Randomness

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3 day weekend, woo.

I started the weekend right. Went out and shopped to make sure I had supplies of food, wine and drinks. Friday night I went to the gym like I normally do. Got out, and then went home and made myself dinner. Filet mignon, mashed potatoes, asparagus with a half-open bottle of Cabernet I had. Finished dinner with two glasses of port - with my new crystal port wine glasses from Riedel.

Is it me or do wine glasses make a difference? I think they do. I'm sure I could drink a glass of Opus One in a paper cup and be just as happy, but there is something about the crystal glass that makes the experience less than ordinary.

After dinner, I mellowed out at home, and did my usual bit of TV watching & Warcraft gaming. I normally don't go out Fridays much anymore, just because I got tired of getting blitzkreiged and waking up hungover for work at the bar for Saturday night. I get a phone call Saturday "morning" (my mornings technically extend until about noon, whereas the rest of the world seems to be "up and adam" before then) - from my buddy's wife, Samantha*. I was in their wedding party, I know them well.

Apparently Samantha is selling her TV and her husband was out that day entertaining clients for work. She had someone stopping by her apartment to look at the TV and she didn't feel comfortable letting a stranger in while she was there, alone. She told me it would take 30 minutes, tops. Even offered to pick me up and drop me off, for she lives about a 15 minute walk from my apartment, on the extreme end of town.

I agree, and she said she would call me later in the afternoon.

I get online and do my thing, and get a call a few hours later. It is about 3pm. I have to work at 6:30pm.

She comes over, picks me up and we wait at her place.

And wait.

Eventually Mr. Jersey City shows up to look at the TV. Anyone watch the TV show "Knights of Prosperity". Know the big black guy in the show? It was him.

Ok, I kid. It wasn't exactly him, but the guy was built the same way.

I am 6'4. I am 220 pounds. This guy would have drop kicked me into next Tuesday. I was about as much protection as a poodle to a pit bull.

Fortunately, he liked what he saw, but he had to look at another TV around the corner and would come back. I thought he was lying. But shrugged my shoulders and Samantha and I waited some more.

And waited.

It was now 4:45 and i'm getting a bit antsy. I didn't have anything to do on Saturday, but I did have to work. Samantha is good company, and we munched on pretzels and ate french onion dip while watching Spike TV's selection of insane videos on their new Acquos 50" HDTV. I wish Spike TV had a HDTV channel, i'd watch it so much more. I barely watch any TV besides HDTV now on Cablevision. Channels 700+ make up 90% of my TV watching. Only SciFi is the other TV channel that I watch as often.

Samantha apologized to me a few times that afternoon, and I totally understood. It wasn't her fault. Around 5pm, Mr. Jersey City comes back. He offers $200 for the TV, and Samantha reluctantly agrees. She wanted $300, but was just happy to get rid of the TV.

I didn't eat all day, and she drops me off at Boston Chicken. I order the Sirloin Carver. I don't know what happened recently at Boston Chicken. The old team of mixed ethnic workers was now all Indian (or Pakistani?). I go there often enough that I knew some of the "regular" workers. The people were new. They made my sandwich with the wrong bread, and it took at least 10 minutes of me standing there waiting to get a sandwich. I wanted to claw my eyes out because it was 5:30, I was hungry and work was looming.

I wolf down the sandwich, which was excellent by the way, and head home to change.

I change and headed up to work. It is only a 3 block walk to work, but on the way someone says, "Sean? Furey?", and I spin around. There is a blonde-something looking at me with a "recognition" look. I'm drawing a blank, and i'm sure my look prompted her to say, "Hi! I'm Angela*. I read your blog, also post on the online boards."

We shake hands and chat a bit. She was very nice, and I was taken a bit aback. She was very friendly, and its just another reason why I like living in Hoboken. That big city / small town-ness about it.

I'm a bit unhappy going into work now. It used to be a lot of fun because I would set up my iPod with, what I thought were good mixes. I'm a child of 93.3 WMMR and 94.1 WPST rock. I love classic rock. I love good alternative rock. I like poppy songs, too. I dig my Grateful Dead and do enjoy a good Bruce Springsteen song here and there. I made a bunch of mixes, and for the most part I would get compliments from fellow employees and customers on the songs. I would quickly remove songs from my mixes that people didn't like.

