Road Trip (Part 9) - "Frank Bishop, Room 227"

Fo Nicks. Fo Nix. Ok. Phoenix. That silent "o" fucks with me when spelling.

Phoenix is the shit. Fo' shizzle. If you like nice weather, irrigated grounds, and golf, Phoenix is for you. If you like water, don't plan on settling in Phoenix.

Luckily, we're passing through. Luckily, I've got some great friends in Phoenix.

It just so happened that Phoenix was going to be Mansfield, MA in the desert while we were there. A whole crew of critters from Mansfield was present.

The list included: Stocks Paradox (flew in for some vacation from his retired life in Rhode Island), Cadoo (pronounced Cad-Dew), Jopapa (pronounced Joe-Pop-ah), Locke, Halearious, and myself, Groundswell.

Locke's girlfriend, Amanda, was also present, but she's not from Mansfield, but we shouldn't hold this against her because she is awesome.

If you're Catholic, or maybe even Christian, you know that Jesus taught that whenever you get together in groups of two or more in the name of God, well then God is present. The same can be said for Mansfieldians. Whenever two or more Mansfieldians get together and alcohol is present, it's going to turn into a shit-show. It's not our fault. It just happens. God may or may not be there. There's no way to know because there is a good chance you can't remember everything. God may have actually bought you the shot that sends you over the edge. God has a sick sense of humor. I'm sure of it. I love him / her for it.

Our second night in Phoenix (our first night since returning from the Grand Canyon) started out bland. We went to a sports bar around the corner. Highlights included 32-oz beers, a ridiculously long shuffleboard, and a blond with fake boobs on a date. Really, the first sign I was getting closer to Los Angeles.

I, being almost 30 and finally trying my best to be mature, drank responsibly. That can not be said for my counterparts. But, as I mentioned, it wasn't their fault. There were seven people from Mansfield there. The fact that I'm writing this right now is a minor miracle.

I, thanks in large part to Halearious, who had noticed that I was milking my beer like an infant and pointed it out to Cadoo who pointed it out to Jopapa, who pointed it out to the bartender, who handed him a shot of Jack, and then he handed me the shot, had a sweet buzz. Kids from Mansfield. Trouble. I don't drink Jack. It's like giving a rat crack. It's not a good idea. I've learned that on several occasions. Okay, many occasions.

But it was a special occasion, Fo Nix, it was handed to me dressed up in the guise of a "birthday shot," and it was just one shot. Saying no was not an option. It went down like liquid razors. My eyes were watering and my mouth was on fire. Oh, Mansfield.

At 11:30PM, with a few drinks down and still seeing single, we were done with the sports bar. The blonde had left and the shuffleboard had lost our interest.

What had grabbed our attention, however, was The Phoenician - a ridiculously nice hotel in Scottsdale with an over priced bar and a great view. It was about to be invaded.

As we ventured on the twenty-minute car ride, Cadoo and I decided it was a good idea to call and see how late the bar was open. We both had memories of it closing early. Turns out it closed at 1AM. Wrong answer.

We show up to the most expensive hotel in Phoenix wearing jeans, t-shirts, boston sports team paraphernalia and nothing to lose.

Even still, we sat outside on the patio on a cloudless night, waiting for one of the three fire pits to open up. Stocks Paradox and Halerious go inside because it's too cold for their womanly parts. The rest of us, Amanda included, man it out.

Jopapa continues to celebrate my b-day and buys me a McClelen 12-year old scotch, gets one for himself and Locke; everybody else is drinking beer. We all make fun of Stocks talking to Halearious about how he has retired and whatnot.

Ten minutes of chit-chat and drinking and someone finally realizes that if we sit at the fire pit with only two people at it we can slowly out last them.

Turns out it didn't take long. I don't think they enjoyed the ribbing of Stocks love of animals and peanut butter as much as the rest of us. Those two were long gone.

That was okay. We had the fire. We had the night. Best of all, we had done this before. Mansfield travels wells.

The drinks flow down well. The conversation moves easy. As you can imagine, in a large group, the conversation bounces around from one large conversation to many small conversations. Topics are too diverse to remember.

Cigars are ordered. I feel important. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Sometimes it's a great fucking idea. The latter was appropriate.

As the night wears on, good ideas wear thin. A nearly full lighter makes it's way into the fire. Five of us bolt. Stocks and Halearious sit waiting. Finally Halearious is convinced to jet. Stocks waits.

Boom.

There is a burst of flames – large enough to catch everyone's attention, but small enough not to burn off Stock's eyebrows. We are so getting kicked out. The people at the fire pit fifty feet down notice and lobby for us to be thrown out. Turns out they were kicked out last night.

We wait. Nothing happens.

Shocking.

Next thing you know an aluminum cigar case makes it into the fire. Good idea number two. Aluminum really doesn't burn in a fire.

Soon, we are not the only ones to notice. The manager of the hotel / bar comes to talk to us and tells us that nothing else can be thrown into fire, and if we do throw anything else in we are going to get thrown out. I don't think he's too pleased by Halearious' interjection of "You mean like the aluminum cigar case?" The fire is turned down on us.

Warning shot has been fired.

Mansfield is not scared.

We got Stocks, a Mass Maritime graduate, and you just showed him how to manually change the height of the fire. He is on it. We convince him to turn it back down so we're not kicked out.

Jopapa, after a long night shift at the hospital and working on no sleep is semi-concious next to me.

We're discussing whether or not to sneak into the pool.

Now Jopapa is unconscious to the world, but only sleeping.

The pool debate continues.

Jopapa rises slowly, walks around the bench where we are sitting, and vomits everything he has imbibed.

Perfect timing. The manager is walking by us.

We are so getting kicked out.

Nope. He continues walking.

Keith covers over the vomit with a towel. We are good to go.

Turns out we realize we're not getting kicked out. They think we might be hotel guests.

Cadoo brings out his alter ego, Frank Bishop. Frank Bishop it turns out to stays in room 227.

Invincible.

Luckily, we censor ourselves, and decide it's a good idea to be leaving. Jopapa's girlfriend is on the way to pick him up. Cadoo stopped drinking a long time ago. Amanda is sober as can be.

We bounce back to our respective homes.

The night ends with Stocks holding on to the table as he drinks water. If he closes his eyes, things are going to start spinning. Doesn't sound fun.

"Hey, Cadoo," he asks. "What time is our tee-time tomorrow?"

Cadoo, "It's at 1:52PM."

"Oh, okay. Can you set the alarm for like (beat) noon?" Keith asks.

Cadoo starts laughing. He's got two dogs that wake him up at 7:45AM. Those bastards are always sober. We're sleeping on the floor where they are going to be walking to get outside. "Good luck with that," he says as he walks into his bedroom.

I awake at 8:45AM to the sound of an aspirin container being closed. It's Stocks. He's now drinking water. He still needs a few more hours to get his mandatory nine hours of sleep.

I can't fall back asleep. I rustle around the living room. The morning routine is worked through. Turns out I'll be cursed out later for waking them up. I am clueless as this happens because they lie motionless for the next few hours.

Cadoo was able to maintain the dogs for an hour or two later than usual. He's not moving. They can learn to hold it.

When he does rouse, he's ready to go pick up Jopapa who needs to get his car from the hotel.

Cadoo and I roll over to Jopapa’s house. When we get there Jopapa is still in his pajamas. He's got "one of the top five headaches" of his life. He's happy he's not nauseous. Cadoo informs him of the reason why. He questions why he is such an idiot. We decide it was the not sleeping thing.

On to the hotel.

After we drop him off, we decided that we should bounce to one of my favorite eateries in Phoenix, Le Grande Orange. A sweet spot that doubles as a sort of sandwich shop and sit down restaurant. The food is delicious and healthy, and reasonably priced. The girls behind the counters and the female clientele are surprisingly attractive. Cadoo and I decide we could sit there all day. I make a mental note of this for the next time I'm in Phoenix.

The girl behind the coffee counter is especially attractive. She’s tall, thin, buxom, with reddish hair and great big eyes. The first time we make eye contact she looks down quickly - busy making coffee. I don't move. I keep my eyes just where they were. I think to myself "Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it." Bam. Fractions of a second later. She looks back up. I think it just hit her. I love the double take. For some reason, I knew it was going to happen. I smile.

She asks us if we need anything a minute or so later. We say no, and explain that we're waiting for food. Cadoo and I mumble other things to each other out of her ear shot.

We wait for a few more minutes and then she asks for Cadoo's name and says that she'll go and check on the food for us. I'm pretty sure she's got a crush on me.

I mull over moving to Phoenix. If I did, I'd be at the Grand daily ordering coffee, biding my time, chatting it up, friendly, get to know her, get her phone number, start dating, get married, settle down, have kids, on my death bed reveal to her I don't like coffee and I threw them all out as soon as I walked out of the place. Just an excuse to talk to her. She'd laugh. I'd die. It would be great.

