Uber Tales

I picked up two riders about two months ago not far from the USC campus. I'd put them both early 20's let's say 21. The caucasian guy was 5'9'' and thickly built with a buzz cut. His buddy was a black guy with a slender build that topped out at 6'1'' and had light brown dreadlocks to the shoulder.

The exact moment they slid into my car I was engulfed in a fog of heavy marijuana fumes. My mind turned to the nostalgic as I remembered my days when I occasionally bumped up against those who partook in…ahem, weed…ahem.

"What's up fellas?" I ask.

"Not much how are you sir?" Dreadlocks asks.

"I'm good. Where're you guys headed?'

Buzz Cut pipes in, "We're only going like three fuckin' blocks." This was followed by his stoner's laugh.

"That's not true dude," Drealock adds. "It's more like three miles so there's like no way we could walk that shit," he giggles.

"Cool," I say and ease into traffic. They'd entered their destination through the Uber app and as it turned out they were going closer to three miles than three blocks. The lads exchanged low voiced anecdotes about 'this chick and that one' and 'this weed and that bud'. Giggling was in abundance as was plenty of back and forth insults which they found hilarious.

I joined in after one of Dreadlock's ridiculous ribs to his buddy. This caused them to relax and engage me in their conversation. Obviously my laughter appeased any thoughts they may have had about me being a narc or worse…a square.

We're only going like 3 blocks...

"…see dude even the fuckin' Uber dude thinks its funny."

At that point the three of us were close to belly laughing. I don't know if I was basking in memories of old or I was stoned due to proximity…a contact high if you will. Gradually the conversation moved from chicks and weed to booze. Things really got rolling when Buzz Cut offered Dreadlocks and I a powerful and heartfelt political theorem.

"Dude, straight up, if I was in Washington at the White House or whatever--"

"What do you mean 'or whatever' you're either in the White House or your not dumbass. How did you get into college anyway?" (more laughter)

"Shut up dude, let me finish. Ok so if I was in power I'd change the drinking age to like fuckin' 18."

"Why?" Dreadlocks asks.

I continuously checked Buzz Cut in my rearview mirror as it was hilarious to watch his face contort in an effort to focus on defending his thesis.

"Why? Because the drinking age of 21 is unsafe."

"Unsafe?" Dreadlocks and I say in unison…which brought more laughs.

"Yeah its totally unsafe. Look imagine like you're a kid and you're like 18 so ya pretty much have to get drunk because you're a kid who's 18, right?"

"Right," we agree in laughter.

"Right so you're 18 and drunk in public because ya can't stay home all the time--so you're drunk and funkin' 18--"

"We know dumbass-get to the unsafe part," Dreadlock pleads.

"I'm trying but you fuckin' guys keep interrupting me!"

I hadn't realized that I was a 'fuckin guy' that interrupts. By this time I had tears running down my cheeks; and I was happy that traffic was at a near standstill because I didn't want this 'high' to end. Plus I had to know about California's unsafe drinking age of 21 and over.

"Ok," he continues. "So, you're drunk and 18 and then a cop shows up and this kid is drunk so the cop is like 'dude, I'm not trying to be a dick but I've totally go to fuckin' arrest you…cause you're like 18 and fuckin' drunk and shit."

I'm not tyring to be a dick..

Dreadlocks and I lose it. Buzz Cut joins in the laughter but every now and again asks us 'what's so fuckin' funny?' until finally he says, "fuck you guys."

After the laughter subsides Dreadlocks asks, "Seriously dude, that is why the drinking age is unsafe? You're hilarious dude!"

"What? Driver, sorry, Mr. Driver you agree with me right? right?"

(**Mr. Driver)

"Yes, I agree, " I said. "The drinking age should be 18 otherwise a cop's totally going to fuckin' arrest you." I wasn't able to say the whole sentence without laughing. Nevertheless Buzz Cut jumped up and down in his seat shouting, "See! See!" Thesis defended!

Two minutes later I pulled to the curb. The two buddies remained in their seats. Finally, I let them know that we'd arrived at their destination.

"Oh, shit I forgot we were even going anywhere," says Buzz Cut. "I thought we were just fuckin' driving around with you--fuck."

