Day 19-23
I think, by reference to the bar I was at and the beer I drank, I've identified what day it was I left off on; Saturday. And you can take a flying leap if you think my grammar suxxors. No offense, mom, dad, oma, others who were offended by this. Yes, good way to start a blog entry by telling everyone to fuck off. Very professional.
I was excited by the relatively good number I put up on Thursday and Friday compared to the rest of the pedicabbers who went out, so on Saturday I was on a mission. Unfortunately that mission was to go keep the peace in Sweden, several Swedes have been sticking their tongues out at each other. I went out at 4, setting a goal to make $200, and I jockied around, stayed upbeat, had attitude adjustment hours when necessary, ate ice cream...anything I could do to stay happy and positive, but nothing could stop the tide from going out. It was as if the only reason people were still in town was to come back and collect their belongings from a town they deserted, have dinner, and say goodbye to their precious yachts. Foolish pedicabbers, don't you know this is a ghost town? I finally quit at 12, and that was after I earned $20 for a STUPIDLY long ride. My grand 8 hour total: $54. Less than $7 an hour, not to mention I had purchased food and ice cream. I have a college degree, I'm a champion. But, I am patient, and I'm willing to wait until the big money comes 'a rollin in. Besides, the Superbowl contenders were still not yet confirmed.
I went back to SoBe and met up my roommate Ken at the Playwright, an Irish tavern of ya-dude proportions, with a Latin flavor, since, after all, Miami is the capitol of South America. Two stand-out moments from this visit. First was this bleached blond, faked out, Hispanic lady of the night or total slut coming up to me and just pressing herself into me as she ran through all the introductory conversational formalities. Almost as if someone were to approach you in Copley Square and say, "Hi, I'm Deborah. I have amazing fake tits. What's your name? I have amazing fake tits, they are touching you now. Where are you from, Dan? Aren't these tits amazing? They are also fake." Of course, the magic dissipates when you speak it openly, but my gist, I believe, is sufficiently suggested. Secondly, was a guy from Oklahoma who just loved the Red Sox and everything Boston, was sitting with 8 women, and neglected all of them to talk baseball. Once he heard I was going through Oklahoma on my trip, he insisted we trade numbers and party when I arrive. All of this conversation taking place at the same distance at which I met my friend Deborah. Did I mention she has...nevermind. A few minutes later, some dude was eating her neck right at the bar. I can only imagine that it ended up costing him some $150-300 for the services he was hurtling towards. At least that's what I imagine she would charge. Hooked!
Sunday was only interesting for hanging out and football, and the only things I hung on to in the NFL at this point were the Jets and Brett Favre, and both of these were defeated. Better this way, I suppose since I'll be ambivalent about the outcome when the Superbowl actually rolls around, and I'll potentially focus more on work.
Mike and I did another ride on Monday up to Aventura, a sly little 20 miler or something. We went by the place I almost moved into, fuck it kindly, and then back to have a little afternoon beer.
I've picked back up on 24 thanks to Hulu. I'm all caught up. The 24 drinking game would have been rough in last week's episode. The rules? Oh, you drink when they say "Jack" or "Bauer" or "Jack Bauer" and drink an entire beer/do a shot when Jack says, "Damnit" or when someone gets shot only in the leg.
On Tuesday, I put up perhaps the first 0-fer of my pedicab career. Dead, dead city. The Ghost town, fully deserted, businesses praying for old people to waddle in. It's actually seriously sad how many restaurants around here are on the verge of total collapse. The only good thing that cam out of it was that I settled a row I had with another driver. On Friday after my best night here so far, I ordered pizza to eat with another rider, Sean. We were quoted a 45 minute delivery time, so we continued pulling rides for a while, and making our way back to the shop. About 25 minutes later, I get a phone call about the pizza being there, so I hurry back-only 3 minutes away anyhow, but when I get back, this guy Irish Dean is there with the pizza guy eating a slice of my pizza! I was incredulous, and amped up from hustling over a giant bridge, so naturally I overreacted. He called me a "fucking cunt" and talked trash about me for the night, and I reasoned my side out to others that I asked him for money for me and Sean for the $25 (tip incl) pizza we just bought. More of a point of humor now, anyway. This guy is a rip roarin' heckuva pedicabber, New York hustlin'.
Yesterday there was a meeting for all the people riding the Probowl and the Superbowl. I am relieved I was invited, because it sealed my spot in the ranks. That's the good news. The bad news is that between this week and next week including the games, they want $1000 in rent. That means if I make $3000, they'll want 33% Some pedicab vacation. Sounds like a pedicab time-share scam. (These opinions are not the actual opinions of Dan Kerrigan) It will be hard, but some guys are talking about making over $1000 at the Superbowl. In fact, I was talking records with Irish Dean and he was saying you could do $1500 at the Superbowl, and that some guy in NYC had put up numbers like $2400 in one day, and second place was something like $1986!! We are charging rates for the games, and these days are epic shifts. If you take 30 rides in a Red Sox game, you would hope you could walk home with $200 in about 5 or 6 hours. We arrive at 9 am, parking at the Probowl starts at 10am and the game starts at 7. It is a theoretical possibility with the rates we have, that I could take 40 rides at $40 each. Or 60 rides at an average of $25. Suffice it to say, I'm motherfucking amped to work my ever living balls off. The next two Mondays will be very nice days off.
I live so close to Lincoln Road, and the experience of traversing it so often greatly stimulates the senses. Leather rushes out of designer stores, bombshells tend to the host booths in front of restaurants with menus in hand like a paladin's battle shield, and eyelashes that slash your desire for cheap Thai into myriad, longing pangs for thick Italian luncheon with an attractive pitch girl. Weirdos beg for change simply because they have turned their jukeboxes to the "on" mode and give you the gift of music, something that never naturally happens. Matched, mismatched, and unmatched couples bogart the sidewalks, assault your personal space, and remind you of New York City. Sometimes they call it "The Sixth Borough" I'd believe it if I could find a decent slice of pizza or a fucking bagel that satisfied ANYWHERE around here. Mmmm pizza bagel.
As I write this up, fat guy on scooter outside waves and tries to chat up three attractive ladies, to be completely ignored. He did not have a purty mouth, and I imagine the words coming out also fell short of comely.
I like it here OK, but now it's feeling like a better place that I'm going to work and I have function and purpose (to build some bank) but it doesn't quite satisfy entirely as a place I'd home up. Unless of course, I were old. Pedicabbers here are awesome, just as most pedicabbers are anywhere. They party hard, hate the morning, love their jobs and also enjoy creating impressions of other pedicabbers. Despite the cool guys, and the impending cash influx, I'm looking forward to Austin, and trying not to even think about Mardi Gras, so my mind will hopefully be completely blown.
Longshot spends a lot of time watching trains go by outside the shop, and dodging parking violations on the streets of South Beach. She's running wonderfully. I'm due to check the oil in the next few days, see what kind of leakage is actually occurring.
I had a pretty good Wednesday night last night, prestiged a buck forty from what many found to be a dead day/night. Managed to hit the beach, stayed sunny enough. I packed my towel and trunks into the pedicab. What a great deal I've got right now. Gave two British girls a ride, sayin they want to hang out in South Beach tonight. I'm pessimistic. Or maybe just realistic. Gotta go make the ducat now, it's almost rush hour and I have to slip in under heavy, sure-fire accident city o'clock on 95 North.
Statistics:
41 minute average commute time
$2.71/gallon of gas ($2.69 if ya know where to look!)
2 attempts to tan oft-unexposed sections of my body (not my genitals)
2 times I saw a girl with blue hair in Fort Lauderdale that I curiously leered at in The Abbey in Miami Beach
$49 on food shopping since I now have a refrigerator in which to store foodstuffs.
I don't know, what's 7x7? The question/answer I'd quip back at my Dr. if they asked me how many alcoholic beverages I've been having-These are special times. Yes, I know it's a lot right now and it's got to be adjusted. I have a feeling LA is going to force that change upon me, with all the driving.
2 times I paid for coffee in the past week-exploiting that Starbucks refill policy.
4 visits to Kilwin's ice cream, chocolates, and fudge shoppe. It's addictive?
Beers from...
Day 19
109 St Bernardus Prior 8 @shop
110 Unibroue Maudite
111 Harp draught @Playwright
112 Harp draught
113 Harp draught
114 Abbey Immaculate IPA @The Abbey
Day 20
115 Bud lite ($1) @Felt
116 bud lite
117 bud lite
118 Sam Adams Noble Pils @Marsh's
119 Maudite
120 Maudite
121 St Peter's IPA
122 Maudite
Day 21
123 Immaculate IPA @The Abbey
124 Stoudts Double IPA
125 Anchor Liberty IPA
126 Dogfish Head 60 min IPA @home
Day 22
127 Presidente @ shop
128 Presidente
129 Presidente
130 Bud draft ($1.50) @Grady's (What a dump! Right near the shop!)
131 Bud draft
Next update after the Probowl...
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
SoBe a Pedicabber.
Days 14-18 Commuter Days
On Monday night, I went out for just a few hours to pedicab and get the city in my head a little more. I met Jay, the owner of Ocean View Rickshaw, and he asked me didn't I feel silly wearing plaid shorts with a Hawaiian shirt (that he makes us wear) I said no, I wear them all the time. And what I didn't say was that the Hawaiian shirt was what made me feel silly. But hey, he gave me a job, I'm not here to challenge him, I'm here to make money and blog about it. NERD. Why don't you go blog about it, you dipshit. He let them slide for the day, but later in the evening, I saw him out on Las Olas and he brings me two pairs of shorts he just bought for me, hands me the receipt and says I can write it off. I guess he's a dude! Right on.
Before work that day, I had aggressively pursued efficiencies in the South Beach, and North Beach, areas. There are so many vacancies and signs for rental/sale that I'm starting to grasp the scope of the recession. Score for me. It looked like something was about to happen as I rolled through North Beach on my way to Fort Lauderdale. I just started calling numbers on the sides of houses and one guy was ready to come on by and show me a place. He looked like a tropical Marlon Brando-lite, and sounded like James Earl Jones. He showed me a few apartments and we made a verbal agreement that I would give him $600 in exchange for a one bedroom apartment for about three weeks, with a $500 security deposit. Fine, no problem. I got very excited because I was about to land my own place and I was only two blocks from the beach. So the next thing I did was to set up a bank account because the genius forgot his Northeastern Regional Bank (tm) checkbook. In the setup of the account, they asked me where I wanted my new debit card sent. I almost gave them my new address, but thought better and told them to send it to the pedicab shop. Again, my intuition knew something.
