@*!&%#*!!?!?!!

Jesus H Key-Rist!!!

GPSs. I love them. I loathe them.

For the third time now, Felicity the British bird who voices our GPS, (yes. we named our GPS. i know. dorksville.) went off her nutter and sent us in circles around the outskirts of all places, York, PA. This trip had her sending us off then back on the same highway for no discernible reason except to explicitly engage us in some sadistic version of Simon Says.

"Simon Says take slip road on right"
"Simon Says take next exit on left"
"Simon Says back on the highway from whence you came" (she is British after all)
"Simon Says HAHA! You are one gullible wanker!" (again with the British bullshit)

This time around I clicked on the theater address as our next destination.

I swear to God I did.

I know I did.

Ask Geo. He's my witness. I would bet my last pair of comfy, to-die-for summer sandals that I did, and you know how a girl and her favorite footwear are NEVER parted. Yet, that saucy strumpet sent us on a random spin around the block right back to our starting point for the second time that day.

Aaaaaaaaaarg!!

Frustrating, but mild compared to the last time.

The last time she felt devilish, we ended up bashing into the back of a van of Chinese nationals. Nice.

this bistro is Zombie friendly
how open minded of them

We were driving back from Lawng Island to New Jersey. Felicity sent us through Manhattan to the Holland Tunnel. A mere 1.2 mile trek...that took an hour and a half!?! I'm not kidding. I could have got out and walked to New Jersey faster. Seriously. I could have done a little shopping... had a drink and a nosh... walked a few dogs and still picked up Geo a scad four blocks further along.

Frustration, thy name is Saturday Manhattan Crosstown Traffic.

Alas, I dutifully stayed in the car trying to be a positive distraction from the soul-sucking snail's pace in which we found ourselves. Gazing out through the sunroof, I discovered a pretty cool perspective of the neighborhood surrounding us.

 There are so many beautiful images around us that none of us sees because we rarely take the time to look up. I would never have noticed this gorgeous fire escape had it not been for the traffic and sunroof.

So at least there's that, right? I may actually start a collection of photos entitled "Through the Roof" inspired by our long, tedious journey.

Anywho, we finally broke free and sailed through the tunnel to New Jersey, where Felicity promptly took us off the highway only to declare "Psyche!!" and send us right back to the on ramp. And that's when it happened.

The van started to merge, we followed, they stopped for reasons known only to them, we, uh...didn't.

Bammo!

Next thing we know the guy's out of the car, holding his neck and pointing at his bumper which by the way, didn't have a noticeable mark on it. Geo was stuck in the car because it was nigh impossible for him to get out without getting creamed by speeding cars driven by oh-so considerate people shouting helpful messages like "learn to drive, you fucking asshole!" because, you know, our goal for the day was to purposely block the right lane of an uber busy highway in Northern New Jersey for absolutely no reason at all and stand around with our fingers up our behinds waiting for the cops to show up just for grins because we thought it would be fun and endear us to Jersey drivers who are known worldwide for their compassion and patience. Buttheads.

Highway 1/9
If you put your ear to the computer screen you can still hear
drivers screaming "Get outta da way, you stupid hump!"

Wait...where was I going with this? Oh yeah. So here's the best part. While we were waiting for the cops to finish their donuts, take a dump, call their bookies, make plans for dinner and book a flight to Reno before they show up, Mr. Chinaman strolls over to me standing on the curb, and in his best broken Engrish suggests we give him some money and he'll go away.

Yeah.

Who knew Mr. Wang had a pair.

I say no, of course, but then my curiosity gets the best of me. Mr. W can't formulate a number, but I stroll over to Geo who's still trapped in the car and tell him what went down.

Have you ever seen videos of a crazed wild animal locked in a very small cage, flipping out, banging around from side to side? That was totally Geo. He was spitting fire and rocking the Hell out of our car. I swear he moved Rita an extra foot into oncoming traffic. I wish I had a video of it. Hilarious! Not then, mind you, but now. Absolutely hilarious!!

So anywho, the cop finally comes...yadda yadda yadda. We haven't heard a peep from the Chinese Van Man and his gaggle of ladies. Chalk another adventure up in the travels column.

The GPS is a brilliant piece of technology. It has saved us a number of times in a number of unfamiliar towns by leading us to food, gas and lodging in the middle of the night. We'd be lost without it, but really it should have a "don't f*ck with me today" button because some days the last thing you need is a cheeky electronic device dicking with you, even if she does have a fetching English accent.

