Damn what a week!!

The weekend at Bonnaroo was a blast, and thoroughly exhausting. I plan to lay it all out for you shortly. But the week that followed was just as exciting. Let’s see how quickly I can summarize the whole experience for you.

Tuesday night was drinks with the coworkers, brought about in a roundabout kind of way. Plans were made a week or so before I left on my trip this past weekend to celebrate the birthday of Lauren (fellow employee of Heartbeat Digital) with mass quantities of drinking on a party bus to Atlantic City. However, due to a lack of people she wasn’t able to secure the bus and so the plans changed.

The new venue was to be Lea , a somewhat hidden bar in one the tunnels through some part of Grand Central station. So hidden in fact that Chris, Andy and I walked past the entrance at least twice — their “sign” as a little 1′ by 2′ name etched on the lower corner of a row of windows. Trust me — this place hid very well in plain sight.

The interior was tres swanky, with high ceilings, a large rack of bottles filled with all sorts of colored liquors and lava red walls (why is it we always seem to pick bars with red walls?). The food matched the interior in taste, with great sushi, chicken satay, wasabbi peas and quality drinks from the bar.

When it came time to settle our tab I had a feeling we had done a nice job of running it up. Swanky place, at least 10 people on the same tab…but we exceeded even my wildest guess at cost: $500 and change (gratuity included). Everyone had to dig real deep to cover that bill. There were also murmurs from some of those involved that the supposedly “free” drinks the ladies were supposed to be enjoying may not have been after all, but unfortunately no one brought that up at the time. Why? Hmm…can’t seem to remember that one. All in all, it was still probably a cheaper night than the trip to A.C. would have been for me.

Wednesday night was my first opportunity to see jazz guitar virtuoso John Scofield and his trio featuring Steve Swallow on bass and Bill Stewart on drums. The venue of honor was the Kaufman Center, an intimate yet acoustically perfect theater that I had 3rd row seats in.

Quite the intense experience, I must say. The three were tight in playing together, and this was by far one of the purest jazz experiences I’ve had. They played mostly tracks from their album EnRoute. A copy of the night’s set list, courtesy of Mr. Fred Reissig (via the Scofield mailing list):

1. It is written
2. The Things I Love (Cole Porter)
3. Hammock Soliloquy
4. Name That Tune (aka Perdido – Spanish for lost – Sco said his playing was lost on that one!  Did not sound like it!) (Swallow)
5. Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans
6. C major, Seven sharp, Five
7. Alfie
8. Over Big Top
9. (Encore) Wee

All in all a great performance in whole, but the stand out memory for me was Johns solo in “Over Big Top”.  AWESOME! JAW DROPPING!  It brought to my mind his mind-boggling solos from the Überjam gigs and nudged me to grab a copy of the album as soon as I got home.

Finally, Friday night. Lauren’s birthday, part two. This is a first for me actually celebrating a birthday twice, but any excuse to explore the city’s nightlife is a good one for me. Of course I’d be keeping a closer watch on my drinking budget on this trip.

The venue of choice was Noca, a nice little bar on the west side of Spring St. I got to know it quite well, in fact. See, somewhere in between reading the email invite to actually showing up at the bar I missed the part where it said that everything started at 10pm. Instead, I walked over there as soon as I left work and was sitting down with a beer at 6:30, waiting for everyone else to show up.

But still even that turned out to be an okay thing. For one, I got happy hour pricing. For another, I got to have a nice long and intriguing conversation with the bartender (Julia, I believe) and some of the other customers as they came and went. By the time everyone else showed up I was just hitting my prime, and the next few hours became a raucous blur that only my camera can say for certain really happened.

So that brings us to now, and my fevered attempt to get this all down before the alcohol sops up my short term memories. A week for the record books to be sure.

Good friend Don has been a major character in my writings writings here from the get-go, mainly because he’s a pretty big part of my life. For those of you who have read about his past exploits or are lucky enough to know him personally, you know that Don tends to do things on the spur of the moment.

Like getting married for example.

Now the news of the actual marriage doesn’t come from out of the blue. In fact, that cat was let out of the bag well over a year ago. But since that fateful night there have been breakups, reconciliation, a child being born — lots of life altering shit. When Don and Mary started living together and raising their family, you knew this was going happen sooner or later.

In typical Donahue style, the event was announced with a brief phone call about a week or so before the actual day.

The wedding itself was held at Point Pleasant boro hall, with services performed by the mayor. It was straight to the point, but still filled with the same amount of emotional matter that you’d get at a regular church wedding, sans boredom. It was also a chance for me to catch up with a few friends I had no idea would even be there, such as John and Mabry who had come in from Florida for other more dower reasons and were treated to this more joyous event before they left.

Congrats to you both, Don and Mary. May you and your ever-growing family get the best from life.

There are times in life when the chance to be part of a grand historical event just falls in your lap. Not a very frequent occurrence mind you, so you have to jump at it whenever you get the chance. I was presented with such an opportunity last Saturday when my cousin Erin offered me the chance to go watch the horses run down at Belmont Park, including one Smarty Jones who just so happened to be going for the Triple Crown — a feat that had not been accomplished since 1978 by Affirmed.

The original plan had been for erin and her sister Trish to go, but Trish is just a wee bit pregnant these days and couldn’t make it. In fact, her dud date was the date of the race. Best to err on the side of caution. Sorry ’bout that Trish, but at least you should know that your ticket went to good use. ^_^

The day started at 10 am when Erin swung by my place and picked me up. We cut through Manhattan and into Queens, making a time saving wrong turn that actually cut down the time we spent in traffic on the way to Belmont Park. Was lady luck looking down on us, or was I just reading far too much into this?

