(+3 for a Terence Trent D'Arby reference, and welding two classic songs together..that's huge in my book)
I love those songs. One ushers in a New Year, the other ushers in reminscence of tightrolled Jordache jeans, British Knights high tops and Bugle Boy (or maybe even Ocean Pacific). I wish Bugle Boy would make a comeback, along with acid washed jeans. I would "Zack Morris" this town quicker than you can say "B-b-b-b-beat....Go Bayside!" (90's kids....search your heart, you know I'm right.) I am not afraid to jam out to "Wishing Well" while sporting a slap bracelet, and you should not be either.
Anyhow, I spent another New Year in the hustle and bustle of New York City. Once again, the City that Never Sleeps (or eats Paleo) did not let me down. This time, the family came along and I was able to show my folks how it's done in NYC. Laura and I are seasoned veterans of the subways, cabs, avenues and streets, so as a pseudo tour guide, I think I did a pretty good job. The weather was great, except for high wind from the South (for which I blame the Dawgs, they "sucked" in every possible way...more on that later). The food was beyond excellent and the nightlife was livelier than a free Dale Earnardt t-shirt giveaway at Cass Grocery in 1987. (which is consequently the same year "Sign Your Name" and "Wishing Well" debuted...see? A comeback is needed.)
This recap is brought to you by Milk Stout beer, the intersection of Broome Street and Watts Street in Soho, Joe Bonamassa, Kangol hats and the 7 Train. (Hey, John Rocker, I'm still alive...amazing, huh?)
So, we get up at the crack of dawn and head to Hartsfield. My Dad elects to drive, so we are as sure to be on time as Mike Bobo will call a sprint draw on a 3rd and long. That GMC Sierra melted the 85 South sign as we merged off the connector, or as the great Charlie Daniels put it, "Mario Andretti would have sure been proud." We get to the airport and board with no consequence, which is a first for me. We usually fly Delta, which means numerous delays, cancellations, gate changes and unfriendly service. All capped off with the ever-so-maddening "I'm sorry, sir, we are doing all we can." That statement has about as much usefulness as pay phones, the SciFi channel, border grass, the continued toll at Georgia 400 and water towers not used for graffiti. It means nothing. They have no competition in Atlanta to speak of, so they can treat people like yesterday's trash. We used AirTran this time and I have to say that the staff was nicer, the plane was cleaner and the boarding process was faster. However, once the plane left the jetway, we circled the runway twelve times before we took off. It was like NASCAR, only we turned right every time and nobody asked me if I needed any wedge taken out. (+1 for Days of Thunder reference) I got to see College Park, a dead opossum, and a graffiti covered wall that said "Big Diddy" twelve times each. However, I did finish four levels on Angry Birds before we took off, so I got that going for me, which is nice. (+1 for Caddyshack reference)
When we finally landed at LaGuardia, we cabbed it into Manhattan. I was all ready to say "Take us to Queens at once" but I didn't figure Rahjeesh would get the joke, so I kept my mouth shut. (+1 for Coming to America reference) I always notice the cab driver's name for some reason, I guess to make sure I didn't see him on Unsolved Mysteries or worse, "The Real Housewives of New Jersey." Since we had circled the runway in Atlanta so many times, we were going to be late to lunch, so I told Rahjeesh to step on it. That was like telling a Cassville native that Greg "The Hammer" Valentine was signing autographs with Jake "The Snake" Roberts at the Waffle House on Highway 411. We blew through Queens faster than Charlie Weis blows through a Krispy Kreme when the "Hot n Now" sign comes on. After hitting 88 miles per hour, going back to 1955 and back to 2011 again, we arrived at Park Avenue (+1 for Back to the Future reference).
Our first stop was a French restaurant called Artisanal. To merely say I was hungry is like saying the Red Sox pitching staff likes to drink alcohol occasionally. Four bottles of wine, a seafood tower, fondue and a steak with fries later and the owner wants to rename the restaurant after us. They also sold gourmet cheese with mile-long names that nobody can pronounce. With the French language, I've learned to just say the first syllable and then make a noise like you are gagging yourself after drinking too much hunch punch at a party during freshman year and it seems to work. The manager was a peculiarly dressed Frenchman, but that man absolutely would not let your wine glass go empty. Seriously, he saw my glass go down to one sip and he wedge-busted three waiters to get to my table. It was an awesome lunch to say the least, and I was full for at least two hours.
