Dollar, Dollar Bill Y'all

I cashed a check at the bank yesterday and noticed a $2 bill in the bills I got back.

"Is that a two dollar bill?" I exclaimed.

"Yes," said the teller. "Do you not want it?"

"Oh no, I'll take it," I said.

"I didn't know they were still in circulation," I said.

"I have more if you want them," she said.




"Maybe next time," I told her and then turned an left putting this relic of currency into my pocket.

When I got home I showed my two boys. It was like some oddity to them; like telephones with cords. My youngest asked if we could hang it on the fridge with the fortunes from cookies.

I hope it brings some luck.

Shift From Hell

During all the years I have been catering, one thing is a constant: Anything can happen.

I've worked some crazy parties in crazy places and heard some crazy things.

But recently I experienced what could be best described as the perfect storm of catering madness.

I arrived to the site in downtown Raleigh to discover we were short-staffed. Twenty minutes later a co-worker suspected her wallet (with car keys and cell phone inside) was stolen.


Nobody was sure how so, we decided to ask around and see if one of the groundskeepers or wedding planners picked it up.

Just to be safe, another co-worker suggested, she should file a police report.

"Because you never know," she said and then offered up her cell phone. Suddenly we were down another person but this staff was an experienced one and we rallied for the cause.

Shortly before the shift started - with said co-worker still going back and forth with the cops on the phone - the dude who led the party turned to me as he was getting dressed and said, "I think they stole my shoes?"

With that the theft was confirmed.

Two times over confirmed for that matter as the girl-with-the-stolen-wallet returned to informed us that her credit cards had already been used around town.

And then the wedding service started. And then they had the wise idea to shoot wedding photos after the service. And then guests drank for two straight hours waiting for the wedding party. And then this put the food service behind. And then this put the band behind (you see where this is going...)

As the wedding party was about to make their entrance an improperly set up round table collapsed sending glassware and a tall vaseful of flowers crashing to the ground. I cut my finger cleaning up said glass.

The band sucked and played way too loud. The crowd of about 60 consisted of fiftysomethings who were all Sigma Chi frat brothers. Songs ensued. I stepped in to give the bartender a piss break only to find that ants had invaded the open sodas and fruit garnishes. The wedding planner changed the time for the champagne toast and cake cutting but forgot to inform us. There was a scramble to get the flutes out in time for the toast. They ate all the cake.

A group of about eight were very drunk by the end of the party. They were oblivious that they missed the shuttle back to the hotel. Despite having the appearance of being CEOs, CFOs and your run-of-the-mill top level executives, they still complained about having to call a cab. They refused to leave. They broke out some felt playing board and dice game.

I had crossed over into the catering zone.

This is the place where guests no longer care how they act or what they say in front of you. The zone where you might see forbidden Freemason rituals or hear racist banter belted out.

This all happened on a Sunday night no less. A shift I figured would be over early in the evening. It wouldn't end until the leftover booze was placed in the father of the groom's car; until all the tables and chairs were broken down; until all the china was properly racked and placed in its proper place for the night; it wouldn't end until close to 12:30am.

And then morning came and it was off to the day job.

Career Opportunities

Take a look at this photo.

Looks like the trunk of a bank robber or jewel thief doesn't it?

Well, it's actually a prop bag that my boys have put together.

They've been dorkin' around with a Flip camera for a few years now.

The latest result is ANONYMOUS.

My 12-year-year old pretty much directed and then edited this whole YouTube clip.

Maybe there's a career opportunity down the road for him...

Moving Forward, Moving Faster

I'm just over a month away from moving out of this shit hole apartment complex.

I had hoped this living situation would be temporary. I had hope that I would have moved forward in life. I never expected to be stuck in some sort of twisted limbo.

I've lost the urge to write many times over the years but the last few really hit me hard. I returned to a full-time day job after almost eight years as a stay-at-home dad, changing diapers but not changing the world like I had hoped I would twenty years ago before kids entered the picture.

My marriage crumbled and fell apart.

Yet I continued to make stabs at memoir(s), cobbling together a few treatments for TVs shows and movies based on my life experiences, doing some freelance music reviews for a now-defunct web site called Shockhound and of course minimal blogging.

I like to write about the mundane, about the things I see from day-to-day but when the day-to-day became to be too much... I stopped.

I truly love writing about my two boys but up until now I never felt comfortable writing about post-marriage life, about the trials & tribulations of co-parenting, about what it is like to lose your sense of yourself, to be stripped of your identity (dad). I want a house and a backyard. I did not grow up in or around apartment complexes so living in one (unjustly so maybe) makes me feel like a failure. How does one deal with failure?

