for three kinds of chips for $8.50. I got three tiny soup cups with potato chips, french fires, or Pomme Frites if you're pretentious and the latest trend in fried foods, sweet potato chips. Yeah, I was still hungry after the three seconds it took for me to eat it. And if you're gonna charge an arm and a leg for beer and bombard us with loud auto-tune infused music can you at least have s good selection of beer? Sam Adams is good, But as the only alternative to Coors products makes it a let down. Oh well.

Still, I had fun, the bowling balls were great and the shoes were newish but it doesn't make for a proper bowling experience to not be able to see the lanes and the pins properly. I don't need the visual distractions of bad music and sporting events I have no interest in.

Consider The Humble Milkcrate....

Ah, College, or at least art school. They were some of the best years of my life that's for sure. It was my time away from my parents in one of the greatest cities in the world, New York. It was the late 80s (pity, that) and the city still had its edge. IT was very expensive but reachable if you were clever or lucky.

Now, During my four years at SVA I lived in the dorms. Truthfully it was at the YMCA in Sloane House. We had two and a half floors to ourselves. The rest of the floors were occupied by tourists, old people and other schools.

Now we all had our own rooms but they were tiny. We also shared a studio with a fellow student. The rooms because of its size were sparsely furnished with a mustard yellow wardrobe, a metal cot-like bed with the same mustard yellow headboard. The rooms definitely didn't leave room enough to practice any decent interior design skills. So you had to work around the limitations. And one of the best pieces of equipment to setting up your room to a more livable space was the milk crate.
















Not just any milk crate mind you but the kind of milk crates that were common place in the 80s. They were made of polyethylene plastic and measured 13"W x 19"L x 11"H. The ones that measured 13"W x 13"L x 11"H were good but nothing beat the bigger one. They were used primarily to carry jugs of milk but were so versatile they came to have so many other uses.














It was the perfect size to carry vinyl records. And when you stacked them one on top of the other, Eureka! Instant shelving space gets created. Of course you can stack the milk cartons in any fashion to hole other items of interest. They were steady enough to stack vertically three high and horizontally at least 6 crates high. You can lay them flat and store things in them and slide under your bed, out of sight for quick access.















They were good to sit on when you ran out of chairs. They made for ideal ottomans when you didn't. Heck, You can use one milk crate vertically for a chair and the other one horizontally for an ottoman. You can place a wooden plank on top of four strategically place milk crates and voila! You're no longer a bum sleeping on a mattress on the floor! Heck you can practically furnish a whole room with milk crates!















If you were fortunate, You might be able to color coordinate the crates to make the room attractive. When you moved it was easy to move your things around because they were already "packed" in its own box. Easily stacked in a car and van to take on to your next destination.

So, Where does one get milk crates? Well, You can buy them in some of the cheap department stores, But beware, They are more likely to be flimsy knock offs of the real thing. And the real thing? Where do you find these wonderful crates?

Wherever you can.















You see, For many years even before milk crates were plastic, It was a found object. Sometimes discarded, Sometimes stolen, Sometimes given. But the hunt was always the pleasure. I lived in New York City so they were sometimes easy to find. They were in dumpsters, Outside of closed stores, Sometimes in the middle of the street and maybe in a subway station. If I saw one unbroken and it was relatively clean, It was mine!


















Early on it took awhile to get them. I got one quickly but it took forever to get the second one. I dreamed of hitting the mother lode and I finally did! Well into my second year when I moved into a bigger room, I was able to get a dozen. It's where I put most of my clothes, my comic book collection and of course the remainder of my vinyl albums I had. I used it to hold my sketchbooks and lent it to a friend who used it to dry his animation cels one weekend.

Possessing milk crates was not without risk. It was against the law for regular folk to possess them. Even if you just found them. The missing crates were costing the companies money and they tried to find ways to get them back. They always talked about law enforcement in getting them back but it didn't amount to much more than bluster.

Anyway, I kept many of my crates for many years though I got rid of them as I bought real furniture over the years. However, I still get a slight twinge of excitement if I come across a discarded perfectly usable crate. I'm still a hunter of found objects, particularly furniture that you won't find in a store. The hunt and the finds still excite me.

Please Let Her Be Older Than 23!

I've finally taking more aggressive approaches to meeting new people. I am single and I want to meet women that will be more than a one night stand. I don't want to do the match.com or other dating sites for two reasons.

One, They tend to set you up with people of the same age or close or that's who seeks you out. I know it sounds shallow but I want to hook up with females between the ages of 28-35. I've never been married and I carry no baggage in starting up a relationship but I expect the same in who I date. I can handle a divorced woman with no kids if she's not dependent or depending an ex husband. I do want a kid of my own by someone who's old enough to be established in her career but not too old to safely bare children.

The second reason is I don't want to have the "oooooeeeesh" moment where you arrive to meet your hookup and you don't like what you see or she don't like what she sees. Or the moment after accepting your appearances when one of you makes a "deal breaker" moment that means it's time to move on.

So, I found a solution in which I meet up with groups of people and maybe develop new friendships with people who share some of my varied interests.

Meetup.com is a site that allows you to seek out groups of people to engage in things you like to do in your area. Union, New Jersey while a nice town is not an ideal locale for a single man. however, I'm close to Montclair, Jersey City and Hoboken.


The first group I joined was a board game group that has Jersey City gatherings in which you can drink beer while playing popular board games or less popular games. The gathering is about 20 strong filled with a diverse group of people. If you go there to meet men and women to hook up and you find none to your liking, so what? You now have new contacts and some good clean fun on a Saturday evening. These events aren't as regular as I'd like them to be, But it does take me back to when I used to play board games with my ex fiancee in my Seattle days. If only I didn't have to get up at four the next morning.


The second group I joined is a life drawing session where I go to Hoboken to draw from a live model. This brings me back to my SVA days where we used to do this on a weekly basis. The only difference there is a hell of lot more tattoos(ugh) and piercings on the models today. I like getting back to real drawing but man am I tight! I haven't done any sketches that satisfy me. I make the same mistakes I always make and still have a hard time with hands and feet. Still it's great to be doing this. The people in this group are artists mostly, Looking to show off their work in shows or publications. This helps me to get better at my own craft. For ten bucks for three hours of this is a great deal.


