The First Third, The Least Words

Let's just recap in multimedia how this all got started....



January 2nd, the Old Timer's Game at Fenway Park.

And my ride....Longshot



Of course, I had to move out...



And I threw a bunch of shit out like this former companion...



And I packed up a Budget truck full of MOST of my shit to store in balmy Greenwood Lake.







When I got home, it was time to scrap a lot of belongings to make room for the influx of stuff I had accumulated, which turned out to be a hilarious and humiliating trip down memory lane. Join me as I wear things like THIS!




FOR THE LAST TIME. BARF. AND THIS!!!



GAG.



BLOMIT.

I used to think this shit was cool. I used to wear it to a Saturday morning bowling league, which I also thought was cool, and was, in fact, awesome. I wanted to wake up early for this waaay more than school. I'd wear one of these shirts with a pair of Jnco jeans that had a dead squirrel on them. They suffered a demoralizing fate that I'll not mention here. OK, it involved the ex girlfriend and poop. Oh boy a great joke is in there somewhere. Look at this fuckin peice of clothing. It has armpit vents for excessive sweaters. Speaking of excessive sweaters, I had like four or five sweaters that wore like garbage bags on me. Maybe if I wore sweaters that were meant for offensive linemen, I'd look less fat.



Oh, yeah look at that little silver mesh area. Air out them pits, Dan.


When I finally got everything organized and packed, I got to stop in NYC to get lunch with Mr. Bryan Plust. We both seemed to have pretty ridiculously cool shit going on for us. I want to travel up to Vermont next year and help him build shit on his property and hopefully learn some skills. the more I come to know individuals who becomes pedicabbers, I see more that they are fucking brilliant people, some kind of thirsty, burning personalities.




And then I went to New Jersey.



$19.99??? That's WAAAY too expensive for New Jersey.



That's a little better.

Hopefully, this will be the last time Longshot is ever in New Jersey. I, on the other hand, will undoubtedly find myself in Montclair or Teaneck or Hoboken, or fucking Paramus for some reason. Shit, I fly into Newark. FML. See what I'm sayin' here?



This is what my backseat will look like for 80% of the trip.



This is the mini hoopty on my dash. Littleshot moves her way across the dash in proportion to how far I've gone on my trip. (Distances are approximated) Thanks to Paul Dixon for this gift at the end of "Beauty Queen of Leenane" Who knew I'd actually be driving something just like it?!

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I just found this picture to be somewhat ironic, considering it is in the section of the American History Museum about Jews, and my current vocation.



Just checking in here to see if my head is actually throbbing.



The image quality here is about right for how lucid I was in Adams Morgan, Washington D.C.



A Danny and a beer is a great combination...



This is a great get at a bar in DC-yeah, the girl is what I was referring to...not the can of Steel Reserve...sure, that's the ticket.



Didn't expect to see Kyle's bike down here!



Kirsten's cat was precariously perched on the shower curtain rod. It struggled not to fall for several minutes. Images of that poster "Shit!" came to mind. Asheville, NC.



Bamboo outside the Biltmore Mansion in Asheville. A really impressive driveway. It is the largest house in the US. They charge admission to go look at it, so I just took a picture of the drive up. What am I, rich?



Littleshot leaving Asheville.



Merica!



Merica!



MERICA!!!!



Sigh...Merica...



sigh....merca.




These are some confused and lost looking lights at The Rail Pub in Savannah. Really busy for a Wednesday, and high production values...for a Wednesday...? Again, I'm a dork, go back and look at the shirts I used to wear. Adjust your volume lower now.



Enjoy my ride through Forsyth Park in Savannah. Sorry about the bumpy path. God, who is operating that camera?



This is frustrating, amiright pedicabbers?



That guy was mad chill. We had a long pedicab chat.

It was very welcoming to initally arrive and repeatedly return home to this sign,



..and then it is followed by this...




It wasn't easy to get a shot of this considering it is basically on I-195. So this video explains how it happened.



That cop car is empty, been sittin' there for weeks!

Mike and I did this aforementioned ride to Key Biscayne. Here he is as he motors over the giant bridge.

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Near fancy, fancy Lincoln Road, where I fancily lived near.



Toilet plants at "Le Tub", a great burger joint. Makes sense, yeah?



Even the fake people have fake tits. I saw so many fake sets that it caused me to very frequently ask myself, "Are they real?"



The appropriate answer is, "Who cares?"

Paging Mr. Shaw...Mr Rick Shaw. Your transportation has arrived. By the way, I had to go 2.8 miles to get to this point. And of course I had to return the contraption. You can do crazy shit with that thing when people are in the back since the center of gravity changes so drastically. It's actually easier to do with people in the back, except for uphill.



Ken has a hard time making friends at away games.



Also, this happened.... Yes, that is Ken's voice.



The Littleshot!



A la The Ducks in the Public Gardens. I still love Boston.



Miami Beach looking North.



Port of Miami.



Look at this huge boat!

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Enjoy this bike ride down on the south of South Beach. The Art Deco style is pretty sweet.



Artistic shot...



Discovering total Wine and Spirits' wall of singles! Pick and mix a six pack! Baaaah!



This tree has a lot of balls...Just observing and glad to be in a more tropical climate.



"The Head Set"


Irish Dean after his bar fight. His eye got worse. Badasspedicabber, and mocked my car for making it down here because his mechanic said his Jeep would not.



Enjoy "America's Backyard." What a shit show. Adjust volume now.



Mr D. says, "I feel bad for the dope who gets a haircut that stops him from communicating with all women."



In the Arts center of Miami Beach where the floor was tiled up by one artist and the corners decorated in various ways, such as this with chess pieces.



What is this, fuedalism?



Upon asking for parmesan cheese to cover up the taste of this mediocre slice, I was referred to this sign, and I realized that grammar was more important to me than parmesan cheese.



Osama Bin Laden's face in the urinal pad. It preached something about stopping terrorism, but it was kind of obscured by all that urine that came out of my penis. Frankly, I'd rather pee on a bee, it helps me enjoy the experience a little more. There are enough men around when I'm pulling my cock out at a urinal, so a man's face does not need to be what I aim at.




So there was a solid photo entry of the last month and change. It was outrageously fun and I don't see things slowing down any time soon. Update about the Superbowl and leaving Miami in the next few days.

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*