Displaced People, Misplaced Towels

On the Friday prior to my departure for God's Country, my sister and friends banded together to throw me a surprise party proving to be a final and fitting send off and a night worthy of great great memories. I was, indeed, surprised to the full extent shock and awe, but the previous day, in hindsight consisted of a couple of moments that should have tipped off that something was amiss in Dublin (a "Ulysses" reference for my boy, Denny Basens).

The previous evening, Thursday for those keeping track, I had had a long day trying to get my feet wet in the car buying game. The day was so rough that I even got a little snippy with a disguised Sean Taylor as he ventured to bait me into a good-natured prank call. I was wise enough to realize that I needed a respite from all things real world for an hour or so and my friends were happy to oblige.

I met up with a few friends at a bar and all seemed eerily status quo. As was usually the case, we had casual plans to go out on the town to allow me to bid fond farewells through the appropriate amount of alcohol-induced haze, but nothing too special was planned, nor would I have it any other way. The peace, also as per usual, was nearly shattered by the one and only, Sean Taylor, as he arrived fashionably late. (Everything he does in those glasses is fashionable, by the way.) I kid you not, the first words out of his mouth were "so what time do the festivities start again tomorrow?" Honestly, maybe due to the disreputable source, the comment went right over my head and I considered the question pretty reasonable at the time. Jay was quick to jump in and say that what he meant by that was, "what time do you want to go out tomorrow?" What did momentarily make me feel funny was how quickly Sean agreed with Jay that he meant exactly what Jay said. Nonetheless, my suspicion was fleeting and I soon excused myself for a beat or two. Obviously I wasn't there to see it, but according to reenactments, the looks Jay and Roo gave Sean Taylor were lethal and Sean admitted freely that he "blew it." Truthfully, these recounts of what went down may have afforded more pleasure than the party itself.

Later on that night, I had the chance to jam with Sean Gallagher of our former "Skinny Scrawny Sexy" semi-fame and the Beard who used to make up "The Umbrellas" with me. It was an absolute pleasure to perform with these musicians again. We've always connected musically on a lot of different levels and it was incredible to recapture that magic again for a spell. A great time that I'll surely miss.

The next day, we played basketball at Jay's. I noticed that Coop (a fifty-year-old drunk worthy of a post himself) was even more vociferous and cryptic than usual. As we played ball, he kept telling Jay, in so many words, to hook him up later and let him know the details. Comically enough, I assumed Coop was just kind of looking for a ride later, or a place to grab some weed. I feel bad for thinking this in hindsight, but it was more of a generalization of Coop's character than Jay's. Apparently, Roo had let slip to Coop that a party was going down that night. While Roo succeeded in vowing Coop to secrecy, Coop wanted to attend the bash himself. That would have been a surprise indeed if Coop were amongst the young and semi-sober. Fortunately, Coop never made it to my home and after a laid back dinner with my father, I returned home to find the foyer flooded with with my friends shouting a jarring, but warming, "surprise" as I walked in the door. I was told my face was quite memorable and I don't doubt it. It was beyond awesome to have so many people gathered to say goodbye and I'm grateful to everyone who attended, especially my sister Noelle and Jay, who were instrumental in making it happen.

The party was largely a great time and as the midnight hour approached we made for Downport to draw unsuspecting, yet willing, others into our celebration. I feel like "tales of buzzed" is a little trite, so I'll skip over a lot of that jazz and just mention that Matty and I hit the dance floor as only we can (even a Frank sighting), Sean Taylor gave me open access to his tab, which I only added a lone beer to, because I wanted to make sure I remained cognisant enough for people to remember me fondly. I chuckle at how I kind of minimized such a grand gesture, but it's the thought that counts and I thank him tremendously.

After we left the final bar, a slightly worse for wear (is that the right "wear"?) Sean Taylor wanted to grab some pizza. We went into a pizza place where basketball was being discussed. Believe it or not, I kept my mouth shut having learned my lesson from the subway "What constitutes a sport?" debate. However, after about two minutes of loitering, suddenly a roar of boos erupts in the place in an apparent appeal for a mass exodus of some kind. Lo and behold, Sean Taylor is the target of these misgivings. I admit, I have no idea what he said to excite the mob so, but at least from his body language, it seemed rather uncalled for. We all left (Sean fashionably) in a fit of laughter leaving the hecklers to savor their victory. It was a good-natured exchange, but nonetheless, I'll always wonder what Sean said that night.

