Thursday, October 25, 2007

Juliette and Jerome

A three in rain in Phoenix means three inches between drops  ~ Local Proverb

Being on vacation is such a chore.  Airports, spending ubsurd amounts of money of trivialities, constantly eating out at new levels of fine dining, topped off with long nights of drinking and dancing… it can really begin to wear you out.  And while I think that Linsay Lohan levels of rehabilitation are not quiet necessary, I do think that a down-day is most welcome.  Further, I might go so far as to think that a down-week is possible more along the lines of what the doctor has ordered.  Therefore, I find myself currently enjoying the low-50 degree temps of my origins in Western Maine, gazing out on the fields of my families old farm at the yellowing grass, the now near-bare trees which signal the coming snows, and enjoying a still warm home-made pumpkin muffin and a warm cup of tea.  They do not make two o’clock in the afternoon any better than this.

In my fit of relaxation, I will take the time to recount to you my exploits from my recent trip to Phoenix, Arizona to reaquaint myself with one, EKM, one of my most faith of readers, chronicallers, and friends.  To surmise, it was a pleseant trip, with nothing that was left to be desired.  It was my first real trip west of Tejas, and to begin with, I was impressed even before the plane landed.  The terrian in that part of the world is unlike anything that I have ever seen, both majestic and breathtaking.  The long painted mesas are astonding as are the, literally, forests of twelve foot cacti.  I can’t say enough.

But lets see, the whole trip was very much a sightseeing extravoganza, which I was fine with.  Erin had an agenda printed and typed from the moment we hit the ground, and it was rigeriously inforced to standards… unless she wanted to sleep at which case we slept.  Actually, Erin pretty much did what she wanted to do… in my best interests of course.

The first night was spent out at a quick bite to eat and then moved to an Irish Bar.  To note, those of you who are planning any sort of trip to the greater Phoenix area - they have no idea what an Irish Bar is.  None.  First of all, while they did have Guiness on tap (no brainer, really), they did not have Jameson, Samuel Adams, Harps, or Strong Bow.  Worst of all, they didn’t have anybody in the entire bar cheering for the Red Sox!  Game 6 was going on strong, and not a head cheered or a hand clapped for nearly six solid innings!  I understand that Phoenix as a town was still a little but hurt about the DBacks, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph - there should be at least a tokin ‘mc’ somewhere in the bar cheering for ol’ Bean Town!  Honestly.

The next day we shopping at one of the malls.  Important sidenote: Phoenix is as upper-class white as any city I have ever seen in my whole travels.  Sure there is a large Latino community, but they are very segrigated and marginalized.  They even have their own chain of supermarkets so that they don’t have to use the ones in the white neighborhoods.  But I digress…  The point is the mall was very ‘cracker-friendly’ with skateboard shops, plenty of skinny-chick stores, and more art and framing places then I have ever seen at a mall.  …and I spent a shit load on a pair of sunglasses.  I don’t want to talk about it.  The night was concluded with a few descently priced drinks at a local night club.  Not sure if its the Morman influence, but there were a lot of couples out.  Must be a WASP thing.

Now Saturday was a treat.  We travelled to this little town called Jerome, which is an old mining town situated on the top of one of those aforementioned mountains that seemingly spring forth from the desert.  The views from the town are amazing, and as if that isn’t enough, there is an entire artist/tourist based economy thriving within this little ville.  Jerome had a very comforting air, both in temperature and and in personality, one that I can only compare with a few very unique places in my travels.  For those of you who remember Ludlow Ave. in the Cliffton District of Cincinnati you may have a reference; also perhaps a little like the ol’ downtown area in Fayetteville.  But at first impression, these are dull comparisions to the artitstic featherings of the spirit that Jerome seemed to just pluck from one’s self.  I could not help but inquire to some of the local shop owners how much it would cost for a full months stay.  Just from walking around, I tied together two stories that had been blocked from my own writing; imagine what a month would bring!

Alas we could not stay long.  Erin and I had to make the long two hour drive back to Phoenix as to make our evening engagement: two tickets to see The Donnas!  I hadn’t been to a good show in a really long time (no offense Paddy and Bill), but this was great.  Four bands were on the ticket, though we missed the openner.  The second opener was pretty good, little chick punk from somewhere.  Then all Hell breaks lose.  The crowd at this tiny 500 person venue sweeps forward.  I look at Erin and make sure that there is another openner.  Yeah, there was:  Juliet Lewis and The Licks.  

