TOO MUCH IS JUST ENOUGH – PART 1

NEW ORLEANS, February 22 — When I rolled in to the Banks Street Bar and Grill at 11:15 PM, Wedge was already there saving a parking spot right in front. “Tonight’s theme is, if you didn’t throw up, you didn’t throw down,” he said. He handed me a gator tooth, a wristband and a choice of beads to wear, one of crawfishes or one of little plastic toy penises.

I get asked often if I’m gay or straight. Not sure why that is, but I always have the same response. “Listen, I have a rule.” I say with a deadpan look. “I don’t like a cock in my mouth nor in my ass.” Yet apparently, I must like them around my neck, because I picked the penis necklace. I thought it would make more conversation.

“By the way, I will win that steak dinner,” Wedge declared as he handed me my Mardi Gras beads. I warned him. “I can’t promise you’ll win the MVP because we still have a long way to go in February yet. You are winning 28 to nothing, but anything can happen. Blown coverage here, an interception there. (All football references, by the way, to those who don’t know what I mean, but if you watched the Patriots fall apart against the Colts in the AFC Championship you’d know.) “It’s not where you start. It’s where you end,” I advised.

I was overwhelmed with excitement to be here. Tonight is the first time we’ve seen each other in two years. “Vincent,” he said, then sang, “it’s Mardi Gras mornin’. Do what you wanna. Sit on the cornah. Smoke (rhymes with wanna).”

I tried to buy a drink but Wedge refused. “Your money’s no good here,” he said. Then he handed me a drink. One of many.

Dana, Wedge’s friend, walked up, drink in hand. “I’m not sure what I’m gonna do,” he lamented. “I always give up drinking for lent. But every year, it just gets harder and harder.” I laughed so hard. I love New Orleans like I love Dublin, because when drinking is a pastime and also an art, the stories get better and better. Wedge wasn’t really listening. He pulled me into the bar to listen to the local band Gradoux. As we walked in, he handed me my second drink and said, “another goal of the evenin’ is to not soil myself.”

The bar itself has so much meaning for me. This is the bar that U2 guitarist the Edge, totally under the radar, played to only thirty people during last year’s Jazzfest, jamming with blues guitarist Walter Wolfman Washington. And the reason I even came to this bar two years ago was to listen to Walter Wolfman Washington where subsequently, I met Wedge.

Only six weeks after Katrina rolled in with its fury, the Banks Street Bar and Grill opened for business, with only ice chests to chill the beers and tiki torches to light the night. There is a lot of healing like that going on just in this bar alone. Katrina is a tale of Biblical proportions, the kind they make hymn songs of redemption people will sing in churches until the spirit of hope is completely extinguished from the universe.

Wedge warned me that Gradoux might be a little tired, because this was their tenth gig in four days. But they delivered big time. Their musicianship so fecking tremendously soulful and artistic, their endurance held up by the spirit of Katrina and sadly and admirably at the same time, they were only getting paid by tips. I told them when they land in L.A. go straight to the Hotel Café and avoid all the bullshit traps of meaningless nostalgia crap that drives shit garage bands to go to the Whiskey and the Viper Room and the other blasé Sunset strip junk.

“Find your levee and burn it down,” Wedge continued in his Cajun brogue as he quickly offered me my third drink. “It means, find the things that hold you back and burn them down.” And just like that, at the end of nineteen hundred miles, rolling right into Mardi Gras as midnight struck, the spirit of Katrina came alive for me. Burn down your levee. Wash away the scar tissue. Stay and endure the pain. “See it through. See the view.” Just like the poem.

Like I said previously, Wedge and I met only two years ago during Jazzfest at this very same bar. And he calls me Vincent. No one calls me Vincent. No one. It’s just not my name. It’s not even on the birth certificate. I stopped believing in a church for calling me Vincent. That’s how much Wedge is a special friend. Technically, I’ve only known him for two days.

At 1:30 in the morning, we headed for the French Quarter.

 

LIVER IS EVIL. IT MUST BE PUNISHED.

And we did that. As I rolled into Banks Street Bar and Grill at 11:15 PM on Monday night after an eight hour drive from San Antonio (preceded by the long ass 12 hour drive through East Texas) via Houston with a parking space waiting for me, Wedge told me that Fat Tuesday actually started at midnight. So we got busy immediately. 1900 miles later, I rolled right into Mardi Gras.