One thing that I quickly realized is that music is extremely subjective. New York is not only a melting pot of cultures and people, but of music. If you listen to radio up here, on something like K-ROCK, most of the "popular songs of the moment" are mixed in with R&B, Hip-hop and "urban-centric" (Beyonce, et al.) music. Down in Philly, they play "popular songs of the moment" intermixed with classic rock. I love that. LOVE IT. As soon as I get to exit 9 on the turnpike, my radio is already switched to Philly rock stations.

Well the bad news is that the owners didn't like my music very much. I didn't take it too hard because we even had "professional DJ's" in on Fridays and Saturdays that didn't impress them either. So, the owners made their own mixes of songs and made playlists for Saturday night. It was on a computer, in the basement and I had no control over the songs.

Some were good. Some were bad. Some were extremely bad, because I am a believer to play music to the crowd. You have an older crowd, maybe i'd play my 70's Classic Rock Mix. A younger crowd, and I can play my 21st Century Alternative Mix. Mid 30's people and I can hit up my 90's College Rock Mix to set things right. I don't claim to be the end-all in music. I think I play what people like, and will change it to what people ask. Even play individual songs, if they ask.

Well that's all over and i'm miffed about it. I wasn't given a real reason as to the change, just got a "So-and-so said they want their mix to play at night, and not your iPod." Gee, thanks. I'm hoping maybe we can compromise or something.

I will admit that I did hear one good song from the owner's mix. It was from OAR, and called "Crazy Game Of Poker". Cool song, a few years old but I hadn't heard it before. When I got home that night I downloaded it from iTunes.

Sunday rolls around and I decided to make my Nanny's Italian Meatballs. Its a very simple meal to make, but does take about 3 hours, with the preparation, cooking and cleanup. I pop open another bottle of italian red table wine, and start cooking. The secret is the meat - ground veal. Makes those meatballs so much better.

So, I cook away, and the sauce reduces while it cooks. I sliced up fresh italian sweet sausage, cook them for 30 minutes at 400 degrees and add them to the pot. Eventually I have a nice thick gravy that i'm dipping my fresh Italian bread into and testing. Easily the best creation yet. It was fantastic. Maybe it was the wine, but i'm rolling my eyes thinking, "Fuck - there's no one to share this with!!!"

I tried cajoling my roommate and his two friends into having some, even breaking up a meatball and putting toothpicks into each piece to have them try. They politely decline, with plans to go to Court Street. I tried to call a few friends to see if they wanted to join me. Again, denied!

Oh well. I eat my meal and nearly finish the bottle. 2 more glasses of port wine to top that off and I head over to a local pub to meet a friend for a drink.

I get there and order a drink. Now, I know the bartender. At least 10 years. He pours me a pint glass of 3/4 alcohol and 1/4 topping. I laugh, but drink it. I already had nearly a bottle of wine in me, along with 2 glasses of port. I have a bionic liver after drinking in town all these years.

There's only so much my bionic liver can do. Three more of those glasses later and i'm wasted. I could still play darts, and even won a few games (i'll tip my hat to my dart partner, a very nice girl who has got "game"). I won't go into tremendous details here, but the night ends in a bit of a blur. I vaguely remember watching Lethal Weapon, while chomping on Low-Salt Wise Potato Chips (dude, they are so much better than regular chips) and Bachmann's Pretzels (again, I know my pretzels...buy them). Add some french onion dip (it strikes twice this weekend!) and I think I actually poured myself another drink at home.

Amazingly two things didn't happen.

One: I didn't throw up. Liver 1, Booze 0.

Two: I didn't wake up hungover. Liver 2, Booze 0.

Three: I did wake up with a "regret", Liver 2, Booze 1.

No, not a female "regret", just I remembered doing something that night, while drunk that was really minor in detail, but it is going to be something that I have to apologize for.

What happened was that while boozed up at the bar I poured myself a shot. The bartender went off for a smoke, said, "You're in charge, Sean!" and I was like, "Ok, shot time."

This isn't new. This is a bar that I have poured my own shots and the owners and bartenders have let me done this many, many times before. The current bartender comes back up, and again, I have known him for 10 years. He isn't happy.

