This has been a long year, to say the least. Considering what I do for a living, what I have to hear day in and day out, and the constant flow of negativity that courses through every courtroom I find myself in...it's a wonder I stay sane and sober. When I was in law school, we had a representative from the State Bar come and speak to us about how our lives would change once we passed the Bar. He proceeded to describe the stress, the long hours, the emotional tolls and the financial burdens of student loan payments. Then he showed us an overhead projector presentation that basically illustrated how attorneys lead all professionals in everything bad: drug abuse, alcohol abuse, domestic problems, criminal activity, heart diseases, strokes.....scurvy, polio, and Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. You name it...we do it, get it, hit it or drink it. It was quite depressing honestly. Being a bankruptcy attorney in 2011 was not for the faint of heart, let me tell you. I've definitely looked in the mirror a few times and said to myself, "You'd be an awesome basketball coach."
This past weekend helped me realize that I will make it, no matter what. There is always a better time and a better place. Bad days come and go, bad people come and go....there's nothing you can do to stop it. You just have to plow through bad days to get to the light at the end of the tunnel. Trust me y'all, there are so many lights out there, they drown out the darkness real fast. My light at the end of the tunnel this weekend was yet another trip to New York City...my 9th in the last two years. I have never hidden my love for New York. It is the greatest city in the world and I can say that with all certainty. As certain as Jarvis Jones admitting to actually being the Predator at some point, as certain as Kevin Costner admitting The Postman is the worst movie ever, as certain as Chris Bosh admitting that he was E.T.'s stunt double. It's absolute, y'all.
This New York recap is brought to you by three high gravity Belgian beers (the names of which are impossible to pronounce), the southbound 6 train to the East Village (hey, John Rocker, I survived this one too, weird huh?) and the five minutes I actually spent in my hotel room.
So, we land at LaGuardia and I'm starved beyond belief. A Seattle's Best bagel ain't gonna do it. Laura sees the look of death in my eyes. Hunger does many things to people, but to yours truly, it's anger. I'm talking vitriolic hatred of all animate and inanimate objects. The anger I have when I'm hungry can only be rivaled by few things: 1) A loss to Tech; 2) Loud hand dryers in small bathrooms; 3) Slow elevators and 4) cold grits. She looks to the cabbie and says, "Step on it, buddy." I look to see his name on his permit....Deepak. Bless Deepak's heart. He cleared Queens and blew into Manhattan like his head was on fire. I actually like driving through Queens. The Ramones came from Queens, as did 50 Cent, Run DMC, and Onyx (90's kids...remember Slam?) So did Ron Artest, Kenny Anderson and Sundiata Gaines (one of my favorite Dawgs ever). Coming to America was based and filmed there, I swear I can almost see My-T-Sharp barbershop off the Van Wyck Expressway. In any event, I barely looked at Queens. All I could see was steak, cannelloni, lasagna or whatever else I was about to destroy on 55th Street.
I ran into my hotel room and hip tossed my luggage in the corner. Laura just attached herself to my belt loop and ran alongside the anger tornado, cutting a path through the lobby toward Rockefeller Center. Seriously, it was like Twister, except there were no cows,Philip Seymour Hoffman in an RV cranking Deep Purple's "Child in Time" or uncomfortably bad lines by Bill Paxton. Doormen and bellhops flew aside as if weightless. The revolving door spun off the hinge and crushed a rickshaw. Morrell's was the choice (not the crappy chain, a local place). It was a wine bar and served steak sandwiches and other great food that could be prepared in the blink of an eye. I looked at the waiter and said "nothing can prepare you for the unbridled carnage you are about to witness." (+1 for Trading Places reference) Soup, salad, sandwiches, tacos, lobster, and the waiter's hand were all promptly engulfed, along with two glasses of Italian wine that were almost as good as Franzia box wine. Almost. (tongue planted firmly in my cheek, of course) They had so many wines, you had to order by number. We should have done that with cigarettes at Cass Grocery, how formal would that have been?
Me: "Hey, Dwayne, how y'all?
Dwayne: "We good. Momma's doin' better. Lemme get this Co-Cola (Coca-Cola) and hmmmmm....a 138."
Me: "Aaaah, Kool Mild 100's....an excellent choice."