With another huge round of laughs the two lads tumbled out of my car. I was still laughing as I eased back into traffic. For the previous 15 minutes I felt as though I was 21 years old and stoned with my two best friends. In that time I went from Uber Dude, to Fuckin' Guy, to finally, Mr. Driver. I slid into a Chevron station bought a bag of chips, leaned against my car and tore the bag open. I chcuckled from time to time at the memory of the ride. Half way through the chip bag I laughed a little heartier thinking that maybe I did have a contact high; for what does one do when one is stoned and gets the munchies?…he buys himself a bag of chips!

RUSH…Yesterday and Today

"Rush is Canada's greatest rock band ever!" I remember believing that to be the gospel truth when I was in high school. Today is Frontman and bassist Geddy Lee's birthday. He's 61 years young. The power trio were forged from the slate of progressive rock in 1968. The beginning was a struggle for these guys. In fact they nearly hung up their prog-rock axes and sticks in 1974 until thunderous drummer and amazing lyricist Neil Peart replaced drummer John Rutsey. The band have never looked back…almost. More on the 'almost' shortly but first…

I was in the 10th grade in 1982 and September of that year was the first time that I had the awesome privilege of seeing Rush live. I can't exactly remember how I was able to go by myself but 'go it alone, I did'. More than likely I told my parents that a buddy's parents were taking us. We did what we had to do in those days to get our asses to concerts. There was not a huge Rush following in my circle of friends and certainly none of which were girls. I'd taken the bus to the Pacific Coliseum hundreds of times so transportation was locked. Next I needed the gear, I needed; the look. Rush was considered hard rock (and later progressive rock). This meant my look had to be tough. There were going to be a lot of tough guys at the show and most of them older than me. The right look was not only meant to help me blend in but was also meant to ward off bullies or 'pricks' if you will. It's simple anthropology people.

Where to start? Jeans and boots, preferably steel toed was a given. A jean jacket would be cool and totally acceptable but I wanted to add size to my grade 10 frame. Luckily I owned what we used to call a mack jacket; commonly known as the lumber jack jacket. At the time there were 3 distinct ways of donning the 'kick ass' apparel.

1. Wear jacket as is…with boots and well-weathered jeans

newer version of the 'mack', original had tough-guy buttons

2. Cut the sleeves of said jacket
3. Cut sleeves off jacket and wear over a denim jean jacket

I opted to go with the 'mack' as is and blended in just fine with the 12,000 other die hard Rush fans. Where I did not blend was ethnicity. In short I was the only black cat in a mack jacket in the joint. Alas, we were all fans of Canada's greatest band ever and it never became an issue. At one point as I was making my way to the stage (you never stayed in your assigned seat in those days unless you were a loser) I bumped into a girl about my age with a rockin' body that wouldn't quit. I can safely say that if I was the only 'brother' at that show, she was definitely the only girl at that show. We stopped and stared at each other briefly before smiling.

She gave me a hug and said, "what are you doing here?"

"I love Rush what are you doing here?" I laughed enjoying the hug and the smell of her hair.

"I love Rush too!" We both laughed and told each other to enjoy the show. She moved away from the stage and I toward. I heard the guy she was with ask who I was. She responded that I was a black guy into Rush and wasn't that the coolest. Although our time was brief I shall never forget my Rush girlfriend. We were kindred minorities who shared a tender moment as passing ships in a tempestuous yet magnificent sea of hard rock, pot and fleecy plaid.

Eventually I made it to the front row. As a group or perhaps gang it was somehow decided that we'd stand on the backs of the metal folding chairs. We were slightly in luck as the chairs were locked together at the legs so all we had to do was balance. We did this by linking arms standing shoulder to shoulder. But, like any dominoes wall when one portion of the human wall began to teeter so went the entire human chain. When this happened we usually fell backward into the row behind us. We'd scramble to get up and quickly rebuild the wall. Believe me when I tell you if you haven't been part of a human rock n' roll wall at a Rush concert…you have not yet lived. I'm happy to report that during the two hour plus, show our rock line tumbled a mere 49 times. It was outstanding and for the record there is

nary a deeper bond that strangers can share.

Returning to my 'Rush almost never looked back' comment from paragraph one. The band is still on fire to this day but where forced to take a couple-year hiatus when tragic news befell Neil Peart. In the course of a year Neil lost his college aged daughter to a car accident and later his wife who died of a broken heart at the loss. Understandably Neil called it quits and not just from the band but from drumming…music altogether. He locked up his home, hopped on his motorcycle and rode from Toronto to Alaska, down to Mexico and then some. Bandmates Geddy and Alex also devastated by the events were also done with Rush. They would not replace Neil. In fact, Alex barely touched his guitar for a year. Neil wrote an amazing book of his tragic journey/ road to recovery entitled: Ghost Rider...Travels On The Healing Road. I highly recommend it.

