travel

On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me…

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Growing up poor is an adventure in restraint.  Especially, when you are a child who’s wiser than his years, and knows that his parents struggle financially.  I learned at a very early age, to hide my disappointment when I didn’t get exactly what I wanted.  If I got it at all.  

Brands that were off.  Colors that were wrong.  The K-Mart version rather than the name brand version. 

To be fair, sometimes I’d be surprised and get exactly what I wanted.  The year we got our pong game, followed a few years later by an Atari console.  These were great years.  

Still, I learned to feign excitement.  I learned to smile through the disappointment.  

It’s a great gift to have learned as a child that is very useful as an adult.  Smiling through the disappointment when the bonus is less than you thought it would be.  When the role you auditioned for was not the one you got.  When your boyfriend buys tickets to the musical you want to see, but buys partial view tickets to save money.  

Or.  

In the mid 90’s I moved to NYC.  My mother asked what I wanted for Christmas.  And by then I’d learned to set the bar low, and to be very specific.  I really didn’t need anything so I asked for white bath towels.  

Easy right?  

The reason I mention that I was living in NYC, was that I was living on my own and only needed a couple of towels.  

The catch was, that anyone who was going to buy me a present that year for Christmas asked my mom what they should get me.  And she replied every time, white bath towels.  

And Christmas comes, and I go home, and we gather on Christmas morning to open gifts.  My cousins pass out the gifts.  I had more packages than I thought I would.  

We are a go around and open one gift at a time family, so the opening commenced.  I open my first gift and it’s a white bath towel.  The opening continues and it gets back to me.  

It’s a white bath towel. 

And this goes on for several rounds.  When it’s all said and done, I think I have seven or eight towels.  Nothing else.  Just towels.  

And I think to myself,  I got what I asked for, but what does a single man going to do with 8 white bath towels.  Plus, I live in NYC, I have one closet, that’s the size of a shoe box.  

I’m very grateful, and not disappointed at all.  I didn’t really need anything and I got what I asked for.  

But wait.  It’s gets better.  

Fast forward 365 days. 

Christmas is here again.  I’ve flown home and am about to start opening gifts again.  They get to me, and what would you know, the first package contains white bath towels.  Two more circles around and now I’m up to 6 more white bath towels.  

When I got back to NYC I had enough towels to open a hotel.  

But wait.  

Yes, the following year, I got two more white bath towels.  

After we opened gifts that year, I said to my mom, “Please for the love of god, can I NOT get bath towels again next year.”  

And I didn’t.  

Soon after, we stopped exchanging gifts, but I’m pretty sure I still had these same towels when I moved in with Adam.  

They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Picture this Sicily, 1923. 

Actually, picture this.  New York City.  1983.  

My first trip to NYC. 

It was speech and drama students from Scott County Senior High School, seniors, who’d participated along the way.  Some of the specifics are a little fuzzy, but the stories are 100% true.  

My mother was pissed that I was going.  I’d never asked for permission.  I forged the permission slip.  When I told her, she asked who was paying for it, and I said I was.  By that time in my senior year things had gotten very contentious. 

We left on a Thursday.  We all piled in to Jason’s dad’s tricked out van. Our teacher Ms. Moore was driving.  The drive up was not memorable.  In fact, I remember nothing about it.  The trip back was much better with the story of all stories to share.  

We got to NYC and checked into the Howard Johnson, in Times Square.  I still have the ashtray from our room.  It’s on a shelf in my office.  

I don’t remember the order of the stories, but these are things that happened.  

One morning around 11:00 we all walked into a bar, sat at a table and ordered drinks. It was my first drink in a bar. I ordered a whiskey sour.  We were served, with no question.  

One of my classmates spent the night throwing up, and was HUNGOVER the next day.  VERY hung over.  

We went to Macy’s.  I remember the wooden escalators.  

We went to Tiffany’s.  There were four of us I believe.  We got our own personal security guard who followed us from floor to floor.  42 years later I’d get an engagement ring from that store.  

At one point we got on the subway, we had no idea where we are going.  We get on.  The doors start to close as a family is entering.  The mother and father get on, but the doors close in front of the daughter.  The subway starts to move and one of us says pull the cord, so the only time in all my time of riding the subway, someone pulled the emergency stop cord.

We WERE YELLED AT by a million people, but the little girl was reunited with her parents.  