As stated, Sean had suckled all he could from the night and wound up snoozing at my place. In a final mystery, I awoke to find Sean Taylor snuggling with my bath towel as the morning sun's rays crept into the window. Sean could not account for why he had the towel and as for me, I realize that somethings are better left unanswered and ran through the laundry.

More to come as I start work on Monday.


Song of the Day: Bird Song-Grateful Dead
Jazz Song of the Day: Bird Gets The Worm-Charlie Parker

Clearly, I'm subconciously in a very avian mood.

Hakim!

Hello to one and all and a happy new year, for what that is worth. My apologies for not corresponding too often in recent weeks. The NBA season has begun and I was working on a play for a about a week and a half or so that is finally done with the exception of some proofreading. In the face of the NBA season and commitment to a creative project, Yesternow kind of took a backseat in my writing life. Combine that with having a life beyond the laptop and the holiday season, there wasn't all that much time to scribe recreationally. As I said, the play, and obviously the holidays, are behind us, so hopefully that means some more frequent posts to satiate your curiosity or drive you to block my posts all together. Before I jump into the post, a quick plug for my new NBA twitter @sagercraig where I do my best to make the NBA comedic. I like what I'm doing with it so far, I could afford to post on it more, I admit, but on the positive side I'm not over posting with sub-par things to say. Whatever... if you're into the league, look it up.

Okay, here we go. I suppose no online compendium of life episodes can avoid mentioning the holidays, so just to get it out of the way, they were solid. It was great to give family the things they wanted, and I received a kindle fire which I just yesterday realized I had not properly been shutting down since I've had it. (You need to hold the button down, for anyone with the same problem.) Needless to say, the learning curve has been steep. I received a couple of O's hats to represent what can only be assumed to be the greatest city in all the world, a couple Dave albums (the collection is getting ridiculous), and a new Dallas Mavs shirt which I rocked for opening day and promptly removed and nearly buried following the blow-out loss to the Heat. I'm sure it was coincidence, but I got a real kick out of the fact that I was getting Christmas texts steadily all day until about the second quarter of the Mavs game when they stopped almost entirely. Only Brett ventured a mid-game text and apologized for the Mavs poor play that afternoon. Surely all of my friends were aware that this was a sensitive time. By the way, the only reason I didn't dispose of the Mavs shirt is because I realized that I was wearing my turtle slippers that I can only imagine were hexed in some way by the one who gave them. I would have ditched the slippers, but my grandmother was raving about them, so I was stuck between a rock and snugly place. Needless to say, I've resolved never to where those slippers during a Mavs game again.

The real reason for this post is to celebrate the return of Alex Wong to Long Island and the rest of the tri-state area. Wong has been away catering to the business end of the pronghorn antelope in Arizona, and it was my first time seeing one of my best friends since maybe last spring, if that. I figure if I can write a poem for Sean Taylor, I can certainly dedicate a blog post to Alex Wong. (A quick tangent: I almost regret writing Sean Taylor's poem because I feel like every single time I see him I can add something new and just as important to the piece that's obviously not in it now. I feel like an ode to Sean Taylor should be written with my dying breaths to ensure that I encompass everything that is the one and only. Sean Taylor's poem, when complete, would be an epic. My goal is to make him the Odysseus of the 21st century.)

Wong got home a bit before Christmas and the evening after he got in I hopped over to see him. It was great to see him, obviously. I loved hearing him talk about his work and what he's involved in Arizona. There's not much in this world I enjoy more than listening to people talk about getting involved with something they truly dig. The way their face lights up and they kind of lose themselves in life's big picture for a while. It's something that I find endlessly inspiring and I'm happy and proud that he seems to be finding that for himself. One of the last things he said to me that night before everyone else popped over to say hello was, "I know this isn't a party, people are just stopping by for a while. I'm not going to get crazy or anything." Three hours later, Wong was passed out in the middle of his basement and while Jay and I hoisted him to a mattress, he made Toad spin out impressions from Mario Kart 64. Indeed, Wong was home.

Over the next couple of days, we hung out when he was much more... present and it was a solid time.

The day after Christmas, I set out for a local coffee shop to get to know my new kindle. As I was en route, I got a call from Wong asking if I wanted to go to the mall with him to get his iPod fixed. As it turns out, the initial O's hats I got were a bit too small for me (which is surprising, because you'd think that manufactures would take into account that fans of all things Maryland have some of the most swelled heads I've ever seen), so I had to make the trek to the mall myself. With that said, I wasn't exactly pumped to go to the mall the day after Christmas, passing up hot cocoa and kindle experimentation, but for Wong and his brief visit, it's worth it.