Okay, for those of you who are as in the dark as I was, let me bring you up to speed.  Juliet Lewis is an actress.  You may remember her from such films as Natural Born Killers, The Way of the Gun, Old School, Starsky and Hutch, and most recently Catch and Release.  But what you may not know is that she is also 33 year-old rock goddess!   That’s right, apparently after getting a divorce she made the decision that she wanted to be a rock star.  Normally this is a bad career move for anyone in Hollywood, and its usually drug-induced.  Nothing could be further from the truth, because Miss Lewis roared onto that stage and blew the headlining Donnas away before they even took the stage.  Don’t get me wrong, I still got my rock on when The Donnas came out, but seriously, go get a Juilet and The Licks album.  Now.

After that it was all down hill.  Relaxed, did a bit more shopping, got introduced to the TV show It’s Always Sunny in Phildephia.  That is funny as all get up.  I learned the hard way that latin women are not Asians as much as they my look like them.  I think Erin ate for a full day on my credit card due to my ethnic savy.  The only other real highlight was watching the Red Sox clinch a World Series birth!  That and I played a Wii.  

GO RED SOX!!!  Only three more games left…..
Posted by The Guttersnake at 20:37:53 | Permalink | Comments (6)

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

For Boston

Former players like Johnny Pesky have helped me realize what it’s all about. He’s helped me understand the game and he’s also helped me understand Boston and I think that in itself is key.   ~ Nomar Garciaparra

As I drove to work the other day through the military check point that is my daily entry onto Fort Bragg, I was met by a large Italian security guard whom I noted as having a trace of a New York accent within his cordial “good mornin’” and “how’s it goin’”.  To which I replied, “Well, the Yankees are out of the race and Joe Torre’s head is on the chopping block; all in all I’m doing excellent - Thanks!”  Needless to say, it took a bit longer to get through the gate than it normally does.

With autumn abound, crisp and clean in the North Carolina air, one cannot help but think of New England in early September… even though its mid-October in the Tidewaters.  Nonetheless, one can tell that the pennant race is well underway due to the pride of the brim-wearers, and for a change, it is nice to see fresh crops of Beantown “B”s anointing the baseball-capped foreheads within the seas of mall patrons, sidewalk strollers, and everyday johnnies.  Much more pleasant to the eye than that obnoxious “NY” that spills over into every sort of Fubu fashion that dregs our more ghetto of outwear.  Still, one does see an occasional true Yankee fan huddled snuggly into the corner of the local sports bar, not unlike a small furry creature attempting to wait out a cold spell in safety in hopes that a warm spring will soon come.  However, I am not a lover of furry creatures (at least not one’s in pin-stripes) and given the chance, I would cast verbal stones to rouse such a little nut-gatherer from his safe and private hole and thrust him out into the freezing gale that is the shame of loving a team that is idolized (and I mean that in a Biblical sense) by more fair weather friends than any other team in baseball.  Fair weather is over… and New Englanders love the winter!

The real irony, at least for me, is that about eight years ago I took on the Cincinnati Bengals as my NFL team.  I worked a few jobs down at Paul Brown Stadium during college, and as my Papa might say, “You’re not a true Patriots fan unless you were pulling for them when they still had Samuel Adams in a three-point stance on the helmet.”  Back then, I wasn’t.  Even as a kid, I remember cheering for Joe Montana and Jerry Rice (let’s face it, what red-blooded American kid didn’t… unless you were pulling for Troy Aikman and Emmitt Smith… in which case you were gay), but I was also cheering for a young Boomer Esiason.  You know, I think it had more to do with the uniforms than anything else; tiger stripes were just cool as all heck… and still are!  Anyway, even with Tom Brady and the crew making it very easy for me to convert into some semblance of a compete New England fan, I just can’t do it.