As far as hookups...Well, there are women there but none I felt any chemistry with until last night. Funny enough it was she who started to talk to me. A sweet young woman who made me feel comfortable. As is usually the case I fell for her right off the bat and flustered my way in trying to be cool. I kept it friendly hoping that she will be a regular participant and I can build it up from there. Now most of our conversation was how great it was to be drawing again after not doing it for so long.

So here's the thing. My idea of a long time is 15 years, I'm a fearing her idea of a long time may be three years. She's going to school but had gone to a previous school and graduated. So I'm guessing by her appearance and her history she might be 25 years old. Or she can be as old as 28 but I'm afraid she might be a young as 23.

Now I have nothing against 23 year olds. Obviously. But I'm getting too old to date someone that young. I felt that way when I dated someone that age nearly 7 years ago and that relationship was a disaster. Anyway I might have pushed her away when I said I lived in Seattle for 14 years and SHE probably did the math and realized I was at least in my late 30's.

If only... I'm 43 now.

Anyway, Tuesdays are back to being a great night for me again. It's the only night I get to hang out because I have Wednesdays off. I do the life drawing class from 7-10 in Hoboken and head to Jersey City to do some Karaoke, where I'm starting to feel comfortable in a place called O'Connels. Now I don't have to go way down to Long Branch to have to do my Tuesday karaoke.


Now if I can find something to do on Monday nights.

Ten Years Ago...

I remember vividly the day that JFK Jr died. No, I wouldn't give two thoughts about him otherwise but I remember the day because that was the day I had my ill-fated engagement party with my fiance.

I was in a relationship with a woman that was about to enter its sixth year. I had made the decision that it was time for us to get married. She waited too long for me to do the right thing and I was in my most financially secure at this point in our relationship. The time was now.

I proposed to her on Mt. Rainier and yes she accepted. I was relieved. It was late May 1999 and we had plans to get married in August of 2000. We were in our 30s and it made sense to start a family. I'm old fashioned enough to think marriage comes before kids. Not necessarily 9+ months before kids. Just before the kids.

We decided to have a party to celebrate our commitment to each other. We set a date in July and invited our friends to a party at our house in Federal Way. It was to be on a Sunday. This made it possible to have my co-workers at Billy McHales restaurant to attend since Sunday is a slow day. All was going according to plan but my fiance's co-worker Matt, a person I have mentioned in a previous blog entry, decided that Sunday wasn't good for him, and we had to scramble and re-invite everyone to come on Saturday. We gained Matt but lost everyone I had invited from work because Saturday was the busiest day of our week. I had to beg for the day off of work.So we had a net loss of about 6 of my friends.


Oh, well. So, the party was on, filled with co-workers of my fiance's, mutual friends from the Jaycees and old friends of my fiance's. Who was missing? Well, anyone I had made friends of independent of my fiance. My friends were from my school years and were on the east coast or in San Fransisco. My co-workers were the only friends I had at the time in the area. So that meant the only people at the party were my ex's friends from work, people we knew from the Jaycees (Yeah, I know) and her old school friends.


The party was was on his way when we heard the news that JFK Jr. had crashed his plane and was likely dead. Some of the guests were watching the news but it didn't really affect the party. I was the cook of the bar-b-q set up. Matt was the wit of the party, commenting on the large bottle of olive oil I had in the kitchen. Oh, the bafflement he expressed how one person could use so much olive oil. Of course being a cook and using it to cook at home might not have occurred to him.

So, the party goes on with people split off in their little groups. One of the groups were My ex's co-workers. This group didn't include Matt but it did include a young punk ass who fancied himself a rock star. I wasn't a fan of his tuneless music and he shunned me at the party. Just as well, he was a dullard and I ignored him. Turns out I should have kept my eye on him.

Why?


Well, unknown to me at the time, he had designs on my fiance and was in the process of breaking up my relationship with her. They worked together at a software company who was best known for a game involving a pervert known as "Leisure Suit Larry". He was a programmer and my ex checked for bugs. Her job paid pretty well for the time but involved lots of hours during crunch time. So, she wasn't home much during the this time and my theory is that she fell away from me and went to rockstar. This must have been visible at the offices and I now believe that I was the laughing stock at the party and it wasn't because Matt pointed out I was wearing slippers.

The party was fine otherwise but for the next few weeks, something was in the air I couldn't define. It came to a head a few weeks the night before my ex broke up with me after a disastrous party we attended.

I might tell that story but it's very uncomfortable.

So, yeah that's why any reminder of JFK Jr's death sets me on edge.

I Coulda Been A Yankees Fan...

Well, today I went to New Shea. It's called Citi-Field for now, but I can guarantee that it will not be called that when the contract is up in a few years. I took the bus from down the street from my house in Atlantic Highlands,NJ. For eleven bucks that took me trouble free to the Port Authority. then a walk to the 7 train that took me straight to Willetts Point, New Shea.

The view from the 7 train was graffiti strewn once we entered Queens. How I hate graffiti. So, when New Shea finally came into view it was like a oasis that beckoned me in. The surrounding area and the parking lot around the entrance was beautifully landscaped.

And what of Old Shea? Well, the remains of Old Shea is in a small pile of concrete and re bar in a corner near the subway entrance. Nothing in that pile suggests the historic blue monstrosity that had been there less than six months ago.

















I hope they will mark off the spots where significant moments in Shea history when they finish the parking lot. The spot where Cleon Jones made the last out of the 1969 world Series, The spot where the Mookie Wilson's ball trickled through Bill Buckner's legs in 1986, and the spot where Jimmy Qualls got his single that broke Tom Seaver's perfect game in 1969.

Anyway, New Shea looks great on the outside. Old Shea had the ugly blue walls with the uninspired neon sculptures that replaced the tacky, but endearing blue and orange panels. New Shea has a definitive entrance area and brick work inspired by Ebbets Field with a rotunda dedicated to Jackie Robinson, A guy who never played for the Mets.

Outside, however there are banners outside dedicated to Mets history and players of the past like Tug McGraw, Rusty Staub (circa 1973), Dwight Gooden, and my favorite, Ed Kranepool.















