Inconclusive

Upon arriving home I imagined a lot of things would be different. Unfortunately, problems that don't chase you will wait patiently for you to get back. Then there are the things that you thought you kicked enough dirt over to hardly be noticeable anymore that tend to resurface at the slightest smell of progress. While I missed New York and I anticipated getting myself a fresh start with a newly cleaned brain and the power of hindsight when I got back; the same holes keep tripping me up and the same old bridges still deserve to be burned. I don't know if I returned any better off or any worse off than I initially started, but what I do know is that I'm always welcome in Orlando and the sunshine state is looking like a better option every day. On a positive note, I'm now the proud owner of some of the best memories I've acquired yet and I'm glad to know such stand-up dogs, dudes, and dudettes. Thanks for everything guys. Until next time!

Orlando via Cellular Device

Too many new happenings this entire trip that would take almost as long to write out as it would if I was going through them all again. Sometimes I was too drunk/distracted/busy/lazy to pull my phone out and get any pictures. These are the times I remembered I owned half a brain and a camera phone. Elaborations available upon request.

Darick's Birthday Pirate Cruise

That's some bird.

For 3 hours this was our open bar escort.

Downtown Orlando

Darick's place of work and my corner for busking.

Pictured here: Chris Farley and a lady that generously offered to "give ya a handjob for two bucks".


Drunk Danial and his Fort Wayne friends (L-R: Rodd, Drunk Danial, Dirty D [barely pictured] Jason, Floozy #1, Floozy #2, Chris)


Goth chicks sucking tits in Backbooth.


Richard "the Adequate" (Danial and Rodd on either side)




The Jaws ride at Universal Studios

Worst seats in the house.



Various Live Music

Against Me! at the Black Box Collective



the Monotonix at Backbooth

The best band to never play Florida


Rev. Peyton's Big Damn Band


My Time in the Petitioner's Business

Dan Crain (the man, the myth, the legend) and Abe

First gig, the crowd at a Republican Tea Party



Miscellaneous Fuckery


Saw this bad boy after me, Darick and Black James fully assembled a drum set for nearly free in 2 days. My spirit guide.

Fishing at 5AM. Giorgio and Darick made a bet for who could catch the bigger fish. As of 8:30AM none of us caught anything.

The half pipe mini in the back yard (Pictured L-R: Thrash, Danial, Darick, Black James, Dirty D)

Giorgio, Danial, Darick. My surrogate family.


The fish pond in front of their house that lead to the slaying of a problematic possum. If you look close you can see my koi fish Gorgoroth (no you can't)


Darick and his Mad Max style Kawasaki Cafe Racer


Thrash dog. As rude as he wants to be.


Casey, the freak

Violence. Amanda Little doesn't dig possum guts.


Aw jyea

My home away from home

Giorgio and Thrash cruisin'

Darick's new mattress attached by an extension cord and some jumper cables

Obligatory visit to South of the Border on the ride to NY

Italy in Florida

This drive proved to be just as painful as the Pittsburgh one. I mean, this time around I was semi prepared at least, but it still seemed like it dragged on for entirely too long.

I proceeded to finish off listening to Mister B. Gone on audiobook and switched back to music. At this time I was closing in on the Georgia/Florida border and the sun started going down. Almost immediately after driving over the state line I could feel a change in climate that inspired me to roll my windows down and take it in. Around the time I did that, I saw neon lights in the distance. I looked at my gas gauge and decided it was time to fuel up so I wouldn't have to worry about it until way later on down the line. I took the next exit and started to pull into a Citgo when I noticed that across the street was a Mobil. Now, I'm not picky about where my gas comes from, but if you've been paying attention you'd know I enjoy tourist traps. This one was no different. A Dairy Queen, gas station, knick knack dealer, and fireworks shop rolled into one. Lucky day! I jammed on the brakes and turned around in the parking lot and sped over to the opposing gas station. Here I picked up some post cards, roman candles, and more energy drinks along with some food. I hit the road again, and at this point the highway turned painfully straight and didn't deviate once it seemed. I spent hours staring straight with no other traffic around feeling the (slightly) warm(er) wind on my face until I needed gas again. I pulled into another convenience store off the highway where a homeless man implored me for some food or something to drink. I hooked him up with the remainder of my popcorn chicken and french fries and went inside. There was a man working the counter that didn't speak very good english, to fullfil a stereotype I'm sure, so he seemed to be confused when I asked if they had a bathroom.

