Rockabilly Weekend

I just got back from another weekend in NYC. Considering the 5 hour drive, you’d think I wouldn’t be so keen on visiting as often as I do. I had a couple of reasons for going, but the main reason this time was to attend the wedding of a very old friend from Staten Island, Tom F. And when I say “old” I mean I was 5 and he was 4 ½ when we met.

Its strange because when I moved to New England to go to school for, and work in aviation I felt this strange compulsion to cut ties with my old life and start things anew. I suppose that in some part that’s because like many geeks, I was totally uncomfortable in my own skin when I was youngster. (And this was WAY before it was hip to be a geek.) Its hard when you can never seem to figure out where you fit in. But in the last year or so I’ve renewed ties with some of the greatest friends I ever had as a kid and its been great. Its certainly not a matter of needing a new crop of pals –a guy couldn’t ask for a better bunch of people to call friend than I’ve got here in NH. It was more like I realized that cutting those ties to the “old life” was retarded. So as the opportunities to hook up with people again come along I’ve been jumping at them.

Until about 6 months ago I had not seen Tom, (and its so hard not to still call him “Tommy”), in almost 10 years.

It was a pretty brutal weekend in the city -the NY Metro area is in the middle of a nasty heat-wave. When temps run into the high 90’s in that sort of urban environment its Suck on a level most of you cannot imagine. Unless you’re a Vietnam vet –in which case you know more about it than me. Yesterday, the day of the wedding, was the hottest day of the weekend. So when I tell you that wearing a shirt, tie, and dress pants was pretty awful, you can try to imagine what I mean by that. But I was rockin’ the  black “dress” Chuck Taylors, so metaphorically speaking I was living in coolsville. Well . . .mostly I was just sweating buckets and trying to remember the names of Tom’s counsins and aunts I hadn’t seen in years.

Aside from Tom’s immediate family I knew absolutely NO ONE at this party. And since those guys were all fairly occupied with the days events I was afraid things might be a tad awkward. But since Tom and his new wife, Kristin, seem to have a wide range of friends I was not alone in this. There where quite a few people that didn’t know anybody. I made nice with Gary –Tom’s old bartender. You know you’re badass when you’ve got your own bartender. I also made nice briefly with Wendy –the friend of the wedding photographer. And a few others as well.

Because Tom and Kristin are both big music geeks the band they hired was AMAZING. Tom is a total rockabilly kid. It was impossible not to shake your booty. Though sadly, I didn’t get to do any actual dancing. By the time enough people were on the dance floor for me to feel comfortable the only girls I could see without partners were the little kids. Wendy had left by then, and as nice as Gary was, he wasn’t my type. Luckily the bar was well stocked with gin, so I found other ways of amusing myself.

Boz Boorer was there and he busted out a few songs as well. That was pretty fucking dope. I’m not sure where else to go with that, but it gives you some idea of how big a rockabilly geek my boy Tom is. Its beautiful. The ceremony was fantastic for all the right reasons –it was casual, it was touching, and it was short. Despite its brevity I still cried –I seem to do this at every wedding I go to. And I’m okay with that. It was all the grooms fault anyway. Tom is what my dear departed father, Bob Easy, liked to call a “mush”. The dude is all heart. So when he not only exchanges vows with his new wife, but pledges himself to his new step-daughter –I lost it. Luckily the complete stranger sitting next to me had a Kleenex.

As I type this I am feeling the effects of 3 days of late nights, with a 5 hour road-trip tagged on to either end of the weekend. To back up to the beginning of my trip, I rolled into Staten Island at about 10:30pm on Friday –just in time to put my bags down before my little brother came home and we walked right out the door and hit the nearest bar. Its sad that when I was a kid on Staten there was really only one half-way decent bar on the Island, the Cargo. And now, many years later, there is still only one half-way decent bar on the Island. The Cargo is actually fairly “meh”, but when the only other choices are totally pathetic sports bars and (as the Voice noted) Cop bars, you can’t be too picky. And besides, I have fond memories of drinking there for several years before I was old enough to. So anyway, we hung at the Cargo until one of my brother’s friends puked on the bar (way to go ROB!) and then we hit the Olympia Diner for some 3am eggs and bacon.

Saturday I spent in Brooklyn with everybody’s favorite letterer, Jeff Powell. Jeff used all of his magical powers to keep me cool and sedate as the sun rose above his barren, treeless, block. Luckily Prospect Park’s just a few blocks away so we sought the cool cover of its many splendid trees. I think I fell asleep. Then it was a bitchin’ lunch at the best Mediterranean place I’ve ever eaten at, followed by some inane Wii antics back at Jeff’s. Just for the record –the Wii totally sucks. I don’t care what anybody says.

Anyhoo, my little brother put on a meatastic BBQ that night, and as I settled into yet another of my frequent meat-comas I seem to have consumed way more beer and . . .other stuff, than I should have. Shortly after counting every single blade of grass on the lawn, I excused myself and went somewhere to pass out. When I awoke the next morning the pixies and dwaves were gone and I felt fine. Not sure why, but I don’t question it.

Then comes the wedding, and drinking, and eating, and some fantastic cake! But cake on top of several gin & tonics in 98 degree weather –ugh! From now on I DEMAND that all wedding cakes be served first thing. Even before the ceremony. That way the rest of us can drink with abandon and not worry about what ill effects the cake may later have on us.

So yeah, three days later, back in New Hampshire I’m more than ready to settled back into life here in sleepy little Wilton. Until next weekend, when I think I’m down at ConnectiCon.

I’m sorry liver. I promise to make it up to you later.

Random Splendor;

I Don’t Know What This Is, But Its Awesome!

Because Soundwave Should Be In The New Movie. Even if no one know’s what a tape-deck is anymore. Fucking I-Pods! Screw you Michalle Bay!

I Don’t Remember This Transformer . . .