After showing my folks a few sights and walking around Midtown, we got ready for dinner, or as I called it "Experiment #1." The place we picked is called "Sushi Samba." It is a Peruvian-Japanese fusion restaurant that mixes sushi rolls with traditional Peruvian food/spices. Unique does not do justice to this menu, since Japan and Peru go together like Vandy and winning, skinny jeans and Kirstie Alley or Kenny Chesney and anything resembling manhood. I had been there before but I was worried my folks would not like the food. Lucky for me, this experiment went as well as the introduction of Natural Light to the beer cooler at Cass Grocery. They annihilated the jalapeno/sea bass sashimi. They even tried sake. They served us a lobster taco dish that made me get up and slap the couple at the table next to us. Our waiter was from Mobile, Alabama originally and was more than happy to accomodate some fellow Southerners. It was an excellent dinner and if anybody gets a chance to eat Japanese/Peruvian fusion, do it. I would lobby for such a restaurant in Cassville, however, it would probably go over like Jeff Gordon Appreciation Day. Not gonna happen and it would probably just lead to a few fistfights.
We meandered to the Upper West Side the next day. The Beacon Theater was the destination, where so many great artists have darkened the doors, including an annual month long tour by the Allman Brothers. This was the site of one of the most boneheaded moves of my life back in 2009, where I was being cheap and did not buy tickets online and tried to scalp. I waited until the show started and went to the nearest scalper and he said "$750 a piece." Dumbfounded, I said, "you gotta be kidding." The man looked me in the eye and said, "Eric Clapton just walked on stage, he's playing with them all night." I could have had them for $200 a piece on Ticketmaster. A Clapton/ABB collaboration has not happened before or since. Now, excuse me while I slam my forehead through this plate glass window. For a true rock fan, it does not get any better, unless Duane suddenly rose from the dead along with Jimi and Jim Morrison and they played a 47 minute combination of "Riders on the Storm/Hey Joe/Whipping Post." If that happened, the Dawgs could lose every game from now until the end of time and I would still die happy.
One of the best times ever was had on this night. By recommendation, we went to a bar called "Beauty and Essex." Strange name and even stranger facade, however, it was one of the classiest and most fun bars I've ever seen. First and foremost, to enter the bar, you walk into a pawn shop first. My first thought was, "oh damn, the cab driver drove us to Acworth." Nope. It was still New York. Still, I thought any minute now a gaggle of Glade Road citizens would come in and rob the place. You tell the cashier that you are there to eat and drink and she opens this huge door behind the desk. It's two stories of tables, chandeliers, bartenders and one of the best DJ's in NYC. I impressed my mom with my verbatim (almost) rap of "Electric Relaxation" as it blared over the speakers, mixed with "Off the Wall" by Michael Jackson and "Girls and Boys" by Prince. He even played some jams by De La Soul. You would've thought some Cassville people would stick out like a sore thumb but we didn't. Nobody does in New York. That's the beauty of it, nobody is concerned with what you look like, where you are from or who your daddy is. We left the bar, had dinner (Inoteca - an Italian place that is awesome, serves Nutella toast as a dessert....needless to say, I slapped my second couple of the trip there), got a second wind and went back to Beauty and Essex.
The Brooklyn Bridge is usually a fun sightseeing tour but not on New Year's Eve. European tourists are right above hicks on Nextels and the fat lady who walks slow on the moving sidewalk in the airport as being the most annoying people ever. They literally stop in the middle of everything and take group pictures, without regard for anybody or anything around them. I'm not sure of the origin of any of them, but they weren't Spanish, English, Scottish, Irish or Italian. Needless to say, if you want to bump into 3,478 people and listen to incessant blabbering in a foreign language, the Brooklyn Bridge is your place.
It was still a great day though. The Broome Street Bar and Grill is a dive bar that had an internet jukebox to end all internet jukeboxes. My parents and I livened the place up with Marshall Tucker, the Outlaws, Little Feat, Earth, Wind & Fire, Lynyrd Skynyrd and I just had to play "Flirtin With Disaster" by Molly Hatchet. Every time I hear that song, I want to jump into an orange 1986 Camaro T-top, light a Marlboro Red and lay drag until the fire alarm goes off. Unfortunately, Camaros are not plentiful in Manhattan (go figure), I can't smoke and I would probably crash the car into a pole anyway. In any event, we spent the evening at the 21 Club, sitting next to the table where Humphrey Bogart proposed to Lauren Bacall and another where the Rat Pack used to party back in the 40's. All the old New York Yankees, Giants, the Brooklyn Dodgers, you name it, they used to hang at the 21. Very nostalgic and it made for an awesome ending to the trip. I love New York.