"Can I use your bathroom?"
"..What?"
"Do you have a bathroom?"
"Oh uh ahm, what?"
"Is there a bathroom I could use here?"

He seemed to make sense of it and smiled kind of a creepy smile. He proceeded to tell me that there wasn't a back room and nodded knowlingly. What he may have thought I suggested still kind of makes me laugh when I speculate to myself, but I assured him I just needed to pee in so many words ("If not can I just take a leak out back?" "Oh, bathroom! Yes, behind chip rack"). I came back out and gave the homeless guy a bottle of water I bought and he stopped me because he was curious what a New Yorker was doing driving down here. He seemed genuinely interested in my story, which I would think would be kind of a bore, and reluctant to discuss the terms of his drifting. I didn't think too hard about it but instead talked about music because he could see the guitar peeking out over the top of my seat.

We parted ways without exchanging names and I kept heading towards my grandparents' place in Venice. When I got close I kept seeing names of major Italian cities on the exit signs like Naples, among others that I don't recall. When I saw the exit for Venice, I pulled off and looked for their neighborhood. It was gated from what I remember, and it was still gated when I got there. It was kind of nice but an extremely tacky neighborhood as it was for old folks, mostly well into their 70s. There was a large waterfall out front and many palm trees dotting the sides of the road among various warning signs for speed bumps and pedestrians. One of the ones that intrigued me the most was a red-beaked crane crossing sign. I kept hoping the whole time I would see one around, but with no luck.

I got to their place which was nice and cozy. Most of the furniture was as tacky as the neighborhood, but I'm guessing that's what being elderly is about. They kept a TV in every room, most of which on different channels and playing loudly, and a mini-fridge full of soda cans. I would have prefered something more hydrating, but this trip has refreshed my memory of how good orange soda could be so I greedily drank down several of the non-diet ones they bought for my arrival. We sat around and visited for a bit before they retreated to bed and I sat in one of the most comfortable rocking chairs of my life. I went off to the guest room that featured two old fashioned twin beds. One had towels and an extra blanket on it, and the other was made up for me. It took some time to figure out the switch/light/fan situation but once I did the room was optimized for comfort and sleep took hold.

The following few days were spent lazily visiting with my grandparents, eating well, and helping my grandma run errands while my workaholic grandpa held it down with his endless calls. I tried winning the trust of their antisocial cat named KC, but she wasn't having it. She wasn't accustomed to guests and she wasn't about to start getting accustomed after all this time. I almost remember her being nicer when I was younger but I don't really know how true that is. We stopped by the gym they have there one night but after about 15 minutes of walking my grandma was ready to go. It felt good to move around and do something other than sit so I didn't complain. I was glad to see she was feeling healthy and energetic as she has been undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer. She said she's doing well and backed it up by constantly being on the go. Late nights when my grandma went to bed, me and my grandpa would stay up watching old movies on AMC. When he asked me what I usually watch I reluctantly told him that usually at night if I wasn't watching a movie, I'd usually put on Adult Swim. He found Cartoon Network and I was half hoping something like Superjail wouldn't be on, but the other half of me wouldn't mind it for the sake of having a laugh. We watched King of the Hill briefly and he seemed to almost enjoy it (aka: he didn't complain too much) but we chose to watch more American Movie Classics.

After a few days I figured it was time for me to hit my final destination. My grandparents gave me a bag of soda cans and some chalky candy hearts to bring with me along with another $50 McDonald's gift card to be sure I wasn't starving too. I packed up, said goodbye, discussed directions, and set my sights on Orlando.

Atlanta can drink

Here I am, roughly two and a half weeks into my stay in sunny Florida, and no updates in a while. I've barely started this thing and I'm already starting to fall into complacent dormancy. I guess I'll have to force it a little to kind of kick-start the old memory banks.

It was starting to get late by the time I came through to my Uncle Frank's neighborhood. I wasn't sure what to look for as I had never been to this house (the last time I was down to visit him he lived in a small apartment) or seen pictures of it for that matter. But his love of horse racing sold him out as I could tell by a jockey statue in his front yard. When I got inside he showed me to my room, which had a large and comfortable bed that I was beyond stoked for, and we had a couple beers and some pizza from a place up the road. I recharged with two of my main staples and relaxed by watching some movies on TNT or TBS or some nondescript channel that did late night showings of movies that no one really remembers that aren't that old or good after he had gone to bed. He had to go out and take care of some business during the early hours and planned on showing me a night on the town towards the evening. I slept good and hard that night.