Wedge and I were probably one of only fifty out of the 900,000 that came into New Orleans for Mardi Gras to spend every minute of Fat Tuesday, awake, drinking and celebrating. My cup runneth over of notes, quotes and anecdotes of my twelve hour excursion, but after a respite and recovery badly needed, I am only now able to sit and write. Stay tuned. I’m staying longer than I originally planned, so I’ll have some time.

Someone told me yesterday that I was going to fall in love with the city. Madly. Hmmm. If I fall in love with this city the way I fall in love with a girl, this city and I are in big and rambunctious trouble.

Over a plate of fried oysters and a very well-cooked gator piquant, the waitress addressed us in a very short and curt tone, to which Wedge remarked, “I like a woman who speaks her mind and doesn’t give a shit what you think. It speaks volumes that she’s comfortable with herself and who she is.” Amen.

I read this on a shirt I saw on Bourbon Street: “NO WELL-BEHAVED WOMAN EVER MADE HISTORY.”

So before I leave you momentarily, I raise my hurricane and toast to you ladies–those fine creatures who have been both the glorious moments in my life and the bane of my existence–particularly my friends who’ve been recently bending my ear back about bad husbands, bad dates and bad sex (not with me…).

Slainte.

 

NOLA D2: PAST THE BADLANDS OF TEXAS

SAN ANTONIO, April 18 — If you are reading this, that speaks volumes. It means, no meetings with Bubba in the shed, no vultures picking out my eyeballs for dessert and no chainsaw massacres. It means, I MADE IT OUT OF THE TEXAS BADLANDS!

I am happily writing from San Antonio, Texas, eating my complimentary continental breakfast at La Quinta Inn and watching really bad local commercials on TV. Hey…on the TV…Britney shaved her head! Very cool. Now the curtains match the rug. See, she’s pulling it together. WEIRDO!\

WEDGE CALLS.

Before launching into my long trek through the Texas gauntlet, Wedge called me from New Orleans to tell me, a bit depressed and monotone, to “strike me off the rolls.” He repeated it twice more, as grim as Job. Then he said, “I withdraw myself from the nomination for MVP.”

“First, of all,” I told him, “you have to have done something fun to be nominated. We haven’t done shit yet.” He was really looking forward, really wanting, to become the February MVP. I am finding it funny and kinda cool that people want to be MVP on the Duque Fun Train. Is it the steak dinner?

“You don’t understand,” he retorted. “I lost the goods, and it all started with body tape.” I read him my poem, “Stay,” and sent him off into the day.

I passed the time listening to Matt Dillon narrate Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road,” for a couple of hours and then I started to go bonkers. So luckily, friends called to see how I was getting through the badlands. Those phone conversations about everyone else’s love lives really saved the day. I have to share a loving phone text sent by a guy, a music exec, who is trying to charm a friend of mine, who is hesitant to pursue anything beyond friendship: “u need to recognize, you crazy B. YOUR GAME IS WEAK. LEARN RESPECT, cause that’s what I have for you.” This response after three dates. No sex, either. WHO DOES THAT? Wait, there’s more. This guy’s opening salvo in wooing my friend the first time: I’m a Christian and treat people fairly.” Don’t you think she should reconsider? Things that make you go hmmm…

Aside from a friendly brush with the law for driving 74 in a 65 MPH zone and a 10 minute conversation that got me out of a ticket, I managed to get through almost 12 hours of driving straight east through the end of Arizona, New Mexico and the eastern and most barren part of Texas. Not easy and something I don’t recommend with a crappy car and the fear of darkness.

Sometimes you look foolish just going straight into the unknown for so many hours. But with a little help from your friends and a heaping tablespoon of no expectations, you can get to the other side, relatively unscathed. Timing is definitely important for the moment but may not define the journey. The more apropos swing thought of the day: just show up. Stay.

By the way, Wedge called me when I pulled into San Antonio. “Guess what?”
“You found the goods,” I said.
“How did you know?!?” He was totally surprised.
“I just did.”
“Thanks for keeping the faith, my brother. Stay steady,” he said in his more familiar patient Nawlins twang. “And I loved your poem. Am I still in the running for MVP?”                                                    “Everybody has a chance to be in the running for MVP, Wedge. But that’s why you play the games, right? To see if you got game.”

Another by the way: my West Point classmate Brian Melton just called out of the blue. He’s in Houston, right off the 10. It’s been five years since we’ve talked. It’ll be nice to catch up.

The last leg is upon us.   Six more hours of driving, a beer with Brian and then the pre-game show before Mardi Gras mornin’. It’s on.

 

THE TOWN THAT TIME FORGOT.