Now, a feature that is in every new ballpark built in the last 15 years is a field level concourse which every ticket holder has access to, I did a walk around to take in the scenery. The field, funny enough doesn't look as good as Old Shea yet. But the shape of it is very interesting and close to the fans. New Shea has a second concourse on the 300 level that almost goes fully around the park. I did that before I sat down to my assigned seat.

Since I'm a cheap bastard, I paid twenty dollars for eleven dollar tickets. That got me a ticket in the very last row in the left field bleachers, Section 537. Wouldn't you know it, but it was an obstructed view, very obstructed. My view was blocked by the rest of the league's scores. If I was at Old Shea, I would have to sit here the whole game if I wanted to see any action.

I sat in my seat for the first inning. By the second batter, I knew I wouldn't be seeing a no-hitter. The Mets were down 2-0 by the time the Mets came up to bat. And by the end of the first inning it was clear to me that New Shea was going to be a triple paradise. One each was hit by the Mets and Marlins.

There are several public gathering areas to enjoy the game at New Shea. My favorite was on the Pepsi Porch near the replica Pepsi-Cola sign. A little acknowledgement of Queens. A great place to enjoy a beer.














Beer, Ah yeah, nothing like an over priced beer to fulfill the ballpark experience and New Shea doesn't disappoint. There are no taps to be had, but one beer stand had a variety of decent brew from around the world. 24 varieties I believe. $7.50 a bottle, Which is less than what I paid once in a bar in Manhattan, so it didn't bother me that much.















What bothered me was that after the Mets came from behind and were winning 3-2 they blew the lead. The bullpen has been good this year and I don't need flashbacks of Aaron Heilman. And yet that's what I saw.

















True to form, the Mets weren't clutch. David Wright in particular is driving me nuts striking out when we needed a hit. The Mets had the winning run on second base! They pinched hit Ramon Castro without having anyone ready to bat, it took about three minutes before Santos, another right handed hitting catcher stepped up to the plate to pop up to end the game, what a drag.



Still, I look forward to seeing the ballpark again in two weeks with my co-worker friends. New Shea is great, better than the new Phillie park, not quite as good as the Pittsburgh park. I rate it as good as the Mariners park. Both have three good sides to look at and one bad.

Benny Fits.

When you live near the Jersey shore, The winters are long and empty. Many of the towns shut down, businesses are closed for more than half a year. It's hibernation season. So, it's the summer season that keeps these towns afloat and you think the locals would be happy with all the tourists and visitors that helps their towns prosper.

















You would be wrong. Many a sign can be seen at the shore that says "Benny Go Home!" or "Bennys Go Home" The term Benny is a "Backronym" for residents of Brooklyn, Elizabeth, Newark, and New York. or add the S to include residents of Staten Island. I've learn this term in recent years since I lived here. I hear their complaints about why Bennys are undesirable. They're loud, obnoxious, and make a mess. In other words, they're like the locals, just a lot more of them in the summer. I've worked with the locals of Belmar and they embody much of the "Benny" behavior they complain about. Very xenophobic, bordering on racism at times.

My ex was like that. She always pointed out the flaws of outsiders whether they were "Pennsylvania Trash", Hunterdon County Trash" or my favorite, "Staten Island Trash".

Still, when you live at the shore and are Bennyphobic, you look forward to this time of year. The warm days before the summer. A chance to lie in the sun without the crowds, without the summer residents. I prefer the time after Labor Day because the water is warmer. Still, I took advantage of the hot weather to ride the new trail that connects Atlantic Highlands to Highlands. It runs along the shore, which made the ride a little cooler. I headed to Sandy Hook but didn't go to Gunnison Beach because of my weight gain. I instead went all the way to the North Beach only to see tons of turkey vultures hovering around me enough to make me think I may be dead. Maybe my pale pallor might have something to do with it.


































The water was so cold even for just my toes but I was getting my skin burned in April no less! Finally for the first time in my life I saw Horseshoe Crabs that were alive.



































So, yeah I feel this is a good time of year to be here despite my inability to frolic in the water. I got to feel the burn, my annual burn before tan.

New Pipe Dreams cartoon!

This actually was something that a former girlfriend was able to do to me but I wasn't able to do to her. Was I too weak or was she too heavy?

Rain Won't Stop Me, Now!

Okay, I skipped karaoke last week because I didn't get finished with my friends in the city until nearly 10pm. that meant by the time I got to Mad Hatters it was midnight. I was hoping to continue my fun day but when I entered the Hat it was too crowded with unfamiliar faces and wouldn't you know it, I hit the wall with my tiredness. I crashed so hard that the next day, New Years Eve, I was pretty much bed ridden the whole day.

So, a week goes by and I recovered from whatever it was I had, I was ready to go out again. When I went out, the rain, or was it sleet? was falling. My Hyundai was an ice car. My need to go out overwhelmed my sense of reason. I figured because of the bad weather and the fact it was Tuesday, The Hat wouldn't be crowded. I was wrong. Word must have gotten out, that the Mad Hatter is the place to be to do karaoke on Tuesdays.

I walked in, planted my ass near someone I knew from another place and waited my turn. Yes, SHE was there. We looked across at each other a few times but my throat was still sore, so I didn't think it wise to have close contact with her. My sore throat prevented me from doing an exceptional job singing. though I've noticed that when I feel I don't do well, people praise me more.

I must be a lousy judge of my abilities.

Anyway, It was crowded, but since this host doesn't take "DJ breaks", I was able to get up there 3 times which is the ideal minimum times I like to be up there. 6 is usually the ideal maximum. Any less than three seems incomplete, and any more than six gets redundant.

Three songs is ideal in that I can to a "go to" song, this night it was "Tempted" by Squeeze. A song that's challenging or crowd pleasing i.e. "Young Americans" by David Bowie. and if a third song comes up I can do either a new song if I can find one, or a song that is not really in my abilities as a challenge. I found a new song "Don't Look Back In Anger" by Oasis. My evening is set.

One reason I like going to the Mad Hatter is that the crowd is supportive even though there is a gong behind the bar that gets used every once in a while. I have yet to be gonged, though I might have deserved it sometimes.