In Which Sid the Kid Becomes A Man For All Sports Teams 

Okay, so by now you all know how much I love hockey. I don't just love hockey...as Woody Allen would say, I lurve hockey!! It's the only sport whose return I long for. Besides it's pretty much the only thing that makes winter in the northern quadrant bearable.

As a Pittsburgher, if you love hockey you gotta LOVE Sidney Crosby. I mean, come on! The man's a machine! He's like a freaking Super Hero on blades! And oh-so much fun to watch. Even if you don't love the great sport of hockey, you have to admit Sid's something special with a capital "S". Not to mention the whole outstanding hockey butt thing he's got going on... Or the luscious lips that are perpetually red... Or his sweetness factor... or his general hawtness... or... oh you get the idea.

*swoon*

That said, he did this at PNC Park today:

I ask you, is there anything this Adonis can't do? Perhaps the Pirates should sign him up for next year.

Only four weeks until the season starts! Woopty Doooo!!

Guess Who's Turning the Big 4-0? 

No not him! Although I loveloveLOVE me some Paul Rudd, with or without boxers. :-)

Him!

Yep. My adorable fantasy husband is launching into a new decade, and it looks FABULOUS on him!!

Some people freak out about turning 40, you know, like suddenly you're feeble-minded, decrepit and unable to chew your own food. 

Oh hooker, Pah-lease! That could not be further from the truth. 

As one who bid a tearful farewell to 49 this year, I can tell you truthfully 40 is the start of the prime of life. It's the beginning of the best years of your existence in this mortal coil. You're still young, vital and physically able to cavort like a 25 year-old, while gaining the emotional confidence to start knocking those monkeys of self-doubt and self-inflicted turmoil off your back one by one, lightening your spirit and enabling your soul to soar. It's empowering. Look at Murry up there. He's in his forties and he can still kick ass on stage with the best of them. 

Of course Rhett doesn't have a grey hair on his head and barely looks 30. I mean, come on. Look at him. He hasn't aged at all. Somehow I think the perennially youthful Mr. Miller will be jumping off Philip's drum kit, shakin' his booty and belting out Barrier Reef for decades to come.  

So, in celebration of the anniversary of the day of your birthing, here's a birthday kiss... 

and a virtual bottle of Jameson with which to toast the start of your next chapter. 

Hold on to your hat, BABY! You're life's about to get even more awesome!!

Cheers!

Internet Funny Of The Week
or how I wish I was as clever as some people

Okay, so sometimes I stumble onto some pretty hilarious blogs produced by some very clever people. Case in point is a tumbler website called Album Tacos. 


Album Tacos asks a simple question: how fun would it be to place a taco on existing album covers? 


Answer: Pretty damn fun. So much so that I wished I'd have thought of it, dammit. Here are some examples:

Slave to the Taco

Riding the wild chicken taco

No wonder he had the belly ache

I don't think this is what it means to toss one's taco

breakfast of champions, indeed

These would make some great t-shirts, no? There are lots more posted on the blog here. I don't know about you, but yo quiero Taco Bell.

My Name Is Earl...
or who invited your sorry ass on my vacation? 


Okay, so last year Geo and I took our annual trek to the Jersey shore to spend quality time with family, basking in the sun and surf for the last time of the season. It's usually the BEST time of year to go...warm, sunny, hardly a tourist in sight... Except for last year. 


Last year Nora, the Nefarious Nor'easter decided to invite herself to our beach-blanket bingo. And Dude, she would. not. LEAVE! 


She was miserable. Acting like Debbie Downer, whining, dropping an ocean of tears on our parade-literally. And to add Margarita salt to injury, she drank all our liquor! 


Little whore.


So now this year her inbred, dim-witted cousin, Earl is trying to horn in on our bon temps rouler. Uh-uh! Oh no you don't! I am not sitting next to your windy ass all week. You can just move on up to Massachusetts, because there is no room for you here. 


And don't even THINK about touching my vodka. 

What I Did The Week After My Summer Vacation
or girls' Rhettventure in New York

(I promise this is the last for awhile...okay a couple weeks.
Warning: this is one big-ass post. Sorry. Clearly I don't know when to shut the hell up)

Okay, so I'm skipping over the last tale of my summer vacation for now (which involves hitting a van of Chinamen among other things--but that's a story for another day) because I purposely wanted to bore the shit out of my two readers with my obsession. Ha Ha!

But seriously, I gotta tell you about our little gals' night out in the Big Apple before I forget because, you know, I'm aged.