The subway starts again, and we are immediately plunged into darkness.  We ride several stops with absolutely no lighting.  

We were on our way to the Bronx Zoo.  We ride and ride and finally get off.  We go up to the street.  And we are the only white people as far as the eye can see.  We weren’t scared, really, but a kind cop, suggested that we go back down and go back in the direction in which we came.  

One day, late afternoon, we are walking in Time Square, and a man approaches us about buying a camera. I had been wanting a camera and said, sure I’d buy a camera from him.  He tells me to follow him, and I very smartly gave my wallet to someone I was with.  I followed him with my 40 bucks and when I got there, he asked me for my wallet.  I said, I didn’t have a wallet but I had 40 dollars.  He took the money and left.  I looked around and there were people doing drugs in the entry way I was in.  Shooting up you might say.   Whoops.  Better luck next time.  

If any of you are wondering where our teacher was during all of this, she had sequestered herself in HER hotel room and was grading term papers.  We only saw her when it was time for dinner and a show.  

Speaking of shows.  

On the first night we saw CATS.  I remember I fell asleep during Act 2.  

However.  The show started late, because they were holding the curtain.  Around 8:15, there is a murmuring through the crowd and Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter enter and sit a few rows in front of us.  Along with Amy.  They both sign autographs during intermission, which I also have somewhere.  

During intermission, Ken Page, who was playing Old Deuteronomy, sat on stage and signed autographs.  I have that as well.  

The next night we saw 42nd Street.  I did not sleep through that.  To this day it’s one of my favorite shows.  I’ve designed it twice and seen it at least four or five times.  So fun, but no autographs.  

Of course, with our teacher grading term papers, there was much wandering the streets at night.  

One night we were out and about and met Edward Herrman.  I had no idea who he was.  

But.  

The biggest highlight of the trip was meeting Bob Hope.   It was at least 3:00 a.m and we were just walking around.  He just appeared.  We stopped him and talked to him for about 90 seconds.  He was wearing orange tennis shoes and was with a “bodyguard”?  I asked him for his autograph but all I had was a check and he wouldn’t sign it.  Which I find funny now.  

On one of the nights, we went to Sardi’s.  I remember very little about the dinner and I’ve never been back.  

Then it was time to head home.  

We are driving overnight.  And at some point, early in the morning, one of my classmates, who had really never participated in speech and only had done one show, starts having a vivid sex dream.  We all sat breathlessly, as she moaned and groaned her way down intestate 64.  We never knew if it was real, or if she was just doing a performance.  Finally, she climaxed and all was calm.  We all looked at each other and never spoke of it again. 

I’ll end by saying this.  I love seeing film and photos of NYC in the 70’s and 80’s.  I can’t explain it but that’s how I remember the city.  The smells, the chill in the air, the look and feel.  Those grainy pictures are exactly how it was.  The porn advertisement all over Times Square.  The prostitutes.  The edginess.  The questionable danger.  Scary and fun all at the same time.  

Today the city is in full cinemascope, with color and grandeur.  

But the 70’s and 80’s were a different story.  

PS.  It would be several years later that our drama teacher went back to NYC with students.   We had kind of ruined it for her.  

Climb every mountain!!!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

My friend Michelle and I have been on many adventures.  

The most exciting, difficult, challenging, rewarding, and overwhelming was hiking the Grand Canyon.  

In the spring of 2002, I flew to San Francisco to join Michelle in driving back home to Chicago.  She’d been there working there for a year, and was going home.  

We left San Francisco, drove down the Pacific Coast Highway, to LA, where I visited my friend Donna Jo. The most memorable part of that visit was how fucking hot it was, “oppressive” to quote Donna Jo.

From there we drove to Santa Fe, to visit a friend, then to Vegas, and from Vegas we drove to the Grand Canyon.  

We checked in to a hotel, knowing that we had to be up early the next morning for our hike.  

We got to bed early, set our alarm and were asleep by 10:00.  

Rise and shine.  We were up and parking at the Canyon at 5:00. 

When we arrived at the top, there was a sign that said, DO NOT TRY AND HIKE THIS IN ONE DAY.  IT CAN’T BE DONE.  

I asked Michelle about this, and she assured me that her friends had done it.  

We walk closer to the beginning of the trail down, passing at least 4 million other versions of this sign. 

I’m assured that it doesn’t mean us.  