Then the group looked at one another and agreed, it was time to party. But first, they wanted to ice skate. Simply, I don't ice skate. My knees and ankles have been killed by pounding pavement and hardwood courts, but nothing hurts them worse than skating. Seriously, imagine fence staples being jammed into your joints and tendons every four seconds, that's how ice skating feels. (for you non-rural types, fence staples are insanely sharp) So, I go to the NBA Store and immerse myself in the wonderful-ness of it all. I walked in, pulled an Archie Graham and said, "Is this Heaven?" The employee, puzzled, said, "Naw, dawg, it's Fif Avenue." (+1.5 for Field of Dreams reference and subreference to Chappelle's Show). I meander through throwback jerseys (I especially liked the old school Chris Jackson Nuggets jersey) and then retreat back to the chaos of the New York streets. There is nothing on Earth like the streets of New York. It is a whirlwind of humanity, automobiles, skyscrapers, street vendors and construction crews. If we were measuring it on the tornado scale...Atlanta would be an F2, New York would be an F5. (cue the worst part of Twister, when everyone drops their silverware when Jamie Gertz says, "has anyone ever seen an F5?" I wanted to dig a hole and bury all of them in it, except Philip Seymour Hoffman. I knew he'd be great. It was the Deep Purple scene, I swear.)
We meet at a Thai restaurant near the eastern border of Midtown. I enjoyed the Thai food, but wow, my face almost melted. My chopsticks actually caught on fire at one point. My waitress came to me and said, "You like?" After I dried my tears, put out my tongue fire and revised my will, I said "Hayul yeah!" in the most Southern voice I could muster. Sue me, I gotta represent wherever I go! Plus, I had a few Stella Artois pints to assist my growing "happy" feeling and I was really jacked about heading to Broadway. There is something so awesome about Broadway. The history coupled with the ambience absolutely seduces me.
We are slated to see "Rock of Ages," a homage to 80's hair ballads. The show instantly grabs me and I am awash in a sea of Journey, Warrant, Night Ranger and Def Leppard. They even did a montage scene, like any cheesy 80's flick, complete with "I Don't Want to Live Without You" by Foreigner. When they dove into "High Enough" by the Damn Yankees, I swear I almost cried. I love that song. Patrons were dancing in the rows and the cast was loving it. It was one of the most entertaining shows I have ever seen. It was not thought provoking, it was just a story about rock n' roll with typical 80's movie storylines. I highly encourage anyone to see it, but don't bother if you don't like innuendo about every vice and sin of the flesh known to man. Like bankruptcy law, it's not for the faint of heart.
Then it's on to a karaoke bar on 35th Street. This place has private rooms where they serve you food and drinks while you blaze away at just about any song that has ever been recorded. In the two hours I was there, I soloed "Theme from New York, New York" by Frank Sinatra, "Tracks of my Tears" by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles and since I just heard it, "High Enough." Laura's co-worker, Matt and I also provided a riveting duet on "Groove is in the Heart" by Dee-Lite. (90's kids, where you at? Everybody loves this song.) The girls tried "Sweet Home Alabama" but it just does not sound right in a female voice. Some songs are just not meant to be female soprano or falsetto, just like some others cannot be male tenor or bass. (i.e., "18 Wheels and a Dozen Roses" by Kathy Mattea or "Try Again" by Aaliyah....just not meant for a man's voice). Nonetheless, it was a fantastic night. I ordered room service pizza when we got back, but Laura was history before it was delivered, so I had to eat it all. (Darn.)
The next day was a great day to be alive as well. First, the temperature was a balmy 34 with a wind from the east. I almost wore my "Gatlinburg 1984" t-shirt, but I thought better of it. They aren't ready for wolves howling over canyons in Manhattan. I sacrificed breakfast to the hunger gods and then met everyone at an hour later at an Irish pub called Blaggard's, where I killed a guacamole and hot sauce covered burger. Never have I had such a concoction, but I'm telling you, it was phenomenal. It was as good as a steak covered in grits, Hershey's syrup, pistachio ice cream, and Waffle House hash browns. (That's food Heaven, y'all, seriously.) Laura went to get pampered at a salon and I went to meet my old friend Brian in The Village. I get on the 6 train going south and am surrounded by about 30 drunken people dressed in Santa Claus outfits. One of them pulls an airplane bottle of Jack Daniel's out of his suit and kills it. A mariachi band gets on the train with them and somebody says, "I think it's about f***** time for a Christmas song!" They annihilate Feliz Navidad from 51st Street all the way down to 14th Street. Apparently, this is a New York tradition. There were literally thousands of hammered Santas roaming Manhattan. On 2nd Avenue, I saw one Santa punt kick a football on top of a tweny story building while holding a bottle of Zinfandel. The kick impressed the hell out of me, but then I realized he was drinking Zinfandel, so I moved on.
