Okay, so last week was Easter Sunday, and ABC aired the long-ass, old-school, Biblical epic, The Ten Commandments. When I was a little nipper, the annual airing of Charleton Heston's abomination was a HUGE deal. We'd all sit in front of the our 36 inch color console and be in awe as Moses parted the red sea, turned the Nile blood-red and talked to a burning bush.
And no, I'm not talking about Lily Munster.
Hey- OOOO!
for thine magic staph
I could not WAIT for it to play every Easter. I thought it was da bomb, because when you're eight, you have taste for SHIT. As an adult, The Ten Commandments (and Ben Hur and Cleopatra) falls into the abysmal, mind-numbingly overacted, racist historical-hot-mess category. Pasty white folks passing themselves off as Egyptians... Hooka, PLEASE! Ain't no amount of brown makeup gonna make pearly-faced Ann Baxter into an arab beauty. Ridonkulous. There are no words strong enough to properly convey how hideously laughable I find this movie.
The only scene worth staying conscious for is Edward G. Robinson's gangsta delivery of
vomiting from your acting
Meanwhile, back at my damnation...
So Geo and I are in Big Mar's living room slowly recovering from our food coma, when he turns on the TV to ... you guessed it, The Ten Commandments. It's the scene where Moses (still believed to be Egyptian) is signaling a crapton of slaves to raise a super phallic obelisk-ick (ex-be-alidosious) in front of the Pharaoh's pyramid. The scaffolding covering the underside of this dick-pic breaks away crushing hundreds of slaves, but hey, big high-fives all around in the owner's box safely tucked miles away.
Go Moses!
So, after all the back-patting and ignoring of dead Jews, the Pharaoh starts jumping on Moses' shit for being nice to the filthy underlings.
Pharaoh: So what's all this bullshit I hear from your whiny-ass, half-brother who has a striking resemblance to Yul Brenner, about you feeding the unwashed masses who do my petty bidding?
Moses: Well, yeah. They gotta eat. They stomp a lot of bricks, dude.
Pharaoh: What the Serious FUCK, Mo-Mo??!?
Moses: Strong men make many bricks. Sick men make few bricks. Dead men make NONE!*
*actual dialog
And that's when I looked at Geo and said, "comma... MOTHERFUCKER."
redundancy is my middle name
Seriously. How magnificent would it be if Moses punctuated every declarative with... MOTHERFUCKER.
BOOM!!
Drops staff.
Backs away with arms wide, gangsta like.
"Come at me, Bro! I'm divinely intervened, asshole."
Big Mose dropping the MF bomb might actually make that turd watchable. If nothing else, it would make a great drinking game.
So naturally, I kept on with the embellishment, ad naseum because that's how I'm wired. My DNA demands I beat a dead horse for my own amusement, irritating all around me. After about the tenth time amending the dialog, Geo looks at me with weary eyes and says, "You realize this is a Biblical movie, right? You're going straight to Hell."
Yep.
Directly. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
And then there's this gem a friend sent to seal my afterlife fate.
Don't stand too close to me. You might get singed.
Okay, so this past Thursday my KD gal pal, Beets and I jumped into a Hot Tub Time Machine set on 1978, and ventured to the high North 40 to see Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes. In spite of his 66 trips around the sun, SSJ remains a powerhouse from the rock wall of sound era. I haven't seen them since the 80s. They were super fun!
Clad in his usual Chuck Taylors, baggy jeans and signature Raybans, he belted out hit after hit in all his raspy-voiced glory. There was an eight-foot catwalk jutting mid-stage upon which he joked about being Mick Jaggar, cueing the fangirls (aka, middle-agers) to jump up and join him.
johnny and the chicks
They played for a solid two hours, all grinding guitar riffs, pounding backbeat and ballin' brass section. Each horn player took his turn on the catwalk, hamming it up for the crowd. Clearly, they all had as much fun on stage as the dancing masses in front of them. Despite it being a school night, nobody wanted to go home. (You see what I did there?)
ballin' brass on the catwalk
Side note: we were in the younger set of his followers (HOLLA!), but DAYUM those grey hairs represented well on the floor, dancing and singing. Gives a girl inspiration to never say die, which is code for "I'd rather die than stay home in my muu-muu, sipping tea and watching Downton fucking ABBEY."