After checking out of the Days Inn and into the brisk morning air of Willcox, Arizona, population 3,769, I walked next door to the KFC. Willcox, by the way, is regarded by its residents as “The Town that Time Forgot,” due to the fact that progress and new business are synonymous to blasphemy. According to Wikepedia: “though its bar scene is lacking, the true social hotspots are the high school kegger hideouts such as the Cherry Pit, The G-Spot (because it’s hard to find), Reagan’s Wash, The SSVEC Parking Lot, and The Car Wash. Attendance of these venues has dwindled over the years due to threats from the corrupt Willcox Police Department.” Fortunately, I have my American Express card and my softball bat.

I stopped into KFC for a two piece leg and thigh meal. Remember, I’m in Willcox. KFC in Willcox is not KFC on La Cienega Blvd. Upon entering, I saw dead people. It was like the waiting room in Beetlejuice, three tables with very old people who could barely lift their hands up to eat their chicken, just waiting for their number to be called into the big doctor’s office in the sky. Not in a bad way or a sad way, mind you. More in that Stephen King sort of way in which he likes to portray small towns and sweet people on the surface but have peculiar under the counter tendencies for macabre behavior, the kind that being in a small town of 3,769 with nothing to do but hangout in underground keggers would probably inspire. The molecular energy in the room was just fecking weird! My hands were shaking. I tore through my original recipe like a ten year old who couldn’t wait to get through Christmas breakfast, just to get the fecking feck outta there. (Isn’t it cool that changing one vowel can completely change the complexion of a word?)

Looking foolish is an act of faith. Even Noah looked foolish when he first started building the ark. That’s the first thing I hear on the radio when I get into the car. Coincidence? Timing? Things that make you go hmmmm…

Vast, empty. The Wild Wild West. Cinematic landscapes of the desert. Beautiful, nostalgic, majestic. Until God turned off the lights. Imagine being locked in your coat closet, pitch dark, illuminated only by a 30″ plasma TV mounted on the wall, with white road stripes coming at you with the occasional taillights flashing past.

Now imagine six fecking hours of this. After six fecking hours of day driving.

 

THE DRIVE TO NOLA – DAY 1

Signs, signs, everywhere signs: No left turn. State Prison. Don’t pick up any hitchhikers. Prescott: 10 miles. Welcome to Arizona. Dine here! So many people telling you what to do along your way. I could do without the signs. I’m just making a beeline on the 10 going east, not especially looking back. Just the music to keep me entertained.

As I was driving, my phone was unusually ringing in a way it never does. People looking to share their lives: a bad husband, a grandmother who’s passed on, a shaky date prospect (he’s a lobbyist working for Trent Lott to counter the House of Representatives’ recent rejection of Mr. Bush’s troop increase plan in Iraq. I say, dump his ass.), and a friend determined that the whole package exists in a girl (yeah, but a girl who is hot, smart and cool also wants the whole package, begging the question, “can you be the whole package for her?)

Waiting for my car the other day as it was being readied for the trip (kind of like the Millenium Falcon tuning up in Mos Eisley before heading out to space), I overheard a conversation. A woman said, “I didn’t want to fly. I wanted to drive.” “It must have taken you forever,” the other person asked. “It didn’t matter. I just didn’t want to be trapped.” Cheers to that.

When a golfer plays on the golf course, he depends on a couple of simple swing thoughts to keep his swing consistent and help him string together a few good holes, fully expecting that there will be pockets where things just aren’t going right. Tiger Woods says that the key to winning tournaments is not to think of being perfect but knowing how to make adjustments quickly to minimize–not to eliminate, but to minimize—the unfortunate moments. My swing thoughts vary from round to round, but typically I think of keeping my tempo smooth, keeping my body quiet through the swing as my legs and hips tend to get a little too active and it gets me in trouble a lot, and to be more focused on the approach than the outcome. Hmmm. Maybe we could all use that swing thought.

As I drive down the fairway of the 10 east, here are my swing thoughts: 1) just show up; 2) no expectations; and 3) honor yourself and your voice.

Wedge, my Cajun friend who has promised to be my wingman at Mardi Gras, has already started to party. Bruce McGill, who seems to be in every Michael Mann film and remarkably I remember him in the Miami Vice TV show, would play the role of “Wedge” in the movie titled something like, “Prelude to Rehab.” His Cajun twang has the kind of cadence and intonation you’d want to hear if someone read Huckleberry Finn to you during bedtime. ” This aint no dress rehearsal, baby,” he shouts over the phone. I wonder if that’s the general post-Katrina sentiment, particularly when last year was a little too early to be letting loose. This year’s theme he tells me, is, “too much is just enough.”