So, I do my "go to" song "Tempted" by Squeeze. It's a little out of my normal range but I usually nail it. This night my voice was rough, but since I am used to the song, I can navigate the bumps relatively smoothly. The supportive crowd gave me a boost of confidence. The video is a favorite of mine I posted in previous blog entries. I can't get enough of the trashy blond dancing at the end near Paul Carrack.



The second song I did is one that I like to do every once in awhile. I prefer doing it in a bigger place complete with a wirefull microphone on a stand. I use both the wire and the stand as a dramatic prop especially with songs like "Young Americans." It's a song that's a mouthful with the words. It's in my vocal range but some of the non sequiturs in it makes it a challenge to sing especially with my voice being rough, though the falsetto parts were clear voiced.

That's why I don't need anyone to jump on stage to sing along with me. It's beyond a pet peeve of mine. Frat boys, Never interrupt someone who is singing, I don't want you. I don't need you. I am quite capable of handling it myself. Heck, I don't even want the girl I have a crush on the stage man, why would I want a lunkheaded frat boy singing off key to join me?

Anyway, I found a vintage Bowie clip from the Dick Cavett show on the YouTubes. I'm proud to say I hit the falsetto "Break Downnn and Cryhiiiii!" part better than Bowie but man I wish I could be as skinny as Bowie.

Yeah I know.

My shoulders are so huge I don't need the pads that the "Thin White Duke" needed.



So, I get a third chance to sing. Now, I found yet another song I haven't done before courtesy of my Ipod in shuffle mode. I love Oasis, They, like Guns and Roses had one superb album amongst other not so good albums. The album (What's the Story) Morning Glory? is one of the best albums of the 90's. It has the song "Don't Look Back In Anger." I had not done it before. I heard it on my Ipod and thought it would make a ideal song for me to do. It starts exactly like John Lennon's "Imagine." and turns into a Beatles song. In other words it's an Oasis song.

I got distracted by some of the audience singing along, but here's the rub. They knew the song better than me. I was improvising the parts I didn't know but I eventually was able to figure the right way to do the song. My voice was cracking throughout and I cleared my throat many a time during the song. Next week if my voice is intact I'll redo the songs I have had problem with the last month or so.

Anyway, The video is the official one which features guitarist Noel Gallagher singing lead vocals. now, I get amused watching Liam Gallagher doing whatever he does whenever he's not singing. He's the Britpop version of Mike Love.

Nothing Like A Blackout...

...to make you feel helpless sometimes. I like to think I'm not one to be a slave to the modern conveniences America 2008 has to offer but when there's a blackout life can suck.

I got home from watching the movie "Milk" and doing my Internets thing when the lights went out. I thought it was just my room, but it was dark in the whole house. I walked out to the street and it was dark. I walked downtown and up to route 36 noting that the whole town was dark, save some emergency lights. I walked to the waterfront to see that New York was aglow but any town near me on either side of Atlantic Highlands was dark. I called my parents to see if they were experiencing a blackout. My dad was on the road but had not confronted it. My mother didn't have the power out in their house. My dad then let me know that the whole county of Monmouth was dark.

Shit! This may take awhile.

Luckily the weather was nice, and therefore not the cause of the blackout. when I lived in the suburbs of Seattle I had a far worse time of it because our blackout lasted 5 days in late December between Christmas and New Years. The cause of the blackout was a very rare but beautiful Ice Storm that rolled in the area. It paralyzed the area because the Seattle area almost never gets snow. Now, everything was electric including the stove. The heat was provided by an old kerosene heater from my girlfriends father's garage. She stayed at her parent's place whereas I stubbornly waited it out hoping to catch the moment the power came on and that I could use my new computer.

I went mad, Seattle's sun goes down very early in the winter, only Alaska gets dark earlier. I had to wake up to a wind up alarm. I had to cook food outdoors with the grill, and I diligently went to the worst job I ever had. Still, the power didn't come back on. Most of my neighbors had their power come back on. And the power substation down the block mocked me with its close proximity to my house and my lack of electricity. To add insult to injury this was the coldest weather I had experienced in my 14 years in Seattle.

Finally the power came back on, I used my computer, said hi to my girlfriend and went back to my terrible job.

The one I had today, not nearly as bad.

It's Been A Year...

A year ago today I got into a car accident. It would not be a big deal especially since I did not get hurt. I was on my way to my first official day of my new job and I wanted to make a good first impression. It was not a good year and I was trying to work my way out of my mess. I did not need this accident.

You see, I was in a dire financial situation. I had moved back to New Jersey from Seattle to be with a woman I loved. I felt she was worth the risk. I would be with her, near my family and reconnect with old friends who would get me a decent paying job. It would be great.

I was hoping to get some graphic design sort of job. After all, New York is the best market to get a job in the field. Well, a friend I was planning on begging a job from, had moved away to the Midwest two days after I returned. My other friends who worked there would soon be laid off. One of them, along with another friend had made it clear I needed to improve my portfolio. Admittedly, I allowed my work to suffer when I was going through some stress after a devastating breakup a few years before. I was not up to date with graphic programs and needed to show some skill and ability.

While I was working on my artwork, I continued to search for new work. I was unsuccessful enough to take on temporary jobs that help keep me in a work mode. The jobs sucked. One was temporary, paid well, but did not have many hours. Eventually I fell back into restaurant work as a cook. I didn't mind doing the work in Seattle. It paid enough to get by and then some.

It was always easy to get work. Especially in New Jersey. I found out why. It's a shady deal here. Most of the owners are low paying, illegals hiring, corrupt tax dodgers.

There was no pride in food quality. We cooks were there merely as an excuse to sell booze. It was hard to be treated like shit, especially the illegals. Unlike in Seattle, I wasn't able to leave my work behind when I went home. I tried to hide it from my girlfriend but hearing her complain about her easier, better paying job usually got my blood boiling. Who is she to complain after all?

So I continued to work on my portfolio, look for better work on the web and get inspired by what was out there. I was getting flack from my girlfriend and my family for my inability to get a good job. I was never good at lying about my skills and selling myself. Even intervies that went well wasn't enough to get me the job. Heck, a guy who looked to hire me got fired himself!