And down the trail we start. 

Fun fact.  

We are amateurs.  In the truest sense of the word.  

Our provisions include a back pack, a camera, four bottles of water, and I think 4 power bars.  That’s it.  Why the fuck would we need more water, or food than that.  

Down we go.  Chatting all the way.  We pass a couple of water stations, but we have all we need so we keep going.  

The trail is beautiful and we are bonding as we frolic down the steep incline.  

It was not a short trek down, but after a few hours, the trail flattens out and we are at the bottom of the canyon.  The river is in front of us.  There is a camp ground.  There are people that have passed us, setting up camp.  

We take in the site, I snap a few photos, that are in a box in my bedroom.  

And we start back up. 

Within 30 minutes Michelle realizes that it’s going to be a bit harder than we thought.  We are taking it slow.  And are still having fun.  

However, it’s hot.  And we are drinking our water.  

Soon there is only one bottle left.  I suggest that we ration it.  

And we climb.  And we climb.  And we go slower.  And slower.  And slower.

And soon we are out of water.  

And we climb.  And we climb.  And we climb.  

It doesn’t help that we don’t have a map, so although we are passing landmarks, we have no idea who much further it actually is to the top.  

By this time, I’m getting tired.  Michelle has become exhausted.  

And still we hike.  

Our power bars are long gone.  I’m thirsty, but fun fact, I don’t get hangry.  I can go all day without eating and it really doesn’t bother me.

Michelle on the other hand, needs a sandwich every so often.  

At one point she shouts at me, go on without me.  I’m giving up.    

I don’t.  I walk ahead, then back.    Walk ahead, then back.  

And around 7:30, I walk ahead and discover that we are at the top.

I run back down to her, and say you are almost there.  

And around 8:00 we both crest the hill.  

We sit on a bench.  Exhausted.  

We then notice that there is a visitor’s area with a coke machine.  We are armed with two sodas in no time.  We are sipping our sodas when the bus to take us back to our car comes.  And the driver tells us we aren’t allowed to have beverages.  I assure her that we are breaking the rules today, and she wasn’t happy, but she didn’t argue. 

She dropped us at our car and we drove back to our hotel.  We showered, and then went to dinner, where we laughed and laughed at how crazy it was that we’d just done what we’d done.

And we’ll always have Paris. 

And we’ll always have the Grand Canyon.  

Drivin’ down the road, I get a feelin’ that I should’ve been home yesterday, yesterday!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’ve spent my entire adult restaurant career advocating for my young staff to go live their lives.

I say adult, which means management.

I say young staff, because I’m probably not going to give the same advice to a 50-year-old staff member.

The advice I have given over and over and over and over, is go forth and DON’T multiply.

In 2013, we hired a young kid named Nick, who was desperate to become a bartender. BUT. He’d never bartended in his life. We struck a deal with him. Work service bar for the summer, days only, and we’ll let you bartend. He got to learn how to make drinks. We got a service bartender who wasn’t going to wait on more than 5 or 6 guests a day. And his earnings were meager.

His dream was go get bartending experience and then go to Colorado and be a ski bum. Teaching skiing lessons during the day, bartending at night.

And he worked hard that summer. But alas, he also fell in love.

And at the end of the summer he was living with his girlfriend in Maine, and bartending for me, making no money.

I told him over and over, put your shit in your car and drive to Colorado. But he was in love and said he couldn’t.

Then Christmas came, and his girlfriend broke up with him on Christmas Eve. He came back after the new year heartbroken. He had no girlfriend, a job that didn’t pay well, and he felt it was too late to go west.

I asked him one day: What’s keeping you here? He said nothing. I asked if he was scared? And he said yes. I said, “Nick. Pack a couple of big bags. Put them in your car. And go. You don’t have to give notice to me. It’s winter, we’ll manage. Just go. And I’ll make you this promise. If you can’t find work, get homesick, or worse, I’ll have hire you the minute you get back.

Two days later he was gone.

I heard from him a couple of times, and he was living his best life in Colorado.

On Monday of this week, a sous chef, who left in September, came in to tell me he was going to Colorado to cook for the summer/winter. I congratulated him. He said he was flying out to get a place, meet his new team, and then flying home to drive back across the country.