Two Bartow natives in the Village = trouble. Three Belgian high gravity beers, childhood memory discussions, and authentic Japanese food later and we're doing awesome (in the Barney Stinson sense). We meet up with Laura and go to a dive bar called Johnny's on 43. Some of the best beers ever here. Stuff you've never heard of....with mile long names like Mike's Ethos Grainy Water Pale Stout Pacific Wheat Ale. Seriously, why do they do that? I just pointed to the menu and said "this.". It would be like watching my Dad order at Planet Smoothie. If my Dad was forced to say "Mediterranean Monster," he would probably burn all his Black Sabbath and Mountain records and start listening to Cyndi Lauper. (who is also from Queens, by the way)
Anyhow, I had my Southern chivalry moment here. I was waiting to be seated when a drunken customer bumped into the hostess, almost flooring her. Yours truly caught her in mid air and restored her vertically. She looked at me with astonishment and said, "can you believe that guy?" He was already walking away when I grabbed his arm. I'm talking like the arm grab that you got when you were bad in church. I pinched his arm fat and dragged him back, "Apologize. Now." He was in no shape or stature to do anything other than obey, like a good little dog. Needless to say, our service improved after that.
The rest of the trip was laden with great food, friends and laughs. My waitress at this Italian place accidentally brought me a salad when I did not order one. She had called the order wrong, so I got a free salad along with my real appetizer and some excellent tagliolini. Then, to make up for it, we got a free tiramisu. I was so offended by the free food, that I tipped her 30%. This was one of those family owned places and their reputation means everything to them. Much like Cass Grocery was for us. I freakin' love New York.
So, it's back to the real world, refreshed and ready to hit the ground running. My light at the end of the tunnel never fails me. I'm missing football but glad that Christmas is here and most people are in a good mood. I know it won't last and a lot of people will return to their misery, but I honestly pay them no mind. I can think about belting out "Lights" by Journey in a karaoke bar, having the best prosciutto sandwich ever or enjoying a nice cocktail off Central Park West with family and friends quicker than a Kenny Anderson crossover. Have a great week!
This past weekend helped me realize that I will make it, no matter what. There is always a better time and a better place. Bad days come and go, bad people come and go....there's nothing you can do to stop it. You just have to plow through bad days to get to the light at the end of the tunnel. Trust me y'all, there are so many lights out there, they drown out the darkness real fast. My light at the end of the tunnel this weekend was yet another trip to New York City...my 9th in the last two years. I have never hidden my love for New York. It is the greatest city in the world and I can say that with all certainty. As certain as Jarvis Jones admitting to actually being the Predator at some point, as certain as Kevin Costner admitting The Postman is the worst movie ever, as certain as Chris Bosh admitting that he was E.T.'s stunt double. It's absolute, y'all.
This New York recap is brought to you by three high gravity Belgian beers (the names of which are impossible to pronounce), the southbound 6 train to the East Village (hey, John Rocker, I survived this one too, weird huh?) and the five minutes I actually spent in my hotel room.
So, we land at LaGuardia and I'm starved beyond belief. A Seattle's Best bagel ain't gonna do it. Laura sees the look of death in my eyes. Hunger does many things to people, but to yours truly, it's anger. I'm talking vitriolic hatred of all animate and inanimate objects. The anger I have when I'm hungry can only be rivaled by few things: 1) A loss to Tech; 2) Loud hand dryers in small bathrooms; 3) Slow elevators and 4) cold grits. She looks to the cabbie and says, "Step on it, buddy." I look to see his name on his permit....Deepak. Bless Deepak's heart. He cleared Queens and blew into Manhattan like his head was on fire. I actually like driving through Queens. The Ramones came from Queens, as did 50 Cent, Run DMC, and Onyx (90's kids...remember Slam?) So did Ron Artest, Kenny Anderson and Sundiata Gaines (one of my favorite Dawgs ever). Coming to America was based and filmed there, I swear I can almost see My-T-Sharp barbershop off the Van Wyck Expressway. In any event, I barely looked at Queens. All I could see was steak, cannelloni, lasagna or whatever else I was about to destroy on 55th Street.
