Go Southeast Young Man
This thing called March Madness came upon me as hard as an airline stewardess handing out stale peanuts on a 2 hour flight. I know that doesn’t really make any sense, but I am indifferent when it comes to the biggest college sports weekend in the nation. I mean, it’s not that I don’t care, but again, to be honest, I don’t care. You could tell me Pennco Tech is playing, and I would be like, “Yeah? Cool.” So I took some days off from work to begin the annual pilgrimage to Wildwood, NJ to see the Pole. Pole is the master of Swinefest, the greatest event of BBQ known to modern man. It takes place every year in September in Mount Royal, NJ (not Clarksboro) and has featured celebrities from around the world. We are writers that have the dream of making it somehow. How, we don't know. On top of being a hell of a barber, nobody quite makes Deviled Eggs stuffed with lump crabmeat like he does. Nobody. I owe him my life. And when I hit the lottery, he gets his bar in Wildwood, and I only ask that my bands I feature on the show have a place to play. Anyway. I digress. My original plan was to head 'down the shore'(how SJzn's say it) Wednesday night, but forgetting I had things to take care of locally on Thursday morning, I figured, well, Wildwood ain’t goin’ anywhere….and what’s the rush? You get there when you get there. That’s one fine example of how everything has changed within me in the last few years. I just don’t care. It’s the destination…you will be there when you arrive. There is no ‘deadline’ so to speak, and regardless, your friends love you whether you show up 20 minutes late, or a week late. So I didn’t fret about it. As a matter of fact, which became the joke of the weekend; I took my time getting there. I made the plan of getting some things ironed out before I left. And as the afternoon crept along, there was this quiet sense of urgency in my head. Not in the sense of rushing to get down there as I said above, but more in the way of ‘Ok, you have dilly dallied long enough…if you waste anymore time, you won’t want to go down.” So as I packed and fed Opus by tricking him into eating so I wouldn’t have the pain of him watching me walk out the door, I was on my way to Wildwood. But I learned something yet again. I learned why I have worked my bizarre work schedule over the last decade. As I approached 295 at 4:45 pm, it was a parking lot. Cars were backed up from the black horse pike exit, to route 38 in Mount Laurel. I thought to myself, you have to be kidding me. Ok, don’t stress. There are always good moments like these where you can sit and listen to all the new music you just got in. Done, tracked, picked, and filed. All as I crawled. After burning through 3 or 4 discs, I decided after 40 minutes I didn’t want to wait on 295 to move a whole 6.4 miles. And if it’s this bad here, I could only imagine how nonsensical it would be if I took this obsolete and ill protected highway to the 42/North South Freeway. I know what to do! Do what the colonials did! I took the White Horse Pike exit and began to head east down this one time Indian foot path. My Jeep was full of gas, and full of Pat Metheny Group’s The Way Up. There’s always a certain haunting I experience with this album. It talks to you every time you hear it. And you can be sure to hear something different every time. Six minutes into part 2, just happened to be as I approached the back roads of Winslow Township and Waterford. Funny how life imitates art….the soundtrack and reminders of the past were complete……and introspectively humbling.
My, my. my….look at how far you’ve come.
