Rare records and apple juice — a man in heaven.
I woke up on time this morning! 8:30am, for chrissake. My commitment to this job-away-from-work is amazing! I showered, ate a fiber-enriched health breakfast treat my mom thought I would like, then left for the record fair. I picked up Ian and Jon outside of their apartments (they live across the street from one another, it’s so cute). We got to the fair just as it was opening to the public at 10am. My boss was busily working the room, shopping for “deals”. His ability to find valuable records at low prices amazes me. I found myself following him — almost shadowing him — as his routinely found “mis-priced” albums. At this point it is no big deal for him to find a $1,000 record for $60. We both laughed heartily as he found the exact same thousand-dollar album this year as he did last year. He also found a scarce variation of a Ringo Starr single that was worth more than ten times what he paid for it. After a while I felt overwhelmed, so I headed off to find Jon and Ian.
At center: Heitkotter. At bottom-right: CA Quintet. Total cost: About $7,000.
“Lunch” was an egg and cheese sandwich with a bottle of apple juice from a deli a block away from the Metropolitan Pavilion. As I sat watching our inventory and chatting with some onlookers, I saw Tom Scharpling start to pass by our table. I stopped him in his tracks and started to talk about his radio show and the sad conclusion of the Monk dynasty. He was very kind and stuck around for a few minutes to ask about myself and the store. He excused himself soon after, but promised to return to talk more later. I didn’t see him again the rest of the day, oh well.
Ian stopped by to say he was leaving for band practice. Jon left also to take a nap before returning. I watched Jon Spencer and Heavey Trash perform a few feet away from our table at the WFMU DJ area, and after helping some customers and chatting with more passersby, I left the comfort of our ridiculous wall of vinyl (see: original Bachs record, Gandalf The Grey, Faine Jade, Peter Grudzien, Mellow Candle, Vashti Bunyan, Ben, Kaleidoscope, Spirogyra, et. al.) to do some shopping for myself.
I had more luck shopping today, and spent quite a bit more more than the meager $25 I spent yesterday. One of the first dealers I stopped to see had a bunch of Mississippi Records albums, and a beautiful copy of the Dock Boggs Country Blues 2LP set on Revenant. I picked that up as well as the Mata La Pena compilation of international music on Mississippi. The only other two records I bought today were original copies of Jorge Ben’s Forca Bruta (mono Brazilian press) and the Caetano Veloso self-titled album also known as Tropicalia. I spent a bit more money today than yesterday, but it was well worth it.
Finished pho. Look at how greasy that broth is. Pure bliss.
7pm rolled around quickly. With Jon in tow, I drove down to SoHo and found parking near Ian’s apartment. Upstairs at Jon’s we listened to some records and watched The Simpsons for a few minutes before Ian arose from his mid-evening nap. While Jon stuck around his apartment to do whatever the hell he does when he’s alone, Ian and I walked to Chinatown for some pho. Our appetizer was a plate of pork served over cold noodles, cucumber, lettuce, sprouts and carrots. It was served with a peanut sauce. Delicious. The Pho was really good, and the beef was much better than the shredded stuff I am accustomed to at Gingergrass in Silverlake. Ian picked up the tab, that nice guy, and we cabbed it in the rain up to Ginger Man.
Douche chills. Those three dorks in the background were feeling each others’ muscles all night.
We had thought the place would be dead on account of the weather. We were wrong. It took five or ten minutes for us to find a table, and when we did a bunch of douche-y younger kids (bridge and tunnel crowd?) joined us at the table claiming that they had been seated there before the previous tenants had sat down. Whatever. Our waitress for the evening, Eve, came to take our order. She creepily informed me that the bartender “says hi.” It turned out that a girl I went to high school with was tending bar at Ginger Man last night. The funny thing is, like four years ago I bumped into her there and she made a big game out of the fact that she remembered my name and I did not remember hers. I had no idea she still worked there, or would recognize me again, but apparently she did. Lucky for me I now have her name committed to memory. My first beer of the night was a pint of Keegan Ales Mother’s Milk Stout. Right before our lovely waitress Eve returned to ask about our next round, Meredith and her roommate walked into the bar. They sat down next to the douche-y kids, who were loudly complaining to each other about how they didn’t want people stealing their seats when they got up to get more drinks. Within a few minutes we were equally-as-loudly making comments about the douches. I think I asked Meredith to turn and ask the girl seated next to her, “Where she got her costume.” When Meredith responded, “You mean her dress?” I said, “No, I mean her fat ugly skank costume.” I don’t know if she heard me, but I hope she did.
Ian looks positively bored. Evan mugs for the camera. John checks his iPhone.
Meredith refuses to have her photo taken. Evan plays along.
Ken and Katie arrived. They picked up Ian and Jon’s spirits, as the pair were beginning to look exhausted. I don’t know if they brought their friend Jessie with them, or he just happened to be at the bar, but the three of them were a welcome addition to our party. My next round was a glass of Goose Island Matilda. Ken and Katie disappeared with the camera, and when they returned there were MANY pictures of penises and vaginas. I…I don’t know. I deleted them pretty quickly, though I probably should have posted them here just to embarrass them. Next pint was Goose Island Fleur. The douchebags left. Some people disappeared to drink whiskey from Ken’s car. Marie and her husband Ran arrived in time for a drink. I had a pint of — don’t laugh — Dick’s Cream Stout. I think waitress Eve quite enjoyed that one, as she rubbed it in when I had to find her and get my change for the beer. My final pint of the night was a free glass of Nogne-ø Porter courtesy of my old high school classmate bartender-ess.
Our little crew, as seen from above.
At some point Meredith and her roommate left. I don’t remember. I was getting pretty buzzed. Ian looked exhausted. Ken, Katie and their friend disappeared again. Marie and Ran ordered beers and we talked a lot about our lives. I haven’t seen them in a very long time, and they of course begged me to move back East. I guess if you’re an amazing person — a good friend, a funny drunk and a handsome devil — everyone wants to have you all to themselves. I have to deal with that a lot, because I am all of those things and more.
Early morning. Ken wants to keep going, and Evan looks dead tired.
I don’t remember what time we left the bar. Landon called to ask a) where I was and b) if I had gotten him McDonalds Monopoly pieces from New York yet. This put the idea in my head to spend the remainder of the night searching for Monopoly pieces. I found a stray Large soda cup atop a phone booth and found a piece still attached to it. We walked past a McDonalds and I felt compelled to look through the trash, but something pulled me away. It was probably germs, or maybe Ian. F-Train downtown. Exit at 4th Street. McDonalds right there! I feel compelled to look through more garbage, but don’t. A beggar with a large soda cup asks for change, and I respond by asking him if there are any Monopoly pieces on the cup he’s holding out for our charity. He was not amused. Eventually, we found ourselves back at Ian’s place. I’m bad with what time it was. Nothing was on TV. Ian turned on the a/c and put me on the couch. It was fucking freezing all night. The a/c was set to 60 degrees, blowing directly on my head. I barely slept.