The pieces now firmly back together Rush is rocking harder than ever. As a kid Neil was one of my top 3 drumming influences and reading his book helps push me to keep pen to paper. The trio bring nothing but the pure rock; no auto tuning, no ghost studio players, no B.S. just the raw rock that has changed the lives of millions of people for over 45 years. I've seen them close to 20 times since that rip roarin'-bone crushing-body tumbling-minority bonding-coming of rock age-explosive concert in 1982. Thanks for the music and memories Rush--happy birthday Geddy Lee! You guys are still the best!

Man Scorned: Halle Berry Must Pay

I love Tasty Blogs!

Actress Halle Berry has been ordered by Superior Court Judge Scott Gordon to pay fashion model ex-husband Gabriel Aubry 16K a month in child support. Ah, to be a celebrity child. But wait a minute, I thought it took a village to raise a child. Who knew it actually takes a disgruntled, bitter ex-hubby to go after a financially loaded ex-wife.

Upon hearing of the payout my immediate question, which was no doubt similar to yours was this: what does this child do that warrants 16K every 30 days, give or take? I sincerely hope that the lawyer for the pose-y model didn't utter the words, "…the child must be allowed to maintain the lifestyle that she's accustomed." Dude, she's 6 years old! Are her Sippy cups made from platinum? Are her 'Hello Kitty' lunch bags hand made by Louis Vuitton? Are her jump ropes made from Italian cashmere and hand crafted by Donatella Versace?

To compare salaries between the divorcees; Halle Berry allegedly made 4.7 million dollars in 2013 while Fashion model or 'Print-Poser' Gabriel Aubry allegedly brought in 192K in the same year. Disparity? Sure, but this is not alimony this is child support. Halle must also pay Aubry 300K in legal fees and continue to pay the full amount of the child's private school tuition. Add to this Halle must pay 115K retroactively seeing as they battled it out for so long. (They were married in 2005 and called it quits in 2010). Last, I dare not forget that Halle must pay the 16K/ month until the child graduates from high school or reaches age 19 which ever comes first. (By the way the custody is 'joint custody')

Quick Math:

16K x 12 months= 192K (1 year)
192K x 13 years= 2,496,000 (13 years until the child hits 19)

You might be saying 'what's 2.5 million over 13 years when she made 4.7 million in one year?'. You might be saying that but I'm still asking what the kid needs the dough for especially when she'll be in mommy's care half the time.

The Back Story:

F.Y.I. there's always a back story. This legal battle is actually about a man-scorned. In 2012 Halle's current hubby actor Olivier Martinez mixed it up with model Gabriel Aubry. (Sounds like a bad movie doesn't it?) Anyway, the ex and the current engaged in a 'dust up' where Olivier beat the crap out of Aubry and sent him to the E.R.

Ya win some...

Olivier's father Robert Olivier Martinez was a professional boxer. Guess what pugilistic art dear old dad passed on to junior? Sorry Aubry but part of picking one's battles should always include knowing who one is about to do battle with. Ok, so Gabriel Aubry got his butt kicked. He should have gone home (after the hospital stay) and done one of two things: either rest up and challenge Martinez to a rematch or dusted himself off and moved on.  That's how a man would have done things in my day but a boy or perhaps Zoolander-esque male model would have felt wronged. He'd cry, 'no fair!' or 'the injustice!' and 'Oweeeee!' But Aubry sought out a lawyer and alas a third option materialized: go for the monetary jugular.

No doubt the hand wringing Hollywood lawyer was more than happy to take the battered print model's case. I'm sure as  the lawyer sat behind the big desk listening to the sweet sound of his money-counter he exclaimed, "...Never mind the assault charge Aubry we'll go for the high buck child support. You'll be sittin' pretty in no time. Stick with me kid and you'll never have to pout for those testy shutterbugs ever again!"