He quietly and gently explains his displeasure to me, which was nice of him. He could have made a loud deal from it. I attempt my feeble apology, simply explaining that I was making a shot and if he knew where they kept the Slo-Gin to complete my Red Death shot. Yes, in my drunken state I decided it would be a bright idea to make a shot that requires Vodka, Triple Sec, Lime juice, Slo-Gin, Amaretto, Orange Juice and So-Co. Red Death is basically a Kamakaize plus an Alabamma Slamma. It is my signature shot that I have made for the last 5 years bartending.

Of course I do that when i'm working and sober. Not 4 enormous vodka pint glasses into the night after a 3/4 bottle of wine and 2 glasses of port.

If a bartender-friend came into my bar and did the same thing, i'd be angry. But it is sort of a different situation, since this is a bar that is VERY LAID back and I have been a patron for years. Again, even with that said, I know I should have asked permission first. I'm 100% in the wrong here, and feel like an idiot even as I write this. But, my only defense is that I have been in the bar before, with the owner and other bartenders and they will wave me behind the bar to make a drink in the past. That's why I like going here, they are good people.

The bartender is cool about it, and accepts the apology. They didn't have slo-gin and he pours the shot. I look at it and know its going to be bad, and can't even drink it. I quickly pour it out, not making the bartender very happy again. I glumly shrug my shoulders, pay him my tab plus a $20 tip. On my way out of the pub, I see Tony*.

Now Tony is a guy who hates me. Hates me because I kicked him off my dart team 3 years ago. Funny story. I have been playing darts in town for eons. Ever since I moved here. As the captain, we watch the game as our teammates play and offer advice (quietly) in cricket or the 01 games. Tony is playing another fellow, and has a good lead in cricket. But he isn't taking advantage of getting points. When he closes a number, Tony is just moving to the next. The danger with that is that it takes just 1 dart to hit a triple, and a 1 number lead evaporates. Tony is on 16 and his opponent has 17 open.

I tell Tony, 'Hit a 17.'

He didn't look at me. Starts hitting at 16.

"Dude, hit a 17."

He hits one 16.

Long story short? The guy catches up. It becomes neck and neck at 15, and on bulls Tony wins by 1 bull. The other guy had 2 bulls.

Tony, spins around and shouts at me, "DON'T TELL *ME* HOW TO PLAY DARTS."

I am flabbergasted. This was Tony's first time playing league darts as far as I knew. He played "regular" darts for years at the local pubs. I knew him well enough, we weren't pals, but he was all right. The other players are looking at me, with a "What the fuck?" expression. My teammates know I was right. But Tony is too proud or egotistical to listen to me.

"Hey, Tony. I'm the captain. That's how league darts work. I will tell you when to change your stragegy, and you will do it. If you don't like it, you don't play."

Tony defiantly goes, "Well screw it. I won't play."

I shrug, "Ok, you are no longer needed on my team."

I don't think Tony really expected me to kick him off the team. He sat down.

A guy walked up to me and says, "Hey man. Saw what you told that guy, and you were totally right. By the way, I play darts, too. Just moved into town, and been playing at school in South Carolina. You need a guy?"

I said sure. This new guy plays the next week, and he is LIGHTS-OUT good. Better than anyone on our team and easily is the Rookie of the Year in darts. I'm laughing even as I write this because it amazed me how lucky of a pick up that whole situation was. Had Tony not lost his cool, I doubt I would have needed another dart player. Also the new guy turns out to be totally cool, makes friends with everyone on the team, and because a part of the "regulars" that I see around town.

So......

I see Tony.

In the last 3 years we could have said about 10 words to each other. I will say, "Hi Tony." when I see him, and that's all.

I buy him a beer on my way out, slapping $6 down on the bar. He protests and doesn't want my beer. "No, no, no..." he keeps saying. I shrug and leave the $6 on the bar. No idea if he drank his beer or not.

After reading all that, what popular 80's TV show was I thinking of when I changed all the names?

2 Comments

Who's the Boss.

You should post your Nanny's recipe. It sounds really good and making me v. hungry. Sadly, I can't cook.

Who's the Boss. Sounds like you had a fun three dayer!

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This page contains a single entry by Furey published on February 19, 2007 12:00 AM.

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