When my girlfriend went on her fourth vacation without me AND without telling me (I know). I knew that soon I HAD to get a better paying job. New Jersey got too expensive and the job I had paid too little. I had applied to the job I have now, A government job in Homeland Security. Starting pay was good enough to give it a shot. I also applied to UPS because everyone I cared about thought it was a good idea. Both these jobs took longer to get back to me than any other job I have ever had. While waiting for these jobs and shortly after my girlfriend got back from Vegas, she left me for parts unknown, with four months left on the lease.

Now, I had spent a lot of money moving back from Seattle, spent a lot of my own money to move into our apartment in the first place, got screwed by my old bank Wells Fargo when I looked to transfer my funds to my new bank, I lost most of my savings to start my life with this ungrateful woman. I did not invite nor did I need this to happen.

While I was waiting for UPS and the government to get back at me for the jobs I applied to. Meanwhile I kept applying to graphic design jobs, getting interviews and getting quicker responses on letting me know I didn't get the job. One really liked my stuff but felt my commute was too long. (This was later, after I moved,If the job came up two months before I coulda moved to Brooklyn!) My luck was shit.

Soon, the stress of everything got to me so much I got into an argument with my boss on how he was treating us on a busy Saturday night. Since I'm an American citizen I didn't have to worry about getting deported or arrested, I just had to worry about getting fired.

So I did.

That was okay. The place is a mess. It's really a night club bar that pretends it's a restaurant. The managers were mostly idiots. The owner, shady. I left, applied for unemployment and got my call from UPS. Unfortunately UPS pulled a "bait-n-switch" on me on the job I applied to. I didn't get the full time driver job I applied to and was offered a part time loading job. Well, I had to take it in order to continue to get unemployment which I needed to stay alive, barely.

Meanwhile I had to move out of the apartment. My lease was up, they don't do month to month and it was too expensive for one person and too small for non lovers to be roommates. I was having a hard time finding one that was within my price range. I got rejected no less from an apartment I could afford because according to them I didn't make enough money. I was getting desperate when I got wind of two apartments. They were both cheaper but of lesser quality than the one I got rejected from. One was teeny tiny but in a nice area of Atlantic Highlands. The other was bigger but in a not so good section of Asbury Park. Since the landlord in Atlantic Highlands only asked me where I worked instead of insisting on seeing every aspect of my work and money history, I moved to Atlantic Highlands.

I didn't do much in the first two months I lived there, I was STILL waiting for my government job. Meanwhile I explored my immediate area by bicycle and kinda like the area.

So, finally I got the job, got trained and got into my car accident.

It wasn't my fault, but my car was totalled and I had to wait two weeks plus before I found out the other driver took responsibility. Meanwhile I was fortunate that my dad came through to help me with his car and keep my sanity intact by looking at the big picture. I thought it was the end of the world for me. I don't believe in God but I do believe in karma and it was telling me something. Karma musta been mumblin' because I had no idea what it was.

Anyway, I got a new car, worked both jobs until I went full time for the government and am doing much better now, thank you very much. I am probably one of the few people in this country who is doing much better in the last year.

For that I am thankful.

Happy Halloween!

Don't Harsh My Buzz, Man!

So, it's Tuesday. A beautiful day to boot!

Beach Time! Time to go to Gunnison Beach! Better get the bike and ride down to Sandy Hook. That means taking the shortcut down a road that is closed to car traffic.

CAR traffic. The road was for all traffic until a recent storm made it "necessary" to close Bayside Drive for only "local" traffic. The road itself is intact, a little rough and at times it's a one lane road. the only thing preventing a car from going through all the way to the town of Highlands is a road guard that says "road closed".


Bayside Drive features many houses on valuable property but with houses in various conditions. Many are in the process of being massively renovated with heavy machinery all over the place. I like to ride this road because it is safer than rt 36 and much more scenic. The hot days are enjoyable because the trees provide very good shade. I ride my bike to the "Road Closed" barrier, lift the chain and I'm on my way to Sandy Hook.

Well, today an old man decided that I needed to be informed that I can't go any farther, that the road is closed up ahead. Um, here's the thing, there was a sign on my way down that said the road was closed to all but local traffic, I'M local traffic. I also have the ability to get through the barrier without interfering with their lifestyle.

I'm sorry, does it offend you that I use this public road as a safe short cut?

Did it ruin your plans to stop people from having an alternate route?

Do you think I need to pay a toll to use this public road with my bicycle?

Sigh, anyway that was annoying. I think he thought he was giving me advice, hoping I would listen and not figure out the shortcut. Too late I accidentally discovered it in the winter on a long walk.

While I was pondering his intentions I get to Highlands where I did my usual routine of cutting through a parking lot. Sometimes I make a left turn but the road kind of goes through this condominium parking lot from one entrance to the other one that enters the main road of Highlands. Anyway I'm breezing by when a car comes darting in quickly into the parking lot. I spotted him so it was not biggie.

However, The man behind the wheel, a guy who looked like a balding Ralph Lauren felt the need to tell me that I should not cut through there because it was private property.

Private property? This was a small condo complex with about twenty units. The apartments are out there for all to see from the public streets. No fences, no gates. You lose the privilege of private property grievances if I can see you naked at your back door from the main road. I constantly see fat old men trying to get a sunburn without my looking for it.















There is a "No trespassing" sign but it's really intended for those who take the ferry into the city not to take any of their parking spaces. A problem in the town, I imagine. Still, can you blame someone who thinks he can park in a lot that says "Ferry Landing" A parking lot is not private property! I understand the need to prevent cars from cutting through but bicycles? Does he do this to people who walk through. Maybe if he wasn't barrelling through at 30 mph, he wouldn't care about what I was doing.

The funny thing is he said I wasn't breaking the law. Well, I said "That's right I'm not breaking the law!" and went about my merry way.

What an asshole. I'm not interfering with your life, stop violating my freedom, man.

Oh, well. Speaking of freedom, it was time to exercise my naked freedom on Gunnison Beach. It was quite a nice day, with some fine scenery.

Raining On The Parade Of Cinco De Mayo

My family in Ireland.
Clockwise from top left.
My Dad, My Mom, Deirdre, Scanboy, Brian


28 years ago today my sister Deirdre died. she was only 11 years old. It was Monday morning, May 5th 1980. She had woke up early that day and went into the kitchen. She had been fighting a case of what turned out to be Meningitis. My mother heard her making noise and went down out of concern to see what was going on. My mom was a nurse and felt that my sister should be in bed resting.

