The Horrible Horrible

Well, I don't have any pictures from this week's tour of New Jersey; I'm sparing you all from images that would be only sad and depressing. I knew things were off to a bad start on Sunday morning when I boarded the airplane and settled in to seat 11F, straightening out my NY Times and unraveling my headphones when a woman from across the isle reached over and grabbed the blanket by my seat, giving me a mean look. It was a good metaphor for New Jersey: a bunch of mean and hungry dogs all fighting for a scrap of food.

I started prefacing New Jersey with "Horrible Horrible," and soon just changed the name of the state to "The Horrible Horrible." The people there are assholes. I saw one grown woman tell another to "shut up" during one of our seminars. The servers at restaurants complain when you order food. I spend two hours driving six miles. There is nothing at all good about New Jersey. Never go there.

My Abrupt Family Reunion

Saying my goodbyes to all my fans in Columbus, OH

My week touring the Northern-South was cut short by news on Superbowl Sunday of my grandma Helen's death, which required me to fly home for her funeral. I had been lucky to have visited her about a month ago when I was home for vacation, and the encounter is much more appreciated now that she's gone. I spent Monday and Tuesday arguing with outsourced customer service agents as I tried to bargain bereavement fares, only to hear scripted condolences, but I finally arrived in Minneapolis Wednesday evening and met my brother Andy at baggage claim, where we picked up our luggage and headed to MOA (Mall of America, for all you non-Minnesotans), via light rail:

Brother Andy waiting for the train to MOA

Thursday morning my brother, my little sister Betsy, my father and I headed South to Alton, IA, a small town of 1,095 people (from the 2000 census), where my mother grew up and my grandparents lived out their lives. While it was a sad occasion, it was great to see family I hadn't seen in about three years. There were even a few I had never met:

My cousin's daughter, Reagan, sporting a short skirt and pacifier

My immediate (and aristocratic) "fam"

My flight from Souix City was delayed, resulting in a short night's sleep at a hotel in Denver, but I'm finally back in Seattle after a good month-and-a-half. It's funny how foreign the landscape and climate is after all this time; I've forgotten about how green everything is! Tomorrow morning I'm flying non-stop to New York where I'll spend the week driving around the Northeast. Then I'll have a much deserved week's break. It's all been worth it, though, because this opportunity won't come again and I still have many local brews to sample. Until then, a Ranier Beer from the good old Puget Sound will suffice!

The Mile-High Flub

Here I am, stuck in Alabama with the Seattle blues again. Out of a series of mechanical problems with United flight 5993, I ended up at the Holiday Inn five minutes from Birmingham's airport with a Guatemalan friend named Lorenzo who spoke no English. I helped him figure out how to use the phone in his cuarto (dial 9 + 1 + Area Code + Number) and then took to the lounge with my $15 voucher courtesy of United Air. At the bar I met Tom, a brash Republican and small-business owner of a vending machine distribution company and Mark, his General Manager who came across as more of a sidekick. We discussed the merits of Mitt Romney and Barak Obama and four beers later I was fed up with their welfare-hatin' rhetoric and decided to go to bed. Now I find myself waiting for a flight to Chicago where I'll spend the weekend. It makes more sense than heading back to Seattle where I'd get about 8 hours of leisure time in before heading back to the airport to fly across the country to Richmond, VA.

In any case, what a week! Newark, NJ was my stop on Tuesday, where I got to spend a couple hours touring its beautiful Downtown before my flight left for Richmond:

A stroll down Broad Street, Newark, NJ

Newark felt like a ghost of what once was a clean, booming city. Walking the streets on Tuesday I saw lots of pawn shops and street vendors selling belts and disposable contact lenses.

A parking lot in one of the many dark alleys of Newark

The rest of the week I fought banquet managers in Richmond over the price of soda ($2.50/can), bellmen in Alabama (please leave my luggage alone, for once! I'm not giving you any fucking more money for carrying it up the elevator), and a whole slew of cattle ranchers from the Alabama Cattlemen's Association:


Another week away from home. I wonder if I'll ever get a change of clothes. My night in Chicago will be fun, though. It'll be good to party down with some familiar faces and have a much shorter flight on Sunday. What time zone am I in? Don't change the towels! I asked for those eggs over-medium not over-easy! Anyhow, off to the airport.

Honkytonk Heaven!