The next day I got up and did some reading, watched some TV, and just generally enjoyed the comforts of his place and the fact that I didn't have to go anywhere far in the immediate future. I didn't get out of my pajama pants until at least 2 o'clock in which I decided I should make a run to the nearest convenience store to get some grub and coffee. I picked up a Hot Pocket that tasted vaguely reminiscent of how a wet dog smells, some coffee that was burnt as it was watered down at the same time. I showered just in time for my uncle to get back. We left almost immediately and hit the ground running.

Atlanta, he described to me (totally accurate mind you), was a shot city. Everyone that drinks takes immense amounts of shots. I'm sort of out of practice in this medium as any swill will do it for me and beers are cheap and delicious. Our first stop was this bar near little five points called Vortex. He said he needed a burger and I agreed, and this place had been rated the best burger joint in town multiple years running. I was impressed upon our arrival just by the appearance of the place. The doorway was inside the mouth of a giant skull with neon eyes and the whole outside was painted up. When I saw the burger and beer list I knew I was in heaven. I drank Smithwick's and ate a burger the size of my head and rejoiced.

Having took some time to digest in Vortex, we had a few more beers and moved on. My uncle entertained me with stories of what my family was like when he was a kid, how he ended up in the south, and all sorts of things. A lot of it was news to me which was great, because I never really heard a lot of it before. My great grandparents had a restaurant (DeGregory as opposed to DeGregorio to make it easier from what he said) in Saratoga Springs on Beekman Street that had a lot of Italian celebrities come through at some point because of its proximity to the race track. We went to a few more bars, taking shots of Jagermeister the whole time. Now, keep in mind, I'm six feet tall and roughly 240lbs so I'm no light weight, but keeping up with my uncle and his various friends was a very difficult task. At this one tavern that had a giant broadsword over the bar I thought I was going to boot for a second but I kept it down. No time for that business, we had more stops to make.

We ended at Ralph's Tavern which my uncle owns a chunk of as an investor. It was a nice place with a decent sized bar and a lot of space. I'd like to recall more details but everything kind of went hazy at this point. I met some more of Uncle Frank's friends, had more shots of Jager, and had a buddy burger. Those things are great for drinking because they're not big enough to stuff you, but big enough to be satisfying when the drunk munchies kick in. We had more drinks and called it a night.

I had the intentions of leaving the very next day but my hangover proved way too strong for that to happen. Not even close. That day was meant for rest, and rest I did. The following day, I took off on the longest drive since Ballston Spa to Pittsburgh. Got up early, feeling refreshed, and kept on southbound.

Tennesee to Alabama to Georgia

Another kind of late start leaving Nashville of course. Luckily Atlanta, or more specifically, Marietta (a suburb outside of Atlanta) wasn't much more than 4 hours away. I felt like the beginning of the trip was almost like a roller coaster because as soon as I got past the major city area of Nashville I began an ascent into some kind of mountains only to begin descending again around a half hour later and keep descending for what seemed like the majority of the trip in twists and turns snaking through the hills and valleys of the mountain. The suggested speed for trucks over 4 tons was 40MPH and there were "Runaway Truck" ramps every few miles as if to drive the point home. As if the warnings meant little to the trucks that were greatly over 4 tons, most of them rushed past me at breakneck speeds. You all know my fondness for heights, so you could imagine a nervous Colin cussing out tailgaters and those guilty of cutting me off.

Speaking of things I'm fond of, roadside attractions rank pretty high up there and I feel as though so far I haven't treated myself to many thus far. A good way to get a person's attention, especially mine, is to have convincing billboards. This is how Tennessee/Alabama Fireworks came into my life. There were signs all over for miles trying to convince me to get off at exit 152, take exit 152, everything you need is at exit 152, etc. I mean shit, goofy novelties and fireworks in one stop? They might as well offered hand jobs and free leather jackets made out of the skin of religious deities. I was convinced. Exit 152 (or 153, don't quote me on it) rolled around and I got off to find my paradise. I knew it was going to be everything I expected because of the giant neon sign I could see from the highway. There's not much better than being excited on something that you know is exactly what you expected it to be. This was mecca.