At the end of the day this could be referred to as a 'win-win'. Halle claims that she's fine with the result and just happy to move on and live her life with a tough guy. (I'm paraphrasing a tad on the last bit). And Aubry the 'I-shall-not-be-wronged modeling pretty-man' has a few extra ducats in his pocket…all of which will naturally go to the raising of his lovely daughter. So, no harm--other than the total beat down of ass kicking pugilistic shit kickery; no foul.

the money's in child support Bub

Customer Service…Well Waddayaknow?

If any of you read my blog post entitled: Customer Service…Call Me--( Friday June 28th 2013) wait a
minute, of course you read it. But if by chance it slipped past you fear not, I'll bring you up to speed in this post. At the close of a call with AT&T I was asked, "…is there anything I can help you with now that might arise in the next 30 days?"(or words to that effect). I thought the question odd.

Just the other day I was on the blower with Time Warner Cable and at the conclusion of the conversation I was asked, "Is there anything I can help you with now that may arise in the next 3 days?"

Ah ha! Two different businesses with nearly identical scripts. Methinks theft of trade secrets are afoot. Clearly there's a mole over at AT&T feeding customer service high-quality dialog to Time Warner Cable. Maybe it goes both ways. If that's the case it's got to be expensive to defend against this sort of cyber theft--which would explain the rising cost of these services, Si? or No?"

When the familiar question met my ears I was ready for it with my over-sized-customer-service-phone-call-catcher's mitt.

"That question confuses me," I said.

"Well sir at the moment I'm able to facilitate certain things depending on what issues you might have in the next 3 days."

"If everything is cool now but say my cable goes out tomorrow how do I ask you to 'facilitate' me now?"

Clearly she'd see that without the capability of time travel we were…well…here in the now.

"It is my hope that you're cable won't go out tomorrow," she said.

"Well thanks for hoping doll. But let's try this: if neither one of us is psychic we can't really know what the next 3 days has in store right? It just seems like an odd question," I say displaying above average intellect.

"I'm sorry my question strikes you as odd, sir."

"No, no need to apologize but I'm guessing the guys or gals upstairs want you to ask the question. Does it in any way strike you as odd?"

"Again, I apologize if my question seems odd, sir."

Why I insisted on staying on this merry-go-round of question d' oddity confused even me.

"Again, don't apologize your'e doing a great job. And if this call is being recorded for quality assurance: 'fellas, Jen's doing a great job over here'."

She chuckled for the first time, "Thank you sir. So is there anything that I can help you with now that may arise in the next 3 days?"

ol' school customer service baby!

Here we go again. "No I think I'm good. And I guess you probably need to get back to work. Oh wait I do have a question."

"Yes sir."

"Ok, are there any discounts or promos going on right now that I should know about?" I asked.

"Well sir it says here that you've been a good customer so I can take $30 of your next month's bill."

"Really?"

"Yes sir."

"No bullshit?"

"Sir please."

"Sorry about that. But really? You can blast out $30 just because I'm a swell guy?"

"Uh-huh," she chirped.

"Dang! And thank you!"

"You're welcome sir. Is there anything else I can help you with that might arise within the next 3 days?"

"Well yes there is."

"Go ahead sir."

"Can you blast out another $30 from my bill? Or perhaps $40?" I asked putting as much cute in my

Time to lay the 'cute' on!

voice as I could muster.

She laughed, "Not at this time sir."

"Well ya can't blame a guy for asking, right?"

"No sir I cannot. You have a pleasant day."

Michelin Rated Mandolin Rock!

When my wife and I visited Italy in 2012 we had lunch at a restaurant called L' Antica Trattoria in Sorrento. We loved it. My wife remembered her meal and I, well, the beer and wine. Upon revisiting Sorrento in 2014 we attempted to recapture the magic. But let me back up…

During the day we were commenting on how we'd met so many great people; both travelers as well as locals during our trip and that for both of us meeting new people is probably what we love most about traveling. My wife said, "I'd love to meet a fun couple this afternoon then go to dinner with them tonight at 'our' restaurant." I agreed and told her that I had a good feeling about that possibility becoming a reality.

As it turned out my psychic meter was a tad off; we didn't meet anyone as we strolled, browsed and ate gelato. C'est la vie, we were in Italy. We booked our reservation for Antica thus, all was good. We chose to dine inside the restaurant as the rain had been coming and going throughout the day. Ain't no way was I about to enjoy a fine Italian red only to have it watered down by Sorrento's sweet showers.