Beyond The Sun
Once I arrived to the Garden State Parkway I couldn’t help but think the intention of the highway was to have it look like the design of the Santa Monica Freeway with Palm Trees and perfectly lined deciduous trees. But in our case, evergreens, stop lights, blown tires, trash bags, signs to encourage you to stay awake, and my favorite, the town mile markers. The highway was barren. Not a soul on the thruway. What made me laugh was that this will be opposite in contrast in a mere month. How dare they come down here and ruin my state. After convincing my father I didn’t leave for Montreal again, I barreled into Rio Grande and headed eastward to the Wildwood By The Sea. Or, as us local south Jersean, non Canadians would say, Wildwood. (The jersey shore is the canuck’s Florida. Ugh. Get out of the left lane.) The air was crisp. It had been warmer the days prior, but there would be no satisfaction to have it work out perfectly for this weekend. I mean, it IS March. And it was brutally colder the last year I had Impanemia over the Rio Grande. I met up with Pole at this years homestead located actually ON Rio Grande. Doing his best impression of the air traffic controllers on strike, he guided my tent with wheels into the hidden underground garage. I checked out our friend Kevin’s shore house. It was huge. It went about a mile back with 10 bedrooms and an arctic air mixed with a burnt ozone smell that seemed normal to everyone positioned there. Regardless, it was a great place. The perfect set up. You could tell it was new and well kept. You could see other buildings going through renovations nearby. It was good to see Kevin as well. We worked together as well a few years back and delivered a lot of hours. A trooper. Kevin is one of those guys that can look at something and break down how it works and 'get it' immediately. He liked working with me because I used to pistol whip his phone reps. Best numbers in the region, yo. So after greetings and salutations, off we went to the infamous Dog Tooth. Pole and I met up with his buddy Rich. Rich wore a bright red “WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS” long sleeve that made him easy not to miss. After winning the World Series, it was a nice reminder of how awesome October was, and that yeah, We're fucking champs dude. I didn't catch on to Pole's HICKORY shirt. I just thought it was a great smoking wood. We all shook hands and began drinking. March Madness was upon us, and Villanova was struggling a bit. Down by 10, I could hear Rich and Pole play the “Let’s see how loud we can get the more we drink game.” Every Villanova play resulted in grunts and groans from Rich. I sipped my Dos Equis like it was the last thing I wanted to drink. I could hear my body telling me, “Do we really have to do this today?” I forced another sip. Just the mere fact I was forcing ‘sips’ was a bit troubling. Pole insisted I wasn’t having a good time. I realized he was in the place I so wanted to be, which was inebriated. I had 2 beers at this point and realized, you know what, I am just going to sit here and relax. You aren’t at work, you aren’t working on a script, your phone is on silent, and you are with your friends. Have a good time, dammit. Pole tried repeatedly to keep me on the up and up. I just couldn’t help my resistance to it. It was almost like I felt guilty for wanting to have a good time. And the guilt was winning. The sad part was, I couldn’t really find what the root of the problem was. I should have just switched to Vodka, but I just had no desire to up the ante. Then the voice of reason kicked in and said, hey, relax…..seriously. All I could think about was what was not getting done at the speed I wanted. Stuff at work, the book, some radio show production, upcoming festivals, 500 emails, blah blah blah. I know, I know. In time. Alas, after finishing my second beer and cigarette, the throbbing headache began. It didn’t help that Pole was picking all the death metal he could muster, (not really) or every modern rock band I had no clue about or felt anything for on the jukebox. Then Rich and I got in a discussion about music. I find myself trying to be objective when it comes to music discussions with the normal Joe. Or in this case, Rich. I find myself appalled when someone tries to tell me that “Flea” is the best bassist that ever lived. Or that Pearl Jam was one of the greatest bands of all time. Or that the Rolling Stones are the greatest musicians of all time. Or Bruce Springsteen is a genius. I take it they never heard of Jaco Pastorius, Rick Laird, Stanley Clarke or Percy Jones. Eh, it’s ok. You are a Jedi. Doesn’t make them part of the Sith if they don’t know who they are. But again, I find myself very out of place in those conversations. I really wanted to respond with, “Well none of those guys have any real depth or talent and can only play 3 