Not gonna happen.
So what does this have to do with the aforementioned wilderness? Well, calm your impatient ass down, Chester and I'll tell you. Jebus, take a pill.
As I eluded to at the top of this mess, Jergel's is in a town about 35 minutes north of our humble, suburban/urban abode. Beets lives about 15 minutes further north in a bucolic setting, the opposite of suburban/urban.
Let's be clear. I'm a city girl.
Through and through.
I don't like the widerness. The wilderness is creepy as SHIT! The wilderness will fucking kill you.
When driving through rural areas, I'm always startled at how pitch black the world is in the rear view mirror. In darkness that thick, I have a tendency to either a) open my eyes wider than humanly possible in a futile attempt to gather any sliver of light that may exist, or b) close my eyes and pretend the black hole doesn't exist. I know. It makes no sense, but somehow closing the blinds on my optic nerves is a comfort. Being as I was driving, B was NOT an option.
Following Beets through the heart of the Forbidden Forest, her high beams eerily illuminating the stately leafless trees felt like being in the Wizard of Oz. I imagined the trees coming to life, tossing pine cones, apples, squirrels... Then the crazies in my head took over and the woodland creatures turned into flannel clad, psycho killers, wearing clown masks, wielding machetes, jumping on THE CAR AND OMGDON'TLOOKINTHEMIRROR!!!!!!!!!!
*shudder*
*deep breath*
Yeah. I don't like the wilderness.
Anywho...
to cleanse the palate of that unsavory imaginary savagery from the deep recesses of my overactive mind, here are a couple of videos from the ever-entertaining interwebs last week. Okay, full disclosure, I'm using this platform to keep these belly-laugh beauties forEVAH. And I'm not even sorry about it.
First up is a sign language interpreter who really needs to come out of his shell.
I want to parTAY with you, Sir!
Last, but certainly not at all least is the March 16th episode of the brilliant @Midnight. This show is my life support. Chris Hardwick is a GENIUS! Geo and I never EVER fail to bust a gut laughing at the irreverent silliness of this program. Occasionally, there's a grouping of comedians whose wit makes us cry. This was such an episode.
Not just funny... Sofa King funny.
It's only 23 minutes. As Donna from Parks and Rec says...
Dude, Google Feud is my new favorite game!
I cannot stress enough how brilliant this show is. It is the great mood lifter. Better than any prescription pill. YOU SHOULD ALL WATCH IT!
Seriously. Do it. NOW! Don't let the terrorists win.
Okay, so there are a number of events/activities/happenings on my bucket list, which is code for shit-I-want-to-do-before-I-croak. And by "number of events", I mean a crapton. Some bullet points need to be thinned, like sky diving, getting a tattoo on my hip, licking Paul Rudd's face. Those ships have sailed, a mere speck on the horizon of the deep blue sea of youth. At this age, I can't fathom surrendering to the pull of gravity, plummeting towards the earth at warp speed and trusting a flimsy parachute will open to prevent me from splattering all over the earth. Not to mention soiling my drawers high above the tree line. And as for the tattoo, ain't nobody got time for a wrinkly-ass tag on a saggy backside.
Anywho, going to Mardi Gras, The Conch Rebellion in Key West and searching for five-time Strong Man winner, Magnus Ver Magnusson in Iceland are still high on the list.
Who am I kidding, so is licking Paul Rudd's face. Some day I will meet you, adorable Sir!
#RAAAAAWR
#ladyboner
However, I'm happy to say I did get to cross off three items during the last month of 2014.
Bucket List #1: Pens vs Rangers at MSG
Geo and I have always talked about doing a Penguins' hockey arena tour, sporting our colors of support in other cities. As is our annual tradition, we spend the second week of December visiting my sister in northern New Jersey. As luck would have it, the luscious Sid and company were playing the Rangers at Madison Square Garden during our vacation.