As expected, the mall was an absolute zoo with the only store that wasn't packed to the gills being the ironically titled "Christmas In New York" shop. The Apple store was perhaps the worst crowded stop in the place and Wong was informed after a bit of a wait that he would not be able to get his pod fixed without an appointment. We were both disappointed and Wong considered grabbing a baseball bat from Dick's and coming back to see if any openings had spontaneously sprung up. Fortunately I still had my hats to exchange, so the trip was not for naught. I spent some time in Lids looking for a basketball hat and Wong sought a tennis hat that didn't look too "golf". Relative to nothing, but I didn't find a hat because I'm actually not too big of a fan of the snapback craze and those were the only NBA hats they were selling. Bummer, but two "bird hats" in hand are better than one bird and a snapback. (For the record, I made myself laugh pretty hard on that one.) Before Wong and I hit the trail, we stopped for some lunch in the food court and speaking of birds, we had to scavenge quite a bit to grab a table. As we were munching, we caught sight of our good friend Matty and his friend, Natalie. Matty warmly introduced us and I went to shake her hand, she pointed out that I had just been eating french fries and declined the gesture. After seeing that Wong didn't venture much of a formal greeting. Moments later, the duo departed and we carried about our shopping experiences. I'm not sure the awkwardness of this episode comes across in type, but take my word for this one. What a time.

This holiday season, the kindle fire appeared to be the present of choice as Jay and Sean Taylor picked up fires of their own and seem to enjoy feeling them out. Jay uses his to keep us ever abreast of the fantasy basketball score; a service for which I'm very grateful. Our preoccupation with the fantasy league was never more apparent than when I was trying to carry on separate conversations at once; one concerning Adam's new band we were going to see that night and the other concerning the then flailing Phoenix Suns. In a moment of utter confusion and confidence, I loudly exclaimed that I was excited to see Adam's new group, Hakim Warrick. I had to take a few seconds to recover my bearings. Jay was tickled to no end and we've been joking about it ever since. Later that night, we did in fact go see Adam's group, Hollywood Drive By (easily mixed up with Warrick) and it was a good time to hear new tunes and see musicians at work.

One of the bands that went on before HDB had a song centered-around/inspired by T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J.A.P." I, of course, sober as a bird, but forgetting my surroundings screamed like a twelve year-old girl at a Bieber concert (albeit not as high-pitched). I'm pretty sure Wong and Jay physically took a big step away from me at that point and needless to say, no one even cared about the reference. Jay was again entertained by my attempt to explain the poem to the crowd in ten seconds or less. Rock on!

Another return was noteworthy this holiday season as Ben Kraus returned to the open mic of the Velvet Lounge. Everyone who knew who he was was pumped to see him come back and play some tunes. There was definitely an energy in the room and even though we were the last people to play that night at just past 1am, it was one of the coolest jams I've been a part of there in a long, long time. There was a lot of talent on the stage and it really seemed to click. Jay's cousin, Max, was so moved by the performance that he took the time to congratulate Jay on his sound with a handshake after each of our five numbers. That had me chuckling to no end, to be honest. Wong also expressed his appreciation and in a tribute to the great Edwina, chanted a "Bogdan on the horn" chant that sadly no one really joined him on. A night and experience that was anything but bland.

Then came the much debated and looked forward to New Year's Eve. We all met up in Astoria before going our separate ways, but not without a memory worth cherishing for the rest of my life that will undoubtedly find form its own stanza in the ever under construction poem of Sean Taylor. Before we got in to Astoria to meet at Ben and Jake's, Sean Taylor wanted to make a few shopping stops, which I was certainly okay with because he was willing to do the favor of driving us all in. We made a stop at Roosevelt Field Mall (a first for me, believe it or not). Lenny, Wong, Jay, and I killed some time around the mall while Sean did some suit shopping. Jay and I saw this AWESOME Joker basketball jersey, which I will own one do (a la Mike Myers: Oh yes, it will be mine.) and to my shock, a basketball signed by Kevin Garnett is worth more than a ball signed by Bill Russell. I was absolutely blown away by that.