As I've said in the past, between the Old 97's forum and Twitter, I've gotten to be friends (virtual and real life) with a number of lovely people. A month or so ago, a plan was hatched among three of my Twitter friends (Cindy, Lori and Stephanie) and I to travel to New York City on a sort of "Tweet up" to see, guess who... Rhett Miller sing at the City Winery.

I know. You're shocked, right?

Anywho, Cindy and I have known each other a while now, but I had never met Lori or Steph in person. We all have this love of all-things-Rhett/Old 97's so how bad could it be, right? Well, it was splendid. We descended upon NYC from four different points in the country for what we came to dub Rhettventure 2010. Geo even made up t-shirts for us.

another example of the awesomeness that is Geo

We ended up arriving at different times, but each arrival was met with an icy cold cocktail of welcome starting with me and Cindy...

nothing like a spicy bloody mary at 11am to start the day off right

then Steph...

it's tonic time!!

then Lori... Wait. Where's the obligatory shot shot with Lori? Apparently I was a little inebriated and neglected my duty. (I said doo-tee. hee hee)

Anywho, Cindy had to attend some work-related meetings so the three of us got to know each other a bit better as we poodled around SoHo and Chinatown. Which, by the way reaked of garbage and rotting fish. Mmmmm... Welcome to New York, Lori! That reminds me of a joke that ends with a blind guy walking past a fish market saying "Evenin' Ladies".

Anywho, before you know it, it was time to get all gussied up and head to the Winery a convenient one block away. (The Four Points Sheraton in SoHo is a terrific hotel! Amazingly helpful staff, clean rooms, free wifi. I highly recommend.)

Walking back into the Winery a week after Geo and I were there was like walking into a friend's party. Our pals George and Maria, Tracy and Joslyn were all there. Plus the guy at our table sat with us the week before. I felt a little like the mayor of City Winery. Ha Ha!

Cheers! (cindy, step, me, lori)

We ordered our respective libation and flat breads and settled in for the evening's entertainment. The opening act this week was none other than Paul Simon's son, Harper. He looks like a chubby version of his Dad and sounds eerily like his old man.

Rhett was in a particularly jovial mood. His wife Erica and a group of their friends were at the show that Thursday as well as notable columnist and author, Ben Greenman. Ben had given Rhett an advanced copy of his upcoming book, Celebrity Chekov which he decided to share with the audience via dramatic readings. It was hilarious. Here's the first of four or five with a Point Shirley chaser (just for you Geo)...


Tiger Woods Celebrity Chekov and a new song from the upcoming Old 97's CD (A State of Texas)


He played a couple of other new songs including the title track to The Grand Theatre

From the sound of all the new tracks he's been playing at shows, this new CD is going to be killer! I can't wait to hear it come October. Pre-order your copy now!

Then Tracy Bonham joined him on stage for three songs including this very spirited version of 4 Leaf Clover recorded by Lori.

I'm not familiar with her music, but they sang well together. And boy, can she shred that fiddle!!

Okay, I have to post this one. It's the last of Celebrity Chekov followed by a song he only sings when his beautiful wife is in attendance. Did I mention we met his wife, Erica? She's long and lithe (still thin as a rail after having two kids. I kinda hate her a little for that. So not fair.) and perfectly lovely.

She seemed like she was having a grand ole time. I doubt she was upset her charming hubby duffed the lyric a little.

As always, there are more videos from the evening here and here and my entire channel here. Help yourself.

We caught up with him afterwards to say hi, have him sign some things and give him an early 40th birthday present for which we all pitched in.

a present? for me? what on earth could it be?

A signed galley of his favorite book, Infinite Jest. You know you've hit a hole in one when the giftee utters this phrase:

"You are fucking kidding me!?!?"

:D  

Thanks girls for making that happen. I think he liked it. Read it in good health, my friend! Salut!

me, ruining his handsome visage

cindy, lori, the lovely blue-eyed one, steph, me

After jumping in front of the Winery-you knew I had too-

jump, white girl. JUMP!

we gals ended up at a super crowded, hipster doofus, youngster roof-top bar, The Brass Monkey for one drink before hitting up a dive local bar on the way back to the hotel. We soundly hit the sheets around 3am. 

jammed in at the Brass Monkey-the sky is up there somewhere

The next day was filled with breakfast at a little bistro, Sullivan that Cindy found via her grooviest of groovy yelp iPhone AP...

all fed, watered and happy

our torrid four-way love affair with bacon continues

walked around Union Market...

wine tasting at the market because, you know, why not

had a psychic reading then went to Ground Zero and the Financial district... 

shore side of the financial district

um...honey. I forgot to tell you I kinda bought these

the statue of liberty from shore of financial district

And even got assaulted by some signage on the subway before taking our respective modes of transportation home...

dude. perhaps you should have chosen a different seat

this means you, stinky pierre

New York... I love your crazy-ass, ornery spirit!! Don't EVER change!