I ran into my hotel room and hip tossed my luggage in the corner. Laura just attached herself to my belt loop and ran alongside the anger tornado, cutting a path through the lobby toward Rockefeller Center. Seriously, it was like Twister, except there were no cows,Philip Seymour Hoffman in an RV cranking Deep Purple's "Child in Time" or uncomfortably bad lines by Bill Paxton. Doormen and bellhops flew aside as if weightless. The revolving door spun off the hinge and crushed a rickshaw. Morrell's was the choice (not the crappy chain, a local place). It was a wine bar and served steak sandwiches and other great food that could be prepared in the blink of an eye. I looked at the waiter and said "nothing can prepare you for the unbridled carnage you are about to witness." (+1 for Trading Places reference) Soup, salad, sandwiches, tacos, lobster, and the waiter's hand were all promptly engulfed, along with two glasses of Italian wine that were almost as good as Franzia box wine. Almost. (tongue planted firmly in my cheek, of course) They had so many wines, you had to order by number. We should have done that with cigarettes at Cass Grocery, how formal would that have been?
Me: "Hey, Dwayne, how y'all?
Dwayne: "We good. Momma's doin' better. Lemme get this Co-Cola (Coca-Cola) and hmmmmm....a 138."
Me: "Aaaah, Kool Mild 100's....an excellent choice."
Then the group looked at one another and agreed, it was time to party. But first, they wanted to ice skate. Simply, I don't ice skate. My knees and ankles have been killed by pounding pavement and hardwood courts, but nothing hurts them worse than skating. Seriously, imagine fence staples being jammed into your joints and tendons every four seconds, that's how ice skating feels. (for you non-rural types, fence staples are insanely sharp) So, I go to the NBA Store and immerse myself in the wonderful-ness of it all. I walked in, pulled an Archie Graham and said, "Is this Heaven?" The employee, puzzled, said, "Naw, dawg, it's Fif Avenue." (+1.5 for Field of Dreams reference and subreference to Chappelle's Show). I meander through throwback jerseys (I especially liked the old school Chris Jackson Nuggets jersey) and then retreat back to the chaos of the New York streets. There is nothing on Earth like the streets of New York. It is a whirlwind of humanity, automobiles, skyscrapers, street vendors and construction crews. If we were measuring it on the tornado scale...Atlanta would be an F2, New York would be an F5. (cue the worst part of Twister, when everyone drops their silverware when Jamie Gertz says, "has anyone ever seen an F5?" I wanted to dig a hole and bury all of them in it, except Philip Seymour Hoffman. I knew he'd be great. It was the Deep Purple scene, I swear.)
We meet at a Thai restaurant near the eastern border of Midtown. I enjoyed the Thai food, but wow, my face almost melted. My chopsticks actually caught on fire at one point. My waitress came to me and said, "You like?" After I dried my tears, put out my tongue fire and revised my will, I said "Hayul yeah!" in the most Southern voice I could muster. Sue me, I gotta represent wherever I go! Plus, I had a few Stella Artois pints to assist my growing "happy" feeling and I was really jacked about heading to Broadway. There is something so awesome about Broadway. The history coupled with the ambience absolutely seduces me.
We are slated to see "Rock of Ages," a homage to 80's hair ballads. The show instantly grabs me and I am awash in a sea of Journey, Warrant, Night Ranger and Def Leppard. They even did a montage scene, like any cheesy 80's flick, complete with "I Don't Want to Live Without You" by Foreigner. When they dove into "High Enough" by the Damn Yankees, I swear I almost cried. I love that song. Patrons were dancing in the rows and the cast was loving it. It was one of the most entertaining shows I have ever seen. It was not thought provoking, it was just a story about rock n' roll with typical 80's movie storylines. I highly encourage anyone to see it, but don't bother if you don't like innuendo about every vice and sin of the flesh known to man. Like bankruptcy law, it's not for the faint of heart.