Anyway, having long since eclipsed the 30 minute time limit he set for himself to return to find us, The four of us went off to search for the allusive Sean Taylor. After a stretch, we found him and I took it upon myself not to rush him and let him shop at his own pace, but I also took it upon myself not to let him out of my sight. After a while, Sean had gathered his New Year's suit and we waited about 15 minutes to get to the head of the line at the cash register. That's when the trouble started. Apparently the woman helping Sean had next to no idea how to work the register and check inventory for the clothes Sean was looking to purchase. Innocently enough, Sean attempted to walk the woman through the process, but the process was anything but smooth. After a literal half hour at the only register open in Macy's Sean looked like a mixture of rage and depression. Jay was annoyed, Wong and I were laughing hysterically (especially me, I admit. I was not a very supportive friend in that moment and feel bad even as I type this.), and Lenny was waiting the most patiently out of all of us. Wong and I offered to countdown the new year with those behind him in line should it come to that. At one point, the gentlemen right behind Sean Taylor left the line to find another register, only to return minutes later to the end of the line with no further progress made taking care of Sean Taylor's needs. I was getting a kick out of people going from nonchalantly standing, to texting with perturbed body language, to grumbling amongst themselves, to a look of defeat similar to Sean's.

In addition, on a counter nearby, someone had left 26 cents unattended. Wong and I watched as person after person stopped and examined the change, eventually to determine the impish sum was not worth snatching. Wong and I considered adding change to the pile until it was taken and we were convinced that between Sean Taylor being stuck in no-man's- land and this change enticing cheap people to theft, we were on some sort of hidden camera show. No such luck as after the half hour expired an fuming Sean Taylor left the store with only a vest. Sean was upset at the situation and our handling of it and was justifiably not in a social mood. One of the quieter Astoria drives to say the least. However, Sean did pick up some hot new sneakers and by the time we got to Astoria, the tension was pretty much quelled.

The night itself was a lot of fun. We saw some good friends and made some new ones. I kind of took it upon myself to look out for some friends, which I only mention to account for my lack of true stories to tell. To be sure, keeping an eye on Wong and others did have it's memories that I'll never forget, but I wouldn't share those over the internet. I did get one rave review on my Orioles hat from a birdland-loving cat. The bouncer and I at this one bar established a borderline friendship out of nowhere stemming from him calling me a gentlemen. (I imagine my mother would be proud too) I a saw a girl with heels far too high slip and fall flat on her rump out of nowhere, Kathy Griffin took off her top on national television, and as I said, I saw some friends, some of which I hadn't seen for a long time. I can't complain about it at all. I was happy to ring in the new year with those I care about, and I wish you all well in 2012.

The only story of that night worth its own paragraph has to do with an apartment party Sean Taylor led us to. The host of the party had actually read my poem about Sean I mentioned earlier and was quite a fan and happy to meet me. Likely the only time my reputation preceded itself. (At least my reputation as a writer) One of the other hosts of the party went about crushing ice the wrong way and wound up spilling cubes all over the floor. As I eluded to earlier, I was kind of in a helpful mood that night and took it upon myself to sweep up and clean his mess. The plus side of that is every person who saw what happened says to themselves, "what a nice guy that stranger is." Everyone who didn't see what happened, unfortunately, says to themselves, "who invited that jerk who spilled all the damn ice on the floor." Fortunately, the host was pretty gracious and did his best to inform the masses that the spill was not my fault and by the end of the night as we pulled Wong out of the room, I think my name was clear.

Like I said, good times with good friends and nothing but positive wishes to you and yours in the new year. Having Wong back was a really special time for all of us and I know I speak for everyone when I say we can't wait to have him back again.

Song of the Day: The Lying Lies and Dirty Secrets of Ms. Erica Court-Coheed and Cambria

Jazz Song of the Day: Peacemaker-Billy Harper

The Garnish of a Cosmopolitan is a Lime

I want to start off this post by plugging an absolutely wonderful non-profit organization that is worthy of your support. Response of Suffolk County is a crisis hot line that offers caring ears to those in need regarding anything from loneliness, depression, drug abuse, mental illness, family issues, grief counseling. We all have, in some way, dealt with, or are trying to cope with issues like this. It's great to seek solace from these issues by confiding in friends or family, but some don't have that outlet. Response of Suffolk County a truly great cause and are working hard to have a positive impact on those in need. You can help by texting 109471 to 73774 everyday for the rest of the month and helping them receive a grant from Pepsi to aide their operation. Help is a text away. Seek Response of Suffolk County on facebook or Google for more information.

I had the privilege of getting to know about the organization as I took part in a three-on-three tournament fundraiser for them last week. I was put on to the event by Sean Gallagher and signed up with Roo (like kangaroo) and Jay (like the letter) to take on all comers. We did pretty well, securing the 4 seed and upsetting the 3 seed before losing in the semis. Also, I (along with half the field) came in second place in the free throw shooting contest, just missing claiming a 16 dollar gift certificate to I-don't-remember-where-but-does-it-really-matter-it-is-free. I mention the tournament for the sake of plugging the program and a couple quick anecdotes.