I decide I must be really hungry. I'm going to Los Angeles. Life is there.

Thankfully, my sandwich comes up. I grabbed it and run before I change the course of my destiny.

The sandwich is delicious. The scenery is perfect.

Cadoo and I head back to his house. They've got to golf and we've got to get on the road to Los Angeles.

Good byes are easier. I live closer. We agree to visit or meet in Vegas. Mansfield in Vegas sounds like a great idea.

The Mahoney's in Los Angeles sounds like a more present idea. We're in the car.

-Groundswell

Road Trip (Part 8) - "The Canyon Grand"

Covered in snow and beautiful, it looked as if someone had spent a long time crafting it. It was nearly perfect in all it's features. I couldn't take my eyes off of it until Halearious yelled at me, "Matthew, stop looking at the snowman. The Grand Canyon is right there."

She was right. The Grand Canyon was only a few feet away, but "Frostino" had grabbed my attention. He had such cute buttons, and was so small. "Oh, Shmallsh."

I moved away.

My eyes drifted back to the canyon. We had been there for a few hours at this point taking in different parts of the canyon. It was truly amazing. Upon first sight, it really is breath taking. You've either been there and know what I am talking about, or seen pictures and should come and find out, because words won't do it justice, and neither will the pictures we took.

It's been said that Helen of Troy had a face "that launched a thousand ships." I would like to say, then, that the Grand Canyon is a crevasse that has spurred a million road trips. Gorgeous and spectacular as anything I've ever seen, it doesn't disappoint. It really is overwhelming and hard to process.

We rolled up on the Southern Rim around 2PM. It was a spectacular sunny day. There had been a storm the previous day so there was still fresh snow covering everything but the roads, which made it a perfect day to travel up. In all the time I studied Geology, and all the pictures of the canyon that I saw, I don't remember a single one of them with snow on it. The snow only added to it's beauty and wonderment.

They say the Grand Canyon is three to six million years old and in that time has managed to carve a mile deep through rocks that are hundreds of million years old over a course that is 277 miles long. Hard for the human brain to fathom. From the top, when you finally do see the Colorado River down at the bottom, the river looks small and harmless. It looks motionless in fact. How could it do this?

Obviously, the river did not act alone. There is wind, rain, ice all adding there efforts in the erosion of the rocks, but still: How did this happen?

Six million years, a river, and persistence and you get one of the seven natural wonders of the world. Makes you realize that you should never give up if you really want something.

As we travel along the canyon checking out the different vantage points, I try to imagine what it was like for the Native Americans when they first came across the canyon unexpectedly on foot. Or, what it was like for the first European explorer, the captain in Coronado's group when he "discovered" it on foot / horseback. It must have been incredible.

I was blown away and I knew about it. Drove from Phoenix at 80MPH. And came within a hundred feet by car.

But that walk up to the Grand Canyon when the horizon slowly drops and your eyes perceive the massiveness, both depth and girth, and you are overwhelmed by the colors and layers of all the rocks, I'm guessing that walk might still be the same. You are never fully prepared.

After Halearious beckons me away from Frostino, I walk back to her side. I had just gotten the rocks that the Tarot Card reader had given us from my jacket, which was in the car. We had finally found a place along the canyon where we were alone. The quiet was spectacular. I gave Halearious her rock and held mine. We took a picture of the rocks in hand, stood in silence thinking about what we needed to think about, and then on the count of three we threw them into the canyon.

The silence was perfect. Broken only by Halearious's call, "Aw man, my throw sucked." I tried to reassure her that destiny did not and had never expected her throw to be great, but she was dead-set. "I should have thrown it straight," she says. I'm not sure that was the point so I stand in silence. We stand there for a while talking, taking pictures, and just enjoying everything about the canyon. Onward we decide. More to see.

The day is filled up with driving around looking at the canyon from many vantage points, taking pictures, seeing large black crows and deer, Halearious trying to talk to them as if they were Smallz, and more driving.

The sun sets and we are back in our hotel room ready to relax. "Forrest Gump" is on. A perfect ending.

It had been a perfect day. One that had started with me waking up at 8AM and immediately checking the weather, road conditions, checking in with friends and family around Flag Staff, and then finally realizing that Mother Nature had given us approximately a 30-hour window between storms, and it was time to go. I woke up Halearious and we were out the door within 20 minutes. Our friend Cadoo (pronounced CAD-DEW) could not believe how quickly it all happened. Commenting, "I've never seen a decision made so quickly."

It may have appeared quick, but this was seven-plus years in the making. The hour was upon us. We were ready. The tarot card reader had prepared us, and we jumped.

The Jetta held up beautifully as we raced up towards the Canyon, which sits at 6,000+ feet above sea level. Two thousand feet, 3,000 feet, 4,000 feet, 5,000 feet, 6,000 feet through Flagstaff all the while the speedometer was pinned at 80MPH. We were coming and we were coming fast (that's what she said). As we hurtled upwards and onwards toward the canyon the temperature kept dropping. We pulled in for gas at Flagstaff and were back on the road within minutes; we were fast becoming Nascar-esque with our pit-stops. Gas filling, bathroom breaking, water buying all happen virtually simultaneously. The excitement built, as we got closer.

As the clock struck 1:30PM, we were pulling through the gates of Grand Canyon National Park. We were not the first, nor will we be the last to reach the Grand Canyon, but this by no means made the trip any less special. Hell, we had the rocks at the bottom to prove it.

Our road trip had hit it's acme. Now, it's back to Phoenix, and on to Los Angeles on Friday. We will enjoy the end as we had enjoyed the beginning - greatly.

Godspeed,
Groundswell

Road Trip (Part 7) - "Virg In 'N Out"

"Celebrity Shot" - Halearious guest writes about her first experience at In ‘N Out.

Groundswell has been talking up In ‘N Out Burger to me well before we set out on this road trip. I've heard other people (Deb) mention it as well, saying how great it was and whatnot.

The "talking up," intensified the further south we headed (you know, cause In ‘N Out is only in CA, AZ and NV). Over the last couple of states, I have become quite the expert on In ‘N Out without having ever stepped foot in the place. So needless to say, my expectations for this joint are sky high, yet at the same time, I can't fathom how it can possibly be better than Wendy's. You see, Wendy's holds a special place in my heart as I grew up behind one until I was 12. I ate a disgusting amount of it as a child/drunk adult (more than I'd like to admit).

The first In ‘N Out I laid my eyes on was located in Phoenix, AZ. Nice and close to our friend, Cadoo's (Ryan) crib (apartment). As soon as we get to his place, Groundswell has a fire under his ass to hit up the In ‘N Out. Ryan, Elena, and I were somewhat reluctant being that we weren't as ravenous as Matt. We sat around the apartment for a few hours thinking about what to do and stretching out our tired legs. It turned out that the fire wasn't going to burn out. So, we took one for the team and headed out for some burgers.

Two minutes later we were pulling into the parking lot. And all I can say is that In ‘N Out blows Wendy's out of the water and then some - actually it blows all burger joints out of the water. (I will never eat McDonald's again.) Shit was delicious. I got what is called the "Double Double, animal style, protein style" which is on the "Secret Menu," and which Groundswell ordered for me. It has two patties of beef, two pieces of cheese, and instead of a bun, it's wrapped in lettuce - hence the "protein style." And not just any lettuce either. I'm pretty sure they picked the lettuce out of a fresh crop and washed it off and wrapped my fresh cow in it. "Animal style" refers to the grilled onions and special deliciousness they put on the burger, which was cooked to perfection and has the perfect amount of greasiness, but doesn't leave you feeling dirty / unhealthy. At one point, I asked if it would be weird if I licked the tray it came on. We all agreed that it had probably happened before.

This place also makes their own French fries on the premises. I saw it with my own eyes. And, although, I thought the Wendy's fries tasted better, you gotta give them mad respect for washing and cutting them fresh on the premise.

On a scale of 1-10, I'm giving In ‘N Out a 13. I can only imagine how good it would all taste when you're hung-over. I might have to go get drunk to find out...

<3, Hale_arious

Road Trip (Part 6) - "Messin' with Texas"

Sixth stop: Austin, TX. Contact: Lee. Duration: 5 nights, 4 Days. Goal: To see a city neither Halearious nor I has ever seen and to hang out with Lee (the man).

The ride out of New Orleans west on the 10 was built straight over the Louisiana swampland, the Louisiana bayou. A nice drive where the speed limit hits 70+ MPH and there isn't much of a reason to stop other than to get more gas.

We had a small detour planned before we reached Austin. It was to see Grandpa Jack, father to our step mom, Anne. Grandpa Jack is a classic individual and took us out to one of his favorite local joints called Hungry's. An apt title considering the number of times I've heard Halearious say, "I'm hungee." It was a solid joint with low prices and good food. When I first saw how inexpensive everything was I set the bar low. After we ate, I realized I had gotten out of NYC just in the nick of time. Good food does not have to cost a lot of money. NYC has warped my price sensitivity and expectations when going to eat. I am only too delighted to get back into the world of good food cheap.

