It's in the Music...

One Summer night in 1990, I was offered Ecstasy at the Roof Gardens in London. I turned it down insisting Becks took care of me just fine. I watch this video with more than a little regret.

Green Bay - A Road to Regret

Whenever anyone tells me they're getting divorced...I always say, "Is there any way you could stay together?"

We talked it out, and talked it out, and talked it out.  I was leaving on a business trip for London.  I was not coming back.  Instead, I was being transferred to Philadelphia and that was as far west as I was going.

A car from Amm's would pick me up for O'Hare.  After 13 years of marriage, it all was over except for, "What airline, what hotel, where do I send the divorce papers?" The car was on time and pulled onto the driveway I had blown snow off of for 11 years.  We said good bye, I turned to the door and quickly walked to the black town car.

Less than a mile later, at 176 and Green Bay Road, I realized my cell phone was in the living room.  I asked the driver to turn back.  When I walked into the house - I could hear her washing dishes and crying in the kitchen. At the sound of the door, she poked her head out of the kitchen, looked at me and smiled. I said, "I forgot my phone,"  picked it up and walked out to the black town car.  Today would've been our 25th anniversary.

I've always been envious of those who have no regrets.

Which Is It?

At six or seven, I got a little teary eyed after watching a Matador's freshly killed bull being dragged out of the stadium by horses. As the blood was being hosed away, The Old Man looked at me and said, "Hey, you either root for the Matador or the bull."

Get Ready for Hell... and Kettle Corn

I have this reoccurring nightmare whenever I get a cold.  I'm walking across an attic in an old Victorian house when a Vampire reaches up from under the floor boards, grabs my ankle and tries to pull me down.  I look down at my feet and I can see him between the cracks of the floor.  He looks like Richard Nixon, is fluorescent green instead of pale white and he's laughing while I scream my ass off.  Then I wake up.

That nightmare might well stem from a 1974 viewing of Jack Palance in a made for TV movie of Bram Stoker's, Dracula. (Trailer Here)  I've never been a fan of horror but I watched this alone and very late one night -- strictly as a fan of Palance.  It scared the shit outta me.  Or, I should say Palance scared the shit outta me. 38 years later, I'm thinking of suing for pain, suffering and loss of consortium.

Boxer, WWII B-24 pilot, sportswriter, painter and poet, Palance, who also scared the shit outta me as Jack Wilson in Shane, was always worth watching.  If, for no other reason than -- you never knew what he was gonna do. This early observation was later confirmed by a buddy who worked with Palance on Young Guns.  Still, I think that's an actor's penchant for being a little crazy to begin with.

When I was married and living in the suburbs, I liked to play scary music in the house and hand out full size Hershey bars or Reese's Cups.  FULL SIZE.  I may have been the poorest bastard in the neighborhood but I wasn't gonna let some seven year old know it. There's some nice howling going on in the first part of Dracula here.  If I wasn't living in NYC, I'd play this opening scene over and over while I handout popcorn to the kids.

That's right. I said popcorn. Or, should I say Kettle Corn.

I'm not talking about the handful of stale and unsalted popcorn - wrapped in saran wrap - from the little old lady who lived alone and on the fringes of the parent prescribed area of trick or treating.  I'm talking about kettle corn and I can't stop eating it.  Angie's sent over a 24 package bag, especially created for Halloween, and I hoovered the whole thing in a couple days. This stuff is cooked up in cured kettles (I see Macbeth's witches) with a little corn oil, sugar and sea salt resulting in a sweet - saltiness that I swear -- pairs nicely with red wine. Just don't tell the children.

Angie's Kettle Corn (where to find it) is gluten free (whatever), Kosher certified (I can dig that) and the 24 pack sells for $7.99 at selected Target stores.  The bags are only 0.5 ounces each so you may wanna give the kid a couple bags. I know I would if I still lived in the suburbs. Buy more than you need because you'll have no problem taking care of the surplus -  with, I suggest, a nice Pinot Noir, chilled in the fridge for just 10 minutes to give it that vampire cellar temp.