The interior reminded me of a British tea house but with Italian trimmings. The table cloths were white linen while the stemware, flatware, and cutlery appeared to be high end. The waiters all wore matching black suits differentiated only by chosen tie color. This place was swank if not posh…or swanky-posh as I call it. It's the kind of place that when I walk in I'm always ready for that gentle tap on the shoulder which will be followed by, "Ah, excuse me sir but how did you get in here?"

Happily, the shoulder tap never came. We sat not far from another couple and two tables over was a third couple. Each could not have whispered any more quietly if they tried. We selected our food, chose the wine and settled in for a nice QUIET evening. I'm not opposed to quiet dinners and believe me I'm not looking for a sports bar but this joint didn't even have Chopin or Bach sneaking through their speakers. A church mouse would have said, "Ha! call me a church mouse, are your hearts even beating?"

Vivere con passione

"Well this is slightly different from the night you described honey--the one where we meet the rocking couple and have a raucous time loaded with merriment," I said. She agreed. And then I heard it. Music. Distant music. Floating. A mandolin if I wasn't mistaken.

Then from another section of the restaurant popped a friendly little gent pluckin' and-a-strummin' on a mandolin. I smiled like a kid on christmas morning. Music! He caught my dumb grin and meandered over. After he finished out his tune my wife and I applauded at a volume that the British couple at table one and Spanish couple at table three no doubt thought 'Ah, Americans'. I also cheered and said bravo a half dozen times. Clearly I was brining the posh level down a notch...or two. Right away Vincenzo the mandolin player introduced himself and thanked us. He then said,  "So you are a musician what do you play?"

I guess we muzos just recognize each other that way. We chatted briefly before he launched into a Beatles song; name escapes me. He encouraged me to sing along (with the few lyrics I could remember) and at the close came over and chatted some more. With song 3 done he moved back into the depths of the restaurant. A few waiters came by with smiles and nods. One even complemented me on my singing…however he laughed as he said it. Fifteen minutes later Vincenzo returned and bee- lined for my wife and I. We sang, laughed, tipped Vincenzo heavily and somewhere in there the johnny-on-the-spot waiters managed to stealthily top up our wine glasses.

One part mandolin; one part percussion X parts wine=Good times!

By this time the other tables chuckled along and even applauded…sort of. The waiters loved it. No doubt this was a night far from the norm for the friendly camerieri (waiters). At one point the manager walked by and gave Vincenzo the thumbs down. Oh, oh! Party's over.  I felt like the high school student busted by the Principal for skipping class (to sing along with a mandolin player). Vincenzo laughed and assured us that his boss always gave him a hard time. Lucky for us this was true. The manager continued to walk by and yawn, toss the thumbs down, roll his eyes and throw out insults at Vincenzo. (And nothing sounds more musical than an Italian insult, baby). Different couples came and went. Vincenzo rocked the classics like: Ave Maria and The Godfather theme but also shredded through many western songs. An hour into the evening two twenty-something spanish lasses got out their phones and videotaped us. I say us because by this time the staff who discovered that I play drums brought me two pens for sticks and turned over our metal water chiller and instructed me to play.

Vincenzo stumbled into 'Something' by the Beatles which is a tune I love. He made me sing. Miraculously the majority of the lyrics came to mind. We took turns botching parts but forged ahead and made it through to the finish line. The big applause from the staff and patrons was a total shock. Perhaps the wine was flowing for everybody that night. I should mention that the food was absolutely out of this world. (I'd hate for you to think I was only there for the wine and mandolin melodies)

We carried on throughout the night in much the same way. It turned out that Vincenzo was from the same region as my wife's parents. He was truly one of the nicest guys you'd ever want to meet. And he's definitely the coolest mandolin player we've ever met. As we strolled back to our hotel we laughed at the memory. As Sorrento's crisp night air caressed our faces I said, "Well we didn't meet that rockin' couple but I'd say we kinda rocked the place."

My wife and I with the manager. We're dressed differently because we went back to the restaurant two days later

"What!?" My wife blasted. "Are you kidding me? Sweetie, that is a Michelin Star rated restaurant. You found a little mandolin player and completely rocked that place! I guarantee that place has never rocked like that!"

"Honey, when you put it in those terms I believe you have a point."I paused. "Say maybe we should get a mandolin for the house!"

Note: If ever you're in Sorrento go check this place. You'll be glad you did. See link below...

http://www.lanticatrattoria.com/newsite/en/

Good Morning Sorrento!