I was just coming home from delivering the newspapers. I was making my usual breakfast of Rice Krispies and milk and sat down in front of the TV when my mother was walking Deirdre up the stairs.


















A drawing I did for a painting I never got to painting back when I was at the School Of Visual Arts.

When they got near to the top of the stairs my Deirdre collapsed. My mom called out to my father to help carry Deirdre up to her bedroom. My father ran down the stairs to use the phone. As he was dialing I heard the most horrifying cry coming out my mother's throat. "Pat, Deirdre's dead!" My father thundered past me up the stairs to my mother's side and he cried out too.

This was too much for me. I was at the bottom of the stairs feeling the house close in on me. I couldn't breath. My dad ran past me to the phone again. I heard my brother come out of his room at this point. The chaos drove me out of the house screaming at the top of my lungs. I ran in zig-zag fashion out on the street and finally collapsed in a ball of grief in a neighbor's driveway. The neighbor, Sylvia Liparini took me into her house. My brother joined me as my parents went to Dover General with my sister.

While my brother and I were at the Liparini's, we were talking to each other as though Deirdre was going to be okay and that we were going to someday laugh at the drama of the day with her. It calmed Brain and I down enough to have hope. I made a bargain with God in hopes that this will make Deirdre okay.

An hour passed when Mrs. Liparini received a phone call from my parents they were coming back from the hospital. Mrs. Liparini didn't tell us what was said. I don' think they told her anything. Brain and I were still in denial.

Another half hour goes by when my parents walked in the front door of the Liparini's house. I thought good we'll hear what's up with Deirdre. My father sternly ordered the two of us to sit down on the couch. I asked what's up as my dad grabbed the both of us by the shoulders and slammed us down on the couch.

He told us that Deirdre died.

Mrs Liparini cried "Oh No!" Brian cried, my mother was spookily quiet, I was numb. I had wore myself out earlier with my melodramatic cries of anguish earlier. I got up from the couch, shoved past my father and went to the front foyer, crouched down and weeped.

Thanks for listening, God.

The rest of the day was a blur. I spent the night at a friend of my father's house. Their son Keith had a great collection of comics that I had spent the night reading, they didn't do the trick but I couldn't sleep in my house that night.

Tuesday was the wake and I saw my sister lying in state for the first time. It was too much to bear. She looked so unnatural with her lips sewn shut hiding her natural overbite. I cried when I saw her and I couldn't kneel in front of her body.

So many people that I cared about in my life showed up to pay last respects. My Uncle Jerry grabbed a flight form Ireland and had arrived early the previous day. I was so happy to see these people, people I haven't seen in years. I wanted so much to enjoy their company and I even thought that Deidre would be enjoying herself if only...

Our family spent a lot of time at the newly built funeral home. I would wander around and explore the place. I went down to the near empty basement to have long conversations with God and my sister. Although this made me feel a little better, it was the beginning of my doubt in the existence of God.

Deirdre was buried in a cemetery next to a church that wasn't part of my family's parish located near Schooley's Mountain. It was a small cemetery with not tombstones, only headstones that was flush with the grass. It made for easy lawn mowing I guess but I did not like it. The funeral was a bit surreal, knowing my sister was in the box...

Anyway, we went home to food and company and slowly but surely, we were left on our own once again. We went back to school a week later. I could not me until the summer before I entered the room where my sister died. It took the fact my Aunt Mary and Uncle Vincie staying in the room that made me feel the room was no longer a room of the dead.

It took me many years, about ten before I felt comfortable to approach Deirdre's headstone without prompting. I would usually shuffle around away from the grave. I could not get the image of what her body was doing under 6 feet of dirt out of my head. Time heals all wounds but I am, still to this day picking the scabs of that wound.

I have come to terms with visiting her grave. I don't go to the grave more because of its inconvenient location rather than my lack of comfort. Heck, I can even laugh at the farce that happened one Christmas of digging snow away form several headstones before finding my sister's.

So the fact Deirdre died on May 5th makes Cinco De Mayo a day I cannot celebrate the way I sometimes enjoy St. Patrick's Day. It's the reverse of what people whose birthday falls on September 11th have to go through. They have to always be conscious of the fact that in celebrating their birthday, they have to be careful to not offend sensitive people who lost loved ones that day.

Then there's the number 5. It's my favorite number. I always thought it was cruel fate that had my sister Deirdre die on the 5th day of the 5th month. I spent too much time trying to figure out its meaning.

I also think the fact that I have greater fondness for the 70's than the 80's is because my sister was alive in the 70's. Maybe that's why I don't like Reagan.

She had died of Meningitis. I always thought she had died of a brain hemorrhage due to a car accident she was in a month before. I learned this year when I over heard my father talking to a friend of my Aunt Eileen's. The topic of whether my dad had any girls. My dad matter-of-factly mentioned Deirdre and how she died. I looked up Meningitis and found out the tricky nature of the disease.

Anyway, I miss Deirdre. She'd be 39 years old. She most likely would have been married with a few kids and I regret not being able to intimidate any future brother in law who thought my sister was worthy of her. I wonder if my life's path would have been much better if I had her around to give advice and motivation.



You see, she was the good child. a straight A student her whole life. Who knows what she'd be, what school she might have gone to, maybe on a scholarship.

Here's to her.

Feeling Funky!

If It's Tuesday, it must be Karaoke.

It was a good night last night, I gave notice to UPS, YES!

My life begins again!

I go to Jack's and there was no "Rock, Paper, Scissors" Bud Light promo to be found.

The Mets win in 11, though Johan Santana lost a win.

And my voice was as clear as possible, so that means I can do falsetto!

It wasn't all good though. I had to deal with one of those cheesy con artist types. You know the guy. It's someone who comes up to you, tells a sad sack story about how they lost money in one way or another and need some to get them on their way to a destination of at least 40 miles away.

His spiel was that his female companion lost her handbag after going to a wedding at Cape Cod and need money to get gas to get themselves to Cape May. He said someone was kind enough to give them 40 dollars at Cape Cod and just needed to get some more to reach Cape May.

Yeahhhh, it used to be quarter that they begged from you, then a dollar or two, now the man wants forty dollars.