Oh yeah......Terence Trent D'Arby...born and raised in Manhattan. Booyah. I'm bushhogging his comeback trail as we speak.
Highlights/Lowlights of the rest of the holiday:
1) The Dawgs absolutely freaking blew it. I have no words. We were like Billy Madison in high school and MSU came by our table, poured soup on our head and said "O'Doyle rules." Other than Brandon Boykin and Alec Ogletree/most of the defense, the team should be forced to walk the Brooklyn Bridge in full pads for 48 straight hours and take every European group picture standing on their head. I saw guys laughing on the sideline at the 7:30 mark in the 3rd quarter. We lost a clean sweep for the SEC, lost to a Big Ten team and looked like hell on national TV....at least Tech lost.
2) Florida pulverized THE Ohio State Urban Meyers. If there is a team I could pick as my "most disliked beside Tech," then Ohio State is it. Nothing against their fans, it's ESPN and their lovefest with them. Since Notre Dame is less relevant than a Walkman now, I guess they needed a Northern school to pick up their slack. One thing of note, Deonte Thompson played his last game as a Gator. I swear Deonte Thompson has been on Florida's team since 1976. Every team has one of those guys....Wes Byrum played at Auburn for 30 years, I'm sure of it. Shaun Chapas was our fullback when Herschel ran over Bill Bates, just ask Casey Clausen, because he was holding a clipboard on Tennessee's sideline that day. (with one arm tied behind his back, of course)
3) I saw the movie War Horse, with all hopes and aspirations that it would be a good one. Wrong. Other than the camera work, this movie was so Disney that I wanted to vomit. It made the Lion King look like "Requiem for a Dream" or "Apocalypse Now." It made the "Blind Side" look like "Boyz in the Hood." Sometimes, a movie can take inspirational scenes to the extreme and cross over to the dreaded "jumping the shark" zone. Well, this War Horse movie jumped the shark, rode the refrigerator (+1 for Indiana Jones and the Kingdon of the Crystal Skull reference) and Ripleyed me (sorry, the Alien franchise died after the second one) into sarcastic laughter and a sprint to the door when the credits rolled. Laura lost movie selection privileges for a month over this one and will be forced to watch Predator, Platoon, Rocky and Rambo to make up for it.
I love those songs. One ushers in a New Year, the other ushers in reminscence of tightrolled Jordache jeans, British Knights high tops and Bugle Boy (or maybe even Ocean Pacific). I wish Bugle Boy would make a comeback, along with acid washed jeans. I would "Zack Morris" this town quicker than you can say "B-b-b-b-beat....Go Bayside!" (90's kids....search your heart, you know I'm right.) I am not afraid to jam out to "Wishing Well" while sporting a slap bracelet, and you should not be either.
Anyhow, I spent another New Year in the hustle and bustle of New York City. Once again, the City that Never Sleeps (or eats Paleo) did not let me down. This time, the family came along and I was able to show my folks how it's done in NYC. Laura and I are seasoned veterans of the subways, cabs, avenues and streets, so as a pseudo tour guide, I think I did a pretty good job. The weather was great, except for high wind from the South (for which I blame the Dawgs, they "sucked" in every possible way...more on that later). The food was beyond excellent and the nightlife was livelier than a free Dale Earnardt t-shirt giveaway at Cass Grocery in 1987. (which is consequently the same year "Sign Your Name" and "Wishing Well" debuted...see? A comeback is needed.)
This recap is brought to you by Milk Stout beer, the intersection of Broome Street and Watts Street in Soho, Joe Bonamassa, Kangol hats and the 7 Train. (Hey, John Rocker, I'm still alive...amazing, huh?)