In an homage to Bretton Woods' own, Coop, we chose the team name of "Say Cheese". As I mentioned we did a decent job living up to those lofty expectations, but to an extent it's a little surprising that I made it to the event at all. Obviously, I know where Stony Brook University is, but regarding its layout, I really have next to no idea where anything is. I was naively optimistic when I turned into the section of campus that said "Athletic Complex" My hopes for a smooth arrival were further fortified when I saw another sign for the complex with an arrow pointing towards the left as I entered the campus itself from the main drag. However, as I went to turn left, construction blocked the way of my car. I figured, "okay, if there's a sign here, it can't be too far away" so I made a quick right instead and parked in a lot no more than a few yards from the sign... and set out for a quick walk.

I was following the sign, so I never really got nervous about being lost or anything, but I did get a little concerned when I stopped a girl to confirm I was going the right way and she kind of winced when I mentioned my destination. She said aloud, "Let me think about which way would be quicker." She was debating between the direction I'd come and the direction I was going. Then it was my turn to wince and I resisted the urge to tell her that the godforsaken sign had told me to come that way. She eventually sent me on my way and told me to keep on going the same way I had been. Several, several, several minutes later I did traverse the bulk of that end of campus and make it to the tournament, needing a drink before we'd even shot a basketball. I have since been back to clock the trip and I had walked just under four miles to get to the venue. I curse the heck out of that sign, but by the time I realized that maybe this gym isn't as close as I thought, it was too late to turn back. Fortunately, it was a beautiful day outside.

Say Cheese's first matchup was against a trio of Gallaghers who were just a blast to play against and we had as many laughs as we did buckets that game. We pushed each other to our limits and thankfully we came out with the upper hand, but all six of us were pretty darn wiped after the tight game to 21. In spite of the sweat and hands-on-knees panting being displayed by both teams, no less than two minutes after reporting our score, Kevin and Matt were lined up at the starting line of the indoor track and prepping for a sprint.

Admittedly I had just really met Matt and Danny that day, Kevin and I hadn't a conversation more than a few sentences long since my freshman year of high school, and even Sean, whom I consider a good friend, is someone I don't see as often as I'd like, but I remember thinking distinctly "only a Gallagher would be lining up for a race moments after busting his hump on the basketball courts even though he was hurting." Quite a competitive crew. A special dynamic they have, from an outsider's perspective.

These past couple of weeks, Jay and I have been taking some far out bartending courses after which we'll be "certified" bartenders. This experience has afforded no shortage of memories that will last the better part of our lifetimes, including an older woman disclosing her dominion over the color spectrum and sexual aspirations, me being peer pressured into a pool game with a very drunk Spanish man armed with condoms but not fifty cents, and an instructor who among many other things has made us see fast food in a whole different light. These stories are not really worth blogging about because some of them are not funny for the right reasons and they're all pretty situational and not worth the narrative build up I'd have to give them before getting to the point, so you'll excuse my vagueness here.

I like the job because it's kind of a legal way to sell yourself. Mixing drinks is not necessarily easy when you're learning about ten new ones a night everyday for two weeks, but it's not exactly hard either and you could teach a monkey to do it. Likely a monkey with a drinking problem, but I digress. What makes a bartender good at what he or she does is the way they interact with their patrons and, modesty aside, that's something I feel like I'm darn good at. I'm excited to kind of bring the voice and vision behind this blog beyond the page. To put it much less poetically, I can't wait to provide a service by being myself. I think that's what a lot of people dream of as a profession, and I'm not saying I want to be a bartender for the rest of my life, but I'm really enjoying the aspects of the business so far and I look forward to getting more involved with it. Plus, just think of the inspiration a nightly dose of inebriated people can provide this blog.

In the class, we work with dyed water rather than waste alcohol, but this past weekend Jay and I got the chance to sample the drinks we'd been making for the past week as we made the trip into the city to celebrate Mrs. Taylor's 50th birthday.

Mr. Taylor went to great lengths (even threatening bodily harm to his own son) to set up an absolutely wonderful surprise party for Mrs. Taylor and I was honored to have been a part of it. I don't feel it's my place to tell you the ins and outs of how the surprise was planned specifically, but when she walked into the room and was suddenly face to face with loved ones from all sorts of facets of her life, the emotion in the room and in her face was indescribable. The first thing that crossed my mind was that we all deserve to feel like that. For about thirty seconds, everything that was and is messed up or askew in my life and the world in general just vanished. It was one of the more profound moments of my life in recent memory. To share the love in the room and just to know that there are people in the world who care enough about each other to make something like that happen was incredibly warming. I can't stress enough how eye-opening the experience was.