chords anyway. But if you are into it, you are into it. Opium of the masses I always say. It’s like being a Yankees fan. Anyone can root for them…” And keep this in mind, it's not a bad thing. Music is music. Some people would rather just stay on the surface. Then there are others who like dive in a bit. In ANY genre. But still staying relatively close to the surface. Then there are freaks like me and countless others that have to do a full blown out study of certain type of music. It becomes them. They go after the offshoots, the rare recordings, the bands that started at the same time, and try to study trends of the bands and projects in a particular era of time. So with all that, I have a hard time really talking to people about music, the thing I love the most. When these conversations come up, I just stay quiet because they wouldn't know half the bands, composers, and artists I could mention. It's not their fault if they don't. But when they say stuff to me like "Oh you like prog rock? Dark Side Of The Moon was the best Floyd album ever", It’s like going up to a priest and saying, “Whoa man...that ending of the Bible......um...what's it called?....um...oh yeah Revelation. Man, that's wild!” Um yeah. Wild. So as the headache came to a crescendo, I decided I needed to walk back to the house a block away and just take a breather. Once I arrived, Kevin and his brother Mark were watching the outcome of one of the many games. Whatever game it was, Pennco vs. Miley's Driving School or whatever, came down to the buzzer. After rapping about the past presidential election, the Eagles on draft day, and how its ok that I can’t seem to hang for marathon drinking, the front door barreled in. Rich crashed through with an impish grin to his face. Visibly drunk, and obviously not smelling the burning electricity in the condo, he reckoned he wanted to pounce on someone. Well, he’s drunk. What do you expect? So he eyes up Kevin. Like a ninja, Kevin was gone in a puff of smoke. Within a billionth of a second I could hear him say behind his bedroom door, “Its ok, I am glad that everyone got home ok! I’m off to bed now…” Just before I could say anything, Pole fell through the front door. He was blitzed. He just looked up at me and said, “I fell.” I laughed at the timing and decided I wanted to have a smoke. As I went outside, Rich came out behind me. We chewed the fat, and just then, Pole came falling out again. “I’m a jackass. I know. I’m a jackass…I’m the jackass here everyone.” He yelled to the invisible audience. Just then, Richie started punching his stomach in a pseudo boxing kind of way. Well, you just don’t do that to a person who had 56 beers and 15 shots. You just don’t. Pole disappeared to the side of the house. Rich followed. As minutes became double digits, I approached the side of the house as well. “Hey, is he ok?” I asked Richie. Richie turned around like that prairie dog in that youtube video as if something murderous and sinister was transpiring. “JUST GO AWAY. EVERYTHING IS FINE HERE. NOTHING TO SEE!” Wow, ok, at this point, I understood that in essence without the drama that Pole was throwing his guts up. That’s fine. We’ve all done it, and I just enjoy it more than the rest I guess. I mean, don’t you feel better as you’re hurling? Jeez, I do. I went back upstairs and the next plan was all about trying to find a place to sleep. I had picked the back bedroom first. But Rich insisted on having me help him carry Pole to the bedroom. This was something Pole wasn’t really up for. Rich insisted I continue to help, but at this point, Rich and Pole had collapsed on to the floor followed by giggling. Rich was laughing his ass off. “I’m out..” I said as I grabbed my pillow and headed to the living room a mile away. But it was only a few minutes later it was followed by, “Sssshhh” (banging noises approaching the living room) “ssshhh, come on Pole, let’s hit the sack. Come on. Shhhhh (Inaudible) Ssshhhh. Lets get to bed. Come on…..(more bangs) Stop! Stop! Dude. I will hit you in the nuts. Seriously. I will tap you right in the nuts (Laughter, more bangs) Dude, get off me. Oh dam. I am out of it. Dude, GET OFF. Wait, I swear Richie, I will tap you right in the nuts. Gimme a hug…” The noise got closer to the living room. “SShhh, gags is sleeping (big bang follows)” Well not anymore, guys. Just then, Pole slammed down in the couch next to me and said, “Gags. Just let it go. Let all your pain go” Then he passed out. I sat and stared at the light across the street fighting to get in through the blinds. I watched it as it got reddish purple and I began to fade thinking of how I should have been here years ago….the debacle of 1995 as I called it. Pole’s snoring helped set the rhythm for sleep in between the grunts of him trying to get comfortable on the ottoman. Despite the temperature in the house being 65, it was comforting…I faded.