Walking slowly, I navigated the rows of firecrackers, M-80s, bottle rockets, roman candles, mortars, and everything good in the world. I was overwhelmed and must have looked around for at the very least 20 minutes before I realized I could purchase such wares from THE VERY SHOP I WAS IN. I greedily snatched up some roman candles and a bag of M-80s that there is a 99% chance I will never use up as if I didn't act fast this opportunity would disappear. I loaded up, got some postcards, and went to the counter. A couple was eating behind a glass case featuring knives and corn cob pipes and I realized how hungry I was at that point. The sun was almost down so I had been driving for a while. I eyed a Waffle House across the street as he was ringing me up when I noticed cigarette loads. For those of you not familiar, cigarette loads are meant to explode upon lighting when put into the tip of a cigarette. It's great for laughs. The guy thought my excited reaction was funny enough to give me some for free.

I left, eying the Waffle House across the street even harder now and figured I might as well put the rest of the drive on hold. I had never had Waffle House food before and it seemed appropriate to have it now in this small mountain town. I drove across the street and went in. There was a young girl working the counter that I almost expected to be there. She was short and chubby with an outrageous southern accent busting the chops of the zitty teenager working the waffle irons with great delight. She had a big smile and called the patrons "sugar" and "honey" and names of that caliber while waiting on them. I got a basic meal that came with a waffle, hash browns, toast, eggs, and bacon in appropriate proportions as to not get overly stuffed. It was a pleasurable experience, albeit the stares of the other diners got to be a bit much towards the end when more travelers came through.

Driving again, the sun finished its course under the horizon and I flipped on my headlights. Of course! The mileage! I had almost forgot how close it was to rolling over to 150,000 miles! This would have been as unforgivable as when I missed my ill-fated Civic turn over to 200k about two years ago, like hell was I going to miss this one. Those 50 miles seemed to go by slowly as every five minutes I kept looking down to see my progress if for anything than just to remind me that it was going to happen. I, of course, forgot about it for a long period of time but remembered at the last minute and looked down to see the last two miles fly by. A proud moment. I've grown reluctantly attached to this car over the period I've owned it, especially with the shit it's put me through, but it was like we had a bonding moment.

Crossing a bridge over a lake surrounded by a faint night mist dusted with headlights of the cars around me, I felt tranquil. I coasted the remanding distance to the Georgia state line.

Nashville Postscript:

We almost threw water balloons at Gene Simmons. I wish we had went through with it.

Nashville: Music City, USA

My ride to Nashville was a relaxing endeavor. I knew fun times were ahead as I always liked hanging out with Paul when he's in town but our paths don't cross all that often. I began to listen to my pirated audiobook Mister B. Gone by Clive Barker (as read by Doug Bradley) and felt a bit of a relief getting out of Cincinnati. In the beginning of this trip I had a hard time getting into the whole book on CD thing, but by this time I had more than just gotten used to them, and I'd gone into a near trancelike state while it was on. So trancelike, that I drove right past the sign saying to take the next exit to get to Dinosaurworld, but not trancelike enough to miss the giant dinosaur after the exit had gone by with a sign chastizing me for missing it. I will never forgive myself for this infraction.

Nashville was only about 4 hours from Cincinnati so the trip took a short time to complete. I stopped at the welcoming center on the Tennessee border to get some snacks and see what was so welcoming about it. It really wasn't all that welcoming now that I reflect back on it as a family of four waited for me intently while I finished picking out what I was to get out of the vending machines before even going inside the building. I got my eats and was given a wide girth when I walked out. In the car I chowed down and waited for a call back from Paul to figure out what was going on. He said he had a meeting of sorts so I went to fooBAR (the bar his girlfriend manages) to have a few drinks and wind down from the drive. Upon Paul's arrival we got pizza and decimated it in minutes.