Its been eating at me.  More than one person over the years has asked me how I can be a person divided between Maine and Cincinnati, and for the last eight years I haven’t come up with a single answer that makes any sense… although I have tried to think of good reasons why Cincinnati couldn’t somehow uproot itself and move the entire city to New Hampshire.  I think the whole project would just be to expensive, even for Massachusetts’ State taxes.  But like some sort of Irish eclipse, now seems like the perfect time to trade in the orange and black for a little red, blue, and silver; jump on the bus to Foxboro, so to speak.  But as I said, I can’t.  It’s the principal of the matter.  To unite a broken sports fan under a single city banner, especially in the midst of what looks like two teams that will win respective championships, when could this happen again?  Nay, when does this ever happen in any city?  Away teams in two leagues fear coming to Boston above all other games.  So why can’t I trade up.

Because if I did, my journey to the Dark Side would be complete: I would be a Yankees Fan.  That’s why.

It’s the principal of the matter.  I came by way of “Woo-Day” because I have stood on the sidelines of Paul Brown Stadium;  I have carried the American Colors onto the fifty-yard line on that grid-iron for the National Antheum; and I have met my childhood hero, Jerry Rice, as well as my current favorite NFL players in those tunnels.  I’ve never even been to Foxboro Stadium, nor do I care for much Tom Brady or his politics.  While I do hail from the Northwestern forests of Maine and can lay claim to Red Sox as I have watched them every season since I was very young whither and hold in the shadow of the green monster, I cannot, in good faith, do the same for the Pats.  I wish them God Speed, but to turn my back on the Queen City now, would make me not unlike that nut-gatherer sipping his Peroni in the corner of my warm pub. 

Like I have said before, there is a special layer in Hell reserved for Boston Red Sox players that put on the pin-stripes of the New York Yankees.  While on paper, trading up the Patriots is the absolute opposite of playing for the Bronx Bombers, but in spirit it’s the same.  Oh well, from North Carolina, this is a tortured sports fan, signing off.

I fell in love with Boston, so hopefully, I’ll be here for a long time.   ~ Johnny Damon

Posted by The Guttersnake at 03:18:45 | Permalink | Comments (7)

Saturday, October 6, 2007

Finish Line Blues

No time to say “Hello!”, good-bye!  I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!  ~ The White Rabbit, Alice In Wonderland

Bonjour, tout la monde!  Sorry, but I have been gone on one of those all encompassing trips to the great wide open - if only it was truly as romantic as a Tom Petty song, which, all in all, isn’t really saying that much to begin with.  Nonetheless, I am rather happy to report that all went well dispite a rather rocky few weeks, and now the light at the end of the tunnel is a full ray of sunshine.  My course is finally at a conclusion, and all the pomp and circumstance will be well underway next week.  In this context (which should be noted as a ‘military’ context in this case) “pomp and circumstance” should be observed to mean “tom-foolery and bally-hoo”.  If military nonsence can reach at times the scale that it does after, perhaps, just a week of events, just imagine the levels of lunicy that will transpire after more than a year of such.  So it goes.

To stack thing on, my parents are coming to visit me for the first time since college!  Maginfiy that with the prospect of attempting to out-process a school-house unit with about a hundred and fifty other yahoos in tandum with attempting to in-process to a unit that is getting ready to ship out to the greater Afgahnistan theater in about a weeks time; well, then you’ve got a bit of a hussle to contend with.  Doesn’t help matters that HALO3 just came out and I bought an XBOX360 just to play it.  For the record, nothing got done today.  Nothing.

But I figured that I would at the very least post something here to let those of you who read my blatherings a bit of light at the end of your respective tunnels.  Even moreso, I anticipate spending a little vacation time later this month.  Phoenix looks to be the first stop, and then a brush up to Maine to see the grand-folks as well as various sites and sounds that I don’t get to enjoy as much as I would like.  Lastly, it looks as though the Queen City has called to me once again, and I will attempt to ablidge.  Then it will be back here, and back to work!  No rest for the damned; I’ll have to start spinning things up at the home front to disappear with the rest of the boys for six months or so.  Hopefully after Christmas and the New Year, which is a bussle in and of itself, but I’ll go where the old man sends me.  That’s what I just busted my ass for the last year to do, right? 

Meanwhile, it’s Friday night and I’m typing away instead of out mopping up some of the last potential peaceful suds.  I really should make a list of my priorities… 

Posted by The Guttersnake at 03:48:03 | Permalink | Comments (2)