Corso Italia

My wife and I were 2/3 of the way through our Italian adventure and discovered without a doubt we
needed to do laundry. The day prior we found a laundromat, sussed it out and formed a plan. Our fast broken we hefted our two load laundry bag and hit the ground walking down Sorrento's Corso Italia. If not for our pathetic plastic bag from some unknown clothing store we'd have looked like locals. Alas, we looked like tourists that stay in a half decent hotel and are too cheap to use the hotel's laundry service.

Before leaving the hotel I attempted to break my 100 euro piece of paper at the front desk. The concierge broke it in half saying that was the best he could do being that it was so early in the morning. Fine, I thought, who can't break a 50…right?

When my wife and I arrived at the laundromat's front door we were near ecstatic to find we'd have the place to ourselves--no waiting. A second later we found the door was locked. Suddenly the laundry bag felt twenty pounds heavier. We did the dummy-toruist's stare for about thirty seconds before I found a button to the right of the door.

"What does this do?" I asked without waiting for my wife to answer and pushed. Voila! the door unlocked. After putting our heads together we decided that my wife would hang with the clothes and read while I hiked the streets in search of change. (Good times ahead as not even half of the businesses were open). I found a cafe and ordered an espresso and said a polite buon giorno to my espresso mates on either side of me. My plan was brilliant…until it came time to pay. I sheepishly slide my 50 euro piece across the bar. Not only did the Coffee-Keep refrain from touching the bill he practically recoiled as if it were a lethal snake.

"Non!," he said. "Espresso is only one euro!"

"Ok," I said and pretended to search my pockets for change (which I knew did not exist). After ten seconds I worked a distressed expression on my face.

"Mi dispiace (I'm sorry) solo (only) 50 euro," I said. (Yes, my Italian kicks ass).

"Ok, come back later when you have change," he said and dismissed me. He then spoke to my espresso mates in rapid Italian and they nodded in agreement. Geez, I wonder who they were talking about? I made my exit with all of the pride I could muster. Back on the street I found a souvenir shop. The store owner nearly talked me into a 30 euro kangol style hat. But I thought it too expensive a way to gain the 8 euros I needed to wash our clothes. The proprietor seemed genuinely sad to see me leave.

I was on a mission and so far had produced diddley. I needed a plan B. On the opposite side of the street an Irish bar's bright 'open' sign jumped out at me. I sighed heavily as it was only 10 am but I was running out of time.

The manager greeted me with a big smile. I considered my espresso trick but remembered my recent experience. Ah ha! I had it.

10 am baby!

"Could I have an espresso con (with) Sambuca per favore? (please). His english was excellent which is why I used limited Italian..that and my Italian was limited.

"Oh, you want to get drunk,ok!" he boomed in his Anthony Quinn like voice luckily nobody heard it but me as I was the sole patron. I should also point out that most of the chairs were still up on the tables. All I could do was smile and say 'heh heh' because I couldn't reveal my evil plot to rid him of 8 euros of laundry change. He flashed a big smile before turning around to fix my drink(s). The espresso smelled magnificent and the sambuca was 3 ounces. I repeat, the Barkeep fed me 3 massive ounces of the licorice liquor…at 10 am.

"Here you go my friend, now you can get drunk," he boomed, again.

"Grazie," I thanked him.

As he opened up the place he wanted to chat. Who was I to disappoint, the kind gentleman graciously over-served me after all. It was too early to work through the thick syrupy drink quickly plus I didn't want to appear rude. We talked about his business and my vacation for the next little while until the moment of truth arrived. I paid my bill.

"Oh buddy I don't know about this I've just opened."

No way could I take another hit of the sambuca, but if need be I was prepared to force a beer down. I seriously hoped it wouldn't come to that. The longer I stayed in the bar the longer my wife sat with our (still) dirty clothes and who wants to explain to one's wife that the reason they're running late is that they stopped by a bar for change...at 10 am.

Luckily for me the friendly Barkeep made change. I tipped handsomely then high-tailed it to the laundromat.

"Hi honey I'm wired from espresso and  buzzed from sambuca, but…I'm home. Would you mind starting the laundry? I've got an errand to run."

"Where are you going?"

"To pay my debt. It's 10:14 am and I owe money in this town."

"Wow, it's not even noon yet."