So I'm feeling pretty good about myself and I decide since it is a Tuesday and not much is going on, that I'll take one of their actual rickshaws out for a run around. I didn't expect to be out long-I still had to drop my rent check off to the guy I've already programmed into my phone as "Mark My Landlord" on my way to the Boston College University of Miami basketball game. I ran the thing about two miles all the way to the beach, managed to score a few rides, and I guess even in a ludicrous Hawaiian shirt, girls can still think you're hot if you are physically running them and two friends from one place to the other because this girl insta-facebooked me.
The rickshaw is kinda fun-it becomes a lot easier when you have people in the back-you get to kinda float on the upward tipped front and take giant moon steps while running. The passengers get a weird kind of show out of this, and you can actually jump up with the whole rig and have the back tail pipes drag on the ground while you do acrobatic looking shit in front of your disoriented guests. Nobody is sure if that is supposed to happen, sometimes not even the driver. The only problem is, once you are out getting rides with this thing, you have to bring it back to the shop. One is faced with the decision-I'm very tired, just ran like four or five miles, some of it pulling people, so shall I walk this thing back to the shop and be back in 45 minutes, or run and be back in 20? Ahhh.....feck, I'll run.
I got a hold of the landlord the on my way down to the game (finally), and suddenly he had to think about it! Are you serious? I have a money order that I got specifically to give to you!" (name not written out yet) We had a verbal agreement! Oh you thought we had a verbal agreement? Then I'm just going to pass on the whole thing. He hung up! Asshole! Good thing I didn't send him my debit card.
God never closes a door without kicking you in the balls and laughing and then you find 20 bucks on the ground while gasping for air, that's what I always say.
I went down to the game to hang out with BC contemporary Ken Bereski, quite possibly the biggest fan of Boston College athletics I've ever encountered. Joining us were my friend Mallory and Ken's girlfriend Anna. Mallory and I waited outside for Ken who bikes like 40 miles daily, or some insane number. He rolls up with "For Boston" by Dropkick Murphys blaring from his bike stereo rig, and we wait another few minutes while his scalper buddy comes up and gives him free tickets for all of us. We found our good seats in the small arena, and Ken proceeds to be "that guy" which is uncomfortable at first, but ultimately infectious. We are the only two people shouting DE-FENSE for BC, and between this and the constant jeers Ken lobs out to the UM players when they attempt free throws, he's managed to turn the entire student section of UM students against us. Perhaps this video link will help you understand why. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYFLkY-AZmg I was being cursed at, told BC sucks, a guy made the "blowjob, you're gay" gesture at me--you know, the tongue in cheek with moving hand one? Yeah, that one. It was great! BC started coming back, and the previously safely enraged members of said student section were now insecure and afraid they would look like big big toolbags when UM lost. When BC finally did overcome their 12 or 14 point deficit from the first half to win, Mr. Gestures continued to tell me to get the fuck out of here, fuck you (all of this discernible from a distance of 150 feet with no volume), he proceeds to pick up all the little foam things that are used to distract visiting players when they shoot free throws, I expect to reuse at the next game he will make lewd gestures at fans of the visitors. I guess he is a leader among them. Stay green, Mr. Gestures.
During all this Ken has suggested to me that he and his girl have a flexible housing situation in which they could offer me a room in South Beach. Without going into extensive detail, it is another one of those gifts that drop in front of me that I suspiciously open and is surprisingly not a dick in a box. So that's where I live now. Send care packages to:....ask for it
Wednesday was a sort of wash. I didn't much feel like working, considering my body was a little roughed up from rickshawing, so Mike and I went for a nice ride up to Aventura and back, somewhere in the 20-25 miles range. I then moved most of my stuff into Ken and Anna's, and consulted beeradvocate.com for ideas about bars I could try in South Beach, deciding to make a little pub crawl for myself. I ended up at Ladies Night at the Abraxas Lounge. there were like three ladies there. WOOOP WOOOOP! What a party. Managed to sit down next to the only person in the bar who was smoking. The bartender was rad, and I think Floridians love the freebee exchange in general, because after one or two, I think it was two, Emmanuel hooked me up with a free Delerium Tremens. Incidentally, it was my 100th beer, and it was free!
I tried to find a new place, but passed by The Abbey, felt it was an omen, and entered. Impatience? Laziness? Parched? No, simply heeding intuition once again. The bartender only remembered me when I mentioned I knocked over a glass of very expensive beer. I sat down next to a guy who is a stagehand in Florida, and we had plenty of common ground and we ended up knowing some of the same people, and he was a total dude and bought me a beer too, and then left his computer in the bar. He had an 8 am work call, he is the head of the project, and it was easily past 1 am when he left. A weekday warrior.
Thursday, I dragged so slowly that I didn't quite make it to the beach during the day, so I just went out to ride. My tips only style got a few guys annoyed because they weren't selling rides at all and I was. Go cry about it, I made money and you sat there with your feet up where your balls ought to be. Today I got out to the beach, finally, but five minutes after I laid out, the clouds came and screwed it. The water ruled, about as warm as it ever gets in Boston, so swimming was less obligatory and more simply a pleasure to do. Tonight's shift was ups and downs. My pedispirit was so low that I nearly went in with a pittance, but just as I pulled over to mope and text someone about it, a ride appeared before my very eyes and exploded my momentum in the other direction. Sick. Now I'm starting to climb up out of the spending that got me down here.
Statistics:
3 trips to Total Wine and Spirits, a store that allows your to mix n match your own six pack from a giant wall of single beers.
$$ made
$125 to rent the pedicab for one week
20 days I went without paying rent to anyone.
600 dollars for the room I'm renting in South Beach.
30 miles x 2 on my daily commute
5 crying babies in the starbucks where I began logging this entry.
Beers from...
Day 13 (cont'd)
87 Highland IPA @Marsh's
Day 14 Marsh's
88 Terrapin Big Hoppy Monster
89 Brooklyn Local 1
90 Dogfishhead 60 minute IPA
91 Dogfishhead 60 minute IPA
Day 15 pedicab shop/Marsh's
92 Saint Bernardus Tripel
93 White Hawk IPA
94 Rogue Dead Guy Ale
95 Eye of the Hawk Ale
Day 16
96 Stone IPA @Abraxas Lounge
97 Cigar City IPA (top five beers of the trip)
98 St Bernardus 12 draught
99 Delerium Tremens draught
100 Delerium Tremens draught (free! 100th beer special! Thanks, Emmanuel!)
101 Fin du Monde @The Abbey
102 Brother Aaron's Quadrupel (Thanks Mark!)
Day 17 shop
103 Full Sail IPA
104 Loose Cannon Hop Cubed Pilsner
105 Corona
Day 18 shop
106 Fin du Monde bottle
107 St. Bernardus Pater 6
108 Loose Cannon small craft warning uber pils
Damn. It's hard to keep up when I suddenly start devoting large chunks of time to work. Next week, we'll know who will be in the Superbowl, and Probowl people will start arriving. I think business is about to explode.
On Monday night, I went out for just a few hours to pedicab and get the city in my head a little more. I met Jay, the owner of Ocean View Rickshaw, and he asked me didn't I feel silly wearing plaid shorts with a Hawaiian shirt (that he makes us wear) I said no, I wear them all the time. And what I didn't say was that the Hawaiian shirt was what made me feel silly. But hey, he gave me a job, I'm not here to challenge him, I'm here to make money and blog about it. NERD. Why don't you go blog about it, you dipshit. He let them slide for the day, but later in the evening, I saw him out on Las Olas and he brings me two pairs of shorts he just bought for me, hands me the receipt and says I can write it off. I guess he's a dude! Right on.
Before work that day, I had aggressively pursued efficiencies in the South Beach, and North Beach, areas. There are so many vacancies and signs for rental/sale that I'm starting to grasp the scope of the recession. Score for me. It looked like something was about to happen as I rolled through North Beach on my way to Fort Lauderdale. I just started calling numbers on the sides of houses and one guy was ready to come on by and show me a place. He looked like a tropical Marlon Brando-lite, and sounded like James Earl Jones. He showed me a few apartments and we made a verbal agreement that I would give him $600 in exchange for a one bedroom apartment for about three weeks, with a $500 security deposit. Fine, no problem. I got very excited because I was about to land my own place and I was only two blocks from the beach. So the next thing I did was to set up a bank account because the genius forgot his Northeastern Regional Bank (tm) checkbook. In the setup of the account, they asked me where I wanted my new debit card sent. I almost gave them my new address, but thought better and told them to send it to the pedicab shop. Again, my intuition knew something.
So I'm feeling pretty good about myself and I decide since it is a Tuesday and not much is going on, that I'll take one of their actual rickshaws out for a run around. I didn't expect to be out long-I still had to drop my rent check off to the guy I've already programmed into my phone as "Mark My Landlord" on my way to the Boston College University of Miami basketball game. I ran the thing about two miles all the way to the beach, managed to score a few rides, and I guess even in a ludicrous Hawaiian shirt, girls can still think you're hot if you are physically running them and two friends from one place to the other because this girl insta-facebooked me.
The rickshaw is kinda fun-it becomes a lot easier when you have people in the back-you get to kinda float on the upward tipped front and take giant moon steps while running. The passengers get a weird kind of show out of this, and you can actually jump up with the whole rig and have the back tail pipes drag on the ground while you do acrobatic looking shit in front of your disoriented guests. Nobody is sure if that is supposed to happen, sometimes not even the driver. The only problem is, once you are out getting rides with this thing, you have to bring it back to the shop. One is faced with the decision-I'm very tired, just ran like four or five miles, some of it pulling people, so shall I walk this thing back to the shop and be back in 45 minutes, or run and be back in 20? Ahhh.....feck, I'll run.
I got a hold of the landlord the on my way down to the game (finally), and suddenly he had to think about it! Are you serious? I have a money order that I got specifically to give to you!" (name not written out yet) We had a verbal agreement! Oh you thought we had a verbal agreement? Then I'm just going to pass on the whole thing. He hung up! Asshole! Good thing I didn't send him my debit card.
God never closes a door without kicking you in the balls and laughing and then you find 20 bucks on the ground while gasping for air, that's what I always say.