As any woman who has dated me in the past knows, I'm a hard person to pry money from. Okay, the guy was dressed pretty nicely and I'm always wondering when a con artist does this is don't you have family that can help out? Between the TWO of you, I'm expected to believe there is no way for you to get help form a friend. Where's your phone? Your wallet? Your ability to pick up a pay phone?

This kind of con annoys me because it involves two people who feel the need to come up with the same ol' same ol' sob story. A guy used to come into Sonya's about twice a month and state how his car broke down on I-5 and needed some money to get it fixed, I would point him to a auto shop near by, but he'd insist they wouldn't help. He'd never remember later that he pulled this con one me before. Sometimes he'd be bold enough to harass a customer.

Anyway I told the man I had no cash and went into Jack's, plopped down a crisp twenty dollar bill and got a Magic Hat No. 9. I felt nooooooo guilt.









Anyway my voice felt good this night so I decided to take on some challenging songs. The first one was "Sexx Laws" by Beck. I wanted to sing "Sour Girl" by Stone Temple Pilots but it was not available. Anyway, it's a song full of Non Sequitors and a high pitched wail at the end of the chorus. I nailed the wail but flubbed a few of the more tongue twisting words. Here's the video from 1999, I had never seen it before and noted that Jack Black makes an appearance. You know the saying "Too Much Jack Black Is Whack!"



After the song I plopped down a ten dollar bill and got myself a Sierra Nevada, mmmm that's tasty!








I was feeling a bit funky, so I decided to sing a chestnut from the late 70's "Back In Love Again" from the funk group LTD featuring a young Jeffery Osbourne. This is a fun song I like to sing when I want to get the people to move on the dance floor, which they did. It doesn't matter how old the song is, the young folks will dance the danceable songs. That's why I don't sing the torch songs like some of the later Jeffery Osborne songs. Anyway, here's a not so clear song clip from Soul Train.





After the song I decide I needed more courage and bought a Sam Adams with a wrinkled 5 dollar bill. Say what you will, for a mainstream beer Sam Adams hits the spot.











Now I was feeling cocky. I decide to take on the falsetto disco classic "You Made Me Feel Like Dancing" by Leo Sayer. It's my alternative to the "hipsters" who like to sing "Staying Alive". It's only the second time I tried singing it. The first time was at an obscure bar in the Magnolia section of Seattle. I did terrible but it was because my voice was hoarse that previous night. Anyway, I nailed it this night. I missed one line because I forgot to get out of falsetto in the bridge. Anyway, the response was great, I was a hit, Karaoke Steve, the host appreciated it.
A good fun night. Anyway, I was looking for a clip of Leo Sayer doing the song but was unimpressed with the clips. I then remembered that he appeared on "The Muppet Show" and found this clip. The song was changed a little, but it's the muppets, man!

Jesus Christ! I Can't Say G** D*mm*t?!

Back in 2001 I worked a cook for a gay bar called Sonya's Bar & Grill. It was an easy job because as a restaurant it was very slow.

Let me explain. the state of Washington has curious laws involving the serving of alcohol. It's easy to open a tavern wear you can serve only beer and wine. This explains the phenomenon of micro brews that prospered on the west coast.

However if you wanted to serve hard liquor and cocktails a drinking establish must have a kitchen facility that serves food for a certain amount of hours in the day. So many of the bars merely have a kitchen to serve the high profit margin hard liquor.

Anyway, the slowness of Sonya's allowed me to interact with our customers. Even though Sonya's was a gay bar, the variety of the clientele was impressive. The mostly gay men were of all age groups from 21 to 81 years old. Many played up their gayness, most of them did not, it opened my eyes to the complexities of your average gay man.

One complex gay man I was friends with was someone named Shelly. Shelly did not hide the fact he was gay. He looked like a shorter, stockier version of Peter Gallagher. He was a very nice friendly guy who liked doing karaoke as much as I do. He usually sang the same song, "My Way" , although he always changed the pronouns from the singular to the plural. So My Way became Our Way.

I have done a gay bar tour of Seattle once with him. He was able to drink me under the table. He liked his drink but he wasn't an alcoholic. He was a good conversationalist, peppering his sentences with "F" bombs galore and like a good gay man liked to throw the "C" word every once in a while. He would talk in graphic detail his conquests with some of the men he had the pleasure of sleeping with. Now, I only throw "F" bombs when I'm angry, if I'm having a friendly conversation and I want to sprinkle some passion in it I tend to say "God Dammit!"

Well, despite the fact that Shelly was gay, drank a lot of alcohol and cursed like a gangta rapper, He was a born-again Christian. This meant that "God Dammit" was off limits. This was the first time I noticed how offensive this was to Christians. I grew up in a Catholic household and interacted with many other Catholics and believe you me, "God Dammit" was thrown out a lot, even when the adults were refraining themselves from saying "Shit", "Fuck" and even "Bitch".

Shelly threw me off my loop when I responded to one of his more wild sex stories with "God Dammit, that's crazy!". He stopped in his tracks to tell me how offended he was with what I said. Now with me being Scanman and with some beer in me, I got defensive and tried to point out incidences in the Bible where God did indeed damn things. Shelly stood his ground and pointed out why it was offensive. My foot was entering my stomach before I shut my lip. It was a learning experience. I wasn't about to point out the contradictions about embracing the agenda of a religion that wanted to persecute people of his sexual persuasions.

Anyway, the next time I saw him he gave me a ride to his favorite karaoke place. He wanted to listen to his Christian music. He asked me if it was okay since he knew I was Agnostic.
I said no problem because it's his car and if he wants to play his own favorite music while doing me a favor who am I to quibble? He can smoke in the car for all I care and I HATE it when people smoke in the car.

Anyway, Shelly and I continued to be friends until I got fired from Sonya's and his favorite karaoke bar became a school's auditorium.

Drunk Driving Scan

We all know that drunk driving is wrong. I don't need to be lectured on that. However, sometimes fate hands you choice and sometimes you make the wrong choice. You just became thankful that you don't suffer the consequences of the bad decision.

So, in my years of drinking I have gotten drunk a number of times, too many for me to be proud. I have been fortunate to be living in the city whenever I have been full over drunk. So a little bit of staggering got me to where I needed to go. I have always made it a point to never drink much where a car is involved in taking me home.