I encouraged him to tell his new restaurant that he needed an extra week so that when he drove across country is wasn’t a trip to get from A to B but a chance to stop and see the country. Everyone needs to see the Bridges of Madison County. Everyone, should stop and go to Cedar Point and ride a roller coaster.

I can’t wait to hear about his adventures.

I love nothing more than watching young people I know fly and be free.

This is a long way of saying I’m very grateful for the number of lives I’ve lived. Not always perfectly. But I’ve had a blast. I’ve lived in the following states: Kentucky, Georgia, Ohio, Kansas, New York, Iowa, Alabama (for two weeks), California, Oklahoma, and Maine. Each adventure more exciting than the next.

I really only stressed about money a couple of times, and had to ask my parents for a favor a time or two, but I just went. And I didn’t move lightly. I took a 24’ UHaul to Alabama, then two weeks later, loaded it up and moved back home, leaving the keys to my apartment on the kitchen counter. I drove a U-Haul cross country twice to get to California and back.

I have only a couple of regrets in my life. Seriously. And even then, I’m aware enough to know that the experiences I regret helped me make me who I am today. I met lots of wonderful people. I saw lots of lovely places.

I will be eternally grateful for the life I’ve lived. It’s never been boring. It’s never been for the weak of heart.

PS. I promise I’m not dying. Just sharing stories of my life in the fast lane.

Tune in tomorrow when I talk about the Grand Canyon.

But ah! Paree!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

In 2000, I was working a corporate job in NYC.  I was an office manager for an internet start-up company, way back when everyone was working for an internet start-up company. 

It was my attempt at getting out of food and beverage.  I was not waiting tables, I worked a 9 to 5.  I wore my NYC white starched cotton shirt, with a tasteful tie.  And I’d sit in the office answering the phones, helping out wherever needed.  

For the life of me I don’t remember the exact date, but I do know it was summer, and the phone rang and it was my good friend Michelle.  She’d just landed at JFK airport, on her way to Paris. 

She’d fucked up and thought she had a three-hour layover, but it was 9:15 and her flight didn’t leave until 9:00 that night.  

We talked for a few minutes and she asked if she could come in and hang out with me, and perhaps at least grab lunch.  I said okay, but I had an appointment with my boss and we were supposed to have a lunch meeting.  

I asked him if he’d mind rescheduling and instead, he said, just invite her along.  I did.  

At 12:00 that afternoon the three of us were seated on the patio of an Italian Restaurant at the Seaport.  We each had a glass of wine, and my boss spent the whole meal telling Michelle where to eat and what to see in Paris. 

Writing this jogged a memory that let me look up the date.  It was July 24, 2000.  I’ll explain in a bit.  

We finished up lunch and were paying, and Michelle let out a sigh and said, I wish you could go with me.  I laughed and said, well that can’t happen.  

And without missing a beat, my boss said why not?  You have vacation time you haven’t used.  I have a connection at Air France and probably can get you a deal on the ticket.  And I’m sure that we can cover for you while you are gone. 

It was 1:30.  

Operation send Jeff to Paris was in full swing.  

Michelle made sure her hotel accommodations would work for both of us.  My boss arranged for a plane ticket.  

At 5:00 I was at home packing, never having been so grateful that I’d just done laundry.  

I packed a suitcase and an hour later we were in a town car on the way to the airport.  

Not only were we on the same flight, we had seats next to each other.  

The flight was uneventful, I didn’t sleep a wink.  

I was so excited.  

The reason I now remember the date is that the Concorde crashed the afternoon after we landed.  In fact, as soon as we heard we both called home to let everyone know we were safe.  

We got there and made our way to the hotel to drop off our bags.  

First stop, meet Michelle’s friends from college.  It was a reunion of sorts and they did not know I was coming.  We found them, had lunch and then were off to the Musee d’Orsay.  All I remember of the museum was that there was a theatrical exhibit, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. 

We wandered around, and then had dinner, and then were off to hear Vivaldi’s Four Seasons at an old church lit by candlelight.  It was beautiful, but by then I’d had no sleep in over 24 hours.  I was tired.  I napped through the end of it.  

We did all of the touristy things in Paris.  The Eiffle Tower.  The Louvre.  Shopping on the Champs-Elysees.   I remember purchasing a beautiful watch that day, that I wore until about three years ago, when I broke it and it was unfixable.  

The friends we’d met had already been there for a few days, and after a couple of days we said our good-byes and Michelle and I were on our own.  