I went down to the game to hang out with BC contemporary Ken Bereski, quite possibly the biggest fan of Boston College athletics I've ever encountered. Joining us were my friend Mallory and Ken's girlfriend Anna. Mallory and I waited outside for Ken who bikes like 40 miles daily, or some insane number. He rolls up with "For Boston" by Dropkick Murphys blaring from his bike stereo rig, and we wait another few minutes while his scalper buddy comes up and gives him free tickets for all of us. We found our good seats in the small arena, and Ken proceeds to be "that guy" which is uncomfortable at first, but ultimately infectious. We are the only two people shouting DE-FENSE for BC, and between this and the constant jeers Ken lobs out to the UM players when they attempt free throws, he's managed to turn the entire student section of UM students against us. Perhaps this video link will help you understand why. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYFLkY-AZmg I was being cursed at, told BC sucks, a guy made the "blowjob, you're gay" gesture at me--you know, the tongue in cheek with moving hand one? Yeah, that one. It was great! BC started coming back, and the previously safely enraged members of said student section were now insecure and afraid they would look like big big toolbags when UM lost. When BC finally did overcome their 12 or 14 point deficit from the first half to win, Mr. Gestures continued to tell me to get the fuck out of here, fuck you (all of this discernible from a distance of 150 feet with no volume), he proceeds to pick up all the little foam things that are used to distract visiting players when they shoot free throws, I expect to reuse at the next game he will make lewd gestures at fans of the visitors. I guess he is a leader among them. Stay green, Mr. Gestures.
During all this Ken has suggested to me that he and his girl have a flexible housing situation in which they could offer me a room in South Beach. Without going into extensive detail, it is another one of those gifts that drop in front of me that I suspiciously open and is surprisingly not a dick in a box. So that's where I live now. Send care packages to:....ask for it
Wednesday was a sort of wash. I didn't much feel like working, considering my body was a little roughed up from rickshawing, so Mike and I went for a nice ride up to Aventura and back, somewhere in the 20-25 miles range. I then moved most of my stuff into Ken and Anna's, and consulted beeradvocate.com for ideas about bars I could try in South Beach, deciding to make a little pub crawl for myself. I ended up at Ladies Night at the Abraxas Lounge. there were like three ladies there. WOOOP WOOOOP! What a party. Managed to sit down next to the only person in the bar who was smoking. The bartender was rad, and I think Floridians love the freebee exchange in general, because after one or two, I think it was two, Emmanuel hooked me up with a free Delerium Tremens. Incidentally, it was my 100th beer, and it was free!
I tried to find a new place, but passed by The Abbey, felt it was an omen, and entered. Impatience? Laziness? Parched? No, simply heeding intuition once again. The bartender only remembered me when I mentioned I knocked over a glass of very expensive beer. I sat down next to a guy who is a stagehand in Florida, and we had plenty of common ground and we ended up knowing some of the same people, and he was a total dude and bought me a beer too, and then left his computer in the bar. He had an 8 am work call, he is the head of the project, and it was easily past 1 am when he left. A weekday warrior.
Thursday, I dragged so slowly that I didn't quite make it to the beach during the day, so I just went out to ride. My tips only style got a few guys annoyed because they weren't selling rides at all and I was. Go cry about it, I made money and you sat there with your feet up where your balls ought to be. Today I got out to the beach, finally, but five minutes after I laid out, the clouds came and screwed it. The water ruled, about as warm as it ever gets in Boston, so swimming was less obligatory and more simply a pleasure to do. Tonight's shift was ups and downs. My pedispirit was so low that I nearly went in with a pittance, but just as I pulled over to mope and text someone about it, a ride appeared before my very eyes and exploded my momentum in the other direction. Sick. Now I'm starting to climb up out of the spending that got me down here.
Statistics:
3 trips to Total Wine and Spirits, a store that allows your to mix n match your own six pack from a giant wall of single beers.
$$ made
$125 to rent the pedicab for one week
20 days I went without paying rent to anyone.
600 dollars for the room I'm renting in South Beach.
30 miles x 2 on my daily commute
5 crying babies in the starbucks where I began logging this entry.
Beers from...
Day 13 (cont'd)
87 Highland IPA @Marsh's
Day 14 Marsh's
88 Terrapin Big Hoppy Monster
89 Brooklyn Local 1
90 Dogfishhead 60 minute IPA
91 Dogfishhead 60 minute IPA
Day 15 pedicab shop/Marsh's
92 Saint Bernardus Tripel
93 White Hawk IPA
94 Rogue Dead Guy Ale
95 Eye of the Hawk Ale
Day 16
96 Stone IPA @Abraxas Lounge
97 Cigar City IPA (top five beers of the trip)
98 St Bernardus 12 draught
99 Delerium Tremens draught
100 Delerium Tremens draught (free! 100th beer special! Thanks, Emmanuel!)
101 Fin du Monde @The Abbey
102 Brother Aaron's Quadrupel (Thanks Mark!)
Day 17 shop
103 Full Sail IPA
104 Loose Cannon Hop Cubed Pilsner
105 Corona
Day 18 shop
106 Fin du Monde bottle
107 St. Bernardus Pater 6
108 Loose Cannon small craft warning uber pils
Damn. It's hard to keep up when I suddenly start devoting large chunks of time to work. Next week, we'll know who will be in the Superbowl, and Probowl people will start arriving. I think business is about to explode.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Things You Can Get For $35
Days 9-13, Travel Day 5
I had finished my last posting in "Gallery Espresso", a hipster coffee house where all the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) kids hang out. Apparently weird middle aged German ladies hang out there too. She interjected in a conversation I was having with two girls who I had lent my laptop power cord to, and proceeded to talk at me for a while under the guise of being interested about my trip. I politely listened and she mentioned she ran a bed and breakfast and told me her life story and asked where I was staying. At this point I had checked out of the Best Western, not knowing if I'd stay another night in Savannah at all, but she wanted so badly to beat the bigger competition that she offered me a room for $35. I was her first customer in her Savannah B&B. Ever. It was great because she gave me a key and didn't care when I got in (sometime after 3 am), she didn't care when I woke up (sometime after noon) and it was next to gorgeous Forsyth Park, and the whole setup in there was pretty impressive, AND she made me breakfast, but it was weird because she demanded I sign her guest book, sat there asking me questions about computers, and filling me in on the finer points of the life story she had initially revealed to me in the cafe. I think talking for her is an involuntary function.
I decided to try to try new places in the evening after figuring out my accommodations, and on the recommendation of Sean Bailey, tried out The Mellow Mushroom. Great pizza, excellent beer selection, and cool clientele. After exiting and handing off my leftover slice to some homeless dude, and since I had no other good ideas, I went back to Hang Fire, where I just missed trivia, but karaoke was just about to begin. That dude Wes was there again and was once again very welcoming, introducing me to his friends around the bar as his buddy. Later on I stated talking to some girl who self reportedly always goes to the bar solo because she tends to make passive aggressive friends. OoooKay. Maybe it was a passive aggressive way to tell me she'd like or not like to be friends. Then she starts talking about Jesus, and I guess this had to happen to me sometime. Then she starts talking about her child. Then she tells me she's 23, smoking cigarettes this entire time. Welcome to the South. Still getting kind of culture shocked the whole way, it's been a lot to absorb, so much is just slightly different. I'm well lubricated enough to try to invite her to the next bar I want to hit, entitled "Pinkie Master", which was where Jimmy Carter supposedly announced his presidential campaign. She declines, stating she doesn't like to leave Hang Fire, it's her favorite bar. So I biked over there and chilled with a few people there and watched this big fat dude just utterly whip this poor girl around in what she was enjoying as a dance. I thought to myself, "Now that is a southern gentleman who knows how to dance!" Next thing you know, he's hitting on me, and saying in his drawl, "Look at you. Your orange shoes. The orange on your pants there, the orange stripes on your jacket there. Don't you just match well," then puckered his lips at me. It was an action he would not stop using in conversation with me. I had to warn him, but that only made him to it more. He then introduced me to his friends, which I think included everyone in the bar, and once again by being tolerant opened the doors to not just one, but many new friends.
Leaving bars smelling like smoke is something I'm really not enjoying. Since I'm often on the move, its not always convenient or easy to get a whole change of clothes on very often, and so when I wake up the following morning and have to wear cigarette smoke to start my day, I gag a little. Also, my voice is taking on the smoke and I can hit every note (accurately) in Johnny Cash's original recording of "I Walk The Line" Yes, there is that much smoke in the places I'm going.
The next day when I finally made my escape from the B&B, I took a little ride through Forsyth Park, filmed a little and went to get coffee (that German coffee she made was shite) and get on the road to Miami, where my next crash was. It was at this point I ran into a pedicab driver-the weather had finally gotten better, so dudes were out trying to make money. This guy Michael, from the UK or Australia (it really just sounded southern to me until he mentioned it) who just began working with Savannah Pedicab. He wanted to talk and talk about pedicabbing, so I made the decision to go get coffee with him and realized that there is a backup plan in case Fort Lauderdale didn't work out. We were joined by a new driver named David, who was very Alex Meek hipster-ish, and had no idea what he was doing on a trike. They gave me the pedicab escort back to my car, I showed Michael the Boston pedicab shirt, and took off for Miami.
Longshot did fine on the drive, but I was starting to get worried. While starting up she sputters a little. I put some good gas in just to make her get a few extra miles an hour up on one of the longest drives of the trip. She needs an oil change in southern FL. Went to get that done today and they told me I was leaking oil badly, and that they couldn't do the oil change. The car was parked for over an hour and I didn't see a single drop. Now I'm wondering if they were trying to scam me. Going for a second opinion tomorrow.
I arrived at about midnight, and the first order of business seemed to be giving me the basic history in the surrounding areas, showing me around. Mike, who I am staying with at the moment, was the greatest tour guide of the trip so far, going into detail about Miami and Lincoln Road, the Fanieul Hall of Miami Beach. Some great views and pictures, and so many of the buildings are left over from the 30's 40's and 50's Art Deco period that it feels kind of like I'm back in time, except it is really really sexy, and every girl is wearing hot pants. On the walk, he also explained the homeless situation in Miami, and one homeless guy sleeping in a closed shop doorway had his dick clearly showing, tucked out through the back of his legs. Yeah, he was cut, that's how clearly it was showing. It was a penis surprise. Bienvenidos a Miami.
We finally ended up at the Abbey, a place where when we entered, two girls were making out; they broke four glasses in the course of the time we spent there. We began to indulge in magnificent beers, splitting a $35 bottle of delicious Brooklyn Black Ops stout, a collaborative effort between the Brooklyn Brewery and Schniederweiss. I said to Mike, "We'll get a bottle before I leave for New Orleans," but the bartender pressured us into the purchase stating there were only two left. Man, it was soooo goooood, but about a third through my first glass I very carefully gesticulated that very glass right over. The bartender, Mike, and I were all so disappointed that it quickly transformed into a small funeral. Frank offered to replace in my glass what he had sopped up with his rag, but I respectfully declined. Fortunately there was some left and I did enjoy the beer even more since I had suffered a loss.