He doesn’t stop there. He predicts that by the end of Tuesday we will be partying until we are crawling on our knees reaching for the B-12.

After a little writing at a Phoenix hotel bar, I made it past Tucson and stopped over at a Days Inn somewhere in BF, Arizona. I pass a sign: El Paso, Texas– 200 miles. The dog day of the Texas badlands is coming up ahead.

 

HITTING THE 10

The day is here. No looking backwards. Going East. Packing my printer, my laptop, my golfclubs, my purple boa, my tape recorder, my journal and a new bottle of Jamesons. And a little help (thanks Puff!) to get me through the badlands of Texas. Slainte. See you in a little while.

 

My Very Own MILF

I’m very excited to be dating my first MILF. She is beautifully blonde, with shiny white teeth, purty blue eyes and a 34C boob job to complement her girlish figure. She is in her early 40’s, but she has the demeanor and appearance of an impressionable girl in her late twenties. People we randomly meet all the time are astonished that she has a sixteen year old son and 21 year old daughter. Her name is Emily. Her hands are perfectly manicured and I enjoy holding them.

I feel like I’m opening the door into Wonderland. Or maybe it’s a Pandora’s Box. In any case, I’m sure it’s going to be a thrill ride. Stay tuned. I will be talking about how it’s going and offer valuable tips on how to get your very own MILF.

 

A Drama-free Christmas Eve

At this time of the year, I’m particularly surrounded by other people’s drama. The good thing is, at this writing, I’m devoid of drama. It’s nice to be above the eye of the storm. The bad thing is, I’m spending Christmas alone. That’s okay. It feels better – and easier – in due time. Like I said, I am free of drama. I’m in my creative space and I’m smoking a pinch of weed just enough to take nice deep and relaxing breaths. Later, I’ll head over to Hama Sushi for the best kept sushi secret in Los Angeles. Maybe later, if they’re open, I’ll have a cocktail at the 4100 bar in Silverlake. I like to call my favorite bar by its former name, the Manzanita Room. I’m envisioning a Bukowski/Chandleresque interpretation of an Edward Hopper painting kind of night. Maybe I’ll meet a nice girl from out of town.

I saw a pretty girl while shopping at the Container Store today. A brunette with blond streaks in her hair, big eyes, light vinegar olive skin, a nice open smile. We caught a few glimpses at each other while I was at the cashier. I didn’t want to impose, so I left a smart aleck comment on a customer service card, hoping she’d be amused enough to e-mail me. Not counting on it though. I’m having ideas of coming to the store more than once just to get to know her. There I go again with my manufactured movie moments.

 

Online Dating on Craigslist

I caught up with a couple of buddies during golf last weekend. Stanisky is banging a 20 year old. Dency married a six foot blond. He stands tall at five foot five. Even Nelson has himself a girl, a feisty brunette from New York. Today I missed the newness of getting to know somebody.

I spent the evening drinking a nice Syrah out of the bottle and took a little toke from a nugget someone told me came from Woody Harrelson’s private reserve.

After about ten minutes, I got the courage to go on to Craigslist to play a little online dating. Sure beats masturbating. Here are three entries that sounded interesting:

i’m good-hearted, beautiful, smart – 23
————————————————————————
Reply to: pers-113902767@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-11-26, 7:46PM PST

hi, i’m a 23 year old female. i went to ucla. i studied business economics. i think i’m intelligent, but i haven’t worked yet in any serious job. Last year and this year I was a substitute teacher because I wasn’t sure what i wanted to do when i graduated. i’m really still not. i am considered by many people to be very pretty. i am a irish/mexican mix. i will say that i do have a good body. i have long brown hair and green eyes. many people do think i’m attractive. however, i am laid back about how i look and clothes and make up aren’t a big deal to me. i do know about those things, it’s just i really don’t try to live too much on that superficial level. i smoke weed on occasion. if someone is really against marijuana, it might be hard to date me because i have a very positive view on it. i’m not a fan of chemical drugs though. alcohol is cool, but i’m not over the top about it. i do have a very good heart and was raised very well. i’m not going to lie, i would like to meet someone who may be interested in a serious relationship. i have alot to offer. i have a good personality, a good heart, am sweet, smart, friendy and a lot of fun. i also know myself well. i wouldn’t mind finding someone who i can take care of. I love to cook and chill out at home. i am open to age. i guess i would like someone who is physically attractive, but at the same time, i go more on personaity. thank you. please write to me and we can talk more if you feel like it. i’m looking for someone with a easy going personality who is smart and would want to be with a smart, beautiful intelligent girl who would care alot for them.

