Okay, so what could be better than being on vacation? Being on vacation with Geo.
Even though he has worked all of his adult life, he only has three weeks of paid time off compared to my seven. And before you get all cranky and crazy, bellyaching how it's not fair that I have so much time off...shut the hell up.
I've toiled at the Special K for 30 years (my entire youth, people!) entitling me to five weeks vacation plus two in lieu of holidays. Longevity has its advantages. So does being in a union. So think of my tired ass, up at zero-dark-butt-crack, schlepping a camera around on New Year's morning while you all are sitting around in your fucking PJs in a haze, drinking coffee, and nursing a hangover.
So... again, SHUT THE HELL UP.
Anywho, one of the weeks my ever-lovin' and I get to spend together is Labor Day Week. Generally, we take advantage of my sister's good graces and spend nine glorious days at their adorable little place on Long Beach Island.
|the long walk to the water|
|even "working women" enjoy a day on the bay|
|this is my serenity|
|you're on your own at the end of the season|
|THERE'S A BREACH IN CRAB CASTLE!!|
I REPEAT: A BREACH IN CRAB CASTLE!!
|morning java on the lagoon|
This year was no exception, except the blue-eyed lovely, Mr. Miller scheduled a solo date in our favorite club in our favorite city on the first day of our vacation.
How incredibly thoughtful of him. *MUAH*
I'm sure you know what happened next. We packed up Rita, and headed east to Manhattan. For several years, Geo and I had this great run where both of our musical loves, Francis Dunnery and Rhett Miller, would be playing in succession during our time off. Many times they would play back-to-back. One amazing evening they played on the SAME BILL!! Oh, Mama!
Sadly, that has not happened for a while. (insert Sad Panda face here. now insert finger down your throat because that was gag-worthy right there. blech) Aaaaaaanyway, (and I will effort not to sound too douchey) we were invited to stop at Francis and Erica's house on the way to the city. Eeeeeeeee! Ever since we hosted a house concert, Francis has been kind enough to invite us to his home in a small town near the Poconos. We finally were able to make our schedules mesh.
|small town 'Merica + college population = ...|
makes sense to me
(plus there is the greatest cupcake shop on this street)
The two of them could not have been more warm and welcoming. Their daughter, Elsie is almost three. She is a beautiful, spirited little girl. We visited, noshed and played a little ping pong. Okay, Elsie and I batted the balls around a bit. Neither Geo nor I wanted to challenge Francis' mad skillz. No one needs that kind of humiliation. He invited us into his basement recording studio to listen to many of the tracks to his upcoming album, Monster a prog rock production of his late brother's work. The thing I appreciate about Mr. D is he's always moving forward even when it seems he's moving backwards musically.
Francis, singing vocals, grinding his electric along to the recorded tracks, in his studio... TOO FUCKING COOL! He's streaming some cuts on his presale page here.
Seriously, what a super cool, unexpected honor. He even played the song he wrote for his daughter, at Elsie's insistence of course.
Aaand, naturally that's the time my iPhone decided it was full and stopped recording part way through. Thanks, you Hydro-electric Asshat.
With a huge bear hug and big thanks for a lovely evening, we set off for our next stop, Manhattan!
|geo gives me grief about stopping to|
snap photos, but c'mon...
this is too funny to pass up
Everytime we go into Manhattan, it's a different experience. The cost for our normal hotel in Soho was Cra-CRA, so we booked at the Wyndam Garden in the Flatiron district on 24th. The room was small, but updated and very clean. The service was exemplary. Plus the bellhop dug my hair. A lot. I highly recommend this lovely little hotel in a great location, especially if you're a redhead.
|Manhattan: always dispensing|
with the advice
Anywho, the first order of business, as always, was brunch, so we hoofed the four avenue blocks west past the famed Chelsea Hotel to our favorite diner, Moonstrucks. Our mouths watering with each step, running through the menu in our heads, deciding which delectable breakfast treat we'd savor....when this happened
WTF??! CLOSED??!?? MOONSTRUCK??!? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE??!?
It felt like a punch in the gut. We couldn't believe it. We had to go across the street to touch the building permit sign. We felt lost. Weird how disoriented you get when a life-long institution disappears. Through Yelp! we found a new place called The Dish which offered not one, but TWO bloody marys with brunch. Gotta tell you, after two of those heavy-handed pours, I was feeling no pain and Moonstruck was a fond memory.