Can you say STOKED??!?
Geo, fearing retribution from a perceived unsavory New York contingent, respectfully declined, leaving the path open for my sister to walk the gauntlet with me.
Side note: Another tradition of our annual pilgrimage east is watching the Steelers play at a local sports bar. For the past three years, we have occupied the long side of the bar with the same group of ex-pats and Jersey black and gold fans. Together we eat free popcorn, drink tall boys and cheer on (or scream at) our collective favorite team. Okay, full disclosure, I'm not a football fan at all, (I know, right? WTF??!? Sacrilege, especially in the Burgh) but I look forward to this outing every year. It's so much fun being loud and obnoxious with these people. The camaraderie makes the sport bearable.
But I digress...
When I told our NJ compadres about going to MSG the next night, they all kinda stopped and said, "Yeah, good luck with that." I gotta tell you, their reactions rattled me enough to contemplate not wearing my Crosby jersey...
Yeah, well fuck that noise. I wore my baby blue Crosby shirt loud and proud.
My sister and I had dinner at a burger joint in Penn Station, deep in enemy territory, where the entire wait staff wore Rangers t-shirts and 80% of the diners donned Rangers red, white and blue.
Cue the dramatic music... Da Da DAAAAAAA...
Sitting down, I said to the Ranger-clad fan across from me that I hoped he could still enjoy his dinner with me sitting next to him. He feigned disgust, then laughed. Turns out his son is a Pens fan. All in all, there was a lot of good natured ribbing back and forth between us and other patrons.
pens and rangers fans getting along
there's hope for humanity yet
So far, so good.
I was never in MSG before. It's all bright, sparkling white and clean. When I showed my ticket to the usher, he leaned over and suggested I might want to go into the gift shop and buy a proper shirt. "No, really. It's right over there." Very funny, wise ass. But the joke was on me, because this was the give-away.
as Geo said, it'll make a great rag to wash the car
The game was exciting and fun and frustrating as hockey games can be. We lead initially, then got behind by two with seven minutes left to go in the 3rd period. My sister was ready to write the game off as a loss after the Rangers' third goal.
Wha??!? C'mon! This is hockey, MOFO. In the time it took for me to slowly look at her in disbelief and tell her there was a ton of time left to score, the Pens stuffed one past King Heinrik into the net. Less than a minute later, we tied the game.
And that's why I love hockey. The fate of the game can change in a heartbeat.
Anywho, we lost in overtime, which stung a little being as I HATE TO LOSE TO NY TEAMS, but we still came away with a point. Despite the loss, I thought it was a great experience. We had a terrific time.
Some notes:
A) Being New York, there were celebrity sightings in the audience posted on the JumboTron. That night it was Matthew Brodderick and Catherine Keener.
B) Their scoreboard is genius! The bottom half of the board lists who's on the ice throughout the game. Something ALL scoreboards should adopt.
C) Win or lose, the Rangers gather at center ice and salute the fans at the end of every game. Classy.
And, as much as I hate myself for saying this, their goal song ROCKS!!!
Watching the Pens battle the Rangers in Madison Square Garden... CHECK!
Bucket List #2: Ingrid Michaelson's Holiday Hop
Every December, pop singer Ingrid Michaelson puts on what she calls a Holiday Hop, exclusive to New York City. It's held at different venues each year and sells out quickly. This past December, she held her 8th Hop at Webster Hall in the middle of our vacation.
How fortuitous.
Geo took a pass on this opportunity, so once again, my awesome sister, Laura stepped in as proxy. Double shout out to her because she had no idea who Ingrid was.
ingrid in her holiday garb and uke
cuteness overload
Normally it's safe to get to a show during the opener because the floor isn't packed until right before the main act, thus enabling one to stake out a good position near the front. Not so with this show. We got there roughly 10 minutes after the start and the place was PACKED!! Having never been to her Holiday Hop before, I didn't realize the opener was actually Ingrid and her band dressed as seniors performing twisted carols under the name Ethel and friends.