I wrote songs and settled back into being in a working band.

I felt like things were staring to move forward, although moving faster. There were shows, some steady freelance writing and a busy days at the office. Lots of busy days.

But then Shockhound died and with it every review I ever wrote. Then I got robbed. And with it I lost poems, short stories and just about everything and anything I put to paper or typed up over almost 20 years. And yes, lots and lots of photos.

Deadwater as they say.

But as I pack for a move, I have been rediscovering photos and writing and books and records and movies; rediscovering all the things over the years that have inspired me.

And I also have spent the last five days of spring break with my two boys: every day, all day doing stuff that we do best - creating, laughing, joking, eating, sleeping.

Battery is recharging as they say. You'll see more of me here. And in other places along the way...

Catering - Behind The Scenes

I have been catering on and off for the better part of fifteen years.

I've seen and heard a lot of things during that time.

This past week I worked a party for Duke's Student Affairs. It was a Brazilian-themed party for 1,500 guests.

Yes. 1,500 guests.

Even in all my years of doing this, that is still a number I rarely see.





One of the things being served was pastel - pastry wrapped tasty morsel. This was filled with tomatoes, mozzarella cheese and oregano and then deep fried.

Essentially a pizza roll.

This is what a catering kitchen looks like just an hour before the party started. An "all hands on deck!" scenario where even the waitstaff had to jump in and help make pastels.

I don't think the expected 1,500 showed up. I'm going to guess 500 at best.

Which is a good thing because that meant guests were able to gorge on these things. I mean if a guest only had two a piece we would have had to make 3,000 of them (which I don't believe was done even with the help of the waitstaff). Some other Brazilian food served? Pao de queijo, brigadeiro and pe de moleque.

A Good Day

What constitutes a good day?

A good day for me is one that involves rugby.

And Saturday proved to be full of it.

The boys and I started the day by watching The 16th Man, one of Espn's 30 on 30 documentaries about Nelson Mandela and the South African rugby team. The story recently was on the silver screen (called Invictus featuring Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon).

It's an inspiring story of how a sports team helped unify a country.



We followed up the documentary with a trip over to the campus of the University of North Carolina to watch the UNC Men's rugby team play a game against alumni.

After the game, I took the boys and their two friends to a local field to play some two-on-two rugby with me playing "all-time offensive."

The weather was beautiful. The boys were hot and sweaty.

It was a good day.

And today every one is sore...

A Thankless Job

This post goes out to all the educators in the world.

It's a thankless job.

But some love it and do it with enthusiasm.

Despite the paltry salaries they earn.

Why do we not invest more in those who will inform, educate and guide the young minds of tomorrow?



I digress.



Anyway, my current elementary school-aged son (red shirt, peace sign) wanted to go to March Madness night where the staff played the fifth graders in a basketball game.

Again, I could digress on basketball right here but I won't.

But what impressed me the most was that my oldest son, and his best friend from across the street, really wanted to go to their old elementary school to see their 5th grade teacher play hoops (because baseball is really his thing).

And they did.

And they took this photo.

And I told their former teacher what a beautiful thing it was that he made such an impact on them last year that they wanted to return to see him in action.

It's easy to hate school. And your teacher.

Liking your teacher means liking to learn and for this I would like to say thank you to any or all of the public school teachers out there who care and connect with their students.

Well, just not like this.

Beer Connoisseur

Spotted this can in the grass by the skateboard park last Sunday during my early morning Church of Skatin' session with my boys.

I thought about what breakfast might taste like in this part of town.

I was reminded of the fact that before I was a craft beer magazine editor, I was a malt liquor connoisseur.

Malt liquor helped forged a friendship with my fellow music journalist and reluctant catcher, Dan Epstein.

Dan once commented that Colt 45, "still tastes good warm."


Not so sure about that one Dan.

And an old neighbor used to always put a can or two of the Colt in his beer cooler "just to see who was man enough to drink it."

Many, many moons ago, in a pre-jackass world, I wrote a malt liquor review for the silly skateboard mag known as Big Brother.

I figured in this day and age of bit torrents, I'd find a link slash pdf of the malt liquor review.

Alas, all I found when Googling malt liquor reviews and the magazine was a link to myself.

Dropping In

Not sure of the exact date of this photo but it has got to be mid-'80s. A half pipe in the backyard of Jeff Tremaine that was originally built for BMX but was soon converted into a skate ramp.

It was rickety but tons of fun.

I'm not sure who dressed me back then...