Afterwards we hopped into Paul's '32 Sedan to take a ride downtown so he could show me some of the sights and get me acquainted to the area. It was still in the process of being worked on so it didn't have any windows, save the windshield, but it was nice enough weather. Not to mention, I felt like a total badass riding around in that thing. We found parking downtown somewhere and walked around looking at all the tacky souvenier shops and music stores as well as the millions upon millions of bars with some nondescript country band playing cover tunes in them. I became more acquainted with the bars downtown the following day, as well as the music which was pretty 50/50 as far as the goods and bads. One of these times which was made clear almost instantly which one it was, was when we got into a venue in East Nashville to see a band Paul had seen on Nashvillepunk.com as well as a burlesque show that was supposed to follow the musical act. What we got upon entry was, inarguably, as sad as it was hilarious. The trio of 30-something year old mall freaker characters up on stage was almost too much to take which lead to our early departure. If you ever get the chance to see the Flashcut Pinups please do. They didn't seem to get past the "we need our rock star clothes to be good" phase of most middle school bands, so they were dressed to tickle you with laughter. Fishnets and Nike running shoes, more fishnets, goofy anime-esque leg warmers, and even a doctor's lab jacket thrown in for good measure. Apparently the two girls in that band were two out of the three girls in the burlesque show, so after hearing that we weren't convinced the 3rd had enough talent to hold it together and we took off during a horrible cover of the Ramones "Pet Sematary".

We stopped at a few places more that fail me right now and we eventually decide to just go back to fooBAR and catch whatever band is playing there. They were some kind of grungy alt-rock band where the bug-eyed singer/guitarist wanted to be in Mudhoney while the rest of the band looked more suited for college jam band rock. That being said, they were leagues better than Flashcut Pinups so I enjoyed myself. After that we went downtown again hoping for something better to jump out at us. It (kind of) did in the form of a strip club. A platinum blonde that I had trouble seeing over her fake breasts gave us both flyers that looked like they were printed out on one of those old ribbon printers advertising a joint in Painter's Alley called Brass Stables. I figured, shit, it's a strip club in Nashville and it's only a few blocks away, let's check it out. We spent some time walking around to find Painter's Alley but to no avail. We asked several people and they said it was right off of the street we were on, and there was a giant neon banner over it, and we couldn't miss it. Miss it we did. We started to feel like we had been had when we had turned around and decided to give up. When walking Paul pointed out to a rather large alley that did, in fact, have a huge fucking neon sign over it with PAINTER'S ALLEY clearly written out. From what he had heard, sometime in the 60's maybe (I don't remember) the Outlaws and the Hell's Angels had an all out gang war in there that got so bad the streets outside the alley ran red with blood.

So we saw the place and figured it must be something else entirely as it looked more like, well, not a strip club. It was pretty grimey actually. So we kept walking to see if there possibly was another strip club further up, but no luck. When walking back we weren't too sure if we were going to go in until a portly guy with a big smile came out and said to us: "Hey boys! You like tits?" to which we answered with a confident yes. He told us of the free food, and the alleged nude karaoke, and how gorgeous the dancers were, blah blah blah. We handed him our $15 and went in. The free food seemed kinda shoddy when we got in so neither one of us were too into the idea of eating any of it, and the club atmosphere was pretty grim. An attractive blonde stripper came and sat down in between us after we had taken our seats, said hello, and then proceeded to look miserable without saying a word. Both her hands on her lap. It was awkward to say the least. I asked her how to get a beer there and she said they didn't actually serve beer there, they had to get it across the street and bring it back for you. Upon hearing this I immediately lost the rest of my interest and it seemed that Paul was also not enjoying himself. We left and the fat man at the door didn't look too surprised. "Bye fellas"

When we were walking back to his car it seemed as if we shared the same sentiments. The stench of shame hung heavy in that club and it was hard to shake afterwards. None of the girls liked their jobs, none of them danced like they wanted anyone to see them in public, and they all had a cloud of misery hanging over their heads as if the smallest thing would set them off. All the patrons were elderly chain smoking old men that had a pathetic hunger in their eyes that had far surpassed having a good time. Paul pointed out that if they had to advertise free food we should have taken that immediately as a red flag. "Shouldn't the face that women are dancing nude for your enjoyment be enough to bring in customers? Free food should be the last of their concerns." I almost (almost) lost my zeal for strip clubs for good, but upon some coaxing I think I could manage another trip to a carefully chosen one.

The next morning I wake up from the awesome spare bed loaned out to me and got dressed. Paul's girlfriend's old friend from Texas was in town so we all met him for lunch at this place called Rose Pepper or something along those lines. He's the singer for Hank Williams III metal band Assjack which was kind of cool because I used to be a big fan years ago when they came through town. I guess they were on their way out that night for tour and they were using Nashville as a starting location. Two of their other friends, a tall outspoken redheaded girl and a soft spoken southern gent, came out too. After we all ordered our food I realized I was the only asshole that didn't order an enchilada but it was well worth it as the fajita tray they brought out was stacked up miles high with pure deliciousity. We ate, talked, and parted ways. Upon getting home I sat down for a minue to try and get my body in digestion mode when Paul asks if I'm in the mood to drink a lot of beer. First reaction was I was far from it, but upon further review I decided it was the best thing for me to do. His friends from this band Curbside Saints (one of which I had partied with in Albany in his old band Civil Uprising that I didn't remember until after the fact) were going out so Paul proposed we meet them at this Irish bar Mulligan's.