The Best Pancakes On Earth
As I woke up, I realized how hungry I was. I didn’t have the luxury of eating my little snacks through the night like I would at home if it was just me and Opus. Once I got up, my plan was to get in the shower as quick as possible, and get coffee. That was first. That would at the least distract my nausea of an empty stomach. I get in the shower, there’s no strength to the water at all. But then again, I am used to a fire hydrant at my house. I’m spoiled I guess. Well, I don’t ask for much. Coffee, a powerful shower, and no rushing to get ready. That’s all I want in life. So once I was ready to go, Kevin’s Brother Mark walked in the door and asked if I was up for breakfast food. I wanted to see if Pole was up, but before I could check, out he came. “Where am I?” he asked. “Dude, breakfast? Huh? Huh? Huh?...” I responded with a question. All I heard at this point were grunts and groans. Then there we were off to a pancake house near Pacific Ave. Mark assured me they had the best pancakes on earth, and I hate pancakes. But I was so hungry, I wanted some. The wind was piercing through Mark, Pole, and I. We walk up to the front of the place. “Closed - Opening May 1st” We were pissed. Now what? Where do we eat now? Despite being a populated town in the off season, there isn’t a ton of places open. As we walked back to the house, I couldn’t help but notice a big pile of shit on the front lawn of Kevin’s house. “What a wild night.” I said. “Pole took a dump right on the lawn.” Pole replied with, “Again?” The funny thing was, Pole thought he really did it. I mean, I could TELL it was a dog and all that did it, but I didn’t know what was funnier, the fact that Pole ‘thought’ he did it, or that with all of his past wild stories, he could have. We walked back in and told Kevin. Kevin put his head in his hands and said, “Where did he do it?” That was just the icing on the cake. It was then decided we would order Pizza from Pizza Hut. Mark proceeds to tell the girl on the phone as Kevin was en route to the place, that the house was full of drunk teenagers. The girl almost seemed aroused by it. The bill came to 33$ and we all gorged out. Pole would pass out, and I would find myself in and out of sleep on the couch. It was the most relaxing part of my stay. They all were glued to the TV watching college hoops and I was in another world. The monotony was broken by the news that the Eagles picked up Fullback Leonard Weaver. It was then that Kevin decided to call a radio show on 950AM to say that Wake Forest was a lock for the game that night, all the Syracuse players he could think of, and that Leonard Weaver was left handed. Whatever that meant. The ozone smell from the hallway got stronger, and my concern grew over the implications because the condo was getter colder and colder. Kevin and I fooled with it until it a call was made to Banks. YES BANKS! He showed up at the house in his Air Conditioning/Heater Fixer Guy costume and proceeded to tell us the blower went. We laughed for hours. In my mind at least.
The Bayview Massacre or The Trouble With Jenna And Amanda
As Friday night came upon us, it was time to decide where to go. Kevin came up with the idea of us going to The Bayview. Pole was pumped, and with the arrival of John, another friend of ours, the night was complete. John and I worked together in sales at one point and was always a good help when I had no clue what I was doing. He also follows a lot of what goes on in the music world with a decent amount of knowledge of progressive rock and metal. As for the bar, The Bayview sits on the bay, obviously. Once we got there in Pole’s car, which I affectionately called KITT, it had the look of a large wooden buffet house. I have never been here, but it seemed very open, yet very homey. We took our seats at the bar as the Flyers game was 19 minutes in against the Buffalo Sabres. I decided to be the designated driver that night so they could all have a good time. Little did we know, IT WAS TRIVIA NIGHT! So we go and get our slips. The questions start rolling out from the gentleman with the CB radio microphone that cut out every 13 seconds because the wire was shot. We just kept replying “WHAT?” every time he would finish a question. We were killing in the match up. Just then to our right at the corner of the bar, an older gentleman, a younger guy, and an attractive brunette sit down at the bar. Sounds like the start of a joke. As they celebrated someone's birthday in the group, I am thinking the older gentleman, they started getting into the trivia as well. I could tell the girl was staring at us because we were being obnoxiously loud every time we got a question right he asked. Well, I was being the obnoxiously loud patron, and I was the sober designated driver mind you. I kept looking over to see that the girl was looking at us and smiling. It was obvious at this point she was flirting, and I was cool with it. Her name was Jenna and insisted I gave my answers to them so they could be in contention. Kevin, John, and Pole would have killed me if I did. So, I just kept saying, “I can’t, wouldn’t be fair to my group of geniuses. And that would be cheating!” Meanwhile I am calling my dad about the answers to, “Where did pieces of 8 originate from? And “What’s the most common Pope name?” We were on a roll. Were