They were pretty damn amusing. Heads up, mofos: if you ever find yourself in possession of tickets to the Hop, get there early to stake your claim near the front.
ukeleles are serious bidnez
When Ingrid finally took the stage as herself, she charmed her fans with her crystal clear voice, wee ukelele and her bawdy banter as she flounced around in an adorable short green dress with bright red bow. Good thing she wore red shorts underneath. Just sayin'.
You and I is one of my favorite songs of hers. Helloooo...ukelele. Anyway, they always have fun with this one. I say it all the time, how great is it to hear the masses singing your words back at you?
She ended her master set with this rousing Christmas Medley. She's a delight!
Go to Ingrid's Holiday Hop... CHECK!
Bucket List #3: Ringing in the new year with Old 97's
photo courtesy of kristie gripp
Anyone who knows me or has read this bloggity blog blah, knows I adore all things Rhett Miller and Old 97's. I can't help it. They satisfy every pore of my music-loving being. It's safe to say they are MY band. Forever and always.
the most hard working, hard-charging band of awesome
Usually they book a multi-date year-end gig in their native Dallas. Oh yeah, seeing them bust it out in Texas is HIGH on my list, too. Like top shelf, I-can-die-happy-now placement.
But I digress...
As the gods would have it, my favorite foursome booked a two-night stand in Washington, DC for New Year's Eve.
Holla!!
seriously long legs on the Murry man
even in a blur, that mane is magnificent
The Hamilton is a dinner theater space holding about 700. The tables sit on a succession of increasingly higher risers with a shallow standing area in front of the knee-high stage. Naturally, Cindy and I planted ourselves down front, right of center (Murry side) alongside our New York fan friends. That's the cool thing about traveling for Rhett or 97's shows, there is always at least one person I know sharing the front row.
no caption required
This was an interesting set up. The band played from 10:15-11pm, at which time there was a half hour break for the club to deliver ball jars of gumbo, glasses of champagne and party hats/noise makers. Then my favorite Texans returned at 11:30 to ring in 2015 at midnight, bust out the champagne and play us out until 1am.
Oh my God! So so so very much fun!! It was like getting two concerts in one. Each bit performed at full throttle. I can't express enough how amazing they are live. They never disappoint.
At midnight, Rhett popped a bottle of champagne, clinked glasses with some fans in the front and grabbed my friend, Suzanne's homemade Old 97's hat to wear during a rawking version of Auld Lang Syne.
happy new year!
post midnight fervor
props to the hamilton for the trippy lighting
Then they just got more cranked up from there, working everyone into a frenzy through the final lingering, bittersweet note of Time Bomb. The euphoria lasting long afterwards like a Charismatic's revival meeting. Standing before them, anointed in a spray of Rhett sweat...they are my church.
love his shadow
soaking up the adoration from his kick drum perch
time bomb jump
Speaking of Time Bomb, perched precariously atop Philip's kick drum, occasionally even the magnificent Mr. Miller is not impervious to the laws of gravity and champagne covered flooring. The consummate professional Rock God didn't let a tumble stop that train a-rollin'. 100% all in. ALWAYS.
I love him and them with every fiber of my pointy heart. This will go down as one of the best New Year's Eves I've ever spent in all my copious trips around the sun. The only thing that would have made it perfect is if Geo was at my side.
the holy spirit of rock and roll shooting forth from his musical scepter
that's church, baby
another triumph of rock
AND I still got to uphold our annual tradition of flipping off the old year. With this kind of greeting, 2015 has gotta be a good one, right?
Ring in the new year with Old 97's... CHECK!
NYE Setlist
10:15-11:00pm
504
Champagne, IL
Give it Time
Crash on the Barrelhead
Wasted
Niteclub
Lonely Holiday
This is the Ballad
W TX Teardrops
Nashville
Every Night Is Friday Night
Big Brown Eyes
Over the Cliff
(now is the time when we consumed quantities of gumbo and champagne)
(it is also the time for rhett to change from blue shirt/dark jeans
to dark shirt/light jeans. well, played, mr. miller. you didn't think i noticed, but i did.)