Even with my cautious ways I have legally been drunk and behind the wheel three times in my life. It wasn't my intent I can assure you. It happened I'm ashamed yet lucky.

The first time it happened, I has a young pup of 18. this was back when there wasn't zero tolerance for DUI for those under the age of 21. It was the summer I had graduated high school. My friend and I went to a party thrown by a classmate's parents. It was a fun party, I drank about three beers and enjoying myself when a pizza faced douche bag named Tom decided I was having too much fun and sprayed water all over me. I was actually still in a good mood after getting sprayed but Pizza Faced Douche Bag Tom made a scene about me going "crazy" in my retaliation to get back at him. This got me thrown out of the party.

My friend didn't drink and knew I got hosed figuratively as well as literally. He drove my car to his place. I was hurt that I got thrown out of the party especially since I had my last drink. So anyway we get to his place when I realized I needed to get back home myself. At this point of my life I was totally paranoid about any driving involving drinking. It was only the third or fourth time I had drank in my life. So, I had to make a decision, leave the car at my friend's place and walk the fifteen blocks to my place. The problem was that I had done that before when I got drunk the second or third time I got drunk, and my mother gave me a lot of crap for doing what I thought was a responsible thing to do.

So, I took a chance. I was alert, I was in a small neighborhood and the only streets from my friend's place to mine were suburban neighborhood streets where I can pull over and pretend I'm going in my house if trouble arises. It was clear sailing until I approached the top of Chatham Road. I nearly had a heart attack when I caught sight of a police car who had pulled over a traffic violator.

Now, Flanders NJ is one of those communities that goes into overkill when it comes to law enforcement. A town with practically no crime, five cops for every crime committed. This would make me Public Enemy #1 if I get pulled over. I quickly maneuvered my car to go one more block to Brewster Place. I drove down Brewster with my heart racing. Oh man, just get me down Brewster safely without incident. After getting down Brewster I made my way up the bottom of Chatham Road where the house was. I parked in the driveway, exhaled hard and took about five minutes to relax. I didn't drink at all for the rest of the summer. It would not be until I attended SVA in the city when I would have my next drink. NYC would be the setting of my most prolific drinking for the next four years. No Driving? Heavy Drinking, Baby. My drinking experiences would make for another blog entry.

It would be another twelve years before I would do this again. I lived for five years in NYC and NJC and had no car. I moved to Seattle where I had no car for the first three years. I moved in with my GATT after that and though she had a car, I didn't use it much. Plus when I lived in Federal Way, I didn't feel the need to drink much.

In 1998 , I went to my job's Christmas party at a bowling alley near where we lived in Federal Way, WA. We had an unwritten rule. whoever Christmas party it was, it was the other person's responsibility to drive home.

Since my GATT was not a heavy drinker I was safe. She would usually announce her intentions to get drunk at her Christmas parties and at my brother's wedding. She was a cute drunk, fun to be with, not obnoxious. I liked being sober and walking through her sobering.

Anyway....this was MY Christmas party, so it was my turn to get drunk, and I did it with flare. The first two beers were free, wine was free all night and I joined my co-workers with a few shots of I forgot what. I was quite tipsy, beyond tipsy. Meanwhile I noticed my GATT didn't have too much wine. I counted three.

We were there for four hours when my GATT said she wanted to go home. I was having a good time but I thought ooooookay, whatever.

Anyway my GATT hands me the keys to her car. She said she was too drunk to drive.

Are you kidding? I was furious! Why didn't she let me know this before I had drunk too much. I pleaded with her to reconsider but it was to no avail. I had at least ten drinks and mixed it to boot. I tried stalling, saying long good byes to all my co-workers including those I didn't like. I was drinking a lot of Coke when I did this. This made me pee, I went to the bathroom. My GATT was getting impatient so it was time for me to get us home.

I was still infuriated when we got to the car, my blood was boiling. We were only 6 miles from our house but they were tricky roads. I would have walked home if I was by myself but my GATT was in no0 shape to do that. So we drove off in the brownmobile and headed home.

My intense anger kept me alert. My fear kept me awake, my karma kept the cops away. We got home and despite my anger with her, we had ourselves a good night, My GATT I guess was trying to make it up to me.

The most recent episode of my driving drunk happened a few weeks ago. My Aunt threw a party for her 70th birthday party. I brought my own six pack just in case it would be like a lame rich girl's wedding in which the best beer was Heineken. I wanted to buy a seasonal Sam Adams. Irish Red was the brew I wanted but it had bee replaced with the latest seasonal, Double Bock. It sounded yummy so I gave it a try.

My aunt's party was fun. I flirted with a vivacious woman girl who my aunt thought I should stay away from. I'm not sure my Aunt is a good judge of character. She's the only one who unequivocally thought my most recent girlfriend was good for me. Two peas in a pod. Anyway, along with flirting I was enjoying the company of my cousin, talking up the virtues of good beer like Sam Adams. He has three kids were were having a blast. They are nice kids. I had four beers when I decided I had enough. Legally, I am able to consume about 6 average beers before I'm in legal trouble, but if I'm driving I stop at 3 or 4.

I stuck around for about another two hours. I gather the leftover beers my dad bought, good stuff like Guinness, Smithwicks, and Harp It was getting late, I had to get up at 3 in the morning to go to work. I figured I weigh 190 pounds, drank 4 beers in 4 hours, took a two hour break with massive consumption of water. I thought I was safe.

I drove home okay despite the fact it takes almost an hour to get from Spring Lake Heights to Atlantic Highlands. Man, for such a small state, everything seems so far away in New Jersey. I was tired but I got home okay, went to sleep, worked at TSA, visited my family for Easter, slept, worked at TSA, napped, worked at UPS, and finally settled down to have myself a beer on Monday night. I took a Double Bock out of the fridge. I took a few sips when I tasted an intensity I didn't notice two nights before. I looked at the bottle and was startled by the alcohol content. 8.8%!

Holy mackerel! That is like double the content of your average beer! So, I had 4 Double Bocks which is like having 8 beers! That would have made me legally drunk if I had been pulled over, I would have gone to jail for being legal.

Damn I'm scum.