Sorry for no update yesterday, but I had a horrific herpes breakout, and spent all day in my doctor’s waiting room with a bowl of disinfectant (you know, for dipping) and some steel wool.
I mean, uh, I was, um, tired. That’s it. That other stuff was, um, a typo. Yeah, that’s the ticket, a typo! Ignore the previous paragraph. I was merely sleeping under my desk at work, periodically pausing to frantically scratch my groin and whimper.
I mean, um, get a drink of water.
Moving right along.
HW and I spent the weekend in Stone Harbor, New Jersey, as guests of our friends Steve and Ariann, who have a condo out there. A brief chronology (in list form, since I enjoy using that, mainly because it takes up space and makes me look organized):
- 6pm Friday: Arrive at Stone Harbor, only to discover that Ariann and Steve have not yet arrived. Found a bar. I know, this is out of character for us, but we figured we’d get into the whole “vacation” theme with a drink or 3.
- 7:30pm: Return to Ariann and Steve’s, dump our stuff off, and head to Sylvester’s for grub.
A word about Sylvester’s: delicious seafood, and it’s BYOB, which makes it relatively inexpensive. We showed up with 3 bottles of wine, and stuffed ourselves with crabcakes, mussels, clam chowder, shrimp (aka skrimps), and mildly overdone french fries. We love food so much.
Okay, perhaps a chronological form isn’t going to work, because I lost my watch a few weeks back, and since the wine was flowing heavily, dates and times become a little hazy. After Sylvester’s we went to a bar, the name of which escapes me, and enjoyed a great deal of conversation and a large amount of booze. After that we went home and went straight to bed.
On Saturday I had to do work at 8am, which of course meant that the system I use to connect in to work was broken. I was, luckily, able to have my highly kickass coworker Matt do the stuff for me, and then we went out for bloody marys, followed by a few hours lounging on the beach. I even got some color! (Mostly red. Very red.)
Then we grabbed some lunch at a bar, followed by lounging at the condo, followed by meeting for dinner at some delicious restaurant (the whole building was quite tasty; I spoiled my dinner by filling up on stucco), and then: the club.
Oh MAN. You have not lived until you’ve seen the City Rhythm Orchestra. (I say this with my tongue planted so far in my cheek it’s about to plunge through my flesh like in “Species”.) It’s a “wonderful” band consisting of 2 saxophones, a trumpet, a trombone, bass, keyboards, drums, guitarist, and lead singer.
Oh, the lead singer.
But we’ll get to that in a moment. First, the guitarist. Looked like Beck, sounded like freck, thought he was John Mayer. Really kinda sad. He was no better a guitarist than I am (which is one way of saying he sucked), and definitely not as strong a singer. Clearly I need to get a band.
But the lead singer. He SO wanted to be Tom Jones! It was kinda sad. Tanned skin, all black outfit, bopped around like something from 1964, mainly because 1964 was the last year this guy was young enough to be the lead singer for a band in a dance club. He was easily 55-60 years young, and had enough gold chains that we really hoped he would start yelling “I PITY THE FOOL!” and “DON’T MAKE ME MAD! RRRRRRRR!”
We lasted about 8 songs before we went back to the house to play scrabble. HELPFUL TIP FOR BANDS: if, while you are playing, patrons of the club go home to play board games, you might need to improve in some areas.