Miami is weirding me out, but it's 70+ degrees and I'm not about to start questioning it so early. Friends I have down here are asking me if I hate it yet. I reiterate, too often that I'm coming from Boston, hate is in my nature, fuckin Yankees. Either way, I'm completely satisfied with my decision to leave, I feel more positive and optimistic and the new experiences are kind of blowing my mind.
Two days ago, Mike and I went on a 30 mile-ish bike ride all around Miami and up to Key Biscayne, where there was a monster hill on the bridge to Key Biscayne that I handily dispatched, in anticipation of the impending pulling of tourists in Ft. Lauderdale. Early Sunday morning, a biker was struck and killed by a drunk driver on this very bridge. Biking is dangerous here, driver give cyclists very little respect. Yet it remains convenient, and I have developed a potent sense of caution since I involuntarily changed the layout of my face.
Upon arrival in Ft. Lauderdale yesterday, I had realized that they have been holding a job/bike for me this whole time. Awesome. I was given the training/tour and it seems difficult to run game, but fun. I'm anticipating a cash cow.
Spent the day looking for efficiencies to reside in for a month. A couple of dumps seemed ok for twenty to thirty days, I guess. And just worried a little about the behavior of my car. Besides that, my biggest problem is getting hit in the face by palm tree leaves. Jealous? This coming week, I think I'll take out an actual rickshaw, just to see what it's like.
Statistics:
488 miles from Savannah to Miami
78 degrees as today's high temp
69 degrees at 11:45 pm @ time of post
3 hours I got to spend out at a bar after arriving at midnight on Thursday.
5 blocks from Mike's to the beach
8 highway billboard signs that were related to Jesus Christ, forcing me to winder if their money could be better spent, on say, HELPING PEOPLE.
2 hours is the time it took to be "trained" in Ft. Lauderdale by their road manager. Exasperating.
1 bagel.
Beers from....
Day 9
#57 Yeungling 12 oz Draft @Mad Hatter ($3 dozen oysters!)
#58 Yeungling 12 oz Draft
#59 Yeungling 12 oz Draft
#60 Bogart Pale Ale @Mellow Mushroom
#61 Terrapin Rye Pale Ale
#62 Brooklyn Lager
#63 Victory Prima Pils @Live Wire Club (apparently just missed RJD2 the previous night)
#64 Bud Bottle @Seed Eco Lounge
#65 PBR @Hang Fire
#66 PBR
#67 PBR
#68 PBR @Pinkie Master
#69 PBR -----All these written down is gross in some way..kinda like a post pedicab shift.
Day 10 -Mike in Miami
#70 Presidente bottle @Mike's apt
#71 Presidente
#72 Abbey Immaculate IPE @The Abbey
#73 Chouffe Houblon Doubel IPA Tripel
#74 Brooklyn Black Ops
#75 Brooklyn Hoppen Weiss
#76 Presidente
Day 11 -Mike, Lauren
#77 Negro Modelo @Salsa Fresca
#78 Wittekerke @Euro Cafe
#79 St Bernardus Abbey Style Ale @Brew Cafe
#80 Free rum and coke @Fatcat
#81 Northern Lights IPA
Day 12 -Mallory
#82 Sierra Nevada draft @Green Street Cafe
#83 Presidente bottle
Day 13-Lauren, Mike, Colleen
#84 Bud can @Le Tub
#85 Great Divide Double IPA @Zeke's
#86 Samuel Adams Noble Pils @ Mike's apt
#87 Brooklyn Hoppen Weiss
*night incomplete*
I had finished my last posting in "Gallery Espresso", a hipster coffee house where all the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) kids hang out. Apparently weird middle aged German ladies hang out there too. She interjected in a conversation I was having with two girls who I had lent my laptop power cord to, and proceeded to talk at me for a while under the guise of being interested about my trip. I politely listened and she mentioned she ran a bed and breakfast and told me her life story and asked where I was staying. At this point I had checked out of the Best Western, not knowing if I'd stay another night in Savannah at all, but she wanted so badly to beat the bigger competition that she offered me a room for $35. I was her first customer in her Savannah B&B. Ever. It was great because she gave me a key and didn't care when I got in (sometime after 3 am), she didn't care when I woke up (sometime after noon) and it was next to gorgeous Forsyth Park, and the whole setup in there was pretty impressive, AND she made me breakfast, but it was weird because she demanded I sign her guest book, sat there asking me questions about computers, and filling me in on the finer points of the life story she had initially revealed to me in the cafe. I think talking for her is an involuntary function.
I decided to try to try new places in the evening after figuring out my accommodations, and on the recommendation of Sean Bailey, tried out The Mellow Mushroom. Great pizza, excellent beer selection, and cool clientele. After exiting and handing off my leftover slice to some homeless dude, and since I had no other good ideas, I went back to Hang Fire, where I just missed trivia, but karaoke was just about to begin. That dude Wes was there again and was once again very welcoming, introducing me to his friends around the bar as his buddy. Later on I stated talking to some girl who self reportedly always goes to the bar solo because she tends to make passive aggressive friends. OoooKay. Maybe it was a passive aggressive way to tell me she'd like or not like to be friends. Then she starts talking about Jesus, and I guess this had to happen to me sometime. Then she starts talking about her child. Then she tells me she's 23, smoking cigarettes this entire time. Welcome to the South. Still getting kind of culture shocked the whole way, it's been a lot to absorb, so much is just slightly different. I'm well lubricated enough to try to invite her to the next bar I want to hit, entitled "Pinkie Master", which was where Jimmy Carter supposedly announced his presidential campaign. She declines, stating she doesn't like to leave Hang Fire, it's her favorite bar. So I biked over there and chilled with a few people there and watched this big fat dude just utterly whip this poor girl around in what she was enjoying as a dance. I thought to myself, "Now that is a southern gentleman who knows how to dance!" Next thing you know, he's hitting on me, and saying in his drawl, "Look at you. Your orange shoes. The orange on your pants there, the orange stripes on your jacket there. Don't you just match well," then puckered his lips at me. It was an action he would not stop using in conversation with me. I had to warn him, but that only made him to it more. He then introduced me to his friends, which I think included everyone in the bar, and once again by being tolerant opened the doors to not just one, but many new friends.
Leaving bars smelling like smoke is something I'm really not enjoying. Since I'm often on the move, its not always convenient or easy to get a whole change of clothes on very often, and so when I wake up the following morning and have to wear cigarette smoke to start my day, I gag a little. Also, my voice is taking on the smoke and I can hit every note (accurately) in Johnny Cash's original recording of "I Walk The Line" Yes, there is that much smoke in the places I'm going.
The next day when I finally made my escape from the B&B, I took a little ride through Forsyth Park, filmed a little and went to get coffee (that German coffee she made was shite) and get on the road to Miami, where my next crash was. It was at this point I ran into a pedicab driver-the weather had finally gotten better, so dudes were out trying to make money. This guy Michael, from the UK or Australia (it really just sounded southern to me until he mentioned it) who just began working with Savannah Pedicab. He wanted to talk and talk about pedicabbing, so I made the decision to go get coffee with him and realized that there is a backup plan in case Fort Lauderdale didn't work out. We were joined by a new driver named David, who was very Alex Meek hipster-ish, and had no idea what he was doing on a trike. They gave me the pedicab escort back to my car, I showed Michael the Boston pedicab shirt, and took off for Miami.
Longshot did fine on the drive, but I was starting to get worried. While starting up she sputters a little. I put some good gas in just to make her get a few extra miles an hour up on one of the longest drives of the trip. She needs an oil change in southern FL. Went to get that done today and they told me I was leaking oil badly, and that they couldn't do the oil change. The car was parked for over an hour and I didn't see a single drop. Now I'm wondering if they were trying to scam me. Going for a second opinion tomorrow.
I arrived at about midnight, and the first order of business seemed to be giving me the basic history in the surrounding areas, showing me around. Mike, who I am staying with at the moment, was the greatest tour guide of the trip so far, going into detail about Miami and Lincoln Road, the Fanieul Hall of Miami Beach. Some great views and pictures, and so many of the buildings are left over from the 30's 40's and 50's Art Deco period that it feels kind of like I'm back in time, except it is really really sexy, and every girl is wearing hot pants. On the walk, he also explained the homeless situation in Miami, and one homeless guy sleeping in a closed shop doorway had his dick clearly showing, tucked out through the back of his legs. Yeah, he was cut, that's how clearly it was showing. It was a penis surprise. Bienvenidos a Miami.
We finally ended up at the Abbey, a place where when we entered, two girls were making out; they broke four glasses in the course of the time we spent there. We began to indulge in magnificent beers, splitting a $35 bottle of delicious Brooklyn Black Ops stout, a collaborative effort between the Brooklyn Brewery and Schniederweiss. I said to Mike, "We'll get a bottle before I leave for New Orleans," but the bartender pressured us into the purchase stating there were only two left. Man, it was soooo goooood, but about a third through my first glass I very carefully gesticulated that very glass right over. The bartender, Mike, and I were all so disappointed that it quickly transformed into a small funeral. Frank offered to replace in my glass what he had sopped up with his rag, but I respectfully declined. Fortunately there was some left and I did enjoy the beer even more since I had suffered a loss.
Miami is weirding me out, but it's 70+ degrees and I'm not about to start questioning it so early. Friends I have down here are asking me if I hate it yet. I reiterate, too often that I'm coming from Boston, hate is in my nature, fuckin Yankees. Either way, I'm completely satisfied with my decision to leave, I feel more positive and optimistic and the new experiences are kind of blowing my mind.
Two days ago, Mike and I went on a 30 mile-ish bike ride all around Miami and up to Key Biscayne, where there was a monster hill on the bridge to Key Biscayne that I handily dispatched, in anticipation of the impending pulling of tourists in Ft. Lauderdale. Early Sunday morning, a biker was struck and killed by a drunk driver on this very bridge. Biking is dangerous here, driver give cyclists very little respect. Yet it remains convenient, and I have developed a potent sense of caution since I involuntarily changed the layout of my face.
Upon arrival in Ft. Lauderdale yesterday, I had realized that they have been holding a job/bike for me this whole time. Awesome. I was given the training/tour and it seems difficult to run game, but fun. I'm anticipating a cash cow.
Spent the day looking for efficiencies to reside in for a month. A couple of dumps seemed ok for twenty to thirty days, I guess. And just worried a little about the behavior of my car. Besides that, my biggest problem is getting hit in the face by palm tree leaves. Jealous? This coming week, I think I'll take out an actual rickshaw, just to see what it's like.