I realize that was likely was the most hippie-like paragraph in Yesternow history, but sometimes I just have to take the time to embrace that part of me. It was a beautiful, beautiful moment and the reason I'm writing this blog. Not that you need me to tell you this, but cherish love of all kinds when you find it because everything else in life will absolutely grind you to dust.

I had a real Rhapsody missing moment, which I have to say are surprisingly rare. That sounds insensitive and I always miss them all {except Jaci} to an extent, but this was one time where it was really prominent. Hopefully you understand what I mean by that. Kind of like how I'm sure Rhapsody misses me doesn't really think about all that often unless Jaci is talking.

Anyway, Mrs. Taylor entered the party to "It's Raining Men" a song that as a result of Rhapsody will always have a bit of meaning to it for me. While the couple of Lynchburg Lemonades I'd ingested are partially to blame, I got a little pumped to hear the song and kind of looked around to see whom else was digging it and saw no one under 30 returning my enthusiasm. It was kind of a deflating moment, though looking back, I probably would have played it cool too if I were a 22 year-old male who was pleasantly surprised to hear "It's Raining Men". While it's not like a screamed, jumped around, and started dancing or anything, I definitely lost some man-points with my all-too-passionate head bobbing and humming.

Sean Taylor, donning some extra-special spectacles which made him resemble Clark Kent to the T, took some time off from the Daily Planet to share the night with his family. At last Sean Taylor's numerous disappearances are explained. Every time he's made such stealth and spontaneous disappearances he was obviously off to slow a runway train or hurl a meteor into the sun. It's all so obvious in hindsight.

Considering he's the Man of Steel, I should probably take it easy on him, so I want to thank Kal-El personally for inviting me that night. In all seriousness, at one point during the night when the drink samples had already effect, I did call Mr. Taylor Jor-El and laughed for no audience whatsoever. As Jay would say, I think we were both a little too "loose" to have any form of serious discussion about it.

Anyway, after the party, we hit up a few of the Tribecca bars and I took some time to ponder our mortality and nearly ran out of gas as a result, but thanks to everyone's favorite name that I regret to say I can't disclose on this blog, I caught my second wind and drew many a strange stare as Jay, Grebe and I were chanting it as loud as we could over the house music. Works better than any energy drink you can think of, I promise.

I understand that bars are supposed to be dimly lit and full of mood, or what have you, but this last place we went to was straight up dark. It was eerily reminiscent to a Jackson St. basement, and not in a fun nostalgia way either. Other than watching your step, the bar was still pretty solid and "bumping" as the kids are saying these days (I hope). At one point I was chatting with these ladies from Ohio. Since my sister went to school there, I had enough fun facts and knowledge to shoot the breeze some. At one point, unbeknownst to me, one of girls walked away to get a drink and when she came back I introduced myself as if I'd not met her before. She pointed out that we had just met and I muttered a feeble "oh, sorry, it's really dark" but something told me just to get out of there and I said good-bye to everyone and we headed home.

Something tells me I'd better get out of this blog post, too. Hope all is gold, my friends. See you next post. In closing, I forgot to mention the best part of the night: Mr. Stockhausen's beard.

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Sean Taylor!

Also, can you tell me why you read this blog/what you like about it and send it to tpoli311@gmail.com? Thanks, it doesn't have to be long.


Song of the Day: The Ascent Of Stan-Ben Folds
Jazz Song of the Day: Pretty Eyes-Horace Silver

This Blog Post Is Double Breasted

A happy Halloween to all from this Winter Wonderland known as the east coast which is contradicting the time of the season more and more with every flake at rest on the autumn ground. To be perfectly honest, my particular slice of the Long Island suburbs had no snowfall and therefore has a climate much more befitting the night of fright, but from what I hear of Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and other areas of New York, the same cannot be said of their situation. I had the pleasure of spending Halloween weekend in one of those less fortunate areas of New York, as I went with friends Astoria, Queens. The following is the account of a night and following day that will live in infamy from this day forward.