Our first night was an adventure and we set out to explore gay Paree.  First stop was a lesbian bar around the corner from out hotel.  

There was a girl at the bar who would say au revoir to everyone leaving.  Very solemnly.  To this day we can look at across the room at each other and say, “au revoir.”  And immediately start giggling.  

Eventually, we split up.  I was off to find boys.  She was off to find girls.

Fast forward a few too many hours.  

It’s late.  I’m drunk.  I find my way back to the hotel.  And I realize that I don’t have a key, because we had to turn it in to the hotel when we left.  I knocked and knocked and finally they answered.  And we get upstairs and we knock and knock but no one is answering.  Turns out Michelle has gone to sleep and is not responding.  The hotel guy gets the spare key and lets me in.  

He is pissed.  

The next morning, we are up early.  We have tickets to Versailles and have to be on a bus by 9:30.  

As we are leaving, the hotel manager pulls us aside and tells us we have to go.  No more American noise.  We have to go.  

We explain very American like that we’ll go, just not today as we have to go to Versailles.   

We leave him very exasperated with us and off we go on the bus, very hung over.  

Versailles in beautiful.  And we’d have enjoyed it more had it not been so hot and us so hungover.  

That night we are in bed early.   Long before curfew.  

And when we get up the next morning the manager reminds us to take our things with us.  

We’d hoped he would forget. 

We go back upstairs pack. 

And then go in search of another hotel, which we find, and this one had air conditioning.  

I was in Paris for 10 days.  The day we flew home, you could see the crash site where the Concorde had crashed.  It was very scary.  

The whole trip was a whirlwind.  And fun.   And it’s a great story of how I went to Paris on about 5 minutes notice, got kicked out of a hotel, and learned to say au revoir, very solemnly.  

Knock three times!!!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I loved living in NYC. It’s very true that you can be invisible there if you want to be. It’s also the biggest small town in the world, as I was always running in to people I knew, some of them only there for the weekend.

I moved in to the Financial District in January of 2000. I mostly wanted to be closer to work, but also I wanted to cut my commute in half. I found a cute little apartment, that to this day, is the smallest apartment I’ve ever lived in.

It was a triplex. In NYC a duplex or triplex means floors, not apartments. I had three levels, each level about five square feet.

In fact, I had to give my sofa a way, because it wouldn’t fit in the apartment.

It was home however, and it was fun to say that I lived in Manhattan.

Because it was no longer an hour train ride home, nor a 50 dollar cab ride, I found myself going out a little more.

One night, I was at Maria’s Crisis in The Village.

For those of you not in the know, Marie’s Crisis is a piano bar, in the basement of a building just off 7th Avenue. It’s not much bigger than my apartment, you can touch the ceiling, it’s definitely a fire trap, but it’s also fun, fun, fun.

I’d stopped there and had bought a beer and was listening (aka singing) to show tunes.

If I loved you.

The Trolley Song.

Suddenly Seymour.

Everything’s coming up roses.

At some point I noticed a guy watching me from across the room.

Unlike so many other times, I actually approached him and said hello. His name was Mike. He was in advertising.

We exchanged numbers and went out a few times.

I wouldn’t say we were ever boyfriends.

The love of his life had just passed away. I was the mess that I always have been.

We moved to just being friends very quickly.

He’d invite me to parties, etc. Dinner out with his friends.

I didn’t have any friends so I did not return the favor.

One night, we were all hanging out and he mentioned that he was being sent to France for work and was going to extend the trip by a week and asked if any of us wanted to meet him there.

I didn’t think twice about it, but then he mentioned it again a few weeks later, and fun fact, I ended up flying to Nice in March of 2001.

It was chilly there, but so beautiful.

We had about 10 days planned.

We were starting in Nice. Then taking the train to Vienna, Munich and Salzberg.

Much of the trip is a blur 25 years later.

Things that stand out:

The train ride was horrible, because Mike’s assistant booked the trip, but didn’t get us a sleeper car. We rode overnight and were awakened every 90 minutes or so to show our tickets.

We ended up in Verona at 5:00 a.m. The only passengers in a closed train station, waiting to transfer. I spent 30 bucks, buying food out of vending machines, because of the denominations I had, and the lack of it spitting out change.

We were the three gentlemen of Verona.

When the sun came up the next day, the views were beautiful as we traveled through Austria and Germany.