Statistics:
488 miles from Savannah to Miami
78 degrees as today's high temp
69 degrees at 11:45 pm @ time of post
3 hours I got to spend out at a bar after arriving at midnight on Thursday.
5 blocks from Mike's to the beach
8 highway billboard signs that were related to Jesus Christ, forcing me to winder if their money could be better spent, on say, HELPING PEOPLE.
2 hours is the time it took to be "trained" in Ft. Lauderdale by their road manager. Exasperating.
1 bagel.
Beers from....
Day 9
#57 Yeungling 12 oz Draft @Mad Hatter ($3 dozen oysters!)
#58 Yeungling 12 oz Draft
#59 Yeungling 12 oz Draft
#60 Bogart Pale Ale @Mellow Mushroom
#61 Terrapin Rye Pale Ale
#62 Brooklyn Lager
#63 Victory Prima Pils @Live Wire Club (apparently just missed RJD2 the previous night)
#64 Bud Bottle @Seed Eco Lounge
#65 PBR @Hang Fire
#66 PBR
#67 PBR
#68 PBR @Pinkie Master
#69 PBR -----All these written down is gross in some way..kinda like a post pedicab shift.
Day 10 -Mike in Miami
#70 Presidente bottle @Mike's apt
#71 Presidente
#72 Abbey Immaculate IPE @The Abbey
#73 Chouffe Houblon Doubel IPA Tripel
#74 Brooklyn Black Ops
#75 Brooklyn Hoppen Weiss
#76 Presidente
Day 11 -Mike, Lauren
#77 Negro Modelo @Salsa Fresca
#78 Wittekerke @Euro Cafe
#79 St Bernardus Abbey Style Ale @Brew Cafe
#80 Free rum and coke @Fatcat
#81 Northern Lights IPA
Day 12 -Mallory
#82 Sierra Nevada draft @Green Street Cafe
#83 Presidente bottle
Day 13-Lauren, Mike, Colleen
#84 Bud can @Le Tub
#85 Great Divide Double IPA @Zeke's
#86 Samuel Adams Noble Pils @ Mike's apt
#87 Brooklyn Hoppen Weiss
*night incomplete*
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Your Innards Never Lie
huhuhuh...nards.
Day 9, Travel day 4
The flexibility of my itinerary is proving to be beneficial to experience. I got a much better sense of the size and scope of Asheville by getting lost in the car trying to go see Fantastic Mr. Fox. I was twenty minutes late and so I thought I'd just keep driving around. Beyond the small downtown area, it's not very impressive, but the people ooze friendliness, in that good kind of oozing way. People offer seats, help carrying that, and are genuinely concerned if you stumble. They are also too polite to bluntly exit a conversation. They'd rather just move and hope you don't notice. People are really cool though, it's very hippie-ish. Kinda like Allston with less terrible tattoos, stopped being dicks, and drink are cheeap. It's nothing like Allston. Except that one place I went Broadway's. Because of their weird alcohol laws, I had to be signed in as a guest of this girl Beth who I made friends with at some new beer brewery bar downtown. She said we should go over there, so I did, but they only let you in if you have a membership (which costs $5 for your lifetime membership) or pay the $3 cover....unless you are a guest. Smoke filled bar with $1.50 PBRs, and they weren't even the cheapest thing in the bar. See later list.
Going off on this trip like this...I realized I'm technically homeless. Ha!
Descending from the Blue Mountains was really beautiful. I was going too fast to take a picture, not a safe thing to do when tere are runaway truck ramps every few miles. If there are runaway truck ramps, there must be runaway trucks. I left Asheville, and had to decide on the drive whether I was going to Charleston or Savannah, . I decided to try and take Charleston in real quick, grab a new battery for my laptop, have a quick bite, and get to Savannah to make a bar scene and get just a little closer to manageable driving distance to Ft. Lauderdale. Charleston seems pretty great. I ran into a pedicabber hanging out outside the Apple store. I wanted to talk to him soo badly, find out what the deal was-His buddy was standing there and said there was a job opening, he just got fired. Of course if some guy like me wanted to talk to me in Boston while I was trying to get rides, I'd probably tell him to go fuck himself, I'm trying to get rides here, not talk about them and ride away. And I'd get really confused because I was trying to talk to myself about rides and getting into an altercation about it. If Ft. Lauderdale doesn't work out, I could totally see myself working in Charleston for a while.
A lot of my driving has happened at night. I feel like I'm missing out on some of the scenery, but I suppose it is more about experiencing the cities. In South Carolina...and probably here in Georgia too, you can be heavily fined and thrown in jail for littering or speeding. Last night on my way from Charleston to Savannah, I saw a car with NJ plates pulled over. Cops down here love bustin Yanks. I saw the trooper walking to the car with a ticket in hand, and something inside of me said I should pull off the road and get a soda, use the restroom. I just didnt want him catching up to me, seeing my plates and arbitrarily pulling me over. After mounting 95 again, I saw him tucked in, nestled into a highway nook waiting for speeders. Not me, not in this car, tricky, tricky. Keeping it 5mph under the limit, just in case, anticipating all the speed traps.
Savannah is charming! The bartender at this dive I discovered resembles Robbie Reckless if he grew his hair out and widened his goatee towards his jawbones a little, and did maybe just a little more heroin. This guy chatted me up and even recommended me to other bars, quite polite.
Quoth Wes, the bartender, "Your innards will tell you, they never lie," and "If there's an umbrella in my drink, it better be raining."
My two favorite texts recently have been "Locked out! Have Bacon!" And, "Oh my god, I am not the master of this key, please let me in..."
Day 7 Kirsten and friends, and Beth, who was also alone in the Lexington Avenue Brewery to check it out in its first week
#40 Lexington Ave Brewery (LAB) IPA @LAB
#41 LAB American Pale Ale
#42 shot of Grand Marnier (Thanks Beth!)
#43 Lexington Ave Marzner
#44 LAB IPA
#45 LAB Pilsner
#46 Miller high life bottle @Broadway's
#47 Grand Marnier shot (Thanks Beth!)
#48 Miller Lite bottle (Thanks Beth!) This is where she drove home..yeah, I know..faaaahck. And she got home safe. (applause)
#49 Lower Lexington Delight
Day 8 Charleston, Savannah, alone
#50 Corona for $1.50 @Jim&Nick's BBQ
#51 Coast Hop Art @Gene's Haufbrau (Charlseton local IPA, fan-f'n-tastic!)
#52 24 oz PBR @Hang Fire
#53 Sweetwater 420 Pale Ale
#54 24 oz PBR
#55 PBR pitcher@The Rail Pub
#56 24 oz PBR @Hang Fire
Statistics
417 miles, 6+ hours of driving time.
$26 fill outside of Charleston
60-40 women to men ratio in Asheville
1st time I've ever found Yelp! to be actually useful.
$20 saved by booking hotel over Hotwire
5 minutes between booking hotel and arriving to hotel.
60% is the percentage of footage I saw from the movie "The Watchmen"
2 beers I took to go, and transferred between bars with them-legal here.
55 degrees is the high today
Chillin here one more night here, just got my bike reinflated...staying in Miami tomorrow.
Day 9, Travel day 4
The flexibility of my itinerary is proving to be beneficial to experience. I got a much better sense of the size and scope of Asheville by getting lost in the car trying to go see Fantastic Mr. Fox. I was twenty minutes late and so I thought I'd just keep driving around. Beyond the small downtown area, it's not very impressive, but the people ooze friendliness, in that good kind of oozing way. People offer seats, help carrying that, and are genuinely concerned if you stumble. They are also too polite to bluntly exit a conversation. They'd rather just move and hope you don't notice. People are really cool though, it's very hippie-ish. Kinda like Allston with less terrible tattoos, stopped being dicks, and drink are cheeap. It's nothing like Allston. Except that one place I went Broadway's. Because of their weird alcohol laws, I had to be signed in as a guest of this girl Beth who I made friends with at some new beer brewery bar downtown. She said we should go over there, so I did, but they only let you in if you have a membership (which costs $5 for your lifetime membership) or pay the $3 cover....unless you are a guest. Smoke filled bar with $1.50 PBRs, and they weren't even the cheapest thing in the bar. See later list.
Going off on this trip like this...I realized I'm technically homeless. Ha!
Descending from the Blue Mountains was really beautiful. I was going too fast to take a picture, not a safe thing to do when tere are runaway truck ramps every few miles. If there are runaway truck ramps, there must be runaway trucks. I left Asheville, and had to decide on the drive whether I was going to Charleston or Savannah, . I decided to try and take Charleston in real quick, grab a new battery for my laptop, have a quick bite, and get to Savannah to make a bar scene and get just a little closer to manageable driving distance to Ft. Lauderdale. Charleston seems pretty great. I ran into a pedicabber hanging out outside the Apple store. I wanted to talk to him soo badly, find out what the deal was-His buddy was standing there and said there was a job opening, he just got fired. Of course if some guy like me wanted to talk to me in Boston while I was trying to get rides, I'd probably tell him to go fuck himself, I'm trying to get rides here, not talk about them and ride away. And I'd get really confused because I was trying to talk to myself about rides and getting into an altercation about it. If Ft. Lauderdale doesn't work out, I could totally see myself working in Charleston for a while.
A lot of my driving has happened at night. I feel like I'm missing out on some of the scenery, but I suppose it is more about experiencing the cities. In South Carolina...and probably here in Georgia too, you can be heavily fined and thrown in jail for littering or speeding. Last night on my way from Charleston to Savannah, I saw a car with NJ plates pulled over. Cops down here love bustin Yanks. I saw the trooper walking to the car with a ticket in hand, and something inside of me said I should pull off the road and get a soda, use the restroom. I just didnt want him catching up to me, seeing my plates and arbitrarily pulling me over. After mounting 95 again, I saw him tucked in, nestled into a highway nook waiting for speeders. Not me, not in this car, tricky, tricky. Keeping it 5mph under the limit, just in case, anticipating all the speed traps.
Savannah is charming! The bartender at this dive I discovered resembles Robbie Reckless if he grew his hair out and widened his goatee towards his jawbones a little, and did maybe just a little more heroin. This guy chatted me up and even recommended me to other bars, quite polite.
Quoth Wes, the bartender, "Your innards will tell you, they never lie," and "If there's an umbrella in my drink, it better be raining."
My two favorite texts recently have been "Locked out! Have Bacon!" And, "Oh my god, I am not the master of this key, please let me in..."