We spent ~3 hours straight chilling with Grandpa Jack before we rolled onwards to Austin. As we left Houston, Halearious turns to me and says, "I love him!" “Duh,” I think.

The drive to Austin was pretty quick 3 hours - that is - until the last 20 minutes, which took forever. Maybe it was excitement to see an old friend, or maybe it was just a long day in the car. When we did arrive in Austin, and found our friend, Lee's apartment, we did what two excited Mahoney's do; we knocked on the door and ran around the corner giggling. Halearious lasted about 2 seconds before she popped her head around and said hello. Lee was there with his head poked out the door. We both gave Lee a big hug, and then Lee suggested a group hug. There it was - Mansfield, Austin style. For the next 5 nights, it was the three of us doing everything together - even when one of the three of us may not have wanted to. What was good for two of us was good for the group - and in many cases, what was good for one of us was good for the group.

Since we arrove (a word Lee once thought was real) late at night, we just chilled in Lee's apartment. A sweet pad with a lot of space to hang out and relax. Lee lives by himself. A recent replant from the east coast - Lee is still settling in - and it was our hope we could assist with this in the short time we were there. But, for the first night, Lee helped us settle in with a cold six pack of Honey Brown and an assortment of Sam Adam's chilling in the fridge. A nice way to settle in with old friends in a new city.

Unfortunately, Lee had to work the next day so Halearious and I had to go explore Austin on our own while posting things on Facebook that would make Lee jealous. It was tough work, but there aren't two better jackasses out there to do the work. Halearious and I went for it. We cruised down to University of Texas - Austin to see what all the hype was about.

We first stumbled upon the athletic complex. Ridiculous. They don't have anything like that at Brown and they don't have anything like it at UMass either. What a site. The football stadium might have well been a pro stadium. A massive structure that would have made the Roman gladiators question why they didn't just play college football at UT Austin. Hell, even I was questioning that (bad knees aside).

We stumbled around the campus acting like we were students until hunger started to call us. Then it was off to Texadelphia for some cheese steaks on the recommendation of a good friend and UT alum, Shehan. Neither of us really wanted a cheese steak, but when in Austin (or Texas) do as the Texans do - eat beef and lots of it - it's what's for dinner; it's what's for lunch; and you can eat if for breakfast too. When all was said and done, I'm sure we all had eaten a cow a piece.

After lunch, it was time to do some more pedestrian exploring. I had eaten way too much not to walk it off. We continued along the campus aimlessly, while I snapped shots and Halearious did silly poses. I wondered where all the pretty girls where, but then realized that it was probably cheerleading practice. It was 3PM and it was time to go home.

We did laundry and we waited for Lee.

To our delight, he came home at 5:30PM and was even given Friday off.

Son, it was time to get our party on.

We all got dolled up and rolled out to the bright lights.

It was time to do BBQ Texas style and Lee had just the right place - Stubbs. A solid locale with a nice selection of Texas BBQ and beer. Drinking-wise, I went with the "Lone Star," which Lee aptly warned was the Texas-grown equivalent to Bud Light. He was dead on. I just wanted to see what Texas was so proud of. I don't think it's "Lone Star."

We all got some assortment of brisket, ribs, sausage, pulled pork, mac & cheese and some other sides, and sharing between us was welcomed. Halearious was drinking the BBQ sauce as if it was alcohol. Things were good.

Stubbs also doubles as a live music venue with a downstairs section dedicated to music. We didn't stick around for the music. We had better things to do: 6th St.

Lee took us to one of his favorite haunts, the Jackalope. A cool bar with a cool gothic vibe - maybe it was the red lights or the waitress dressed like a scantily clad 18th century vampire, but I was digging this place. Lee was onto the Jack and Coke trail I once knew and loved; Halearious and I went with Vodka & sodas (we're watching our respective figures). Per usual, I caused a hassle for the employees, but got the Celtics and Lakers game on. We were at the Jackalope for a few hours and then all of a sudden a crowd arrove. It was largely male and I'd say 90% of them had backpack's on, and we had no reason why. Are backpacks the new thing at bars, or do classes just go really late at UT? No time to debate. We skedaddled.

We strolled around 6th St. with our ears and eyes wide open. Listening. Looking. Where was our next stop? Nothing really grabbed us. We swung into a dueling piano bar, but did not last more than two minutes. We were gone.

After a few more minutes of walking, we were heading to Lavaca Bar on Lavaca St. A bar Lee had frequented once or twice before. It's quiet as we head in. No worries. Our buzz was wearing off - at the very least, it would be a good pit stop. I got the Celtics and Lakers game on again and we were good to go for a bit.

Then, all of a sudden, magic happened. As we were ordering some Jager bombs, Halearious's eyes lit up and she yelled, "Hoop fever!?!" and was off around the corner.

"What?" I wondered as Lee followed her into the back room. I was left with my Jager bomb, and I was happy. They came back to inform me that there was, in fact a basketball game there, and other games as well. I told them I'd meet them in there. I had some basketball to watch. The Celtics needed my help in beating the Lakers. I couldn't just leave them.

That was, of course, until they came back to get a $20 bill changed into ones. My attention was caught, and as luck would have it, they had televisions in the back room as well.

Hoop Fever it turns out is the basketball game we've all seen before at carnivals and places where one would play games - a lower hoop, closer, and a smaller ball, a 45 second time limit, and a lot of fun. Halearious was looking good. She had done this before - in college, in fact, while working as a waitress. Lee and I were looking a little less good as we admired our follow-through. You see, Hoop Fever is a game of rapid-fire target practice. It is not basketball. Once I figured this out - or remembered this I should say - Halearious and I were duking it out for supremacy. She got out to the lead first with a 58. It did not take long for me to top this with a 59. Shorter still, Halearious came back with a 60 and a ridiculous head down, shoulder shaking, feet stomping dance (she refers to this as her "jig"). Lee and I turned and watched the game as if she was on her own. Others at the bar, however, noticed this dance.

When we ran out of money, I went to the bar to get another $20 changed. When I came back there was a guy and a girl stepping up to Hoop Fever. We all got acquainted quickly, and it turned out the girl with the sweet ass also had played basketball in college. This should be interersting, I thought. I was right. With a few pointers from yours truly, she was off running, or more appropriately, off shooting like a mad man. After a few tries, she shattered my and Halearious's best, and almost beat the recorded best of 76. She officially got a 75. She was done. And shortly after that, so were Halearious and I. We settled into our drinks and watching the end of the Celtics game.

In the meantime, Lee had sauntered off to the ping-pong table for a drunken game of ping-pong. When he came back he vowed never to play ping-pong drunk again.

Our defeats in competition did nothing to defeat our drinking efforts. In fact, it may have aided to them. Because as we walked out of Lavaca St. bar we were all feeling it. And as we walked down 6th St., I suggested we check out "Friends." A bar with a crowd and some live music.

We hung out at Friends until it closed watching a Guns & Roses tribute band and drinking more alcohol.

When the lights came on, we knew it was time to call it a night. It was back to Lee's for some shuteye and who knows what on Friday.

We were joined by a surprise guest on Friday - Mr. Hangover. I guess we had all tied one on too tight on Thursday. Hoop Fever turned into Hangover Fever. It was someplace we had all been before, but no place we were too eager to find ourselves again. We moved slowly for sure. Finally rallying to breakfast at 1PM.

Lee took us to a nice local eatery, Magnolia's. I fell in love with a waitress while I drank my coffee and ate my "vegetarian" omelet. Halearious and I shockingly got the same thing. Lee was a man who marched to his own drum and ordered some shenanigan covered in queso. It was like the poor man's eggs benedict and was pretty damn good. Hell, all the food was good. I'd recommend Mangnolia's to anyone in Texas.

Somehow, and don't ask me how, we ended up at the Salvation Army after breakfast. Damn I didn't want to be there, but luckily Lee noticed a naked female mannequin torso and jokingly asked where he could find a mannequin slicer and my mood changed quickly. Humor is a great remedy for all sorts of pain.

This Salvation Army was nuts. It was like a real store - huge, organized and overpriced. We bounced without any retail goods, but with a new found need for a mannequin slicer.

Thankfully we made a much needed "shit stop" at Lee's apartment after the Salvation.

At some point, it was decided we were going to see "Shutter Island." At a later point, I tried to weasel my way out and stay home on the coach and watch SportsCenter while I nursed my hangover. Lee and Halearious would have none of it. Halearious said she wouldn't go and Lee sat down against the wall and said he wouldn't either. Man, they were packing my bags up real nice for this guilt trip. Three minutes later we were all in the car heading to see "Shutter Island."