This past weekend, not only were we celebrating the one night of the year you can dress like a buffoon and be hailed for it, but it was also the one and only Deanna's birthday. We spent a fair amount of time and Ben and Jake's place where we had miscellaneous good times. I do have to say that my puns were on point that night. Not one to toot my own horn unless we're talking about NBA knowledge and opinions, I would hope that fact alone would vouch for the validity of my ego stroking claim. I mean, anytime Grebe is dressed up as a cow and Sean Taylor is dressed up as a dog, you're going to have some material to work with, but I was really outdoing myself, even by my standards. It would be overkill if I told you a few of them, but I do want to share my favorite of the night:

Jay's costume consisted of a fetus (complete with a nipple, disturbingly enough) attached to the side of his head. The wig which, relative to nothing, made him look a lot like Mickey Dolenz of The Monkees. Anyway, Jay, at one point, said something negative in jest. I replied, "I don't like your defeatist attitude." (Of course, pronounced de-fetus-t) I laughed to no end, and fortunately I wasn't alone.

For her birthday, Jay and I, with genuinely awesome back up voices from the group, performed a rather off the cuff, but pristine, rendition of "The Monster Mash" which we doctored a bit to better suit the birthday occasion. A tremendous time. Various other jams took place as Jay and Ben Kraus, appropriately dressed as Bob Dylan to match his sharp counterpart, Edie Sedgwick, portrayed by Deanna with a very convincing wig, jumped on the harmonica which he happened to have handy. Jake and I traded some rhymes, where I took the time to reference both Wilson Chandler and James Harden, much to Jay's udder delight. (That was a Grebe cow pun. Not the best, but better than a cow pie.)

After that we decided to brave the elements and head out to a bar where costumes were abound. I quickly made friends with a girl named Tamika. It was great to talk to her, for sure, because we wound up with a whole lot in common (appreciation of sports, jazz, fear of the letter "c", etc.) but our initial introduction had its hurdle. I asked who she was for Halloween, she gave various hints, I eventually guessed Columbiana (a recent movie about a girl who kicks butt that I don't think very many people saw), she corrected me, saying she was Rosario Dawson's character from Sin City. I promptly replied "wow that's an old movie at this point." I said it in such a way that was not at all sensitive, supportive, or appreciating. She justifiably just stared at me for a second and I apologized after realizing how impulsive I'd been. I must have seemed like quite the judgmental ass who was wearing nothing but a giant foam cowboy hat; not exactly the kind of costume in which you should take yourself too seriously. We shared a hearty laugh about it and spoke for another 10 minutes or so before I slid out to be with my friends. In one of the more moving moments of my life, my friends later raised a toast to me. Not too much to say about that other than it was a really awesome thing to do that I really wanted to take the time to thank them for.

We stopped at a second bar for about ten minutes. Nothing of note was happening except for a girl named Monica celebrating her birthday. Happy birthday, Monica, you're birthday is now immortalized in semi-permanent form on the Yesternow blog for all its small, but passionate, readership to acknowledge. HUZZAH!

(Did he just say huzzah in all capital letters? Is he drinking? Does he really think we care? Is Conan new tonight? Did I remember to lock my car?) All compelling questions, dear reader.

Anyway, the third bar we went to was really quite poppin'. (I don't think I can pull that word off) We had a great time meeting new people. For the record, I don't think there is any better wingman than a guy with a fetus on his head (strength in numbers). In all seriousness, Jay and I had a great time getting to know new friends.

Now, by no stretch of my rather active imagination do I consider myself a ladies man, but apparently there was another sheriff in the bar who was rather envious of the attentions I was receiving and he pulled a VERY FAKE ORANGE gun and starts kind of playfully instigating his dislike of me. It was mostly hat envy, I'm sure. I just took Joan, Jen and the others away from the scene and nothing really went further. I do believe that the guy, while far from being cool, was trying to joke around about the situation and was just either too drunk or socially inept to do so properly. Jay was pretty bothered by the exchange and hopped in to call him out and make him seem foolish. I hung by to make sure it got no further than that and it didn't and we carried on our night without further incident. In hindsight, I probably should have been more upset about it, but I was having too much fun otherwise and it's probably for the best of the whole situation that I let it roll off my back the way I did.

Eventually, the bar wanted to close so we were politely kicked out of the place. In the hustle to gather everyone together, we lost track of a few people, including our own friends much less the new ones we'd just made. (Between you me and the wall, kind of bummed I didn't grab Joan's number.)

It wound up being Sean Taylor (a dog mind you), Jay, and I finding our way back to Ben's place. We were going a way that neither Jay nor I were familiar with and wound up trusting Sean Taylor unleash his inner hound and follow his nose to lead us back to the pad. For a while it felt like the blind seeing eye dog leading the blind, but I have to say he did get us back in one piece, but not without some episodes along the way.

