Martinis, KISS, and the art of leverage.

Well, friends and neighbors, this weekend I was in the city that never sleeps. The city so nice they named it twice. The big apple. I'm talking, of course, about Omaha, Nebraska. Kidding, folks... I was actually in NYC. I don't know if you know this, but when it rains, New York makes it's own gravy. It's true. Very, very cool. Got some shopping done, went to the legendary CBGB, (for those of you that are unaware, it's the home of underground rock... The Ramones started there, Madonna, Talking heads, etc...), saw a fight that was over with in about four seconds, went to a bar that you need to have an appointment to get into, and had just about the best martini I've ever had in my life... although the martini wasn't at the bar.

I went down to see a couple friends of mine; Darren and Amy. These two are two of my favorite people in the world. Now that we're done with that, let me tell you about Saturday night.

We started out at CBGB... those two were nice enough to bring me down there just so that I could get a picture of the legendary awning. Very f'ing cool. Just think... Joey Ramone probably stood outside and smoked a cigarette (or something) here. Actually, don't bother thinking about that. When The Ramones played there, you could still smoke inside in New York State. Thanks, Pataki.

Regardless, after a four drink and $27 round, we headed off down the street looking for the next place to refresh ourselves with a delicious libation (that's "get a drink" for you non-literary types out there). We grabbed a cab, went a few blocks, and headed out. Wait a minute... I almost forgot. One of the bartenders at CBGB had a very interesting tattoo (among others), and I just had to ask her about it, and, yes, I did get a picture of it. Long story short, after a quick conversation... the nuts and bolts of it were that she said, "Kiss changed my life in 1982," after I asked her about one, well, two of her many body art indulgences, I asked her if she would mind if I snapped a quick picture. She approved. You have to appreciate the commitment and the fact that she's still really enthusiastic about the whole thing. I've got a Jimmy Buffett tattoo that I wish I could get rid of, to be honest. I still love Jimmy and he'll always be my fav, but I just wish that I didn't have the ink that I do. Regardless, you have to see this. Wait no longer... here you go.

Yes, the tattoos on her triceps are "Kiss," and "this." Again, you gotta respect the commitment. If you're ever at CBGB in NYC, check her out. She's very cool. Moving on... once again.

We got out on 3rd Avenue. Wanna know how I know that it was 3rd Avenue? Lemme tell ya. Read on.

After walking a couple blocks from where the cab let us off, we went into some bar that served liters of beer. Well, it was pretty packed and there was no place to sit, so we walked right back out and headed up the street. After walking about 20 yards, I heard the voice. What voice, you ask? The voice of drunk-black blazer-and-backward-baseball-hat-wearing-over-zealous-beer-muscle-boy... henceforth to be known, in the interest of brevity, drunk boy.

Drunk boy yelled, "sir... sir," so we all turned around to realize that he was, in fact, addressing us. He then yelled, "don't ever bump into me again!" We all pretty much said, "whatever," and turned around to continue our quest for a cocktail. Now, I can't remember exactly what was said by drunk boy next, but I distinctly remember Amy yelling something to the tune of "fuck you." Again, I don't recall the exact verbiage. Amy's not really one to keep her mouth shut in cases such as this.

Regardless, drunk boy took particular offense to this. After a little more verbal volleyball, drunk boy began aggressively walking towards us, shouting that he was going to, quote, "break you in half on 3rd Avenue," this statement being directed at Amy. Yeah, I know, real tough guy... gonna start a fight with a girl. Never mind the fact that Amy's about 100 lbs. soaking wet. Well, when this event starts to unfold, I'm not really sure that drunk boy weighed his options. It's him against a girl, but Darren and I are standing right there, and we're both sober. If the name didn't give it away, drunk boy had a couple cocktails in him. Now, granted, you know that I'm not the most physically imposing specimen in the world, but there's still two of me when you count the other guy that I was with, and I'm pretty sure he had my back. As luck would have it, the situation didn't really get that far. Read on.

Again, as you know, and as I've said many a time on this blog including the last paragraph, I'm not the most physically imposing individual on the planet. Darren isn't either, but he's bigger than me. I'm a little taller, but he's got about 25 lbs. on me. Together, we're a fighting machine. Well, I guess if you could somehow glue us together we'd be a fighting machine or something like that. Anyway, it didn't matter just then.

As I was saying, drunk boy was aggressively walking toward us, and Darren stepped in front of him and locked arms. I'll try my best to paint this mental picture for you. The two of them, Darren and drunk boy, were facing each other, and each had his hands under the other's arms. At this point, I was thinking that all Darren had to do was head-butt this clown, but I found out later why he did not, in fact, take this course of action. By the way, I'm to Darren's right at this point, and I'm hoping that I don't have to dot this guy's eye for him. I'd hate like hell to mess up my ring with some dude's incisor. Regardless, Darren put his foot on the outside of drunk boy's foot, and there's no other way to say this, tossed drunk boy sideways about 984 feet. To be honest, it was literally about 5 or 6 feet, but drunk boy caught a bunch of air and it looked like 984 feet. I will admit that 984 is just an estimate. I had unfortunately left my tape measure at CBGB for reasons that I cannot discuss on this blog. Suffice it to say that it's in the bathroom. Moving on.

Short story long, drunk boy landed on the pavement and stayed there... for about 15 seconds or so. We started walking, again in search of libations (see above). Drunk boy mustered the gumption to make it to his feet and commence to yelling, "come back here," and "we're gonna go!!!" We turned around again, saw drunk boy start to run toward us, and (lucky for him) a couple random people grabbed him and ceased the inevitable melee that would undoubtedly have ended in our favor. I'm pretty sure that a drunken four-year old with a lazy eye and bad case of narcolepsy could have KO'd this clown in a matter of seconds. Anyway, we continued our walk, and that was the end of the NYC drunk boy encounter. I think that the next morning when he woke up with pavement scars and bruises that Darren so eloquently administered with a simple knowledge of leverage was enough to curb his liquor-fueled-start-a-fight-with-a-bigger-guy's-wife-penchant for a while. If not, see you next time I'm in the city, loser.

Anyway, after we got liquored up at this place that you need to have an appointment for (I'm not sure if I'm supposed to talk about this or not, so I won't), we headed back to their apartment, at which point began the martini... the best one I've ever had. It was a martini with Tangueray 10, vermouth (obviously), and olives stuffed with blue cheese. Yeah, I know... it doesn't sound too appetizing, but it was awesome. I don't know if it was the perfect blend of top shelf gin and just the right amount of vermouth, but it was awesome. You ever get a drink where you think, "Jesus, if I could make this at home I'd never go out... all I need is to know how to make it"? Yeah? Me too. It was one of those drinks. You and I both know... we'd both still go out. Trust me. As a single guy in upstate NY, I don't really have a choice. Women don't arbitrarily just come to my apartment to see what I've done with two year's worth of wine corks. If they did, I'd either be married or single and really happy. As neither of those is the case, I'll continue to frequent the bar scene.

So that's my story for the weekend. I guess for now I'll log off. It feels like I've written a whole bunch. Whether or not I have done that... I guess I'll find out in the comments section or my email tomorrow. I must get to bed, though. I'm thinking about wandering Park Avenue and trying to bump into someone. I could use some work on my leverage and punching bag skills.

Until next time...

R