We all enjoyed "Shutter Island" to varying degrees. If you want to go see it, you should.

There had been all this big talk that we were going to the Salt Lick for dinner. The Salt Lick is a very famous BBQ restaurant outside of Austin in a small town called Driftwood that closes at 9PM. It didn't happen. We were still moving too slow.

It turned out to be a great turn of events as Lee offered, or Halearious suggested, I can't quite remember, that he would cook us dinner. The menu shaped up as such: Vegetable (mushroom, carrots, asparagus) risotto, salad, and red and white wine. Lee, in the mold of his father, is a very nice cook, and dinner was awesome. It turned out to be the frist home cooked meal we had eaten since we had hit the road way back when. Nothing like a home cooked meal. For sure. Perfect.

After dinner, we chilled, watched most of "Braveheart" and some of the Celtics game.

Sobriety tasted sweet this Friday night.

On Saturday morning, we awoke to grey skies. Not too surprising since Mother Nature has been a prude with her nice southern weather on this trip, but it's ok because we were not going to let it stop us from having fun.

Per usual, our day was based around food.

Breakfast was a smorgus board of Odwalla shakes, shortly followed by an amazing Thai spicy pork and shrimp soup from Crave, a Thai restaurant in downtown Austin that borders on UT's campus. A solid find by Lee. We were all in love with it. Something so great about an Asian soup cooked to perfection. I followed mine up with a Thai iced coffee - a drink so good in fact, that when Lee tasted it he ordered one very quickly.

The one downside of the Thai restaurant was the size of the soup. As a stuggling musician, I should be reticent to complain about good portion sizes for small money, but you see we had early dinner plans. This could hurt.

We were suppossed to meet up with some of the Mayes' clan (stepmom's family) at the Salt Lick at 4:30PM. We were all doomed.

We did our best to walk it off, shit it out, make "I'm hungry" jokes, and stall as long as possible. But too soon for anyone's comfort, the hour to leave was upon us. We picked up a six-pack for the restaurant, which is BYOB, and left for Driftwood. Lee did his best to buy us some time by getting us lost, and this helped a little bit, but there was nothing we could do. The Salt Lick was on the horizon and we were going to eat some more slow cooked meat whether we were hungry or not.

Thankfully, good company took the place of our appetites and we sat around the Salt Lick patio getting acquainted and talking about Texas and everything in between. Lisa, my stepmom's sister, is as nice it gets, and when she heard Halearious was coming down with a cold, took Halearious under her wing, even giving Halearious her warm jacket so that Halearious would stop shivering. Chris, my stepmom's brother, is a great guy, amazing artiist, and outdoors enthusiast who has spent many years in both Texas and California. A great resource for things to do in either location. It was really fun talking to both of them and watching Halearious and Lee get to know Lisa and Chris better.

As we departed Salt Lick, we looked back with even fuller bellies and happy that we had toughed it out and showed up when we did.

We just need to make another shit stop and we'd be fine.

For our last night in Austin, we were perplexed as what to do. I was torn between being responsible (long car ride ahead) and blowing the fucking lid off this place. I knew, either way, I wanted to see live music. Halearious was down to hang out, but was slowly succombing to a cold. Lee was down for almost anything.

Our first (and turned out to be our only) stop was Trudy's, a local Mexican restaurant. Once again, a joint recommended by my friend, Shehan (the UT alumnus). It was Mexican martini's and fun conversation. As the martini's distorted our equilibrium, we played the game "Fuck, Marry, Kill." I feel like I know Halearious and Lee both a lot better after playing this game. I hope they feel the same way about me.

Our night ended at around 2AM with Nightquil pills and some music from Lee's computer.

To say that the above paragraphs 100% sum up our Austin experience, would be inaccurate.

Nuts. Nuts was a cat that Halearious fell in love with. A healthy looking orange, male tabby cat with the largest nuts I've ever seen on a cat. Halearious, the cat whisper, effortlessly had him walking around Lee's apartment even despite Lee's allergies, and we were all in love. We had a new friend. It didn't take much effort for me to name him Nuts, and for us all to agree that it was impossible for him to be called anything else. I think we met him on our second or third day there, and then any other time we were at the apartment, Halearious was in constant search for her Nuts. There is a still a chance Lee is snuggling with Nuts as he ingests Claritin at this very moment.

"Oh, Smallz." Vegas had earlier predicted an over / under of 228 times for "Oh, Smallz" being said. Vegas didn't know Lee was going to love this saying and find it hysterical. Nor did Vegas ever foresee Smallz having a vital role in "Fuck, Marry, Kill." "Oh, Smallz" took on a whole new meaning.

Flav-or-Flav! Yeah boi!

Peace and Love,
Groundswell

PS - I think we got Lee to learn the drums. Watch out!

Road Trip (Aside #3) - "It's in the Cards"

It's in the cards. Life is an interesting thing to say the least. Some wonder if it's totally chaotic, or is there a master plan, or maybe a combination of both. Forrest Gump thinks it's both.

Since the time I was 7 or maybe 10, I've always thought I would be successful. I had no idea what I would do. My dad always said I could be anything - a doctor, a lawyer, an indian chief (pre-pc era). He was selling it, and I bought it.

So, here I am 23-20 years later, on my way to Los Angeles, but not really sure what I'm doing. Music is a struggle to say the least. A 9-5 job would be nice, but leave me largely unfulfilled. To say I am as sure about my life as I once was, would be a lie. I still fundamentally believe I will be successful, and I'm almost sure it will involve the entertainment of people in some manner, but the specifics are still a little murky. And this murkiness has caused a lot of anxiety - the anxiety has actually manifested itself with physical ailments and stomach aches, and just all around not fun. When I pictured this road trip some 7 years ago I never pictured this.

While walking by the Saint Charles Cathedral and Square in New Orleans, Halearious and I came across the usual suspects of street painters, soothe sayers, and tarot card readers. Halearious was all for the tarot card reading (and since the psychic knew we weren't interested in her she wasn't even there). I was hesitant. I never really wanted to know what was in the cards, because I had a feeling I always knew. It was calling me for a long time. Halearious was insistent. She even said she'd pay. Well, technically, she didn't have any cash on her, but she swore she'd pay me back. Hell. Fine. It's a road trip, who am I to argue?

We sat down for the tarot card reading. A very robust woman sitting there all by her lonesome with a deck of cards in front of her and 20 or so small pebbles. We agree to a price and Halearious is off. Halearious gives the cards a shuffle, and cuts them in half. The tarot card lady puts one half on top of the other and pulls the top card off, flips it over, tell us this card represents the past, and looks at Halearious. She says, "You've had you're heart broken haven't you?" Seems pretty generic, unless you know Halearious was recently dicked over by a douche bag named Mike. If there was one thing I would say characterized Halearious in the past 2 years, I would have pointed to this event. It's an impressive start. The lady places a rock on the card to hold it down from blowing in the wind. She pulls the second card off the top - no discarding, no reshuffling, no anything - she starts to describe the present, the future and everything in between. As she worked through the deck, I kept my mouth shut, for the most part, and listened and watched. The reading was interesting and seemed accurate. Halearious was described as an independent woman who would be fine in life - financially successful, would have kids if she wanted (very fertile), would fall in love within the year, was very sexual and could even use this sensuality more if she desired. Her financial independence would be garnered through a creative process and this process would be easier for her than for most people. The "dues" she would have to pay would be less strenuous. Halearious would never be walked over by a man - so I needed not worry and nor should you. Overall, Halearious would be fine. There were a lot of blue and green cards representing her life, and these were good colors. Really nothing dark or ominous in Halearious's cards, and this was good.

I was all set to leave as the reading came to an end. That was until Halearious said she'd pay for mine too - for my birthday. Woohoo. I was being talked into paying for my own birthday present. I tried my best to drag my feet by not saying I had enough money, but when I was imploed to pull out my money, and I pulled out a total of $28, the tarot card agreed to read both of ours for $20. I couldn't say no.

I grab the cards and shuffled them once, split the deck, and watched as the reader put one half on top of the other. Here we go. I waited. She pulls my first card. It represents ambition." Okay, I thought, we might be on to something. If I am anything, I am ambitious. For a 6' irish kid from a middle class family in Mansfield, MA I would say if there was one thing that characterized me it is ambition. I've already gone further than I probably should. I mean we're talking about a kid that would be separated into the "slow classes" in first grade, and through hard work and diligence I graduated from Brown University with a 3.7GPA. If I want something, there is nobody that tells me I can't have it. I mean I couldn't even upstroke when I started playing the guitar when I was 17. My family laughed and called me the "brick layer." Thirteen years later I rip the guitar. I'm a published song-writer and have even had a song that I recorded in my bedroom played on national television. Ambition. I'll take it. She also said that I may be doubting my career path and thinking of other options (true), but that I should reconsider this and may want to stay with the original plan. She places a rock on the card.