Anyway, we managed to find ourselves a decent parking spot on the far side of the track, but with all the tailgating going on I could have sworn it was the far side of Giants Stadium.

By the time we made it to the grandstand it was race number 6 of the 13 scheduled for the day; the Belmont Stakes was race 11. I settled in with my program and started reading through the overwhelming amount of information of all of the horses, with Erin helping me to understand what was what. It helps to have someone who’s done this betting thing before when you’re wagering on the ponies for the first time.

Things like turf conditions, breeding stock, previous race records (including a breakdown of their position at multiple points in the race), who was the jockey had to be carefully weighted. Well, I could have gone with something slightly less scientific, like picking a horse because he had a cool name or something, but this wasn’t Monopoly money I was playing with. I wanted to make the most of every dollar I was betting.

Races six and seven were my warm-ups. I made the picks in my program, but never went to the betting window. I don’t think I got a single finishing position right with those two races, but that was fine by me; get the bad mojo out of my system before the greenbacks when on the line. With race eight looming, Erin and I went to make our bets. I left the window with a handful of tickets scrawled with numbers and strangely worded phrases like trifecta, exacta box and pick four.

The pick four was the big bet for the day. The idea is you select the winner of four races in a row; in this case races 8 through 11. If you get it right, you get a big ass pay out. There are also pick sixes and a host of other bets I’m sure I’ve never heard of. See, horse racing is more than just win, place and show.

When the first real race of the day (i.e. a race I had an actual stake in) went off, I was excited but refrained from any thoughts of how I would spend my massive winnings. While the horses were on the back straightaway things still were quite subdued in the stands, myself included. But once they cleared the last turn and headed for the finish line, the crowd sprang to life in a chorus of cheers, screams, curses and prayers.

At least for me, those screams and prayers were answered, as my horse came in first. Wow, first bet, first win. Is it always that easy? Races 9 and 10 finished with the same results, with each race finishing in a more dramatic fashion than the one before. My total win loss record should have been 3-0 at this point, but that damn box exacta did me in. So my record was 2-1 with my most important bet (the pick four) still alive and the most important race coming up.

Call it beginners luck I guess. Now if it would just hold up for one more race.

As the horses were paraded in front of the grandstand it was easy to tell who the crowd wanted to win. Being part of that screaming mob of fans rooting for Smarty was one intense feeling. If he could have used our cheers as fuel, he would win by 30 lengths.

But as you’ve probably heard, the Triple Crown coronation of Smarty Jones did not go as planed. He opened up just a touch too soon on the back straightaway and was overtaken in the last length by Birdstone, and so my hopes of quickly-won riches fluttered away like the litter strewn about Belmont Park.

Erin and I stuck around until the last of the racees, pooling together a little scratch to make a handful of exacta bids on the last race. The theory is if one of them happens to hit you get a nice chunk of change to split, but the odds are really against you. The more people you have to throw in for something like this the better, I suppose. With only two bettors our chances were quite slim.

The only downside to that last betting streak is it put me behind for the day. With my two earlier wins I had made back what I bet and ammased a grand $2 profit.

The only downside to the whole day would have to be the crowd had been acting. When they were in their seats they were fine and courdal. But walking the halls and out in the lot they moved with utter disinterest in the wellbeing of those around them; as if everyone was in their own little world and not watching where they were going.

Then there was the litter. It was everywhere, and 90% or it was alcohol related. Boxes, cans, bottles — it really offended my hippy sensibilities, what with trying to protect the earth and all. The mess extended to every corner of the facility. Even the parking lot was awash in waste. I did not envy the sanitation crews that would have to clean up this mess one bit.

All in all it was a great day out and a lot of fun. Still, I would have really loved to see Smarty win. Money aside, it would have been a real feather in my cap to say I was there when history was made and the 26 year long drought ended. Instead I’ll just have to be content with a grand day out and my tales of “almost”.

It’s been an interesting few days and it stands to get more interesting as the clock to Bonnaroo counts down. Of course before then I will have been to Belmont Park to possibly see history made (thanks Erin!) and an impromptu wedding (congrats Don and Mary!).

But we can’t stare too far forward without reflecting on the past. Like this past Wednesday, when comrade at arms Andy left Heartbeat Digital for the green grass of MLB.com. I didn’t find out until the day before he was set to go, but that was made up for ten times over by the gathering we had for him afterwards at Gatsby’s. It also reminded me that I fell in with a pretty good group of people here.

And then there was Anitbalas. They were absolutely ON Thursday night. Absolutely electric and their new disc is a must own. As infectiously grooving as it is politically charged.

My favorite moment was during the song “Indictment”, where tenor sax player Stuart Bogie came to the forefront and yelled out names like Donald Rumsfeld and Condoleezza Rice, followed by “Indictment!” and some hard horn stabs. The crowd followed suits by going more and more wild with each name on up the ladder. More than enough reason for me to buy a copy of the CD from the merch table. The disc isn’t released widely until June 8th, but being as this is the first half of a two day record launch party there were plenty on hand.

Erin was also along for the ride on this one, and I was glad for the company. Even though I’ve been living in the same town as my cousin for almost a month, we’ve only hung out the first night I crashed in my new place. Schedules were just brutal in May for lots of people I know, myself included.

Now with two evenings of celebrating and experiencing in the books, I had to forgo entertainment tonight to deal with some side business that’s been brewing for over two months now — Everything Stinks. The domain name and initial seed idea belong to my coconspirator Nick. We’re dedicated to doing some gardening in the White House come November by removing one Bush from office, so for the next few months (and maybe more — who knows?) my political venom will more or less flow in that direction. We’re also recruiting writers from a tight-nit pool at the moment, but if you’re willing to contribute I’m willing to listen.

Change is in the air. Can you smell it?