Two-in-One

Little boys can get dirty. Real dirty. So I find myself, very often, telling my sons to wash themselves when they get in the shower. Water alone will not clean you. The other day I walked into the bathroom to make sure he was taking care of business. He wasn't. He had his eyes closed and head under the shower. "C'mon and wash up dude," I said. "OK dad," he said and then grabbed the shampoo bottle and squirted a heaping dollop into his hands... and began rubbing it all over his belly. "What are you doing?" I asked. "That's shampoo." "I know," he said. "But it says 'two-in-one'..."

Paging Charles Bronson

CSI was here today...

And this is my story.

I picked up my youngest son. His mom had his brother at a road trip soccer game almost an hour away. I was looking forward to getting some one-on-one time with him.

He wanted a Monster Burger. I very half-assedly tried to talk him out of ordering it. But then figured being the monster it is we could split it.

We got back to the apartment and I let us in. Immediately something felt off.

I went over to my desk (where I usually place my computer at the end of the day) and quickly noticed my cord was gone. I turned around and saw the PS3 was gone. Nothing but dust in its place under the TV.

He went into the bathroom to take a dump and I went into the bedroom. I saw my nightstand drawer overturned on my bed and the contents of it - some old journals, homemade cards from the boys etc. - sprawled across my bed. I came back out of the bedroom and scanned the room. All kinds of top dollar shit (bike, amp, stereo, TV) still in view. And then I noticed the back of the door.

I yelled out (silently in my head), "I've been fucking robbed!"

I went back over to the desk. Checkbook was still in plain sight. I was confused (and clearly not much of a crook because I couldn't for the life of me understand why who ever broke in chose to leave so many valuables). I would understand much later when the police arrive.

I snapped a few photos with my phone and headed over to the leasing office with my son. He asked questions about the "break in" while this here dad tried not to scream at the top of my lungs or cry in utter frustration on how violated I felt at the moment. I explained the situation and we headed back home trying to figure out what had happened. At first I thought the culprit came in through the window and then "broke" out the front door.

I told you I wasn't much of a criminal.

I dialed 911 and put in my call. An officer arrived a short time later to make a report.

"Looks like he kicked in the front door," he said.

"But there's so much shit he didn't take," I said pointing to my guitar, bass amp, bicycle, TV, stereo. "I don't get it."

"It has to fit in a backpack," he said.

It's was all starting to make sense now.

The officer asked for serial numbers none of which I had readily available. Sure I've got manuals, and hell, even the boxes the digital camera and PS3 came in. But no serial numbers.

"Most people don't have them," he said.

In an odd twist of events, he asked if I still skated as he looked at the skateboards littering the floor and hanging on the walls finishing up with a "street or vert?" question. I'm a musician too he said as he took pen tip to tongue before he asked what else had been stolen.

It was at that moment that I realized my fucking Mac laptop has been pinched. It's impossible to explain the feeling one has at that moment; the moment when you realize that the novel you've worked on for years, that the screenplay your were two thirds of the way through, that the years worth of short stories and poems penned, that the many photos of your children or your awesome iTunes library had just vanished from your world.

Gone.

And most likely forever.

And suddenly you want to cry. But you can't. No not in front of your son and not in front of a cop. You make a mental note to do that much later, like maybe when you are typing out a blog post... sniff.

He broke my concentration when he said, "What an awesome bachelor pad!" beforing turning to explain CSI would arrive soon to dust for prints.

This is my reality TV motherfuckers. Please change the channel.

CSI came in with their cameras and white gloves and explained how "easy" it is to kick in a door... and boy doesn't that just make you feel so much fucking safer?

They took photos, and my fingerprints, before explaining how to clean up the dust or whatever that black powder shit is they use to do their job. And then they were gone.

And that's it.

I'm left to dig through my stuff to see when was the last time I backed up my work on disc but I don't dare do that at the immediate moment for fear of the worst which I am currently unable to face or comprehend.

I'm not into guns and don't really consider myself a violent person. I'm much more pacifist anarchist than ten-knuckled thug but right now vigilante justice sounds downright gratifying.

There's no justice, it's just us.

Family Style

I have catered on and off for the better part of fifteen years.

Most of the parties are broken down into a service style: heavy hor d'oeuvres, buffet, served and family style.

Family style, for the uninitiated, is when you put just about everything you can on the table: preset as we say in the business.

So the other day I worked a party.

Family style.

Cue No Trend...

Do You Know What This Is?

It's called a Cootie Catcher.

As a parent, I am continually amazed at what things transcend generations.

Take this little bugger for instance. This origami-like fortune teller is a flashback from my days in elementary school and I was quite surprised when it resurfaced a few months ago through my boys. Hell it probably was more than a year ago but the parental calendar isn't always a Gregorian one knowwhati'msayin'? In this modern age it is good to see them enjoying things from my youth - in those days before cell phones and streaming movies - like rubber band airplanes or skipping stones on the water.