The card representing my present was a head surrounded by many other heads. I thought this was going to mean I hear many voices and am nuts. I would have been fine with this too. But, it turns out that it represented my love life. "Have you had a lot of women in your life?" she asked. "Well I just spent two years in New York City. I was single. It was a solid year." I replied half jokingly. She went on to say that I was rethinking this as well. That I was debating whether or not to settle down and get into a serious relationship, or continue playing the field. This could not have been more accurate. I have been debating this very thing for the past few months. I love being single. Being able to pick up and go without a moment’s notice, and not having to worry about how this will affect someone else is very liberating. On the other hand, the idea of not being alone, to have someone to share my thoughts with, to laugh with, to travel with, to share meals with, sounds quite appealing as well. Since I graduated from college, I've maintained that my wife was waiting for me in California. And now, here I am on my way. Will I find her? When will I find her? Do I want to find her? Is it out of my control? All of these questions loom large in my brain. Two for two. She places a rock on the card.

Third we delve into my future. How exciting. Please tell me I won't be anxious forever. Please tell me something good. She pulls the card over and exclaimed, "I've never pulled this card before. It's a card with a greenish hue, and a lady on it. She looks very happy. She's almost dancing. The reader tells me that I will not have to worry about money. I believe her exact words were, "Well, you will be juuuuuussssttt fine, financially." I am going places, and I am going there fast. Financial security will be in my future, and may not be far away. Halearious takes a picture of the card. We're in the money. She places a rock on the card.

The next card she flips over she says her husband loves, and he calls it the "dude." It's orangish. It represents the outdoors. She tells me that I either love the outdoors or need to spend more time outdoors. She's not sure how correct this is since I live in Manhattan (or she thinks I do at least), but that is what it represents. I can't argue. What she didn't know is that I'm moving to Los Angeles to be outdoors more. To enjoy the sun, and the ocean. To get away from the unhealthy living I did in NYC for two years. The thought of getting in shape again utilizing the outdoors is very exciting. She places a rock on the card.

The fifth card she flips reveals that if I want kids I will have them, and I will make a great dad. I've heard this before. My friend Erica, whom I spent 6 months with in South Africa said the same thing when I explained why the minute hand on a clock is longer than the short hand (the need for accuracy). I thought it was funny. I guess maybe it will be true. I can't really argue. I like teaching and spreading knowledge. Isn't this the very basic nature of parenthood? She also tells me that if and when I get married I'll be sure to pick the right one, and that divorce is NOT in my future. I thought this was nice. I'm not sure if I want to get married, but it's nice to know that if I do it will last. She also reveals that when I die I won't be alone. I will be with one of my children. (So I guess I am having children.) We all agree that this is nice. I won't be dying today. I'm relaxed.

She asks me if I have any questions. I have none.

At this point, the most interesting thing happens.

Halearious tells her that we're actually on a road trip from Boston to Los Angeles because I'm moving there. Without missing a beat, the card reader tells us to go to the Grand Canyon. We HAVE to go, she implores. This is what the "dude" card was saying. This is the true meaning of the card. She gives us rocks to throw in when we get there.

I am blown away.

I majored in Geology. I've never scene the Grand Canyon. I've always pictured this trip ending in Los Angeles, but culminating in the Grand Canyon. Since the day I decided I wanted to move to Los Angeles to pursue music 8 years ago. I knew two things. I would drive. I would go see the canyon. It would be my geologic mecca. I grew up on the east coast. We've got history - a lot of it - but a great majority of that history is man-made, but it's in the western United States that the geologic record really begins to reveal itself. Hundreds of millions of years of earth's history slowly revealed by rocks cut through a river. It's like the Rosetta stone for geologists. A clear picture in the past. Time reaveled in inches and feet not hours and seconds. Time and life, much like a road trip, is a slow march to be enjoyed and marveled at. Take in the sites. Go with the flow. Pick a point, aim for it, but don't expect a straight line. Because, sometimes, as in non-eclidian geometry, the easiest / most efficient way from point A to point B is not actually a straight line.

I actually even tried to go see the Grand Canyon a year or so ago when I first visited some friends in Phoenix to do some soul searching. It turned out, however, that Mother Nature did not cooperate and actually dumped so much snow on Flagstaff, that it was impossible for me to traverse the roads to the Grand Canyon. I was hesitant to plan to go to the Grand Canyon this time due to the fact that once again it was winter and we might be dealt some more snow. It looks like that is no longer a worry.

The Grand Canyon you see is in the cards. We are going to make it happen. This is another thing my card reading reminded me. I remember thinking this when I was 23. Destiny is not guaranteed. Destiny, in fact, pulls on you, but you have to pull on it for it to come true. You can not just expect things to happen. You have to make them happen. With every bone in your body, if you want something, pull on it. Use all your stength - both mental and physical - and the universe will manifest it.

We are going to the Grand Canyon. We are going to throw some rocks in the canyon. I am going to reflect. We will move onto Los Angelse when it's time. Evertyhing is going to happen.

Sit back.

Relax.

Enjoy the ride.

Rock on,
Groundswell

Road Trip (Part 5) - "Hey, You in the Beads"

Fifth Stop: New Orleans. Contact: None. Duration: 2 nights. Purpose: To experience Mardi Gras and introduce Halearious to New Orleans.

We rolled in to New Orleans just in time. An hour later, and the streets we needed to get to our hotel would have been shut down for the parade. This was good luck as we did minimal research about anything related to Mardi Gras. What was there to know? Drinking, boobs, beads, drinking, eating, beads, more boobs. Pretty straight forward, right? Turns out there is more to Mardi Gras then the "Girls Gone Wild" videos would have you believe.

After a long car ride, a shower is a necessity. Halearious gets to go first because as everyone knows, girls take longer to get ready. As she enters the bathroom, she notices there is no complimentary conditioner; I tell her to call down and she if they have some at the front desk. Negative. She decides to hit the shower anyway. When she's done showering, she opens the door on the verge of tears. I tell her that sometimes on road trips she has to rough it. She says that she can't get her comb through her hair and mom has her No More Tangles at home. She says she's going to go to CVS to pick up some conditioner. I know where this is heading. My bags are packed. I'm going on a guilt trip to CVS. Turns out I end up at a convenience store around the corner with a $10 minimum for credit cards. I end up picking up a flask of Wild Turkey 101 and a two-liter of Sprite for old time's sake, and to get over the minimum amount. When I spent a summer in New Orleans 10 years ago, I "learned" how to drink. And my drink of choice was bourbon and Sprite. Good to be back in New Orleans.

We, or should I say, I had a sweet buzz as we left the hotel room - turns out I made them too strong for Halearious so I drank them both. I love bourbon, and put the flask in my pocket, since after all, we're in New Orleans and walking around with liquor is not only legal, but also expected. We're off to Bourbon St. to get us some beads and experience the madness, and we're excited.

Bourbon St. turned out to be less hectic than I expected on the Monday night leading up to Mardi Gras. Plenty of room to move around. Everyone was being civil, and the beads were coming down at a solid pace. Halearious was breaking hearts and using me as an excuse, but still getting an ample amount of beads for the both of us. I wasn't making much of an effort - just enjoying the scene. Soon we stopped in for a "Huge Ass Beer" and continued our march down Bourbon. At one point, we see what appears to be a Girls Gone Wild crew on a balcony filming a pair of girls more than willing to show their boobies for air time - no need for beads at all.

On the recommendation of my friend, Alicia, a veteran of the New Orleans scene, we make our way to the end of Bourbon and over to Frenchmen St - where the locals hang out. Frenchman was a cool area, and had much less of a tourist vibe, but very authentic. Somehow in my 3-month stay in 2000, I never made it to Frenchman.

Halearious and I walk around Frenchman drinking our beers and taking in the scene. As we walk, I get tired of my beer and throw it out. It's time to move onto bourbon, the drink. The flask is out and I'm drinking it. As we make our way around Frenchman, I hear some live Jazz and Halearious and I duck in to check it out. We catch the very end of the set, but we like the vibe and decide to stay for a drink. At the bar, I meet the trumpet player and ask him if there they are done, and he tells me there is a second set and they will be off at 1AM. Good news. I get a Sprite for free and sneak in the bathroom to spice it up with some Wild Turkey. When I disappeared into the bathroom, my drink was clear and bubbly. When I reemerged, my drink was bubbly and brownish - gobble gobble. I've figured out how to save money on the road trip. Bingo.

The band contained a drummer, guitar / male vocal, bass, trumpet, clarinet, and female singer. Together they had a nice relaxing sound and played only jazz. It was nice to hear live jazz and watch some youngin's appreciating it. Halearious compared the girl vocalist to Etta James, and I couldn't argue. The male vocalist was more blah, but not bad.

We stayed for the entire second set, had a few more drinks, Halearious made friends with a Boston dude who she found creepy. I scoped for hot chicks to no avail. The band announced they were passing around a tip jar. We bounced. Drinks still in hand. God, we love New Orleans.