So, we get up at the crack of dawn and head to Hartsfield. My Dad elects to drive, so we are as sure to be on time as Mike Bobo will call a sprint draw on a 3rd and long. That GMC Sierra melted the 85 South sign as we merged off the connector, or as the great Charlie Daniels put it, "Mario Andretti would have sure been proud." We get to the airport and board with no consequence, which is a first for me. We usually fly Delta, which means numerous delays, cancellations, gate changes and unfriendly service. All capped off with the ever-so-maddening "I'm sorry, sir, we are doing all we can." That statement has about as much usefulness as pay phones, the SciFi channel, border grass, the continued toll at Georgia 400 and water towers not used for graffiti. It means nothing. They have no competition in Atlanta to speak of, so they can treat people like yesterday's trash. We used AirTran this time and I have to say that the staff was nicer, the plane was cleaner and the boarding process was faster. However, once the plane left the jetway, we circled the runway twelve times before we took off. It was like NASCAR, only we turned right every time and nobody asked me if I needed any wedge taken out. (+1 for Days of Thunder reference) I got to see College Park, a dead opossum, and a graffiti covered wall that said "Big Diddy" twelve times each. However, I did finish four levels on Angry Birds before we took off, so I got that going for me, which is nice. (+1 for Caddyshack reference)
When we finally landed at LaGuardia, we cabbed it into Manhattan. I was all ready to say "Take us to Queens at once" but I didn't figure Rahjeesh would get the joke, so I kept my mouth shut. (+1 for Coming to America reference) I always notice the cab driver's name for some reason, I guess to make sure I didn't see him on Unsolved Mysteries or worse, "The Real Housewives of New Jersey." Since we had circled the runway in Atlanta so many times, we were going to be late to lunch, so I told Rahjeesh to step on it. That was like telling a Cassville native that Greg "The Hammer" Valentine was signing autographs with Jake "The Snake" Roberts at the Waffle House on Highway 411. We blew through Queens faster than Charlie Weis blows through a Krispy Kreme when the "Hot n Now" sign comes on. After hitting 88 miles per hour, going back to 1955 and back to 2011 again, we arrived at Park Avenue (+1 for Back to the Future reference).
Our first stop was a French restaurant called Artisanal. To merely say I was hungry is like saying the Red Sox pitching staff likes to drink alcohol occasionally. Four bottles of wine, a seafood tower, fondue and a steak with fries later and the owner wants to rename the restaurant after us. They also sold gourmet cheese with mile-long names that nobody can pronounce. With the French language, I've learned to just say the first syllable and then make a noise like you are gagging yourself after drinking too much hunch punch at a party during freshman year and it seems to work. The manager was a peculiarly dressed Frenchman, but that man absolutely would not let your wine glass go empty. Seriously, he saw my glass go down to one sip and he wedge-busted three waiters to get to my table. It was an awesome lunch to say the least, and I was full for at least two hours.
After showing my folks a few sights and walking around Midtown, we got ready for dinner, or as I called it "Experiment #1." The place we picked is called "Sushi Samba." It is a Peruvian-Japanese fusion restaurant that mixes sushi rolls with traditional Peruvian food/spices. Unique does not do justice to this menu, since Japan and Peru go together like Vandy and winning, skinny jeans and Kirstie Alley or Kenny Chesney and anything resembling manhood. I had been there before but I was worried my folks would not like the food. Lucky for me, this experiment went as well as the introduction of Natural Light to the beer cooler at Cass Grocery. They annihilated the jalapeno/sea bass sashimi. They even tried sake. They served us a lobster taco dish that made me get up and slap the couple at the table next to us. Our waiter was from Mobile, Alabama originally and was more than happy to accomodate some fellow Southerners. It was an excellent dinner and if anybody gets a chance to eat Japanese/Peruvian fusion, do it. I would lobby for such a restaurant in Cassville, however, it would probably go over like Jeff Gordon Appreciation Day. Not gonna happen and it would probably just lead to a few fistfights.
We meandered to the Upper West Side the next day. The Beacon Theater was the destination, where so many great artists have darkened the doors, including an annual month long tour by the Allman Brothers. This was the site of one of the most boneheaded moves of my life back in 2009, where I was being cheap and did not buy tickets online and tried to scalp. I waited until the show started and went to the nearest scalper and he said "$750 a piece." Dumbfounded, I said, "you gotta be kidding." The man looked me in the eye and said, "Eric Clapton just walked on stage, he's playing with them all night." I could have had them for $200 a piece on Ticketmaster. A Clapton/ABB collaboration has not happened before or since. Now, excuse me while I slam my forehead through this plate glass window. For a true rock fan, it does not get any better, unless Duane suddenly rose from the dead along with Jimi and Jim Morrison and they played a 47 minute combination of "Riders on the Storm/Hey Joe/Whipping Post." If that happened, the Dawgs could lose every game from now until the end of time and I would still die happy.