Dachau was horribly horrible. I’ll start there.

And the bus driver had a wickedly horrible sense of humor when announcing our stop there.

The rest of Munich was beautiful.

When in Vienna, always bring a tux in case your friends want to go to opening night at The Vienna Opera.

Seriously.

We’d read so much about the opera house, and when we discovered we could see a show there we jumped at the chance.

Tickets were EXPENSIVE, because it turned out it was opening night for Billy Budd.

I however, thought I was on vacation, so I had jeans. Lots and lots of jeans. That I wore, to sit in the orchestra section, five rows from the stage, while everyone else, including Mike was in a suit.

The thing I remember about the show the most, was how the theater smelled like opening night. You could smell freshly cut and painted wood.

The set was beautiful.

Salzburg, was the most fun though.

If you are ever given the chance to take The Sound of Music tour, do it. Three gay boys sitting in the back of the van singing every word to every song on the stereo.

Do a deer.

Sixteen going on Seventeen.

I must have done something good.

We were shown the front of the house, then drove a bit and saw the back of the house. We saw the tree lined drive. The gazebo. The cemetery they hide in. And best of all the church they got married in.

We had a blast.

Later that night, we went out for dinner.

Then a bar.

And somehow, it was late and we were closing the bar. The three of us, were chatting up three boys from Salzberg.

They invited us to meet them at an after hours bar.

They were going home first, but gave us instructions on how to get there.

I’m making this up but the instructions were:

Go to the third traffic light and turn left.

Go two blocks and turn right at the museum.

Then another block and a half and you’ll see a long staircase going down in the middle of the street.

At the bottom of the stairs do a U-turn and go about three blocks to the alley that says Smith.

Turn right there and you’ll see a red door.

Knock three times and say that Steve sent you.

And the directions were 100% correct. We knocked on the door. Said the password. And were let it.

To a tiny, afterhours bar.

It was crowded inside. Our friends were not there yet.

We went in and assessed the room.

There was an older woman at the end of the bar who seemed to be holding court.

And the room was filled with mostly attractive youngish gay men.

There was a bead covered door that lead to another room, that I don’t think you need to know about.

The point of the story is the woman at the end of the bar.

She took a liking to us immediately.

Turns out she was a film star in in the 40’s and 50’s. At some point, the industry moved on without her and she opened the bar.

And now every night she held court as the young men in her circle all had fun.

She spoke English with a very thick accent, but was not hard to understand. We spent the evening drinking, and conversing with a wide variety of people.

If I remember correctly, the guys who sent us there, never showed, but it didn’t stop us from having a blast.

Around 6:30, it was announced that the bar was finally closing and we said our goodbyes.

We hugged our Diva tightly, said thank you for the hospitality and started our venture home.

It really was a weirdly perfect European Night.

I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

In the winter of 2000/2001, I was working out at the New York Sport Club in the financial district in New York City.

Before any of you laugh, I weighed 185 pounds, and was in tip top shape.  

One of the physical trainers there was named Rich and he and I took a liking to each other.  He asked not if he could train me, but if I’d be interested in working out with him.  

I said of course, and we did.  

He was in great shape, was very sweet and fun fact, he was mostly deaf.  It was a new experience for me.  

We dated for a bit, but he was far more interested in me, than I was in him, and it didn’t last long. 

That being said, we worked out together for a bit, and stayed friends.

In early spring, he invited me to an event at his apartment in Chelsea, to discuss the bicycle ride from Boston to NYC to raise money for AIDS research.   

I went and thought what great idea.

The funny things is: he decided not to do it, and I decided to DO IT.  

The ride that year was from NYC to Boston, covered over 350 miles and was from July 19 to July 22.  

I spent the rest of the spring/summer NOT training.  

I rode my bike for a hot minute but I was not interested in the heavy lifting.  

The smartest thing I did all summer, was ask my friend Mike if I could borrow his road bike, instead of riding my mountain bike.  It did make all the difference in the world. 

I forget how much money I HAD to raise to do the ride but I exceeded the amount by about 1,000 dollars. 

Lots of my friends/family donated and this was before social media.

In fact, I raised so much money, that on the first day of the ride, I gave “away” some of my donations, so some fellow riders wouldn’t have to pay out of pocket. 

Finally, it was July 19, the first day.  

I had delivered my bike a couple of days ago so it could be delivered to Bear Mountain, New York.  