Taxis are nowhere to be found; we're hiking it out. Turns out to be a good walk down Decatur St. because we walk by the French Market and Cafe Du Monde - both of which I wanted to check out and show Halerious, but had forgotten there exact location. Traffic was crazy on Decatur. A parking lot. Glad we didn't catch a cab.

A nice drunken sleep is best when it's short. That has no truth to it, but it seems to be true for me. I wake up all the time way too early when I've had a lot to drink the night before. I'm up at 7AM and our hotel room is pitch dark. No windows Illustrated two hours later when I decide to take a shower and get day two started.

Scene: Complete darkness, faint water running in the background.
Halearious: What are you doing?
ME: About to shower.
Halearious: What time is it?
ME: 9:15 AM
Halearious: Why isn't it light out?
ME: Our room doesn't have any windows.
Halearious: Oh.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

We're back on the streets of Nawlins at 10AM and on our way to Cafe Du Monde for some Beignets and coffee. The line to sit down is ridiculously long so we hit the to-go line and decide to eat breakfast minutes away while over looking the mighty Mississippi as it sneaks by lazily, effortlessly carrying the massive barges and ships to their destinations.

The beignets are just as delicious as I remember and Halearious approves.

We're on to the French Market to do some "window" shopping (no actual windows) and see what's up with the party.

We head over to the French Quarter and quickly realize we are way under-dressed for Mardi Gras. To our surprise, there is an elaborate costume element to Mardi Gras and people are dressed to the "9’s" - some are dressed up elaborately and others are dressed up scantily. Both turn out to be pleasing.

To no one's surprise, there is an amazing amount of New Orleans Saints costumes, and the city is still reveling in their Super Bowl victory. Chants of "Who dat?" are endless and never get old. People are carrying around pigs on sticks signifying that pigs have flown, and there are even white devils to show that hell has frozen over. It's great. They've been partying for a month and there is no end in sight.

Halearious is now on the search for a Bloody Mary and we mosey into a gay bar. After a few moments of some uncomfortable (for me) leering from a gay partygoer, we're out with a Bloddy Mary and head back to Bourbon to check out the scene.

The day is sunny and brisk with a cool breezy that reminds you it's winter. In the sun, it's fabulous. In the shade, it's downright cold.

In contrast to the revelers, there is a conservative element to Mardi Gras. In the midst of all the drinking and bead throwing there are religious conservative people who like to stand with signs and inform you that you are going to hell for having a good time. There was one such fella holding a large 8 to 10 foot cross, and, I kid you not, using it as a stability enabler. He was most likely the drunkest person at Mardi Gras. As we walk by him, I hear him hell "Hey, you in the beads! (Beat) You're going to hell" And then I see Halearious immediately turn around and give the rock & roll and / or hook 'em horns sign and scream "Wooooooooo!" I think he is a little surprised by the deftness of this reaction, but he quickly stables himself and retorts, "That's my girl!" It was pretty awesome. We move on.

Bourbon St. is buzzing. People are out in full force, but the scene is not crazy. Nobody is out of control drunk. Families are walking around. Everyone is enjoying themselves. I, however, feel like an outsider. That is until I get my first strand of beads on - once this happens it's as if I'm overtaken and transformed into an official Mardi Gras-er. It's awesome.

Upon this realization, we decide to go back to the hotel and get our beads from the night before and to drop off our jackets - the temperature is heating up and we don't really need them.

On our way out from the hotel, we swing by the Mexican restaurant that's located in the bottom of the hotel. Two Bloody Mary's please (I've got my beads on. It's time to drink.) The bartender asks, "Are those for hear or to-go?" I let it sink in. I’m in love. She had me at "to-go." We order them to go, but that seems to change as soon as Halearious takes her first sip. It's delicious. No. In fact, after her second sip, it's the best she's ever had. I agree. We stay and finish it, and order a second one. This time for real, we're leaving. It turns out, that by the time we're out of the restaurant, the sun has dropped to a point where the best picture taking light has passed us, and it's getting much colder, so, our plan to walk around needs to be adjusted.

We grab our jackets from the hotel, and decide to go and get a meatball Po-Boy. For anyone who hasn't been to New Orleans, a Po-Boy is a glorified sub, hero, sandwich, whatever you'd like to call it. But since you're in New Orleans, they just know what they're doing when it comes to cuisine and they have an option to get it "dressed." All that really means is that they'll put lettuce, tomato, pickles, and mayo on it. It's hard to fathom putting mayo on a meatball sub for non-locals, but people need to get over this quickly. Since my first meatball Po-boy 10 years ago, I can count the number of times I've ordered a meatball sub not "dressed" on one hand. It has changed how I eat them. Even in the face of weird looks, and multiple questions, I continue to order them like this. (One can also get any Po-Boy like this, and should, including chicken parmesan.)

I had done some quick research on Halearious's iPhone and came across a place called Johnny's Po-Boys. Solid reviews. Meatball Po-Boys mentioned specifically. Within walking distance. Done and done. When we get there, there is a solid line, but nothing that is going to make us leave. Halearious grabs a seat; I get ready to order. The thought of being able to say I'd like to have a meatball Po-Boy with cheese, dressed, and not having to be asked a million question excites me. It's like being someplace where you are welcomed. I order it, and even the guy at the counter seems surprised at how efficiently I do it. After days of tourists, I get the sense of delight that someone is there who has done this before. Maybe I'm projecting. Maybe I'm tuned in. Our ticket stub is #34. This bodes well. (I am founding member of GS34 after all.)

When the subs comes, and the first bit hits the taste buds, I am delighted. It's better than I ever remembered. Halearious agrees. It's the best sandwich either of us has ever had. On the second bite, I hear the guy at the counter announce that they're out of bread. God was on our side. The timing was perfect. I savored every bite. I can still taste it now. It's been etched into my memory. I hope to never forget.

I would like to tell you the rest of what happened, but it got so crazy that I think it's best I don't. Mardi Gras 2010 was spectacular. I don't think it will be the last time I go to Mardi Gras or some sort of Carnival celebration. I have seen the light and it looks good. Definitely needs to be checked out by all.

-Groundswell

PS - Check out Oceana's for some Gumbo and Jumbalaya and shrimp etouffee. Amazing, and recommended to us by a New Orleans native and owner of a fine steak house and seafood place in the Quarter.

Road Trip (Aside #2) - "10 Questions Before Booking"

Scene: Complete darkness, faint water running in the background.
Halearious: What are you doing?
ME: About to shower.
Halearious: What time is it?
ME: 9:15 AM
Halearious: Why isn't it light out?
ME: Our room doesn't have any windows.
Halearious: Oh.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was time to face the truth. We had a great first night in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. We were staying in a shitty hotel.

After a night in the Pelham Hotel here in New Orleans, I feel that I need to write a guide for booking hotels. It won't concern the obvious things you should ask (price, location, etc). It will deal with the questions that may not be so obvious.

1) Does the room have any natural light coming in through windows?
2) Does the elevator smell like a 3-year old wet towel that never dried?
3) How often do you dust and clean the rooms (if ever)?
4) Does the ice machine work?
5) Does the room where the ice machine is located smell like urine?
6) Do all the light bulbs in the room function?
7) Do you have complimentary conditioner in the bathroom?
8) You do have parking? Do I have to pay extra for it?
9) Does the toilet paper dispenser actually move?
10) Do the people sleeping on the coach in the lobby get a better deal then the people who book a room?

In the end, we were in New Orleans for Mardi Gras to party and see the sights, and not for our hotel room, but we thought we could help out others in the future.

Road Trip (Part 4) -- "Pray For The Under"

Fourth stop - Nashville. Contact: Simon Jay and Emily. Duration: 2 nights. Goal: To hang out and show Haley Music City.

Arriving early in Nashville was great. There was however, one exception - my boy, Simon Jay, was on a hot date and was late, which meant we were stuck outside his parent's place until someone got home. Really not that big of a deal, but it was made better by the text messages I was receiving from Simon. My favorite was "Sorry, she's so hot." It was great. Had she been ugly he would have been there, but due to her being attractive he couldn't pull himself away, even with his friend arriving in town. And the truth is, I totally understand, and I would expect nothing less. How can you not be happy for him? That is a great feeling.

Luckily, his father, Dr. John, rolled in a few minutes after we got to the door and was more than hospitable. I had met John, a brilliant MRI researcher and teacher at Vanderbilt, back when he came to visit Simon in South Africa. I had also gotten to know him further when I spent two weeks with the Gores in Nashville a few years back. Dr. John has a great sense of humor and is a lot of fun to hang out with. After we cleaned up from the long drive, he offered us some red wine and we sat in the living room of their gorgeous Victorian house and caught up while we listened to Dylan's "John Wesley Harding." We talked about the economy, their new bathroom (with the best shower ever), Simon's hot date, which Simon was keeping secret from his parents. I only knew the basic details (see above), and their recent trip to Malaysia during the holidays. John, an emigrant from England thirty or so years back, kept us very entertained with his English wit that I've come to love.