Day 7 Kirsten and friends, and Beth, who was also alone in the Lexington Avenue Brewery to check it out in its first week
#40 Lexington Ave Brewery (LAB) IPA @LAB
#41 LAB American Pale Ale
#42 shot of Grand Marnier (Thanks Beth!)
#43 Lexington Ave Marzner
#44 LAB IPA
#45 LAB Pilsner
#46 Miller high life bottle @Broadway's
#47 Grand Marnier shot (Thanks Beth!)
#48 Miller Lite bottle (Thanks Beth!) This is where she drove home..yeah, I know..faaaahck. And she got home safe. (applause)
#49 Lower Lexington Delight
Day 8 Charleston, Savannah, alone
#50 Corona for $1.50 @Jim&Nick's BBQ
#51 Coast Hop Art @Gene's Haufbrau (Charlseton local IPA, fan-f'n-tastic!)
#52 24 oz PBR @Hang Fire
#53 Sweetwater 420 Pale Ale
#54 24 oz PBR
#55 PBR pitcher@The Rail Pub
#56 24 oz PBR @Hang Fire
Statistics
417 miles, 6+ hours of driving time.
$26 fill outside of Charleston
60-40 women to men ratio in Asheville
1st time I've ever found Yelp! to be actually useful.
$20 saved by booking hotel over Hotwire
5 minutes between booking hotel and arriving to hotel.
60% is the percentage of footage I saw from the movie "The Watchmen"
2 beers I took to go, and transferred between bars with them-legal here.
55 degrees is the high today
Chillin here one more night here, just got my bike reinflated...staying in Miami tomorrow.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Passenger
Day 6, Travel Day 3
Since my last post I decided that two nights in DC was clearly what needed to happen. I'm learning to more fully embrace my intuition, which I think I've decided to call conservative impulsiveness. And that is not what it is now that I think about the results it yielded.
I was warmly welcomed with a handle of Jim Beam, which gave me my failsafe liquor before beer starting line for the evening. Landing the blog entry in an escalated state, I was given assurances that everyone was going to be awake when I got back from Adams Morgan. It was still fuckin fuckin fuckin cold so I ran uphill from Dupont Circle to Adams Morgan where I met Danny at Dans Cafe. It sounded like a place we belong.
This place is a shithole. I arrived, and as seems to be the case whenever I enter a room, a vast majority of the women in the place cleared out. The disappointment was mollified by the fact that Danny was standing there with a highball glass full of rum, a bucket of ice, and a coke on the table, in what seems to be the bar policy of "make your own damned drink." The next thing we ordered was a ketchup bottle full of whiskey ginger, something I enjoyed because it made me think for a second that I might want to douse someone in the eye or something with a squirt of whiskey ginger, then reconsidered and pissed it into my glass.
Two blond girls stuck out there and seemed unapproachable by any of the merchants there at that sausage festival. Danny began to describe to me a tactic of going up to give a girl a quarter, to which they normally react with nervous laughter, a confused thanks, and probably a generally put off attitude. Implementation of this strategy takes balls, but I went up to them and got shot down for free. Maybe it was the horrific scars on my face (probably not, too dark in there) but they didn't even buy my "just traveling through" line. I think it's a good line. It usually doesn't result in nervous laughter, or confused thanks', but only a generally put off attitude. Going for an edge here, yeah?
Change of venue to Toledo Cafe, chill, kitchy, southwesternish, peak organic ipa bottles, three. Danny gets recognized and we sit down with these kids and burn our time out 'til what was a surprising three am last call, not two. Cab back to Tacoma Park Metro, and everyone was in fact still up, but about to be down. Great timing.
Strugglin to make it happen the next day. It took 4 hours to get out of the house and do something worthwhile. In attempting to catch a Metro train, Nina (who lives with Teddy) and I watched the timer tell us there was one minute until the
Metro arrived as I struggled to find my Metro card. Where is it? Not this pocket, not this pocket. Think back, boy, where would you have drunkenly put it last night?! the train disappears from the information screen. It's here! No! How could that minute have possibly passed?! Where is the fucking card, dude? Man, we missed it. All was lost. And then, found! Enter, run, stairs, doors closing, score! Most dramatic train catching I've ever had, and it was all to make it to the Museum of American History, yawn. But actually it was totally worth it. We only had about two hours there since it was closing, but that was about all we could take before we needed rebound beers. We walked up from the museum to Chinatown and saw Danny rolling by, scored a quick ride to RFD, and scored Danny another ride in the exact spot we were dropped off.
"We were wondering how much this is," said perhaps slightly inebriated girl interested in going a block or so with her friend.
"For you," Danny said, evaluating his fair and likely customers, "a quarter." Presumably he would give it to some other girl later.
The reeeal joint was this place "The Passenger" on 7th by Massachusetts Ave. It caters a bit to hip-chic sort of kids, but when we rolled in on saturday at around 8 pm to an emptyish classy establishment, we didn't realize we were first on the wave, because that place filled up. With classy chicks no less. The best part was that up front there was the bar, some tables for 4 or 8, and towards the back there was a nook. A nook, I say! It could fit 8 comfortably at the two tables, 10 or 12 if you were ambitious enough to want privacy for 10 or 12, but it was cozy and made the priciness of the beers more worth it. And as a party of four, it afforded conversational opportunities with the passers-through. A few rounds later, we all split for parties, hotels, homes.
Dragged ass so hard the next day that I didn't get on the road until three hours after I wanted to. It turned out to be crucial in a hand of God sort of way, and my drive ended up slightly better for it, though I had anticipated company-plans change, flexibility is key. Nice 7 hours drive, listened to football all the way down, lefty on the wheel controlling Longshot, righty on the radio dials, adjusting frequency and volume depending on where I was and which local tower was broadcasting Westwood One. Disappointing games, emotional, and both of them somehow gratifying. Not a huge angering disappointment this year, they played their hearts out, my Green Bay Packers.
The freak out of the trip happened when I thought my car was slowly dying. I was doing 75, which is now her favorite speed, and suddenly I'm decelerating and don't know why. So the path of thoughts you take when you begin freaking out is really a marvelous observation of the tendencies of your own mind. for me it went like this: What's going on? Why am I slowing down? I have enough gas. The engine is running so cool that it's barley piping heat into my senior sedan. What the fuck! It must be dying. OK, now I'm flooring it and it's not going faster. I spent all this money of this fucking thing and it dies on me in North Carolina. Oh son of a bitch. This fucking sucks. I'm going to have to give up on this trip so early and ship everything out. why did you buy such a stupid piece of...
You idiot. You've been going uphill for 10 minutes now. downshift.
I had forgotten all about the Appalachian Mountains actually being mountains.
Safe in Asheville. Longshot did great on the drive. Big confidence booster.
Statistics:
480 miles from DC to Asheville
$45 or so in gas. (tank and a half)
$23 in cab rides
$4 on bacon
5 (I think) facebook friends
17 degrees when I woke up this morning
0 heat in Kirsten's apartment this morning
1 shower I took in the dark (she also has a blown fuse.)
Beers since Friday. This segment does not have me feeling very good about myself because it was proper tied on this weekend, but strangely proud that the Boston College tradition was upheld. Sigh. Here we go.
Day 4-Teddy, Sharif, Danny
#17 Shot of Jim Beam from handle @ Ted's
#18 One half of a Duvel bomber. (split with Teddy, obtained from my cooler)
#19 Lakefront New Grist
#20 Yeungling Black & Tan
#21 & #22 D.I.Y Rum 'n Cokes @Dans Cafe
#23 & #24 Half a ketchup bottle full of whiskey ginger
#25, #26, #27 Peak Organic Ipa @Toledo Lounge
Day 5-Nina, Danny, Paul, Teddy
#28 Big Daddy Double Daddy IPA @RFD
#29 Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA
#30 Double Daddy
#31 Gouden Carlolus Hopsingjoor @The Passenger
#32 Oskar Blues Gordon's Imperial IPA
#33 Steel Reserve can
#34 Steel Reserve can
#35 Presidente @Ted's
#36 Presidente on the walk to this party, Adams Morgan
#37 Can't remember-it was bottled
#38 Budweiser can.
Day 6-Kirsten, Asheville, NC
#39 Green Man IPA @Jack of the Wood
#40 Stone Ruination
#41 Stone Ruination-pretty ruined from the night before...
I'm staying another night in Asheville, then off to Jacksonville tomorrow via Charleston, maybe? I'm just gonna start driving ad see what happens tomorrow, wherever I get tired/lazy/thirsty after 6 hours of driving, that's probably were I'll stop.
No MVP this stage, everybody was fucking awesome.
Since my last post I decided that two nights in DC was clearly what needed to happen. I'm learning to more fully embrace my intuition, which I think I've decided to call conservative impulsiveness. And that is not what it is now that I think about the results it yielded.
I was warmly welcomed with a handle of Jim Beam, which gave me my failsafe liquor before beer starting line for the evening. Landing the blog entry in an escalated state, I was given assurances that everyone was going to be awake when I got back from Adams Morgan. It was still fuckin fuckin fuckin cold so I ran uphill from Dupont Circle to Adams Morgan where I met Danny at Dans Cafe. It sounded like a place we belong.
This place is a shithole. I arrived, and as seems to be the case whenever I enter a room, a vast majority of the women in the place cleared out. The disappointment was mollified by the fact that Danny was standing there with a highball glass full of rum, a bucket of ice, and a coke on the table, in what seems to be the bar policy of "make your own damned drink." The next thing we ordered was a ketchup bottle full of whiskey ginger, something I enjoyed because it made me think for a second that I might want to douse someone in the eye or something with a squirt of whiskey ginger, then reconsidered and pissed it into my glass.
Two blond girls stuck out there and seemed unapproachable by any of the merchants there at that sausage festival. Danny began to describe to me a tactic of going up to give a girl a quarter, to which they normally react with nervous laughter, a confused thanks, and probably a generally put off attitude. Implementation of this strategy takes balls, but I went up to them and got shot down for free. Maybe it was the horrific scars on my face (probably not, too dark in there) but they didn't even buy my "just traveling through" line. I think it's a good line. It usually doesn't result in nervous laughter, or confused thanks', but only a generally put off attitude. Going for an edge here, yeah?
Change of venue to Toledo Cafe, chill, kitchy, southwesternish, peak organic ipa bottles, three. Danny gets recognized and we sit down with these kids and burn our time out 'til what was a surprising three am last call, not two. Cab back to Tacoma Park Metro, and everyone was in fact still up, but about to be down. Great timing.