Click. – 27
————————————————————————

That’s what I’m looking for, a click with another person. Preferably male, between 27 and 36, and interested in more than a casual affair.

Good things:
*intelligent
*decisive
*funny – professional comedians get bonus points
*edgy
*a little dorky

In return I am:
*fun
*ambitious
*good conversation
*witty
*hip

Shall we?

I’m 41 – who’s out there?

Hello. I am an attractive, 41 year old female living in Burbank. I certainly don’t want to waste all your valueable time on your quest for life’s inner meaning and your latest fling so let me tell you guys a little about me and then a little about what I’m hoping to find out there.

I have curly red hair and brown eyes. I’ve been told I’m pretty even by men who had no hopes of ever getting a blow job out of me. I am tall, five foot eight and I’m in good shape with a strong and fit figure. I work out a lot, I do a lot of yoga and I love working up a sweat outside in the mountains. I’m certainly not ‘L.A. Skinny’ but I’m also not at all fat. I love music like Radiohead, U2, Beck, Dead Can Dance, David Byrne, Arcade Fire, and my secret guilty pleasure (at least on the cross trainer at my gym) No Doubt. God, that was hard to admit. I enjoy things like picnics at the bowl, picnics anywhere really ( I love cooking for a man), seeking out edgier art exhibits around town, some movies though I’m sick to death of big Hollywood, good Lord, what a bunch a crap out there, hiking and camping and I love nothing better than to escape L.A. for a weekend in Big Sur or Idyllwild or anywhere but here with a sweet, kind, nice smelling man. Yoga, meditation and body work are all important to me and I practice regularly. You don’t have to be a yogi but some spiritual appreciation for the beauty of life will make me take interest. Extra points if you are into Thai massage and partner yoga. I’m a nice girl, maybe slightly jaded but hey, I grew up in this town. I want what we all want: to be happy and to feel love and to make someone else feel good, too. And yeah, I have a picture and I’m willing to share it as long as you can construct sentences and charm the hell out of me in your first e-mail.

I wouldn’t mind seeing your picture but be aware that looks don’t drive me nearly as much as what kind of man you are and how you feel about the world around you. What kind of man are you, anyway? I’m hoping that you live in or very close to the Burbank area. Goes without saying, single is preferred. I met a guy once who said he had three roommates and he did: his wife and two kids. Don’t pull that kind of bullshit. It demeans you and your poor family and makes women want to kick your ass. Honesty is everything with me. I love strong men who know where they are and where they are going. Love what you do. Please be fit and able to keep up with me. Energy! Energy! I don’t care what you look like or how short or tall you are but I need you to be confident and healthy in spirit, mind and body. Hopefully some of my passions will resonate with yours and we can find all kinds of groovy ways to pass the days. I’d like to meet someone who is worth getting excited about and who gets excited about me.

All that being said let’s talk about sex now. If I’ve managed to hold your interest so far, that is…..

Be assured I have the experience, inate know-how and pure animal lust to make you very happy you were born a man. I’m very sensual and I’m not looking for another male friend. I crave intimacy very much. My young, nutty and slutty days are long past but my ideal hope is to meet a man who makes me feel safe and comfortable enough to wallow, roll and squish around in all the wonders of fuck/love/lust/suck/spank/torment/throat/anal/tears/ooze. Something sort of like that. I may not being saying it well but you get the idea, big boy. It doesn’t come easy and I need something to back it up but man…I’d really love to meet that guy who can make me feel all that trashy, romancic stuff.

I’m looking forward to hearing from you. Please, please pleeeeeeeeeeese let me know a little bit about who and what you are, your age (please be mature), where you live (very important to me!) and if so inspired then please leave your phone number. This cyber-romance malarkey isn’t my thing. I’m into meeting pretty quickly and seeing how we click and going from there. The less time I’m stuck being this computer screen the better.

Thank you!

Which of these sound good?

 

Personality test -

I just took a Jungian based personality test to see if I could garner insights about my mania and the frenetic activity that happens conrtrollably in my brain. Here are the results:

Global Personality Test Results

Stability (26%) low which suggests you are very worrying, insecure, emotional, and anxious. Orderliness (60%) moderately high which suggests you are, at times, overly organized, reliable, neat, and hard working at the expense of flexibility, efficiency, spontaneity, and fun. Extraversion (66%) moderately high which suggests you are, at times, overly talkative, outgoing, sociable and interacting at the expense of developing your own individual interests and internally based identity.

Take Free Global Personality Test
personality tests by similarminds.com