Now the entire walk home, Jay and I were had the uncontrollable urge to help our fellow man. The whole trip Sean Taylor kept lamenting how cold he was. Every time he did so, I insisted he take my coat. He never accepted, but as I sign of protest I walked home with no coat on myself. If my friend was going to freeze, by God so was I. Also on our trek, there was a guy around our age packing up these chairs at the end of the night. He was struggling to do so and a few of them were falling. Jay and I asked him if he needed some help. He distinctly said no thanks and we distinctly ignored him and helped him stack all the chairs. He was very grateful. No one was going to get in between us and a good deed that night.

At one point, Jay and I grew concerned about the direction we were going and wanted to grab a cab for ourselves just to be sure. Sean Taylor was adamant he knew what he was doing and for the record, he was right. Nonetheless, we stopped a cab and were greeted by two friends literally pulling a third out of the back. Now, this guy was OUT. We're not talking can't walk, we're not even talking can't stand, we're talking positively out in an unintentional drunk coma. As soon as the friends drag this guy out, he immediately slams flat on the sidewalk without even reacting to it. His boys are saying that he has to get up and are trying and failing to drag him on the sidewalk and get him up. Jay and I did not bother to help them, for they were beyond saving. As we went to hop in the car, we realize that the slumbering brother had hurled all over the back of the car. The cab driver tried to coax us to stick around while he cleaned the inside. Naturally, there was no way we were getting in that car. The driver said that all he needed was some alcohol to clean it up with. In my last pun of the night I said that it looked like alcohol caused this situation in the first place. We got out of Dodge and Sean Taylor got us home.

Ben Kraus let us in the apartment and immediately Sean Taylor bit the hand that housed him and laughed at Ben's attire, a double breasted jacket. Sean Taylor soon found himself in the doghouse, if you will. An d apparently quite the debate took place after I fell asleep as Sean knocked the double breasted look and Ben made fun of the "football pads" in Sean's sweater. The whole while, Jay laughed unabashedly while Sean Taylor threatened to punch him in the face. I wish I could be your primary source on this story, but by all secondhand accounts, it was incredible and Deanna has it on video which is wonderful news. Some moments deserve to live on forever.

The following morning we had planned to leave at a reasonable time, but it turns out Sean Taylor had forgotten his coat at one of the bars we went to and his car keys were in the coat pocket. A moment that was as inexplicable as it was unfortunate. We spent the day retracing our steps and hoping that at least the keys were turned in. No such luck... and no sign of Joan either.

Notice that the man making fun of the jacket last night had no jacket at all the next day. Also notice that the whole time Sean Taylor was saying he was cold that night, neither Jay nor I asked him where his coat was.

As if things couldn't get worse, Ben Kraus had blown a tire on the way to dropping off Deanna and needed Jake's jack to fix the flat. We all lent a hand and got the tire fixed with relative ease as soon as we figured out where, specifically, to put the jack. While we were struggling briefly, Deanna hung out in the car and was enjoying the show. After a while we realized that something was amiss and no one knew where Sean Taylor was. I wish I could say that wasn't a common occurrence, but I can't. After a couple minutes, we realized that a giggling Deanna had a guest in the car that was none other than Sean Taylor, grinning and in her Edie wig. To say Jay was mad is kind of an overstatement, but the combination of Jay's frustration with the jack, an empty stomach, and a loafing and grinning Sean Taylor whose missing keys were the only reason we were still in Queens in the first place, was a little too much for Jay to bear and he lost it a little bit, threatening to put his face in mud, powerbomb, and frogsplash him simultaneously. For a few minutes, Sean Taylor was in a worse situation than the jealous sheriff, but cooler heads prevailed and the tire was fixed.

I feel the need to mention that the entire morning Sean Taylor was white as a sheet, sweating profusely, and really not feeling so hot in the least. My heart went out to him. After the tire switch, we went to a diner and feasted in style. Over the course of the meal, a much improved Sean Taylor mimicked Ben and Deanna's expressions of affection on a very uncomfortable Jay, who did not want anyone leaning on his shoulder, much less Sean Taylor. (On the plus side, Sean had long since removed the Edie wig.)

Having no luck finding the keys, Jay and I left for home with Jake while Sean stuck around waiting for AAA. I feel like even though this is one of the longer posts I've written, I'm still only scratching the surface of this trip. All I can say is that it was wonderful and memorable and I'm glad to have shared it with those I care about.

Song of the Day: Lorelai-Fleet Foxes

Jazz Song of the Day: Blue In Green-Miles Davis