Then it's on to a karaoke bar on 35th Street. This place has private rooms where they serve you food and drinks while you blaze away at just about any song that has ever been recorded. In the two hours I was there, I soloed "Theme from New York, New York" by Frank Sinatra, "Tracks of my Tears" by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles and since I just heard it, "High Enough." Laura's co-worker, Matt and I also provided a riveting duet on "Groove is in the Heart" by Dee-Lite. (90's kids, where you at? Everybody loves this song.) The girls tried "Sweet Home Alabama" but it just does not sound right in a female voice. Some songs are just not meant to be female soprano or falsetto, just like some others cannot be male tenor or bass. (i.e., "18 Wheels and a Dozen Roses" by Kathy Mattea or "Try Again" by Aaliyah....just not meant for a man's voice). Nonetheless, it was a fantastic night. I ordered room service pizza when we got back, but Laura was history before it was delivered, so I had to eat it all. (Darn.)
The next day was a great day to be alive as well. First, the temperature was a balmy 34 with a wind from the east. I almost wore my "Gatlinburg 1984" t-shirt, but I thought better of it. They aren't ready for wolves howling over canyons in Manhattan. I sacrificed breakfast to the hunger gods and then met everyone at an hour later at an Irish pub called Blaggard's, where I killed a guacamole and hot sauce covered burger. Never have I had such a concoction, but I'm telling you, it was phenomenal. It was as good as a steak covered in grits, Hershey's syrup, pistachio ice cream, and Waffle House hash browns. (That's food Heaven, y'all, seriously.) Laura went to get pampered at a salon and I went to meet my old friend Brian in The Village. I get on the 6 train going south and am surrounded by about 30 drunken people dressed in Santa Claus outfits. One of them pulls an airplane bottle of Jack Daniel's out of his suit and kills it. A mariachi band gets on the train with them and somebody says, "I think it's about f***** time for a Christmas song!" They annihilate Feliz Navidad from 51st Street all the way down to 14th Street. Apparently, this is a New York tradition. There were literally thousands of hammered Santas roaming Manhattan. On 2nd Avenue, I saw one Santa punt kick a football on top of a tweny story building while holding a bottle of Zinfandel. The kick impressed the hell out of me, but then I realized he was drinking Zinfandel, so I moved on.
Two Bartow natives in the Village = trouble. Three Belgian high gravity beers, childhood memory discussions, and authentic Japanese food later and we're doing awesome (in the Barney Stinson sense). We meet up with Laura and go to a dive bar called Johnny's on 43. Some of the best beers ever here. Stuff you've never heard of....with mile long names like Mike's Ethos Grainy Water Pale Stout Pacific Wheat Ale. Seriously, why do they do that? I just pointed to the menu and said "this.". It would be like watching my Dad order at Planet Smoothie. If my Dad was forced to say "Mediterranean Monster," he would probably burn all his Black Sabbath and Mountain records and start listening to Cyndi Lauper. (who is also from Queens, by the way)
Anyhow, I had my Southern chivalry moment here. I was waiting to be seated when a drunken customer bumped into the hostess, almost flooring her. Yours truly caught her in mid air and restored her vertically. She looked at me with astonishment and said, "can you believe that guy?" He was already walking away when I grabbed his arm. I'm talking like the arm grab that you got when you were bad in church. I pinched his arm fat and dragged him back, "Apologize. Now." He was in no shape or stature to do anything other than obey, like a good little dog. Needless to say, our service improved after that.
The rest of the trip was laden with great food, friends and laughs. My waitress at this Italian place accidentally brought me a salad when I did not order one. She had called the order wrong, so I got a free salad along with my real appetizer and some excellent tagliolini. Then, to make up for it, we got a free tiramisu. I was so offended by the free food, that I tipped her 30%. This was one of those family owned places and their reputation means everything to them. Much like Cass Grocery was for us. I freakin' love New York.
So, it's back to the real world, refreshed and ready to hit the ground running. My light at the end of the tunnel never fails me. I'm missing football but glad that Christmas is here and most people are in a good mood. I know it won't last and a lot of people will return to their misery, but I honestly pay them no mind. I can think about belting out "Lights" by Journey in a karaoke bar, having the best prosciutto sandwich ever or enjoying a nice cocktail off Central Park West with family and friends quicker than a Kenny Anderson crossover. Have a great week!