It was good to be back in Nashville.

Simon rolled in around 8:30PM, and it was as if nothing had changed. There are some friends like that. No matter how much time goes by things are just the same. It's like riding a bike. There are never any awkward silences and always something to talk about, or something to think about.

Simon met Halearious for the first time, and we all sat around drinking a glass of wine, catching up before we went out on the town.

Simon thought we should hit off Bosco's for some drinks and he would get some food too (she was obviously too hot to eat in front of). I called my friend from Brown, Emily, and told her that was the initial plan, and she was more than happy to meet us there.

Bosco's is your run-of-the-mill establishment. It could be anywhere - any city, any town, any country - and you'd be happy to go there. Clean. Smelled good. It was crowded. Halerious and Simon were going to get the Bloody Beer - a combination of a Bloody Mary and beer. I decided on the Spiced Russian - basically a white Russian with spices. Simon also got a burger, and Halearious and I decided to get the ahi tuna tacos to split. A good decision indeed, as they turned out to be surprisingly delicious.

Remember when you were a kid and you were putting on sun tan lotion, and it was creamy and smelled liked delicious coconuts and you wish you could drink it? No? Were you not fat growing up? Well if you answered yes, then you should go to Bosco's and order the Spiced Russian, because that is exactly what it smelled like, and I was stoked. It took a few sips before the Vodka smoothed out my taste buds and it became easy drinking, but when a childhood dream comes true, unexpectedly at that, you must dive in headfirst.

Emily walked in with James, her boyfriend, shortly after we ordered and they made themselves at home. It was so great seeing Emily. I hadn't seen her since our five-year reunion at Brown, and she was always one of my favorites there. Beautiful and shy and the nicest person you could ever meet - not a malicious bone in her body. James was just like her, but a he, and it was good to meet him. They ordered beers and we all got to know each other telling stories of South Africa, Brown, where we grew up, Halearious's excitement about outfit changes along he road trip - you know as if you were Mariah Carey and you had to sing "Honey" after you sang "Emotions." Obviously, you can't be in the same outfit. We laughed. We cried. We ordered another Spiced Russian. We left.

On to downtown Nashville, or something like that - right near the Grand Ole Opry, or I should say, the old Grand Ole Opry - bright lights, cowboy hats, covered country songs, covered pop songs, cheap beer, girls in too much makeup, and my sunglasses, which come out when all these things come together and I want to look famous. Halearious couldn't stop it no matter how hard she tried. Some forces pull too strong.

It was a good night. Simon was in rare form. Fired up and right at home in Nashville. Halearious and I tried to keep up. Emily and James called it an early night for fear of too much Bud Light and too many bad versions of cover songs.

We got home during the wee hours of the morning and realized that we needed to call to be let in - you see we were being responsible and left the car at Bosco's and cabbed it around Nashville. Somewhere along the line we forgot that the keys were also with the car, which meant we had no way of getting into the house when we arrived there. Joyce, Simon's mom and dear soul, was a sport and woke up and let us in and then went back to bed. We however, were making our way into the kitchen for some delicious homemade leftovers and thought provoking discussions (i.e. why after drinking so many beers and in taking so many calories are you hungry?). Bedtime.

Banged up, but alive, we woke up the next "morning" at 11AM CST. We moved slowly and with our eyes opened slightly. We showered (separately). We went and tried to find breakfast through the gray skies and long lines.

After a few unsuccessful attempts, we arrived in historic Edgefield in eastern Nashville, an up-and-coming part of Nashville where the artists and cool, but poor people live - a.k.a. where I'd live if I lived in Nashville - at a restaurant called Sky Blue (skybluecoffee.com), and there was no wait. It was music to our ears.

Sky Blue turned out to be delicious and fun. The food was cooked perfectly and had an amazing homemade feel to it. The had Trivial Pursuit on the table. Halearious and I ordered the same thing, egg white veggie omelet - we've already spent too much time together, only a matter of time before our cycles match up - Simon ordered the Brisket Benedict. It all surpassed our wildest imaginations.

After breakfast, we rolled on to Grimey's music (grimeys.com), a famous record store that is still going strong. Halerious picked up a new shirt, and both Simon and Halerious were convinced by yours truly that it was time to collect records, and both bought their seed purchase record.

See, sometimes for something to happen, especially a dream, you have to make a purchase that reminds you of that dream, and keeps it alive in you, and will force you to follow through on your dream and make it a reality. I call these seed purchases. To start a record collection when you don't have a record player, speakers, receiver or anything else you might need (i.e. money), you must start with a record. A single record, or a couple of records that will always keep the dream alive. For Halearious, the seed purchase was both Bon Iver and Camera Obscura. For Simon, the seed turned out to be a Psych Funk compilation album that was playing on the radio at the store. I have no doubt, that they will reap what they have sown - a great record collection in a few years.

After Grimey's, it was time to do some boot shopping. Halearious and Simon were thinking about getting some. I have boots. And they're great. It took an iguana or two to sacrifice, but it was totally worth it. I've had them for years.

We started off at Ranch Dressing, which is a great store, but didn't have what we were looking for. So, it was on to the mall. Opryland. The place is built outside of Nashville, and is built around the new Grand Ole Opry. It has a hotel. The mall is a single floored monstrosity that bends back on itself, and even has a fork in it where you can veer left or right - overwhelming. And the place was packed. It was Christmas on Valentine's day, and people were out supporting the economy, or at the very least checking out some high school ass. But either way, it was overwhelming. Simon got his boots. Kickass. Halearious got boat shoes. In Nashville, I know. I got a pair of running shoes, cause my old ones were dead from walking too much. I don't run. We were exhausted. It was time to go home and get ready for dinner.

Dinner turned out to be a treat from John and Joyce. They took us to an Indian dinner a few minutes walk from their house. The meal was great. Simon and I taught John the intricacies of the 3-4 defense, and how offenses work in football. Halearious tuned us out and sang Mariah songs in her head. We talked about the greatest movies of all time. Nota Bene: When eating dinner with an English emigrant and talking about greatest movies of all time probably not the smartest idea to say: "Braveheart." I learned. We had fun. Upon learning that I had never gotten a speeding ticket, John advised me that I wasn't trying hard enough. I think he's right.

When dinner was over, we met up with Emily and James and spent some time at their house and talked about stories from the past that made us laugh. It was great.

After an hour or so, we decided to check out the Station Inn's Sunday night bluegrass jam session. It was relaxed and chilled. We were all beat from the night before and had only one drink while we relaxed and kept ourselves entertained with the quiet noises of bluegrass dancing around the room. We called it an early night. It was on to New Orleans early the next morning.

We woke up the next morning to snow on the ground. I swear the reason I went south in the first place was to get away from the snow, but Mother Nature obviously didn't like me calling her a slut in an earlier post. A slight inconvenience, but couldn't stop our momentum.

The drive to New Orleans was a nice one, and in comparison to our first 11-hour drive was a short 8 hours. Halearious decided that not being hungover on long drives was "way better" than being hungover. I agreed. She even drove a good portion of the drive. Somewhere in Alabama, I thought we were in Georgia. We realized the red states might be rubbing off, because we were getting stupider. Somewhere in Mississippi, the weather got really nice. Somewhere in Louisiana, New Orleans rose up over the river and the lake.

We were close. The excitement began to rise. The anticipation swelled. Halearious took pictures. We were about to arrive at our next destination

-Groundswell

PS - the "Oh Shmallsh" (high pitched term of affection Halearious utters when thinking about her cat Smallz) count is at ~67 for the trip. Vegas has the over / under at 228. Please pray for the under.

Road Trip (Part 3) - "Lesson Learned"

Third stop – Annapolis, MD. Contact: My Aunt and Uncle. Duration: 1 Night.
Goal: To pick up my sister and have a good meal and say good by to my Aunt and Uncle.

Seamless. Went off without a hitch. Halearious was an hour late on her plane, but we rolled in to Jalepenos (jalapenosonline.com) for an amazing Spanish / Mexican dinner with my Aunt and Uncle at 7:30PM.

My Aunt and Uncle are great peeps. A loving shelter and Republican stronghold they let me spend some time during my homeless stretch with them. We had a great time, lively debates, lots of laughs and a series of great Friday nights at Jalepenos. If you owned stock in either Cuervo or Twizzlers, you can attest to the period o f October 2009 through December 2009 as a golden era of stock ownership. Sonny’s will never be the same, and I am still not gay, but it’s good to know that they would support me either way.

It was going to be both great and sad to see them, since this was both hello and goodbye packed into one night. Thankfully everyone present was a mix of Irish or Finnish so we focused more on the hellos than the goodbyes.