We spent a long time trying to find parking anywhere as it was a Saturday night in Nashville, and when we found one it was kind of snug but it had to do. I should start this by saying I have kind of a problem trying to parallel park on the right side of the road and it's damn near impossible for me to complete in one turn successfully. This was no different. I ended up about a foot away from the curb and had hit both the cars in front of me and behind me. The entire street seemed to be staring at us so we cut our losses and bailed out when the car was as straight as it was going to get. We were so embarrased, in fact, that we didn't notice that we parked in front of the Mulligan's door and proceeded to walk up and down the street looking for the place. We got there and hung out for a while, the guys meeting us taking a long time to get there due to the parking issue. When they arrived we played some darts for a while. The guy Matt that was there reminded me of a taller, more southern version of Pat (the singer for Scag Rotter) which progressively began to blow my mind more and more throughout the night. We finished a couple games and all decided to walk around Broadway to see if there was anything cool going on. A few bars were stopped into to see the live music available but none of it was any good as it had been primarily pop country. Nick, Paul's other friend that came out, suggested we go back to Mulligan's because a decent Irish style pub rock band was playing later that night. They were pretty good but did some pretty bad covers to satisfy the tourist crowd as there was some kind of event that night bringing them out. No matter how many times I called out for it they wouldn't do a Thin Lizzy cover, so I reverted back to obnoxious heckler mode and started calling for Discharge covers and wishing Brendan was around to get it. After a while hanging out, these two girls clad in black came in and Matt decided to call them over. Much coaxing seemed like it was needed but eventually they did and they were a lot of fun. Some of it, without a doubt, was due to Matt seesawing back and forth between the both of them hoping that one of them would be into his advances. He eventually declared how drunk he was and Nick and him left. Paul and I spent the rest of the time hanging out with the two girls and some of their friends from the Hard Rock Cafe, one of which looked like a taller version of Eminem. It turns out both of those girls knew Paul's girlfriend which solidified Paul's point that he couldn't flirt with a girl if he wanted to because of his well known girlfriend. All of our goodbyes were said and we went back to Paul's place to crash out.

The next morning (or afternoon) we took a trip to get some food at a local Jack-in-the-Box and stop to check out a pawn shop or maybe the World's Cheapest Adult DVD store but none of them were open as it was a Sunday and apparently they still keep holy the fucking sabbath. Doesn't do dick for me of course, but what can ya do. We chowed down, got back, hung out for a minute, then I packed up and shipped out. Atlanta, GA here I come!

Cinci punx is bikes?

Here I am in wonderful Marietta, GA (a suburb outside of Atlanta) waiting for a Hot Pocket I bought a little while ago at the Citgo up the road to cool off for consumption. It smells curiously like wet dog (it's supposed to be pepperoni) and my coffee tastes kind of like dirt and french vanilla hot water, but this is the fuel I need to help me document the last couple of days as there was no opportunity for me to get down to business before. We pick up where our hero left off five days ago..

9AM rolls around that Thursday morning in my room at the Microtel and I remember the continental breakfast that was promised upon awakening. Now I'm not sure if any of you guys have had one of these before, but my idea of a continental breakfast must be way different than Microtel's. There was cereal galore, of course, but no milk to use with it as they had ran out. There was one bagel left that was kind of gross and only fake butter left over as the cup that held the packets of real butter was drained of all but one which turned out to just be a wrapper. I toasted my bagel and had my horribly bitter orange juice and got to work packing up and showering. The night before it had come to my attention that I did not, and could not, have any cash on me because I didn't know my pin number to my new debit card. I had plenty of cash on it and no way to access it. My mom wired me some money that I picked up through a local Walmart as a quick fix. I promptly checked out, forgot all of my records at the room, and went to pick up the cash and move on. About half way to my next destination, Cincinnati, I remembered my ill fated records and that I didn't currently have them with me. Luckily they have a contingency plan for that sort of thing and I'm going to meet up with them in Florida when I get there.