One of the best times ever was had on this night. By recommendation, we went to a bar called "Beauty and Essex." Strange name and even stranger facade, however, it was one of the classiest and most fun bars I've ever seen. First and foremost, to enter the bar, you walk into a pawn shop first. My first thought was, "oh damn, the cab driver drove us to Acworth." Nope. It was still New York. Still, I thought any minute now a gaggle of Glade Road citizens would come in and rob the place. You tell the cashier that you are there to eat and drink and she opens this huge door behind the desk. It's two stories of tables, chandeliers, bartenders and one of the best DJ's in NYC. I impressed my mom with my verbatim (almost) rap of "Electric Relaxation" as it blared over the speakers, mixed with "Off the Wall" by Michael Jackson and "Girls and Boys" by Prince. He even played some jams by De La Soul. You would've thought some Cassville people would stick out like a sore thumb but we didn't. Nobody does in New York. That's the beauty of it, nobody is concerned with what you look like, where you are from or who your daddy is. We left the bar, had dinner (Inoteca - an Italian place that is awesome, serves Nutella toast as a dessert....needless to say, I slapped my second couple of the trip there), got a second wind and went back to Beauty and Essex.
The Brooklyn Bridge is usually a fun sightseeing tour but not on New Year's Eve. European tourists are right above hicks on Nextels and the fat lady who walks slow on the moving sidewalk in the airport as being the most annoying people ever. They literally stop in the middle of everything and take group pictures, without regard for anybody or anything around them. I'm not sure of the origin of any of them, but they weren't Spanish, English, Scottish, Irish or Italian. Needless to say, if you want to bump into 3,478 people and listen to incessant blabbering in a foreign language, the Brooklyn Bridge is your place.
It was still a great day though. The Broome Street Bar and Grill is a dive bar that had an internet jukebox to end all internet jukeboxes. My parents and I livened the place up with Marshall Tucker, the Outlaws, Little Feat, Earth, Wind & Fire, Lynyrd Skynyrd and I just had to play "Flirtin With Disaster" by Molly Hatchet. Every time I hear that song, I want to jump into an orange 1986 Camaro T-top, light a Marlboro Red and lay drag until the fire alarm goes off. Unfortunately, Camaros are not plentiful in Manhattan (go figure), I can't smoke and I would probably crash the car into a pole anyway. In any event, we spent the evening at the 21 Club, sitting next to the table where Humphrey Bogart proposed to Lauren Bacall and another where the Rat Pack used to party back in the 40's. All the old New York Yankees, Giants, the Brooklyn Dodgers, you name it, they used to hang at the 21. Very nostalgic and it made for an awesome ending to the trip. I love New York.
Oh yeah......Terence Trent D'Arby...born and raised in Manhattan. Booyah. I'm bushhogging his comeback trail as we speak.
Highlights/Lowlights of the rest of the holiday:
1) The Dawgs absolutely freaking blew it. I have no words. We were like Billy Madison in high school and MSU came by our table, poured soup on our head and said "O'Doyle rules." Other than Brandon Boykin and Alec Ogletree/most of the defense, the team should be forced to walk the Brooklyn Bridge in full pads for 48 straight hours and take every European group picture standing on their head. I saw guys laughing on the sideline at the 7:30 mark in the 3rd quarter. We lost a clean sweep for the SEC, lost to a Big Ten team and looked like hell on national TV....at least Tech lost.
2) Florida pulverized THE Ohio State Urban Meyers. If there is a team I could pick as my "most disliked beside Tech," then Ohio State is it. Nothing against their fans, it's ESPN and their lovefest with them. Since Notre Dame is less relevant than a Walkman now, I guess they needed a Northern school to pick up their slack. One thing of note, Deonte Thompson played his last game as a Gator. I swear Deonte Thompson has been on Florida's team since 1976. Every team has one of those guys....Wes Byrum played at Auburn for 30 years, I'm sure of it. Shaun Chapas was our fullback when Herschel ran over Bill Bates, just ask Casey Clausen, because he was holding a clipboard on Tennessee's sideline that day. (with one arm tied behind his back, of course)
3) I saw the movie War Horse, with all hopes and aspirations that it would be a good one. Wrong. Other than the camera work, this movie was so Disney that I wanted to vomit. It made the Lion King look like "Requiem for a Dream" or "Apocalypse Now." It made the "Blind Side" look like "Boyz in the Hood." Sometimes, a movie can take inspirational scenes to the extreme and cross over to the dreaded "jumping the shark" zone. Well, this War Horse movie jumped the shark, rode the refrigerator (+1 for Indiana Jones and the Kingdon of the Crystal Skull reference) and Ripleyed me (sorry, the Alien franchise died after the second one) into sarcastic laughter and a sprint to the door when the credits rolled. Laura lost movie selection privileges for a month over this one and will be forced to watch Predator, Platoon, Rocky and Rambo to make up for it.