texting, calling, cheating just as bad. But were in front. Smoking everyone in our path. Jenna started talking to us a little more, and I thought it was nice to at least make a friend. After winning rounds 1 and 2, Pole and I departed the main bar for a game of air hockey. I am usually the master at this game. But for whatever reason, Pole jumped out to a 6-0 lead. I was stunned. I did crawl back to tie it at 7 which was most impressive, but not impressive enough as I lost 9-8. Oh well. The life of a Philadelphia sports fan. So we head back and answer questions about Blowfish, Garbanzo bean aliases, and the like. The smell of hickory from the fire place engulfed the seating area as did very unhappy trivia players. Apparently, when I walked back up, there was a woman basically scolding Jenna and her friends. I was kind of shocked actually. The woman accused Jenna and her friends of cheating during the trivia game with their blackberries and cell phones. Meanwhile, we were just as awful. So the people, who were pissed that they were supposedly cheating, left the bar in disgust. This was utterly absurd. I started laughing out loud that they caused the Bayview about 59$ in sales from those partaking in spirits during the game. The lady even said to them, “You made people leave here! And they were school teachers!” Oh go fuck yourself. Seriously. Grow up. It’s a fucking trivia game you dolt. Who the fuck cares on a Friday night? Is your life THAT fucking pathetic? Anyway….so, Jenna has a friend show up. Her name was Amanda. Amanda found out about the supposed cheating that had happened within her group of friends prior to her arriving and voiced her disdain for it. We just kept playing. Then we get to the bonus round. All questions about Ireland. I would have rather had my fingernails ripped off. So we turned in our questions, and as I walked back to say hi to Jenna and ask how they did, her bitchy friend turns and goes “Ew, go away, he’s slimy.” Now, let’s stop for a second. Slimy? Bitch you don’t even know me. For someone that wasn’t even that attractive, I was appalled. I mean god knows I have been called worse, but at least let me DO something to you for you to say that. So I was a bit stunned, because honestly, it was the first time I was ever called that. So I go back to my seat to see that even Pole was shocked at what she said. So Kevin started saying loudly, “Aren’t you guys cheating?” Just then Jenna asked for the answers to one of the questions, and I obviously replied with, “Well, you don’t want any answers from a slimy guy. They won’t be right.” Then Amanda obviously thought it was unfair for me to joke about her slanderous comment because she started realizing that the rest of my friends started heckling their trivia cheating ways. Jenna came over and did a pseudo comforting thing with me defending her friends attitude that she had a bad day etc etc etc. I don’t care. I wanted to say, "Get a shower you bridge troll." But of course I didn’t say that, and learned in my old age its better and wiser to just keep your mouth shut and ignore the hate. I guess.... So Jenna was getting drunker, and it was just then we won the round of trivia, and ultimately, the contest. Kevin gets a 50$ certificate for free dinner there, and we decide to depart. We come to find out that our happy girl Amanda, was manager of, get this, a bar we frequent regularly! As we start to walk out, Amanda decided to tell Kevin she liked him. So at least there was a sign that she could be a nice person...maybe. I wanted nachos, make that Chicken Nachos and really didn't feel like hanging out to find out if she was or wasn't. We laughed all the way home in our undefrosted KITT Car. Kevin insisted that Jenna would call. I knew already they wouldn’t. As we got closer to the bar, we saw a mess of cop cars ahead on Rio Grande. Not thinking anything of it, we get to Kevin’s house to see Banks working in the utility room fixing the heater. YAY! WE HAVE HEAT! Now it was a bit too warm in the place. We walked over to the bar and I was STARVING for chicken nachos. We inhaled them. Just then the long haired ex surfer bartender comes over to our corner and gives us free drink cups. I asked, “What was that for?” The bartender replied, “Well Amanda asked if 4 guys were at the bar that just left the Bayview. She felt bad for how mean she was to you guys and wanted you guys to have some free drinks.” Now I felt bad, I mean, still, she was a bitch and all, but I thought, wow. That was a nice gesture. I gave the cup to John and told him to enjoy it. The night ended with me walking back to Kevin’s and then taking a walk out back. I was grateful for the invite to the Wildwood by the sea, and told Kevin how proud I was that he did it the right way. He owns the place out right, and is an area that I predict, will be more popular than any shore town in the next 10 years. I truly believe that. As much as I am not a fan of Wildwood, this town is going through a revival…a renaissance so to speak. And he’s in a prime time location. As I smoked my last cigarette, I watched the cop cars still down the road. Pole later told me that the reason they were there was not for a sobriety check point. Sadly, a fight between a couple led to a girl stabbing her boyfriend dead. I was quietly shocked. Amazing how life works. And people wonder why I stay single.