Adios Nueva York!

Oh..Oh! I almost forgot. While walking through the construction around Ground Zero, I smiled at a rather handsome, distinguished older foreman. As we rounded the bend, Steph told me the dude was totally checking me out as we walked by. Oh yeah! You know you're a woman of a "certain age" when you aren't completely weirded out by an older guy watching you walk away. In fact it's appreciated. Ha Ha! Thanks, buddy! 

It was whirlwind 36 hours that was a blur and a blast. Thanks girls for making it all happen. Here's hoping we can figure out a place to go for Rhettventure 2011.

You Can't Get There From Here
or Dear Long Island Expressway: What the ef is your problem? why you be hatin' on us?

Okay, so we have friends, Kirby and Carla who live a mere 3 1/2- 4 hours north of us. They're a great couple with two terrific kids. We've been trying to arrange a time to meet up for a visit all summer, but to no avail. By sheer coincidence, (there's that wonderful phenom again) they were in NYC the same time as we were.

They always stay at the famed Chelsea Hotel, a stone's throw from our favorite old haunt, Moonstruck's diner. The same waiter's been working the tables ever since we started coming here 25 years ago. We were regulars then and he still recognizes us.

stairway on third floor

We had a fantastic time noshing and catching up. Afterwards we all went to the hotel to check out the famed artwork in the hallways and to hang out on their balcony.

one of the photos lining he hallways

The rooms have been recently remodeled and are pretty large for a New York hotel. It's so cool there. You can feel the creative energy of past residence, Dylan Thomas, Larry Rivers, Sid Vicious. Okay, so you don't really want to feel Sid's destructive energy, but you get the idea. It's really cool.

the lovely lily, kirby, atticus, carla, me, geo
on the balcony at the Chelsea

And the street-side balcony is a special treat. So much entertaining activity going on in that block. Next time we find ourselves looking for a place to stay in Chelsea, we're booking there.

telling tales at the Talkhouse

So we hit the road to head across town via Delancy about 2:30pm. Rhett's show was in Amagansett at Stephen's Talkhouse which is way on the entire opposite f*cking end of the aptly named Long Island. His start time was 7pm, but according to Felicity, our GPS, it would only take 2 1/2-3 hours to get there. We figured we could drop our stuff off at the hotel in Bohemia and have more than enough time to make the 1:20 drive to the Talkhouse and grab something to eat before the show.

WRONG, round eye.

We literally crawled down Delancy Street. The Williamsburg bridge, a mirage mocking us in the distance. But, hey, it was a beautiful day in New York City. We're on vacation. No worries. We've got lots of time to get to Amagansett. Besides, once we get on the Long Island Expressway we should sail along, right?

Wrong again, white girl!

We actually did sail along ... for about 20 minutes, then.

BLAMMO!!

We dropped down to 5mph. Five. Miles. Per HOUR!?! WTF?!? I think I got whiplash from the split-second deceleration. Four lanes and the HOV lane crawling at an almost imperceptible pace ... for no reason. No Accidents. No construction obstructions. No UFOs. No Sasquatch sightings. No shit. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Just miles and miles of cars rolling along at a f*cking snail's pace.

And the long line of cars keeps growing and growing. Is every single person in Manhattan heading to the Hamptons at exactly the same time as us? Seems like it.

Geo tried his best to maneuver through the mind-numbing, illogical traffic pattern in an effort to gain quicker passage, but to no avail. At one point we leapt up to a flaming 35mph, but alas it was all too brief and soon we were back down to a cruising speed of 20-25. All the while, Felicity's ETA display kept getting later and later, adding to our anxiety. Suddenly the 1:10 drive to the hotel had stretched to two hours plus.

We finally hit a burst of open road and realized we were going to have to high-tail it to the hotel, literally dump and run back on the highway and bust ass to make it to the Talkhouse in time for the show. No dinner for us. To be honest, at this point a fifth of vodka was the only elixir imaginable to wash away the lingering ludicrous crap of this road trip.