The drive to Cincinatti, after the storm of the night before, went without instance. I didn't know where I was supposed to meet Sammi (my CS.com buddy) so I had looked into some record stores the night before and went to one called Shake It! Records in which I blew the rest of my record budget for the year on some gems. I had to leave behind Ice & the Iced which kind of bummed me out, but it was roughly $18 which is kind of out of the question for any one record save this Exploited one I picked up that I'll get into later. My haul this time looked like this:

• Germ Attak - Ouroboros
• the Joneses - Criminals
• Kegcharge - Sadistic War Glory
• Conga Fury - Chaotic Noise
• Hubble Bubble - S/T
• the Exploited - Innercity Decay

The Exploited record was kind of pricy, coming in at $21, but upon asking two of my friends who are also (if not moreso) big Exploited fans they hadn't even heard of it and couldn't find much info about it on the net, so I figured if anything it was a cool oddity to find.

So after the record shopping, I walked up the road a ways to meet Sammi at this coffee shop called the Sidewinder Cafe or something along those lines. I got a coffee to help me get my brain in motion again and relaxed in quiet observer mode. It didn't take me long after meeting her and her friends for me to notice that they were big into bikes. I mean everyone has their thing, but I have a hard time not discounting a lot of "bike punks" as contemporary hippies. It just seems the vests and patches and crust music is a good way to keep themselves seperate from their other leaf eating bretheren while still maintaining all other aspects. Nothing against their personalities, they were all nice and everything, but I have a hard time taking the sort of people that have words like "co-op" or "collective" in their daily lexicon seriously. Aside from that they seemed to be average college students, just clad in black and with basic knowledge of their decided trend. Er.. subculture.

We went back to Sammi's house, which was a really nice duplex in a pretty decent area, with her friend and her friend's dog (who was totally awesome) and she made us all some kind of vegan spaghetti. To get up to the apartment, there were black iron stairs similar to the ones a fire escape would have going around the side of the building. Usually I can't stand vegan food and half the time I prefer to even avoid vegetarian dishes, but this was quite delicious. I chowed down and proceeded to sit in silence while more talk of bike rides and meetings for non-profit organizations and stuff were discussed. Her and her friends left to go to some meeting for something or the other, so I took the opportunity to listen to all of my new records several times over and play some guitar. I was amazed at the amount of Calvin & Hobbes books in their bathroom and ended up reading far too much and letting my legs fall asleep whilst defecating.

Upon their return, we went to meet up with some of her friends for some party 10 minutes across the Kentucky border. There was some restaurant or bar or something where a scene was filmed for Rain Man was shot a couple blocks up. This was also a nice neighborhood which leads me to believe the standard of living is far greater in this area than in the Saratoga or Albany apartments I frequent. This crazy party ended up being a gathering of most of their bike crew at one of their apartments. Everyone was nice and we had some good laughs. Up with all the wall hangings, pictures, posters, flyers, and an electrical tape drawing of Kurt Vonnegut, there was a list of bands for something in Florida called the Fest. I was surprised to see After the Fall listed, another upstate NY band, amongst the bands that had played which was cool to see more local bands in far away places (I had also seen the Tragics 7" at the record store earlier which brought a smile to my face).

A short while after we got there everyone decided to keep going with their ride so we went with a couple of the people there to one of their apartments in which we listened to some records and drank more. I taught one of them how to shotgun a beer which brought on a new activity to follow the already heavy drinking. When people weren't paying attention I kept putting on the Dido CD or the Ryan Adams CD that I had found laying around in the stack of loose discs by the boom box. To further the hippie aesthetic, the gentleman whose apartment it was started to discuss how punk it was of this one guy to play bluegrass and to live on a farm where he not only brewed his own beer, but he grew his own hops too. I tried not to think too hard about it and drank my MD 20/20 bought at a drive-thru liquor establishment.

We left the party and listened to some good tunes on the way back to Sammi's place where we hung out for a little longer before she departed for bed citing her early morning as reason for it. She showed me the couch which had plenty of pillows and blankets on it so I could be as warm and comfortable as needed and offered to let me stay another night if I wanted. I considered it but the next morning I was awoke too early by her room mate who needed me to move my car so she could get out. I couldn't get back to sleep so I decided I'd get moving. I wrote out my thank you, left Sammi the remainder of my Maddog as a gift of my appreciation, and took off for my next stop. The much anticipated Nashville, TN...