Okay, so full disclosure, I've had this skeletal piece of prose languishing on deck in the dusty bowels of Blogspot for oh, I don't know... five months now. Poor Baby's been left in the corner to fester and rot while I grappled with an inability to finish a post, a paragraph, a prime rib.
Oh wait. Prime rib I CAN finish... with flourish, boy howdy! The others... meh.
Aaaaaanywho, it's 2015 and DAMMIT, it's time to get on with it and clean out the closet. So let's hit the reset button and put this turkey on the table, shall we? Why am I suddenly hungry?
Aaaaand.... GO!
pre binge drinking/snacking/toking
beach fest provisions
just add sunshine
and sand in your crack
Okay, so my Special K bud, Beets and I chucked our family responsibilities and Thelma and Louised it to the Jersey shore. Strangely I didn't take any photos of our revelry (besides the ones above…shut up), but instead snapped a few shots from the I-will-kill-you-in-your-sleep collection being proffered at the antique fair by a creepy cat I just know is a serial killer in the making. I mean, HOLYGOODGODJESUSCHRIST!!! WHAT THE SERIOUS FUCK!
Don't make eye contact
Don't make eye contact
Don't make eye contact...
is this really the most sought after part
of stuffed vermin?
isn't killing small animals the
first sign that you might be
a serial killer?
you just knew this fucker was into clowns
definite serial killer
He definitely has young women chained in a well somewhere in a farmhouse in middle Jersey. Other than that nightmare, a sun-filled, snack-fueled, inebriated fun time was had by all.
the guuuurlfriends kitten club
with our pussy shirts...
and ob tampon, muthafucka!
long story. don't ask
You know how it's not as easy to connect with people the older you get? Adult humanoids can be more guarded as they age, not willing to let their protective force fields down long enough to really become close friends. Well, I have been #BLESSED (as the Twitters say) to have made not one, but three---I said THREE MUTHAFUCKA!-- new kick-ass girlfriends to dine, drink and dish with. Not to mention dangle GD prepositions.
babes at the WYEP birthday bash
billy joe, bobby joe and a double shot of betty joe
(i'm carbon dating myself with that Petticoat Junction reference)
(look it up, wiseass. it took place in HOOTERVILLE. 'nough said)
Abby, Suzanne and Denise are the veritable BOMB, y'all! We hit it off immediately. We are all on the same page. Oversharing is encouraged and no topic is off limits. The force fields are down, waaaaay down. I laugh so much when I'm with my Kitty Bitches. (That's the moniker we've given our posse. It stems from one of our conversations, but for the love of coconut coffee, I cannot fucking remember why. I blame vodka.) They are a gift from the Guuurl Gods. Seriously. They are the real deal. Love their asses!!
phone in one hand, wine in the other, surrounded by friends
yep, my happy place
the picture of elegance
DeDe photo bombed by Pirates manager, Clint Hurdle
Abby's hubs
honorary gurlfriend subjected to tmi talk
Besides general carousing, we four took in the Riverlife celebration in September. Held on the north shore in front of the casino, Riverlife is a swanky-ass, gilded affair with fancy foods, signature cocktails, dancing, a riverboat cruise and demure behaviors from society folks.
I know, right? How'd we get in there?
Fortunately, frivolity was encouraged. And we frivoled the fuck outta that joint, especially the photo booth.
lovable asshats
coincidentally WEARING hats
Suzanne wore this knock-out vintage gold number that was straight out of the chifferobe of the impossibly curvaceous Joan from Mad Men. She was henceforth referred to as Joan. #Raaaawr
beeewbs
super model fan dancing
All in all, we brought an understated elegance to the entire affair. Yeah, we did.