Side Note: probably not the best idea to read a large carousel of irreverent greeting cards while "medicated". One tends to A) laugh a little too loudly, scaring the surrounding small chillins and/or Asian tourists B) single-handily boost the economy by buying a shit-ton of inappropriate cards (friends be forewarned) and C) tinkle a little in your pantaloons. Or so my friend tells me happened to her in a similar situation. I wouldn't know first hand. Shhhh...just play along, jerk.
AAAAAaaaaanyway, back at the City Winery...
As my regular reader (singular) knows by now, I am a lover of all things Rhett Miller, especially his solo shows. He's always entertaining and unpredictable. The setlist this evening was Old 97's heavy with only a half dozen or so solo songs. Personally, I prefer a list top-heavy with solo works and a smattering of 97's rarities, sprinkled with his witty banter/storytelling. But then again, any time I get to sit in a darkened room and watch him play is a grand day, especially if Geo is with me.
The crowd was unusual that night. Normally the audience is comprised of 85% devotees, 15% newcomers, but that evening there seemed to be a large portion of patrons who were only marginally familiar with Rhett's extensive oeuvre, 97's or otherwise. Having seen him perform innumerable times (don't roll your eyes, it's unbecoming and they could get trapped back there forever), we just sing along without even thinking twice about his cleverly penned lyrics anymore. It was so refreshing to hear the people throughout the venue laughing at the punchlines of Another Girlfriend, Eyes for You and The Other Shoe. Like being shaken awake to a renewed appreciation for how fun his songwriting is. The man himself seemed pleasantly surprised and energized by the response of the crowd and fed off of their vibe.
Once again EVERYONE, including Geo, joined in for the Barrier Reef and Big Brown Eyes sing-alongs. I can't even imagine how satisfying and fucking cool it is to hear a room of 500+ sing your words back to you. That's what it's about, BABY! Unconditional love barreling back to you in a big ass wave of warmth.
Props to Geo for joining in. He doesn't know a lot of the lyrics, but the ones he does he sings out freely. Hearing him sing, full-out alongside me is my secret joy.
I don't know if it was planned, but we were treated to not one, not two, but THREE encores!
A great way to erase the bittersweet taste of the final chord of Time Bomb. I have a love/hate relationship with that song. Love the pure energy of that tune. Hate that it signifies the end of the evening. Except for this night. This night continued after Time Bomb. :)
For the first encore, Rhett invited opening act, David Wax Museum on stage to sing Wish The Worst and rift about Susie's pregnancy boobs. And you wonder why I get jazzed by his banter.
He is adorable.
The penultimate encore was Coversville: the beautiful California Stars followed by a hard-charging Over the Cliff. After stepping off stage a brief minute, Rhett returned to sing Broadway, effortlessly hitting the high C as if it was the third song of the evening. Amazing. Doreen ended the show with all the windmills, vigorous, sweat-flinging head bobs and energy he had left.
And then he was done. I swear he could perform for a full three hours, and I still wouldn't be ready to call it a night. There is no performer like him. Seriously, y'all need to go see him. It's church.
Usually I fly in one day for the show, then out the next, but Geo and I planned a two-day stint. The second day was filled with museums, a super fun happy hour with our friend, Marcy at a cool bar near Columbus Circle appropriately called Ivy (...gotta boyfriend problem. Old 97's reference, yo) and dinner with our recently engaged nephew, Zach and Kelly at the greatest kabob joint around, Afghan Kabobs.
Two days extremely well spent, and the perfect lead-in to a relaxing week at the shore where we spent less money in five days than the weekend in New York. Go figure.
Rhett's City Winery Setlist for fellow weirdos who like to keep track of such things:
Lost Without You
The Other Shoe
Just Like California
Another Girlfriend (big laughs for this one)
Bird in a Cage
Won't Be Home
Eyes For You
Let the Whiskey Take the Reins (best rendition we've heard yet)
Out of Love
Dance With Me
Barrier Reef (I swear everyone was singing)
Wish the Worst
Big Brown Eyes (YEAH!!!)
but wait! there's more!!
Over the Cliff
go home. you're drunk