Halearious and I were to be on our best behavior – two margaritas each – that was it. Easier said then done. We had about four a piece. The difference is that I’m 6’, 190 lbs and she’s 5’4” and ~130lbs.

We woke up the next day at 7AM and packed the car and were on the road at 9AM. Within an hour, Halearious was having me pull over so that she could throw up. The hangover had gotten to be too much. It just so happened that we pulled off in Potomac, MD, which turns out to be the richest town I have ever seen (or very close). The houses were ridiculous. After 10 minutes of searching, we found a classy floral shop (behnkes.com), and Halerious was off like the wind to puke and deuce it out. Such a classy place was never going to be the same. Turns out I started to have sympathy pains and decided that I needed to take a load off and walked into the men’s room. I felt bad for the next person who walked in there. Halearious and I were laughing when we thought of the rich people walking in there and getting a smell of some Irish roses. They didn’t know what they were in for – and neither did Halearious. It was her first road trip. I tried to warn her the night before that being hung over on a road trip sucks when you’ve got a long day of driving ahead of you. But you live and you learn. Halearious learned her lesson on day one.

I also learned my lesson. I thought having a partner-in-crime on the road trip would be nice – you know – break up the monotony of thousands of miles of asphalt. Turns out when your companion is hung over they end up sleeping for most of the drive and you’re stuck with your thoughts and the wheel. Luckily, I’m used to being alone, and Halerious did wake up for food stops.

Speaking of which, Sonic sucks for food. ONLY go there for drinks. Cherry Limeade etc. The food is lackluster at best. When you’ve never been somewhere and you have a friend who loves it, and you text them asking what you should get, and the respond Cherry Limeade and make no mention of food, that’s your hint. Get the drink and go across the street and get Wendy’s or something. We didn’t realize this until it was too late. But now we know, and now so do you. Better late then never.

Halearious came around on the second half of the drive, and our spirits were buoyed by the unexpected time change we got shortly after arriving in Tennessee. With the time change, we rolled into Nashville around 8PM central time – safe and sound and ready to get down.

-Groundswell

Road Trip (Aside #1) - "Hidden Meanings"

I thought the snow storm was the bane of my existence - keeping me somewhere I didn't want to be for longer than I needed.

It turns out that you don't really know as much as you think you know.

The storm was the best thing of the trip so far.

I ended up spending the entire day (after shoveling out my car) with Freshlyground and Fab, producer of the upcoming album, while they recorded some final vocal tracks and enjoyed each others company.

What a day.

It reminds me of why I struggle so hard to do music. When you're in the pocket there is no other place on earth you'd rather be. Surround yourself with the right people and you're home. No matter where you are.

I love the pocket. I love Freshlyground. I love music. I love being home.

Forever the nomad, I will never be homeless.

Peace and Love,

Groundswell

Road Trip (Part 1) - "Week One Summed"

(Let the blog begin.)

It all began February 1, 2010. I left Mansfield, MA for the greener pastures of Los Angeles, CA.

The route, however, would not be direct. Shocking. I know.

First stop - Wakefield, RI. Contact: Stocks Paradox (he asked to be nameless). Duration: 1 Night.
Goal: To pick up my surfboard and get drunk.

Sounds easy. Even I could do it. Nope. No chance. Three days later and sans surfboard I left for New York City. Eventful my time was.

Drinking was the easy part. Hit off the Mews for some beers. Walked home drunk. The next day Stocks and I hung out, played the guitar, came across some vapor and chilled. Hit off all the local eateries one needs to hit off. Around 6PM, as I readied myself to leave, I realized that I did not have the necessary straps to get my board strapped to the roof. Solid. I'm staying a second night. Luckily, we realize this shortly after we had passed the liquor store. One decision was needed - turn around. It was made. We hit the joint up and bought some Yellow Tail Shiraz. Stocks has some gay in him. He knows it. I'm straight enough for the both of us. I know it. Thanks be to God.

It's a small world. You know the song. If you don't, you at least should know that it's true. At the packy (liquor store for you none New Englanders (i.e. not cool)), I ran into an old high school buddy, surfer, and great bassist. Plan was this time fail-proof. Meet at the Mews, since both parties could walk there, after work around 10PM. Done and done. It was good catch up. Walked home drunk.

The next day was solid. The plan was set. Breakfast, buy straps, hit off the music store buy a slide, get lunch, chill, and head for NYC at night.

We did not factor in, however, meeting Marley. No, honestly, not a Rasta reference (that was factored in). Marley was a blues guitarist and worker at the music store. Marley was also a girl. She was a great musician, and in touch with the local scene. Yes, there is a local music scene in Providence (PVD). And, surprisingly, it's good. She said I couldn't go on my road trip without first seeing Paul Geremia, a "local legend." And then, after his show - Super Chief Trio - for some New Orleans upbeat music. I was down. Stocks was feeling less gay.

Paul is an amazing musician who rocked it out in the old '20s, '30s, 40s, etc style blues - all finger picking, harmonica, and a solid voice with as many miles it had on it as stories it had in it. Had some great stories and some great past performances with legends of their day (i.e. the likes of Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf).

Super Chief Trio, when you closed your eyes and just listened, was classic. The trombonist and sometimes singer had a classic 1950's style female voice. Flawless. Pitch perfect and straight out of the radio. The drummer had a great vibe, and the guitarist was nasty. The bassist was solid; the keyboardist was the weak link. Solid keyboard player, but boring, blah voice. Still, if in the PVD area and feel like going to Nick-a-nees on Wednesday, check them out. I highly recommend it. Especially her. While there, maybe pass the word along to the keyboardist. I was too drunk to broach the subject.

And, to top the music night off. A car ride home that involved the real Bob Marley, kaya, and Bob Marley's "Legends." I was feeling it. I was killing it. No doubt. Just ask Stocks.

On Thursday, just like I planned, I headed to NYC for the last time before I head to LA to see my friends. It was indeed sans surfboard. The straps I bought were so loud when the wind hit them that I would have killed myself if I was forced to make my way across the country with them. I turned back after a stop at Wal-mart to pick up some shades and shipped my surfboard to Los Angeles.

UPS is expensive. With two weeks notice, I could have bought my board a one-way plane ticket on Southwest and had it cost cheaper. Ridiculousness. The board will get there before me though. Lucky.

Second stop: NYC. Contact: Various. Purpose: To chill and say goodbyes. Intended Duration: ~7 days.

New York City was what it is. Fun. Drunk. Dirty. Beautiful. Lots of friends seen. A great two shows at Joe's Pub by Freshlyground (www.freshlyground.com).

Zolani's voice is amazing as ever. One-of-a-kind. Check it out. Look for their new CD to be out on February 14, 2010 on Sony Africa. Amazing is all I can say.

Sick dinner at Franny's on Tuesday night. A must see in New York. Amazing rustic Italian food - simple, delicious, and always perfectly prepared. Also, helps when you were flat mates with the head Chef and he's there eating with you (www.frannysbrooklyn.com).

PS - girls at Frannys are very attractive, higher than normal. Whatever that means.

Now I'm going to go brace for the storm.

Road Trip (Part 2) - "Blip on the Radar"

Well, technically, I've been on a little road trip since February 1, 2010 (post one), but it really is going to kick into high gear manana (Spanish for tomorrow - for all my Republican friends).

In my head, this trip was going to be picturesque, smooth sailing, with lots of drinking, eating tons of good food, seeing some great local and non-local (Freshlyground) music, and hopefully cavorting with some beautiful southern belles. But, since road trips are just microcosms for life, things will NEVER go according to plan. And that's fine. John Lennon has me well prepared for this. Thank you, John.

So to no real surprise, Mother Nature and Old Man Winter have gotten together in one last attempt to keep me pinned on the East Coast and are presently dropping 12-15" on NYC. (We're calling it the "John Holmes blizzard of Brooklyn 2010.") And as you all know, D.C. is a cluster-fuck and is looking at 40+ inches of fun. My mom and Aunt (both Harringtons) are freaking out. My little sister (my partner-in-crime for the trip) and I are looking to buy elephant tranquilizers and slipping them into their Dunkin' Donuts / WaWa coffees respectively. (If you have any, please do not hesitate to contact either one of us.)

Irish guilt. Wonderful.

What the slut Mother Nature doesn't know is that destiny is calling and I'm still planning on heading to Annapolis tomorrow to pick up Haley.

Then on Friday, if we actually make it to Annapolis on Thursday, we'll be heading to Nashville to hang out with Simon Jay Gore (South African connection) and my girl, Emily from Brown. Nashville is setting up for a nice weekend.

These events make me remember that there are a few important things needed for a successful road trip (not necessarily in order):
Destination(s)
Rough Plan
Rough Timeline
Sense of humor
Map
Tums
Money (helps)

I'll be in touch with more info when we touch down in Annapolis.

Peace,
Groundswell