But by far the best part about Savor Pittsburgh is hanging with my favorite Burgher in Beantown, Jimmy McParkway. Together we down too many small plates, consume a wee too much liquor and dance like Elaine Benes. Okay, so this year he would NOT get up to dance because he was being a puss-face tool, but we DID serial photobomb patrons in our pretty, grown-up clothes.
how to be a jerk in public
YAAAAASSS!!!!! Photobomb perfection!!
Jimmy, master of the interwebs managed to find this gem on instagram. And isn't the sad truth about photobombing that one rarely ever sees ones handiwork. A Goddamn shame.
I miss him every. damn. day.
this view never gets old
Fortunately it's just a short plane hop to visit him in his new zip code. Last October I invaded his personal space for a few days. After a sizable flight delay due to a helacious storm of biblical proportion, I dropped in Boston just in time to race off to the fancy theater to see David Sedaris and his man culottes.
swanky venue for the cultured
We had pretty much explored Boston the prior year, and since it was fall, we opted to hop a train to Providence, Rhode Island to do a little leaf peeping and rummage around the capital.
fall leaves from the speeding train
Claude Monet would be jealous
And act like a jackhole. And assault public art like a boss.
is that a pole in your pocket...
Providence is a lovely little metropolis. It is the home of Water Fire festival in which torches are set up all along the riverwalk (and in the river), artisans set up booths and live music plays all weekend. A small river town north of Pittsburgh has tapped into this Water Fire festival notion the last two years.
providence, ri
permanent bowls for Water Fire festival
After we sullied the ship sculpture, it started raining. A little at first, then gobs and gobs of it. Nothing left to do but have a cocktail or three, and wait for the next train back. True to his technological bent, Jimmy summoned an Uber driver to pick up our sopping frames. I swear when I visit, he and I take every single mode of transport--save boat--to tool around. Next time we're getting on GD a boat.
one rainy-ass mofo day
jimmy is very proud of the tv hat he is wearing
in case you didn't get the idea that it rained
Anywho, this car was the polar opposite of the one we took the night before. Sweet Baby Jesus! That nightmare on wheels was outrageous, and not in a good way. The driver was very sweet, but Holy CATZ there was barely room for Jimmy to sit in the back because this guy's entire life was in the car with us. And then he had like, a thousand pine tree fresheners dangling from his mirror to, I don't know, mask the rotting road kill in the way back of his Hobomobile? I have no idea, but there was a nasty funk burning a hole through our nostrils.
No. Just...NO.
Fast forward to Rhode Island…a pristine, white cadillac with supple Corinthian leather interior and soothing jazz music… Aaaaaa…
Luxury Limo >CraCra Jeep Dude any day of the week.
Funny story: When Jim went to work the next morning, his co-anchor asked what we did the day before. When he told her we hopped a train to look at leaves, she said "What? Is she FIFTY??!?"
No, Motherfucker. I'm 54.
Okay, to be honest, I laughed my ass off imagining her utter disdain. Surely fifty year olds have hunched backs, hammer toes and Hoverounds to shuffle their twisted bodies to Early Bird specials. To his credit, he shaved a year off my age and defended my fun-loving spirit. I still have some life left in me… Bitch. You're on my list.
I kid.
Maybe.
slow down there, grandma! you'll break a hip.
And then we ate...
breakfast of champions
the station diner's industrial-ish interior
wtf?
get your shit together, diner.
go heinz or go home!
severed hand is the new black
or is it?
who wouldn't get a lady boner?
Now that Big Mar is in her 90s, the siblings are making the trek home every September to celebrate her latest circle around the sun. It's been great having everybody together for her.
big mar, her brood and some strays who love her
sure. make the old lady blow out a zillion candles.
jerks
This year her birthday coincided with the quarterly gallery crawl in downtown Pittsburgh. As much as we are together as a family, we rarely go out anymore. It was a gorgeous Friday night, so SURPRISE! we actually went to town. Madness.
giant jenga
monkey shenanigans
monkey boy
the brother
and crazy, hypno eyeballs
I don't know about your family, but as a unit this one takes a while to make decisions. Eventually someone takes the lead and points everyone in a direction. Any direction. It's like wrangling feral cats. Welp, we managed to make it to one of the 30 galleries before getting caught up at the Artists Market and finally just opting for beer, booze and pizza.
i can't quit you, silly props
and i can't quit this awesome family
I adore these lovable pinheads! The logistics may be a bit trying at times, but the payoff is always ALWAYS worth it. Hey, we even managed to get out to see local band legends, The Clarks during Christmas break!! Two outings in one year… who can live at that speed?!? :)
Trains, Buses and Automobiles...