I wasn't sure if my wife was referring to the fact that I owed money in town so early or that I was already buzzed before noon--perhaps it was both. Either way I returned to espresso number 1 and paid for my espresso. My former mates were still there. Everybody smiled once I laid down the appropriate euros plus tip. Somehow I think someone among them lost a bet. Regardless, the debt was paid and this tourist could still show his face in beautiful Sorrento.

As you read this you may be thinking that I'm a rummy or a wino but I disagree. I'm merely a guy that when given a task gets the job done. Even if it means tackling the job one painful yet delicious ounce at a time!

Rockin' The Classics Baby!

The other night it was one of my nights to cook. I decided to keep it simple with snapper, broccoli and brown rice. The only remotely creative part would come in the form of homemade salsa. But I'd keep that simple as well; diced fuji apple, blueberries muddled, touch of lemon juice, a splash of balsamic and pepper. Not bad for 'off the top of a guy's head' Oui?

Being that prep and cook time would be minimal I scheduled a quick 20 minutes to finish reading The Picture Of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. For me it usually plays out like this: I'll read 3 or 4 mysteries, then I'll toss in a current affair or biography and then I'll blast a classic in there. I love going back to the classics and gasping, "dang, they sure don't write 'em like this anymore!" (A guy can gasp can't he?) I'd never read Dorian before. Somehow I missed it in high school and wasn't asked to read it at music school. Regardless, I was familiar with the story: vanity, insanity, cautionary tale of 'careful what one wishes for', man's pursuit of everlasting youth and so on. It's amazing the lengths Dorian goes to to maintain his youth all those years ago. Yet, we can turn on the television today and find that every third commercial is about age defying eyeliner, age spot removers, botox, teeth bleaching, hair revitalizer--really? Hair revitalizer? Bras that lift, separate or both, diet pills, diet drinks, night creams, day creams, mid afternoon coffee break creams and on and on and then some. Have we grown at all as a society since Wilde's day? With advances is science we're able to concoct far more lotions de youth and elixirs de longevity, surely that's progress right? Or are we insanely vainly riding on the 'look at me train' to inanity?

But let's journey back to my dinner night. I had a hankering if not a yearning for Chopin. I realize this does not completely jibe with my rocker persona or my country-rocker persona for that matter. But as I get older I realize that 'rock' is a broad term and just as there are more ways than one to skin a cat; so too are there many ways to rock. (And yes, I'm going to keep telling myself that).

After a time my hot wife came through the door. (Yes she's hot for I feel that there should always be at least one 'hot one' in a marriage). I had Chopin drifting out of the speakers, feet up on the couch and Dorian in my hands. At my elbow was a glass of Coppola's chardonnay. (I was tempted to do my Hannibal Lecter al a Anthony Hopkins impersonation but resisted. I didn't want my wife fleeing from the house like a startled fawn). After a sweet 'hello' and gentle kiss I fell back to Dorian's story. Not two pages later Lord Henry asked Dorian Gray to sit at the piano and play Chopin. (Dude! que uncanny!) Dorian did as asked and apparently played beautifully. Incidentally, groovin' on Chopin is where similarities between Dorian and I start and end.

Although a good read The Picture Of Dorian Gray doesn't quite make it into my top 5 fave classics. I did however, like Lord Henry's character, he's hilarious. In reading the afterword I discovered that Wilde enjoyed Lord Henry's character so much that he re-used many of his quotes in other stories like The Importance of Being Earnest and An Ideal Husband. This little tidbit had me doing cartwheels and back hand-springs (sort of) for if Oscar Wilde can re-hash, re-use and regurgitate then it's game on for this writer baby! And by that I mean game on for this writer baby!

Blogger's side note: Some would say this author's been know to throttle a joke into submission--revive it--and throttle it again. I repeat, some…would say.

tomorrow's classic available today on Amazon.com

Thank you again for stopping by Tasty Blogs. Remember, one does not have to listen to constant rock and roll to be a bonfide rocker. As for tomorrow when my wife floats through the door her ears might be met with Van Halen pounding out of the speakers, a Conan The Barbarian (classic) in my hands and a 22 ounce beer (nothing lite/light mind you) at my elbow. And no doubt some sort of beef dish wrapped in bacon will be on the menu. And if she's lucky I'll launch into my Conan the Barbarian la Arnold Schwarzeneggar impersonation!