On July 19, I took a cab to the area for the bus that would take us to Bear Mountain to start the rise. 

Fun fact:  I left my cell phone in the cab.  It was the first and last time I lost a cell phone.  It meant that I couldn’t be in contact with any of the people tracking my ride or coming to meet me.  

I got to Bear Mountain, picked up my bike and with a blow of a whistle the ride commenced. 

It was 350+ miles from Bear Mountain to Boston.  I was disappointed it wasn’t from Boston to NYC as it had been before but I was sure to have fun.  

The way the ride worked, I’d ride my bike the specified route for the day, and when I got there, my belongings would be there.  I would sleep in a designated tent, but I’d also find food, shelter, showers, massage therapists, chiropractor, etc.  

I won’t go in to the details.  The ride was hard.  There were too many hills.  But I was determined to do the ride.  I didn’t walk my bike.  I didn’t ask for the van to take me to the next rest area. I didn’t complain.  

I rode every moment of the 350 miles.  

What I will say, is that it was the perfect idea of society.  There were people to help you.  There were people cheering you on.  When you got to the top of a particularly bad hill, you’d step off your bike, to cheer on the people behind you.  When you got to camp, it was a mutual admiration society.  People cheered you on as you pulled in to camp.  They asked you to join them for lunch or dinner.  They asked how you were doing. The insisted you go ahead of them to the showers etc if you had a bad day.  

To this day, it was four days of Eutopia and what we all want society to actually be.  

And on the last day, early afternoon, you passed in to the Boston city limits.  There were people lining the streets, screaming and the crowds grew as you got closer to the finish line. 

And sometime around 5:00 Sunday afternoon, I crossed the line.  I was tired.  Sweaty.  And beat. 

But I’d done it.  

And.

My friend Michelle and my friend Lou were there to meet me.  After we found each other, we went to the Cheers bar to have a beer, then went to dinner at a restaurant I don’t remember.  

The next day, I flew back to NYC.  And at the end of the week I picked up my belongings and my friend Mike’s bike.  

To this day, it still is one of the best moments of my life.  

A friend on Facebook, mentioned that he is working the crew on the ride in California this week and that it’s the last year it’s happening.  

I highly recommend doing it if you ever get the chance.  

So sue me, sue me…

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I could NOT sleep the other night. At 3:00 a.m. I was wide awake, lost in memories from my far past.

At one point, I picked up my phone and was scrolling.

I saw a post, and it reminded me of a friend I had in Lexington back in the early 1990’s. I’ve thought about him often, but that night I went down a rabbit hole of Google trying to find him.

It took a bit, but about halfway down the second page, I found his obituary. He died in 2003 and from the sounds of tributes on the page, he had not been well mentally or physically.

I had the breath knocked out of me. We had been buddies.

Which reminded me of something that happened, when I stopped by his work one day.

He cut hair for a living. I knew he got off around 5:00 and I met him at his shop. We went down the street to get ice cream and then walked back and sat on a bench in front.

We were chatting minding our own business when a man in a jeep drove by and called us f*gs.

I didn’t know what to say, but my friend was having no part of it.

He watched the man park a couple of stores down and go inside.

I sat there, as he went down to the jeep, pulled out his keys and etched f*g on the side of the man’s jeep.

He was almost back to the bench when the man started yelling.

We both ran into the shop, out the back door and hid.

We thought we’d escaped.

Except the next day, the police show up and they ask if he was involved. He assured them it was not him. A few days later, he is served with papers. The man whose jeep he keyed has decided to sue him.

When you cut hair, you know a lot of people.

In fact. Some of the people whose hair you cut might just be attorneys. Some of them might be very good attorneys who, tell my friend that they’ll take care of it.

The attorney, does a little investigation and discovers that the jeep driver is about as pure as you’d expect him to be. He has an outstanding warrant for his arrest, AND he owes several years back child support.

When all was said and done, jeep driver ended up in jail, the lawsuit was dismissed and hopefully jeep driver learned not to be a bully when your friend has a good attorney.

And as because it never ceases to amaze me, I was called a f*g today while driving, because I tapped my horn behind someone who was sitting in an intersection they had the light in.

It certainly told me all I needed to know about him.

All the children of the world!!!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

My first real waiting tables job was at Bennigan’s in Atlanta.