Last, but not least, my best friend from college, Dennis and I took a 24 hour road trip north to deliver a car to his son in the Hudson Valley. We haven't been on a trip by ourselves since sophomore year when we hopped on a bus to DC to "protest" something or other. I can't remember. We were only in it for the sightseeing opportunity. We were opportunistic jerks.
awwwww… ain't she adorable?
whatever happened to her?
oh wait.. she got old, fat and sweary
Anyways, we have never been in a car, alone, for a solid eight hours. It was marvelous. We have a bit of a past together. The romantic portion was short-lived and didn't end gracefully at all, but we managed to remain close friends for over 35 years. And I could not be any more thankful. The fact that he met his future wife shortly after our breakup helped. I love her, too.
our 24 hour trek began with a beauty shot out of a tunnel
Our car ride was amazing. Dennis and I discussed all the elephants that have been lurking in the room for a Stone Age. He got to ask me everything he has been holding in for decades. We rehashed snapshots from our past life. It is incredible how much I have forgotten or misremember of our brief time together and ensuing college years. I swear he's wrong on some points, but no matter. Apparently I was a lot more forthcoming with my opinions and such. Imagine that. :)
The cool thing is there was no hurt or pain, just a fondness for our past selves and the silliness of youth. We laughed. A lot. Especially over the drama of it all. It was extremely therapeutic and absolutely delightful. And we will never speak of them again. LOL
there is so much wrong with this
it's good luck to kiss this bear
no. it's not.
we just made this shit up
#shenanigans
transporting kim kardashan's butt
One of the great things about our journey was stopping at random shit we found amusing or interesting. We had no hard and fast timetable. Dennis was game to back track for me to snap a funny sign, seek out a better view of a frozen river or eat lunch in a classic old dining car.
retro lunch
even these hoopies know enough to use heinz
seriously. get with it boston!
menu cover redo
proving middle aged white men
CAN jump
After dropping off the car with his son, we ate at another diner that was all about deco overload before we boarded a train in Poughkeepsie bound for New York City, where we had four hours to kill before hopping on the 11pm Megabus home.
'allo hudson valley
pano of the stately culinary institute
appropriate banners decorate the campus
road buddies
ever at the ready to serve up some
delicious diner fare to sooth all your hangover needs
because really, aren't drunken clientele an
all-night diner's bread and buttah
tres deco
most folks drop a deuce
this creeper drops a … pumpkin
just add this to the list of shit that weirds me out
one-take father son jump
seriously, this new iPhone camera is amazing
one shot, that's it
i may have to have people jump more just to dick with them
busting outta this rural setting for the big city
We hit up three bars between 3rd Avenue and Broadway near Union Square, photo bombing clueless, self-absorbed 20 somethings, downing craft beers/cocktails and laughing over one stupid thing or another. It's so great to know it is still so easy to hang with Dennis.
He's my buddy forever.
the majesty of grand central
no bathing your stanky ass in grand central toilets, mofos
the most beautiful building in ny
stop #2 wherein we photo bombed
a gaggle of self-absorbed 20-somethings
who probably STILL haven't noticed us in the background
LOL
someone needs to take his meds
the empire state informing us it's cold
um... yeah!
it is balooooooooon!!
flatiron building art exhibit
of war journalists
their notes are afixed to the helmets
Heartland Brewery
the third stop on our way to the megabus
disturbing things you see at the Megabus stop
sunrise to sunrise
home sweet home
where the eff's my bed?!?
.JPG)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