Strugglin to make it happen the next day. It took 4 hours to get out of the house and do something worthwhile. In attempting to catch a Metro train, Nina (who lives with Teddy) and I watched the timer tell us there was one minute until the
Metro arrived as I struggled to find my Metro card. Where is it? Not this pocket, not this pocket. Think back, boy, where would you have drunkenly put it last night?! the train disappears from the information screen. It's here! No! How could that minute have possibly passed?! Where is the fucking card, dude? Man, we missed it. All was lost. And then, found! Enter, run, stairs, doors closing, score! Most dramatic train catching I've ever had, and it was all to make it to the Museum of American History, yawn. But actually it was totally worth it. We only had about two hours there since it was closing, but that was about all we could take before we needed rebound beers. We walked up from the museum to Chinatown and saw Danny rolling by, scored a quick ride to RFD, and scored Danny another ride in the exact spot we were dropped off.
"We were wondering how much this is," said perhaps slightly inebriated girl interested in going a block or so with her friend.
"For you," Danny said, evaluating his fair and likely customers, "a quarter." Presumably he would give it to some other girl later.
The reeeal joint was this place "The Passenger" on 7th by Massachusetts Ave. It caters a bit to hip-chic sort of kids, but when we rolled in on saturday at around 8 pm to an emptyish classy establishment, we didn't realize we were first on the wave, because that place filled up. With classy chicks no less. The best part was that up front there was the bar, some tables for 4 or 8, and towards the back there was a nook. A nook, I say! It could fit 8 comfortably at the two tables, 10 or 12 if you were ambitious enough to want privacy for 10 or 12, but it was cozy and made the priciness of the beers more worth it. And as a party of four, it afforded conversational opportunities with the passers-through. A few rounds later, we all split for parties, hotels, homes.
Dragged ass so hard the next day that I didn't get on the road until three hours after I wanted to. It turned out to be crucial in a hand of God sort of way, and my drive ended up slightly better for it, though I had anticipated company-plans change, flexibility is key. Nice 7 hours drive, listened to football all the way down, lefty on the wheel controlling Longshot, righty on the radio dials, adjusting frequency and volume depending on where I was and which local tower was broadcasting Westwood One. Disappointing games, emotional, and both of them somehow gratifying. Not a huge angering disappointment this year, they played their hearts out, my Green Bay Packers.
The freak out of the trip happened when I thought my car was slowly dying. I was doing 75, which is now her favorite speed, and suddenly I'm decelerating and don't know why. So the path of thoughts you take when you begin freaking out is really a marvelous observation of the tendencies of your own mind. for me it went like this: What's going on? Why am I slowing down? I have enough gas. The engine is running so cool that it's barley piping heat into my senior sedan. What the fuck! It must be dying. OK, now I'm flooring it and it's not going faster. I spent all this money of this fucking thing and it dies on me in North Carolina. Oh son of a bitch. This fucking sucks. I'm going to have to give up on this trip so early and ship everything out. why did you buy such a stupid piece of...
You idiot. You've been going uphill for 10 minutes now. downshift.
I had forgotten all about the Appalachian Mountains actually being mountains.
Safe in Asheville. Longshot did great on the drive. Big confidence booster.
Statistics:
480 miles from DC to Asheville
$45 or so in gas. (tank and a half)
$23 in cab rides
$4 on bacon
5 (I think) facebook friends
17 degrees when I woke up this morning
0 heat in Kirsten's apartment this morning
1 shower I took in the dark (she also has a blown fuse.)
Beers since Friday. This segment does not have me feeling very good about myself because it was proper tied on this weekend, but strangely proud that the Boston College tradition was upheld. Sigh. Here we go.
Day 4-Teddy, Sharif, Danny
#17 Shot of Jim Beam from handle @ Ted's
#18 One half of a Duvel bomber. (split with Teddy, obtained from my cooler)
#19 Lakefront New Grist
#20 Yeungling Black & Tan
#21 & #22 D.I.Y Rum 'n Cokes @Dans Cafe
#23 & #24 Half a ketchup bottle full of whiskey ginger
#25, #26, #27 Peak Organic Ipa @Toledo Lounge
Day 5-Nina, Danny, Paul, Teddy
#28 Big Daddy Double Daddy IPA @RFD
#29 Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA
#30 Double Daddy
#31 Gouden Carlolus Hopsingjoor @The Passenger
#32 Oskar Blues Gordon's Imperial IPA
#33 Steel Reserve can
#34 Steel Reserve can
#35 Presidente @Ted's
#36 Presidente on the walk to this party, Adams Morgan
#37 Can't remember-it was bottled
#38 Budweiser can.
Day 6-Kirsten, Asheville, NC
#39 Green Man IPA @Jack of the Wood
#40 Stone Ruination
#41 Stone Ruination-pretty ruined from the night before...
I'm staying another night in Asheville, then off to Jacksonville tomorrow via Charleston, maybe? I'm just gonna start driving ad see what happens tomorrow, wherever I get tired/lazy/thirsty after 6 hours of driving, that's probably were I'll stop.
No MVP this stage, everybody was fucking awesome.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Cooler
Day 2 (Day 4 of Travel)
Safe in D.C.
The last entry came a day after everything happened, good for perspective, but perhaps allowing experience to suffer. I'm not sure I like how that will work, but I suppose these posts will eventually present two different voices of a man in the moment versus a man in reflection.
But even in the current moment, I'm starting to feel almost tingly, unleashed from the fluid structure of my last 8 years and more like a rolling flood. Now I've left home and I'm really on a trip. Had to be flexible with my plans again and Philly just isnt in the cards. Next time, I guess. Oh well, straight on and making progress. I can't be stopped until Florida because money burns.
After having arrived from Boston, my stuff was immediately unloaded into the house. I felt like the removal of it all would make my car lose its gravitational pull and hurl into space. Essentially, the next two days were spent taking stuff that has accumulated over the last generation of my life and letting them find the trash bags that would ultimately turn into a hefty donation. I hope my five National Amusements, Pepsi embossed white polo shirts that I was required to wear while I worked at Circle Cinemas makes a few people happy. There's a lot of really nice stuff too, come on, don't think I'm terrible!
So after sorting through the stuff I moved first, the tuff I moved second, and the stuff I never moved from my house in the first place, I had to cobble together the travel kit I'd need to survive, document, and rock this trip. Here's what two days of careful sorting and separation produced:
A suitcase bag full of clothes (rolling wheels)
A real bag of real steel tools
A roadside assistance kit. window
Trumpet
Medical/hygeine kit
Yoga mat
Blow up bed
DVR camera
Cooler
Suitbag containing two suits, and one outfit that seemed particulaly Miami...
A cooler with beers.
All of this fit in the trunk. I love Tetris.
And in the rear seat:
Bedding
Shamwows
my bike.
My backpack
My computer.
More than I thought it would amount to, but Longshot was doing well the way. I think. I'm not sure if I smelled something burning...famous last words.
First was NYC to get lunch with pedicabber, Bryan Plust, all the person who introduced me to freecycle Boston, the venue through which, I was connected to my "free" car. I owed him a coffee for that.
A quick, smoke filled visit to my dad and his girlfriend to talk strategy, and I was off to DC. It costs $20 or so in tolls to get to DC. And about 3:45, 233mi + 1 hr at 53mi from my house to NYC, this is the furthest in one day that my car has ever gone, and, to my knowledge, it went the fastest it ever did today as well at 81 MPH. This was when the burning smell occurred.
It was really easy to get to Teddy's, which is apparently two blocks away from the DC/Maryland border, and I may give Adams Morgan, "The Lansdowne of Washington" the visit it deserved. How about "The Ol' Boston Try", a polo'd shirt for me, a gin and tonic, and that top that makes your tits look big, baby-that atempt you see at that real classy joint Tequila Rain on Lansdowne. They must be having fun if they keep doing it. Or is it that it might be a never ending wave of new douchebags?
Statistics:
purchased $37 in gas today-bunt half a tank and 90 miles on Orange County
4 New Tires, front alignment completed
3 small car problems identified by Joe, Sears technician
2 small car problems I am actually personally capable of fixing
2 small car problems that are actually the same small problem twice in two places.
$28 in tolls from my house to Washington, DC.
28 years I've been a living person
0 pushups completed today.
286 mi traveled
4 coffees imbibed (2 cups from a pot, 2 Venti Starbucks iced.)
Ozzy Osbourne's "No More Tears" came on twice on the way.
So did Mrs. Robinson by The Lemonheads.
I think I left my iPod radio converter was left in the Budget truck on New Years Eve. Suck.
Beers from...
Day 2 with Tom Francis of Greenwood Lake
#6 Samual Adams
#7 Samuel Adams
#8 LakeFront New Grist
#9 Samuel Adams
Day 3 with Amanda, and OCC Phil
#10 harpoon ufo pale ale (at home)
#11 Yeungling Draft
#12 Yeungling Draft
#13 Yeungling Botlle
#14 Corona (a quarter cheaper than Yeungling here, with a FREE LIME!)
#15 ""
#16 "" from a guy named Kevin, who annoyed his friends back to their wives, and that Amanda and I were fucking with about doing porn together and being married for 11 months, and being named James (me) and Ryan (Amanda) I told him we'd email him a link to our porn and that it was inappropriate to have him watch on his Droid right in front of us. Man, that's weird and embarassing, amIright? That is when he handed me his True Value Business Card and bought us a round.
People of the stage: Mom, Oma (my grandmother for being strong and supportive), and Bryan Plust for introducing me to freecycle
May be picking up a passenger Sunday....
Safe in D.C.
The last entry came a day after everything happened, good for perspective, but perhaps allowing experience to suffer. I'm not sure I like how that will work, but I suppose these posts will eventually present two different voices of a man in the moment versus a man in reflection.
But even in the current moment, I'm starting to feel almost tingly, unleashed from the fluid structure of my last 8 years and more like a rolling flood. Now I've left home and I'm really on a trip. Had to be flexible with my plans again and Philly just isnt in the cards. Next time, I guess. Oh well, straight on and making progress. I can't be stopped until Florida because money burns.
After having arrived from Boston, my stuff was immediately unloaded into the house. I felt like the removal of it all would make my car lose its gravitational pull and hurl into space. Essentially, the next two days were spent taking stuff that has accumulated over the last generation of my life and letting them find the trash bags that would ultimately turn into a hefty donation. I hope my five National Amusements, Pepsi embossed white polo shirts that I was required to wear while I worked at Circle Cinemas makes a few people happy. There's a lot of really nice stuff too, come on, don't think I'm terrible!