At some point during my couple of years there, I decided to try and get a better waiting tables job.

One of my best friends was working at the famous Peasant restaurants and suggested I my try one of their more casual locations.

I applied.

I got hired.

I didn’t stay long. Fine dining lunch was not for me. And to make matters worse, you had to memorize the menu details. I’m sure none of you would be expecting anything less.

However, the menu was handwritten on a small chalkboard with just the items. Part of the schtick was dropping the chalkboard on the table and then spending the next ten minutes, reciting from memory, the details of the menu.

Most of the people who dined there for lunch had eaten there before. But they loved to ask you to recite away. Ten minutes in, you were still talking and the weeds were flourishing in your section.

This brings me back to the day I got hired. I’m in the dining room, and am meeting with a manager. It is between lunch and dinner.

We go through the interview, I answer all the questions, discuss my availability, etc.

She then says, so I’d like to offer you the job, but I will tell you before you accept that we have a very diverse staff. We have white, black, Asian, and some of our staff is gay. I want to know that you’ll be comfortable with that.

I laughed quietly to myself. She thought I was straight.

How sweet.

I assured her that I’d be fine with the staff, and was excited to get started.

I worked there two weeks after training, gave my notice and never went back.

Fine dining was just not for me.

Rocky Horror Picture Show

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

Picture this. Sicily 1902.

Actually, the date is summer, 1983. I have just graduated from high school. I’m working at Wendy’s and mowing a friend’s lawn to make money.

The weekends are spend going to Rocky Horror in Lexington, to a dollar cinema in Chevy Chase that ceased to exist around a million years ago.

A typical Saturday night involved, picking up my friends. Stephanie. Scott. Kendra. The list goes on. I would drive until I wrecked my car. Actually, Stephanie wrecked my car, as I was teaching her to drive.

We’d drive to Lexington, and then stop at the drive thru liquor store on the way into Lexington. We’d ask for a bottle of cheap vodka and was never, ever carded. The glory of drive through liquor stores and friends who looked over 21. Actually, I don’t think they cared.

The truth was, the county I grew up in was dry. No liquor sales. Not ever. Period.

In college we’d talk about going West which was the name of the liquor store just over the county line, West Liquors. It also had a drive thru.

We’d drive thru the liquor store, and then stop for orange juice at a convenience store.

We’d find parking near the theater, and then pour the vodka into the orange juice. We’d pass it around and it only took a sip or two for most of us to swear we were tipsy.

Finally, at 11:50 we get out of my 1971 Ford Galaxy and walk toward the Chevy Chase Cinema.

The movie is The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I saw that move 50+ times ove the course of the last year. I know all of the lines. I know all of the actors.

We take a seat and then at exactly 12:01, the movie starts.

Michael Rennie was ill
The Day the Earth Stood Still
But he told us where we stand
And Flash Gordon was there
In silver underwear
Claude Rains was The Invisible Man
Then something went wrong
For Fay Wray and King Kong
They got caught in a celluloid jam
Then at a deadly pace
It Came From Outer Space
And this is how the message ran

We brought all the props. We screamed out all of the added dialogue.

We were far from virgins. By the end of summer, I’d seen the movie more than 50 times.

Sometime in the middle of the summer, on a rainy night, my friend Stephanie was driving. She pulled onto the street, skidded and ended up hitting a truck.

It’s when I learned that auto insurance goes with the car, not the driver, her father could pay for the damage, and it was the end of a car that I would give a million bucks to still be driving today.

A 1971 Ford Galaxy, with red leather interior and a creamy off-white exterior. 15,000 miles, only driven by my mom’s bosses, wife.

At the end of the movie, we’d stand and celebrate the success that was our attendance at the movie.

Then we’d find my. The small bottle of vodka, properly disposed of in the trash barrel on the street. Any hope of tipsiness long gone.
We’d laugh about how awesome we were to know all the feedback.
And I’d drive us home.

In Georgetown, I’d drop everyone off at their cars, or their homes.

Then I’d drive Stephanie and me, to Sadieville.

The ritual, repeated itself until we all left to go our separate ways at the end of the summer.

In August, I’d start Georgetown College. Baptist College. No drinking. No girls in your dorm room. Only having had dancing for the past 4 years.

Fun fact. This was a post about my Freshman year at Georgetown, and ended up being about the summer after my senior year of high school.

More to come later.