The basic premise of these is that you choose from a word on the side, then the letters are counted out. This exposes the innards of the mechanism which has each open-faced page printed with a number. You choose a number, the child flutters it, then you chose another number and yet another round of fluttering ensues.

Then you peel back the number it landed on and it reveals your fortune.

The words on the outside of this homemade cootie catcher?

Iron Maiden, Chest Pains, Shang-a-Lang and Led Zeppelin.

Nice right?

Now the fortunes:
-Sing any song you like.
-Sing a Led Zeppelin song.
-Sing any song you want.
-Free pass.
-Sing Especially in Michigan.
-Sing a Chest Pains song.
-Sing a Jimi Hendrix song.
-Sing a Black Sabbath song.

Fuckin' priceless ain't it?

Now you know why I'm holding on to this one for the memory books.

Half Full or Half Empty?

I do not know this man nor claim to know anything about how he got to this point in his life.

I do know that the day I snapped this photo it was grotesquely hot out.

And I also know that he was snoring and that he had a half empty twelve pack rested on the back of his wheelchair.

It got me thinking, "How do you overcome adversity in your life?"

You could be like Lance.

Or you could be like Amy.




You can let life get the best of you or you can get the best of life.

And so this photo will remind me that I need to get the best out of life because I will never know when life may one day get the best of me.

Aw, Snap!

Friday Foto

Not much to say about this picture if only because I know nothing about Batillus.

I was walking back to my car after the OFF! show and was encouraged to pop into Reservoir to catch a set from Caltrop.

These guys were on stage. I wish I could explain them. You can toss around words like metal and doom but they were so much more and so much less than those two genres. Prog metal? Who knows.

One thing for sure - the band was tight and the dude could holler.

Dude. Sweet.

They are brothers.

And they act like such.

Some days they finish each other's sentences.

Other days they mock each other.

Some days it is pure comedy.

My youngest knows the bar scene dance from Pee Wee's Big Adventure - they both know who Booji Boy is - and they have got their own schtick that is so cabaret.

They are precious. Dude. They are sweet.

Friday Foto

I took my boys ice skating last weekend.

I can't remember the last time I'd been ice skating. I'm going to guess and say it was over 30 years ago in Wheaton, MD.

We all hugged the boards for twenty minutes getting our bearings. My youngest son Cole used a technique that was part Ickey Shuffle, part Pee Wee Herman. His brother looked more like Bambi, flailing being the rule not the exception, with arms pinwheeling and legs a-splitting.

I didn't fall once.

When we left the boys said, "I thought you didn't know how to ice skate?"

Haha.

Veni, vidi, vici...

The Ghost Kitty

About a month ago I was watching some Animal Planet show about cats with the kids.

One of the cat species profiled on the show looked a lot like our old cat Ginger.

I had never had a cat before her and, quite honestly, don't know if I'll ever have another cat. She was an awesome kitty right up to the end. So when we saw the cat that looked like her on TV we started to talk about all the Gingerisms she had like sleeping in the bathroom sink in the summer to her tendency to paw me in the nose in the morning to wake me up.

It was good times fondly remembering the family cat and shortly after, we all went to bed and drifted off to sleep.

And then it happened: In the middle of the night I swear I felt like she was walking on my bed. You know the sensation if you've ever had a cat or dog. I woke up the next day and thought about how I must have conjured up her spirit; about how talking about her brought a piece of her back into my life. I joked about how I thought her ghost was in my room and the kids and I just shrugged it off.

My son Cole asked if she got lost on the way to the Tropical World.

But since that night, I have had several - maybe a half a dozen - encounters in the middle of the night where I felt like she was walking on my bed. It's a very calming feeling despite the actually creepiness of thinking there's a kitty ghost up in the joint.

This one's for you Ginger...

Friday Foto

During my recent excursion with my boys to the old neighborhood, I took them to The Cave.

We had gone there before with their cousins and my brother - the place is part of the local lore of the area (at least it was for me and my brother growing up) so when we got to Maryland it is a must-see attraction.

On a cold morning after Thanksgiving, we made are way down the path to where the cave lives, walking briskly to stave of the shivers.

They wanted to climb to the top, like they have done before, so we did.

When we got to the top the place was littered with empty beer cans and bottles. And of course, there was years worth of party phrases carved into the bark of the surrounding trees. I snapped a photo of this gem.

My 10-year-old said, "Does that mean because we are on top of the hill?"

He took a long pause glancing at the ground and then said, "Or does it mean high on alcohol?"

"A little of both," I said.

I guess it is time to have that talk with him.

When did you have that talk with your kids?