So after sorting through the stuff I moved first, the tuff I moved second, and the stuff I never moved from my house in the first place, I had to cobble together the travel kit I'd need to survive, document, and rock this trip. Here's what two days of careful sorting and separation produced:
A suitcase bag full of clothes (rolling wheels)
A real bag of real steel tools
A roadside assistance kit. window
Trumpet
Medical/hygeine kit
Yoga mat
Blow up bed
DVR camera
Cooler
Suitbag containing two suits, and one outfit that seemed particulaly Miami...
A cooler with beers.
All of this fit in the trunk. I love Tetris.
And in the rear seat:
Bedding
Shamwows
my bike.
My backpack
My computer.
More than I thought it would amount to, but Longshot was doing well the way. I think. I'm not sure if I smelled something burning...famous last words.
First was NYC to get lunch with pedicabber, Bryan Plust, all the person who introduced me to freecycle Boston, the venue through which, I was connected to my "free" car. I owed him a coffee for that.
A quick, smoke filled visit to my dad and his girlfriend to talk strategy, and I was off to DC. It costs $20 or so in tolls to get to DC. And about 3:45, 233mi + 1 hr at 53mi from my house to NYC, this is the furthest in one day that my car has ever gone, and, to my knowledge, it went the fastest it ever did today as well at 81 MPH. This was when the burning smell occurred.
It was really easy to get to Teddy's, which is apparently two blocks away from the DC/Maryland border, and I may give Adams Morgan, "The Lansdowne of Washington" the visit it deserved. How about "The Ol' Boston Try", a polo'd shirt for me, a gin and tonic, and that top that makes your tits look big, baby-that atempt you see at that real classy joint Tequila Rain on Lansdowne. They must be having fun if they keep doing it. Or is it that it might be a never ending wave of new douchebags?
Statistics:
purchased $37 in gas today-bunt half a tank and 90 miles on Orange County
4 New Tires, front alignment completed
3 small car problems identified by Joe, Sears technician
2 small car problems I am actually personally capable of fixing
2 small car problems that are actually the same small problem twice in two places.
$28 in tolls from my house to Washington, DC.
28 years I've been a living person
0 pushups completed today.
286 mi traveled
4 coffees imbibed (2 cups from a pot, 2 Venti Starbucks iced.)
Ozzy Osbourne's "No More Tears" came on twice on the way.
So did Mrs. Robinson by The Lemonheads.
I think I left my iPod radio converter was left in the Budget truck on New Years Eve. Suck.
Beers from...
Day 2 with Tom Francis of Greenwood Lake
#6 Samual Adams
#7 Samuel Adams
#8 LakeFront New Grist
#9 Samuel Adams
Day 3 with Amanda, and OCC Phil
#10 harpoon ufo pale ale (at home)
#11 Yeungling Draft
#12 Yeungling Draft
#13 Yeungling Botlle
#14 Corona (a quarter cheaper than Yeungling here, with a FREE LIME!)
#15 ""
#16 "" from a guy named Kevin, who annoyed his friends back to their wives, and that Amanda and I were fucking with about doing porn together and being married for 11 months, and being named James (me) and Ryan (Amanda) I told him we'd email him a link to our porn and that it was inappropriate to have him watch on his Droid right in front of us. Man, that's weird and embarassing, amIright? That is when he handed me his True Value Business Card and bought us a round.
People of the stage: Mom, Oma (my grandmother for being strong and supportive), and Bryan Plust for introducing me to freecycle
May be picking up a passenger Sunday....
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Day One: Trash On The Dash
Entry for Jan 5th. Boston-New York
I had not realized what my possessions were really saying about me until I tried to pack everything I owned and move them all out of a city I had grown some roots in. Fireworks that weren't ever set off, CD's that never got a single listening, clothing that I had only for remote contingencies, wires that had never been connected to anything. A lot of unused potential. Or "You are a huge fucking packrat and you need to shed some excess shit from your life." Goddamnit, how am I going to fit this box into my already low-riding 1984 Toyota Corolla named Longshot? I feared that either the tires would rub out and pop under the pressure of the car's weighty cab, or it would break in half after hitting one of those Connecticut road disagreements. I was more horrified at the prospect of driving half a car so my shoulders were a little tense for most of the drive.
I had to leave some shit behind, and this was after I had already rented a TRUCK to take most of my shit away. A truckload and a carload, and a few castaway items that will sit in damp storage. So be it, I'll be back, and it will necessitate a car rental.
The first thing I did before I even got a mile from my former residence was to stop for coffee. I had so much shit packed into my car that I needed to leave it unlocked. So on this leg of the trip, I have to leave my car in full view from wherever I stop because my car doesn't have the original driver's side front door, it's a replacement, and I cannot unlock this door with the car key I have. This necessitates me entering my locked car through the passenger's side door, every time it is fully locked. But since there was so much shit in the car, not only did I have to leave it unlocked, but the only place to put an rubbish I acquired from stops was on the dashboard. Starbucks cup with ice, sitting on the dash. Since dinner plans were adjusted, I made a sad stop for my first food at a drivethru KFC. I feel gross today. Starbucks cup now has company because Dr. Pepper KFC cup has come to visit. Also chicken bones was there. Spork stopped in to say hi as well.
The initial phase of the cross-country plan was to go visit friends in Rochester and grab dinner in Northampton on the way, but the plans, in a bizarrely fortunate way, crumbled and it became apparent that I'd better get home with my stuff asap, and give my car a better chance to remain whole. so you want to know more about the plan, you say... VAT EES ZE PASSVORD?!?
As of now here is the itenerary:
NY (home) and NYC (pops)
Philly
DC
Asheville
??? Some dump in Georgia?
Ft Lauderdale-Here is where I'll stop for a month to produce some pedicash from a few weeks of warm weather riding. Except it was 44 degrees there yesterday. Thanks, thanks a lot, Global Warming. I'll be here until about the 10th of Feb when I depart for...
Some dump in the FL panhandle (huhuh)
New Orleans-Mardi Gras Feb 12-16th
Houston
Austin-to work South by Southwest Music and Film festival-three prospects for jobs down there, "chauffeurs license" pending
Dallas
Norman, OK
Lubbock, TX
Denver/Boulder/Ft. Collins/Aspen/Breckenridge
A nap somewhere in the Utah desert
Vegas, baby.
LA.
Statistics:
I left my old place weighing 170.4 lbs.
Fun new place I discovered on this portion of the trip?
Vernon, CT. It's 3 miles away from a Wendy's, and has a KFC.
Person(s) of this leg of the trip: Amanda-former roommate in my first month of NYC (2005), friend since 14 years of age, had a few welcome home for now drinks with her and the dude Phil from Orange County Choppers. Plans to faux-marry in Vegas in development. Also Mom. Mom rules.
Drinks had: 5. Yeungling, Jameson shot, Yeungling, Samuel Adams Boston Lager, Brooklyn Lager
Gas: One 5 gallon fill from half tank in CT $15
Miles: 225
Song: Bob Seger, Turn the Page (It came on the radio three times on separate stations)
Next stop Philly via NYC. Stand Clear of the Closing Doors, Please.
I had not realized what my possessions were really saying about me until I tried to pack everything I owned and move them all out of a city I had grown some roots in. Fireworks that weren't ever set off, CD's that never got a single listening, clothing that I had only for remote contingencies, wires that had never been connected to anything. A lot of unused potential. Or "You are a huge fucking packrat and you need to shed some excess shit from your life." Goddamnit, how am I going to fit this box into my already low-riding 1984 Toyota Corolla named Longshot? I feared that either the tires would rub out and pop under the pressure of the car's weighty cab, or it would break in half after hitting one of those Connecticut road disagreements. I was more horrified at the prospect of driving half a car so my shoulders were a little tense for most of the drive.
I had to leave some shit behind, and this was after I had already rented a TRUCK to take most of my shit away. A truckload and a carload, and a few castaway items that will sit in damp storage. So be it, I'll be back, and it will necessitate a car rental.
The first thing I did before I even got a mile from my former residence was to stop for coffee. I had so much shit packed into my car that I needed to leave it unlocked. So on this leg of the trip, I have to leave my car in full view from wherever I stop because my car doesn't have the original driver's side front door, it's a replacement, and I cannot unlock this door with the car key I have. This necessitates me entering my locked car through the passenger's side door, every time it is fully locked. But since there was so much shit in the car, not only did I have to leave it unlocked, but the only place to put an rubbish I acquired from stops was on the dashboard. Starbucks cup with ice, sitting on the dash. Since dinner plans were adjusted, I made a sad stop for my first food at a drivethru KFC. I feel gross today. Starbucks cup now has company because Dr. Pepper KFC cup has come to visit. Also chicken bones was there. Spork stopped in to say hi as well.
The initial phase of the cross-country plan was to go visit friends in Rochester and grab dinner in Northampton on the way, but the plans, in a bizarrely fortunate way, crumbled and it became apparent that I'd better get home with my stuff asap, and give my car a better chance to remain whole. so you want to know more about the plan, you say... VAT EES ZE PASSVORD?!?
As of now here is the itenerary:
NY (home) and NYC (pops)
Philly
DC
Asheville
??? Some dump in Georgia?
Ft Lauderdale-Here is where I'll stop for a month to produce some pedicash from a few weeks of warm weather riding. Except it was 44 degrees there yesterday. Thanks, thanks a lot, Global Warming. I'll be here until about the 10th of Feb when I depart for...
Some dump in the FL panhandle (huhuh)
New Orleans-Mardi Gras Feb 12-16th
Houston
Austin-to work South by Southwest Music and Film festival-three prospects for jobs down there, "chauffeurs license" pending
Dallas
Norman, OK
Lubbock, TX
Denver/Boulder/Ft. Collins/Aspen/Breckenridge
A nap somewhere in the Utah desert
Vegas, baby.
LA.
Statistics:
I left my old place weighing 170.4 lbs.
Fun new place I discovered on this portion of the trip?
Vernon, CT. It's 3 miles away from a Wendy's, and has a KFC.
Person(s) of this leg of the trip: Amanda-former roommate in my first month of NYC (2005), friend since 14 years of age, had a few welcome home for now drinks with her and the dude Phil from Orange County Choppers. Plans to faux-marry in Vegas in development. Also Mom. Mom rules.
Drinks had: 5. Yeungling, Jameson shot, Yeungling, Samuel Adams Boston Lager, Brooklyn Lager
Gas: One 5 gallon fill from half tank in CT $15
Miles: 225
Song: Bob Seger, Turn the Page (It came on the radio three times on separate stations)
Next stop Philly via NYC. Stand Clear of the Closing Doors, Please.
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