The Greek Girls From Vegas
The next morning Pole and I decided to get some breakfast before I left for the mainland. I owe this guy my life and I felt I let him down because I wasn’t the party animal I could have been that weekend. We went to the diner on the other side of town called the Vegas Diner. We decided to order something diverse as always. A Crabmeat Omelet with French fries and rye toast. I think crab meat should be involved everyday, but the doctor doesn’t think so, sadly. As we ate, I prepped myself for all that had to be done that day. I had to meet Kevin Feely, Ray Loboda, and Jim Robinson from NEARfest to discuss that night’s program. We do the show every year, and this would be the first of just them being there without the stalwart in Chad Hutchinson. So, in a way I was eager to see how the day would go. I really wanted to get home to see Opus because as he gets older, he misses me more and more when I am away. Years ago he would be fine with it, now it seems like it wears on him when I am not home. So, there was this sense of urgency that I wanted to get home. It’s funny how priorities change as you get older…for a cat no less. After we said our goodbyes, and complimented the Greek daughters of the owner, Pole was back on his way for more festivities dealing with alcohol, and I was on my way back towards the other side of the state. As I jumped on 147 and headed west, this sadness came over me. I should be here. The tugging in my heart was awful. This is where home should be. Ok, maybe not Wildwood per say, but the shore in general. As I moved northward up the Parkway, I listened to Impanemia from Brand X (again) and thought about a longer March (again). I passed each exit of all the sleepy towns along the way and thought to myself to remember it all now. For one day, it will all change, yet still stay the same. I could see the old country roads that seem to stop on the outside of the parkway and continue on the other side. All because of progress. But that old road was important to someone at one time. And I, as always, recognize that. It means nothing to the next guy. But it means the world to me. It’s bitterly symbolic yet ironic in the same frame. I made it all relative to a person say in their 70’s who remembers coming down to the shore when the only road there was, was Route 9. All these sleepy towns I passed. Its home….it’s who I am. It’s all so endearing to me. If I could hug it all I would. It’s almost like when I come down here, I change. Something just goes right within me. Kind of like when Indiana Jones was in his Venetian room kissing the Austrian archaeologist and he stops to look outside and goes, “Ahh…Venice.” I totally understand what he meant. My soul is most at peace here. Sigh. One day I will return. I will have the house that everyone can visit, vacation, and let their hair down. I will walk on the beach at all hours of the day and night and be thankful for my accomplishment of arriving to my 'destination' in the spiritual sense. The last few years have been an interesting challenge to say the least. But again, it's like anything or anyone else trying to exist today. This is how the ball rolls. It's all about timing. I'm not saying we all don't feel like at times we're just existing. This at times, is a noble fight within itself. But one day the timing will be right. One day I will be here. I swear to you….one day I will. And there will be no need to go home anymore.

For Ray Lex 1959-2009