Finally, there's my favorite and often overlooked Dracula. Ian McKellen is looking like a cross between Richard Nixon and Ed Sullivan but he gets the girl -- from Neil Tennant -- Which is really strange now that I think about it. 

Contradian London: Fried Up

I've flown first, business and coach and always arrive in London feeling the same way. Like nails on a chalk board.



At 32, I was picked by the company president to handle the servicing and sales of London business. In large part, I believe, because of my off-the-menu dessert request for vanilla ice milk and Twinkees at Aunt Fanny's Cabin outside Atlanta during a business dinner with 20 insurance buying Catholic priests. The lead underwriter from Lloyd's termed their liability policy, "The Buggering Bishop's Program" just before adding an intentional acts exclusion.



The president was loaded with tips what with 30 years of international travel under his surcingle. He advised me to resist all temptation to sleep when arriving, as early in the morning as possible, and to stay up as late as possible, at least until 9 or 10 PM. Exhausted, you sleep through the first night without interruption and are thrown into a sleep pattern consistent with the GMT time zone for the rest of your stay. It really works. It's also really hard to do.

I spent countless nights wide awake in bed. Frustrated, I walked the streets around St James Place at 3 AM peering into windows of John Lobb, Harvie & Hudson, New & Lingwood, Davidoff... I walked by stone walls 300 years old, ran my hand along the shell and lime only to be distracted by drunks leaving a private club and piling into black cabs with their engine valve echos ticking away down the empty street.


It took a while before I had the discipline to avoid bed at 9 AM and walk the streets in the light of day. An incentive was the perfect fry up, Full Monty or the Full English breakfast as it's known. Fried eggs, back bacon, blood sausages, a grilled tomato, fried mushrooms and, "...you want the beans, yeah?" "No, I'll skip the beans." I say as I pull a purple Silk Cut from a freshly opened packet of 15. "You don't want the beans?" the waiter says adding, "Have you tried them?"

I light my first cigarette in four months and notice my hand shaking. "Uh, yeah...I'll pass." I take a drag along with some sulfur from a Swan and inhale deep. The chalk board scratching intensifies as my head seems to roll off my shoulders. I flick an ash into the orange plastic ashtray and wonder why I'm smoking. All those smoke free days in the states down the toilet -- which is what they call it here instead of a bathroom. "Is there a bath in the room, mate?" "No, I guess not." "Well then don't call it a bathroom. It's a bloody toilet."

In London less than two hours and I'm lighting up, greasing up and frying up. These early morning Saturday patrols for a Caff are usually hit and miss. I've had some amazing fry ups but my favorite will include white toast fried in back bacon grease. A good Caff is tiny joint with a handful of tables and while a very good fry up at Blake's Hotel will set you back twenty pounds or more - - A Caff or the Fox and Anchor will get the job done under ten quid.


Still, the memories I recall with the crystal vividness of a Mezcal buzz are those wandering the streets at oh-dark-thirty. Alone and wide awake to the noises and smells as shoe heels tap out my steps against cobble stones. One night, I actually wished I could die and be buried in London... just so I could be a permanent resident -- Thanks, in part, to all those fry ups.

Britches Tie & 1988

"Ok, that tie in the 12th picture, tell us about it." Zach

Not much to tell. Picked up for $5 at this thrift store.
Wanted the label more than the tie. Britches of Georgetown is my 1988. Living in a $350 studio on St Asaph Street, brunch at Clyde's, vodka and grapefruit in Houston's, starched Duck Heads, Sylvester Stallone on M Street, crabs at the Quarter Deck in Arlington and burgers at the Tune Inn on the Hill. Dusty and PSB provided the soundtrack to Iran Contra hearings and I...Sorry. What was the question?

Trad Guckies

1983. Summer abroad and I can hear the Pet Shop Boys in the background.