Nashville, Tennessee! Home of the Grand Ole Opry, honkytonk, and Christian pop music! I spent my weekend here gittin' warmed up at my shitty hotel room at La Quinta Inn drinking PBRs:


At night, I took to the streets, visiting such local haunts as Demos' for dinner, Tootsie's for the authentic country scene, and twenty3 for a bit of clubbing before heading back to the hotel for a poor night's sleep and an early morning hangover.

Eating a nice piece of bread before my main course medium-rare steak at Demos'

Only in Nashville can you find super talented country acts that no one's ever heard of, nor ever will. This is one of those groups jamming out at Tootsie's on Broadway

One of the many nice Nashvillians I met while clubbin' at twenty3 in Nashville's trendy industrial district

All in all, Music City was a great place to spend a weekend. The folks are friendly and the music is just what you'd expect. It's an amazing thing to walk into a bar at 2 in the afternoon to find a country or rock group kicking ass on stage with not a single person in the room besides the bored bartender and myself ordering a tall glass of beer. I drove to the airport, country music in my veins and a belly-full of Waffle House.

Las Vegas Means "The Meadows" in English! It Should Be Called "Las Personas Gordidas"

Drinking margaritas out of a plastic Eiffel Tower at the Paris Casino

Well, what can I say about my weekend in Las Vegas? I got drunk. It's hard not to when everyone's always drinking: in restaurants, in the bathroom, on the street, even in coffee shops. Yes, the weekend was one long binge. I gambled. There may not be slot machines in the bathrooms, but they are everywhere else, including the slot machines. I won't tell you whether I lost or won any money, but let's just say that if I did WIN, you would know about it. I got pretty tired of all the velvet ropes and other symbols of status that Vegas is known for...at least when I wasn't invited:

Drinking champagne and listening to rap music in a Hummer stretch limo with 16 of my co-workers

A bunch of babes fawning over me

I did get the chance to see an old Seattle pal over the weekend. Danny was staying with his parents in a residential neighborhood of Las Vegas after breaking his leg in a freak accident. At home he has a bit of help while recovering from his fall. It was a much needed vacation from my vacation enjoying a great meal with Danny and his family. It was the first time all weekend that I substituted Diet Coke for alcohol.

Danny greeting me at his parents' house

Then I went out and got really drunk, getting to bed around 4 in the morning. Two-and-a-half hours later I rolled out of bed and took a shuttle to the airport. If you're the type of person who enjoys very expensive cans of soda, men that look like women, and crying in the shower as you scrub layer after layer of skin off your tainted nude body, Las Vegas is a great place to be. Damn! I forgot to visit the Hoover Dam!

Link to more pictures from the Las Vegas weekend here

In Chicago, I'm really "in the Loop!!"

My view from Club Quarters at Wacker

I had a great weekend running around and getting in trouble on Chicago's "loop" with many old friends. Special thanks must go out to all the good folks at the Club Quarters where I spent my nights on the 16th floor.

Two fellow Burnsville Class of '99ers and me at some bar

Taking pictures at the big bean in Millenium Park (Jeannette and I are barely visible on the top left)

I wish I had more time to describe my fabulous adventures, but I'm busy polishing up oldtownfancy.com, where episode 6 of Deadbeats will be released tomorrow morning! See you in Cincinnati.

Goodbye, My Beloved Minnesota!!

My mother and I ringing in the New Year

Well, it's been a great Winter vacation here in Minnesota, complete with old friends, forgotten friends, and a loving, wonderful family. Catching up wears on one's self though, and reminders of who I was and how I've changed were definitely encouraging. The best part about home has been the reminded memories that refresh my sense of identity and place within this big, wide world.

A reunion of the Mikey, Pauly, Benny Show (WMPB), plus our esteemed engineer David "Da' Boosh" Busch

The bar seemed to be one place where the nostalgia really was celebrated with shots of this and that and wisecracks that wouldn't be funny to strangers of this scene. I had a great time partying down at the VFW in Minneapolis one night where I sang songs with my old pal Justin Anderson and bumped into an old flame who took shots of "Liquid Viagra" or Vodka Red Bulls with my sister and I:

Images from the VFW: (left) my pal Justin crooning to Johnny Cash; (right) My sister Betsy, friend Natalie, and I drinking "Liquid Viagras"

Yes, friends are the best part about coming home. As are the traditional ceremonies of Minnesota during the holidays, such as drinking pitchers at Babe's:

Hanging out at Babe's:
(top from left: Me!, Jack, Ryan, Brock
bottom: Matt, our beer wench, Brother Andy)

I start off 2008 realizing how lucky I am to be surrounded by so many good folks. We'll see you next time on the Nickel-Plated Wayfarer in Chicago!