I love the feel of this still

After zooming through the pristine country side (which we barely looked at), we hit the Amagansett city line with 25 minutes to spare.

Hooray!!

Stephen's TalkHouse

The travel Gods were smiling on us as we pulled into a primo parking spot right across from the front door of the venue. I was surprised there was only one other couple waiting around for the door to open being as it was so close to show time. The doors finally opened and we plopped our road-weary butts in two folding chairs, stage left (our stomachs growling) and ordered up a couple of cold ones.

Okay, so Geo doesn't get why I go on Twitter. He teases me about it and sometimes gets downright annoyed with me, but the truth is I've found value in it. I've gotten free songs, access to unavailable tickets, met some really nice people... While we were entrenched neck deep in traffic earlier, I tweeted:

"It's been a Hellish journey to LI! Won't make it to the @rhettmiller show in time to eat. We need a drink."

Meanwhile, Rhett had tweeted a whole series of delighful little ditties about hanging backstage with the progeny of the Wailer's musicians--mainly how they were making up lyrics to songs, playing video games and just carrying on like 5, 7 and 9 year olds. Once we settled in, we heard the kids laughing, screaming and running up and down the side stairs. I jumped on my archaic phone and tweeted:

"@rhettmiller what the hell are you doing to those kids back there?"

Next thing we know, Rhett sticks his head out the side door, pulls it back then comes crouching towards us saying "I'm glad you made it." and slaps a banana and granola bar on the table.

a study with banana, granola and dork

I'll wait for you so say, "Aaaaaaaaa..."

How sweet is this guy?!?! Seriously. Again. Do you see why I love him?

As we quelled the pains of malnutrition sharing our thoughtfully donated snacks, I explained to my very puzzled husband how that all happened. Between this and Rhett honoring my Twitquest to play Geo's favorite song, Point Shirley, I think he developed a new respect for both Mr. Miller and Twitter. Okay, probably more for the lovely blue-eyed one than Twitter.

Check him out, man! He's totally giving Geo the "hey, dude" eyeball at the end. :-)

The show was as energetic and entertaining as we've come to expect. He never, ever disappoints. He belted out 24 songs and even used his friend Sarah and me as his focal points during his "duet" Fireflies.

*swoon*

I only recorded part of the song, because honestly I felt a little embarrased and unnerved shooting it. Or maybe it was the hot flash caused by the eye contact. Whew Doggie! Ha Ha Ha!!

I have to admit, Fireflies was not one of my favorite songs, but the more we see him perform it, singing both male and female parts, it's definitely grown on me.

One of the things I loveloveLOVE about his solo shows is the banter between songs. It's an opportunity for him to be...well, him. This intimacy is why we prefer seeing bands and solo artists in small venues over ginormously impersonal full-blown production tours. Mr. Miller is never shy about sharing a barb or two like this one about the legend of the naked girl...

Is it true? Who knows. Who cares. It makes for a great story and fun evening. (P.S.: He played Caroline right after this tale. Hmmm... ;D)

Then in honor of the Wailers, we all were treated to a retooling of Come Around in a Reggae beat. Ya, Mon!

Grooviness IS essential...

One quick sour note: You know how when you go somewhere swanky like the Hamptons, you expect to feel like the blue-collar rube next to the classier, wealthier folks who normally inhabit the area? Apparently not so much. Three couples sat at and around our table right before the show started. For the first three songs, the chick behind me would not SHUT THE HELL UP!? She was so loud, I had trouble hearing him sing at times. She was so loud, even Rhett rolled his eyes at her. Her Mama definitely did NOT teach her right. I wanted to turn around and tell her Hello...he's right there!! He can hear you, numb nut. Show a little respect, bee-yatch!

It's a good thing we had a little to eat because otherwise me + low blood sugar + vodka + her megaphone mouth = one potentially ugly ass mess. I guess it's true. Just because you have money doesn't mean you have class.

No matter. Sitting in a darkened club, cocktail in hand, drenched in great music by a sensational songsmith was definitely a perfect end a long, tedious journey.

HOLY CRAP this is epic! Sorry. What's that you say? You'd like to see more videos? Oh well. Okay. Since you insist. Here's one more for the road. Enjoy!



Did you hear that obnoxious chick yakking behind us? Seriously. Shut the F*CK UP!! Check this out...you can see my fantasy hubby semi-roll his eyes at rude girl around 2:32. Geo's laughter is a tip off. Seriously. Some people's parents...