No Gail Simmons sightings today. I awoke in New Jersey and drove my mother to work so that I could use her car for the day. Breakfast was a leftover Ess-A-Bagel, which was almost as magical as the first one in spite of it being a day old. The day was largely uneventful, as I spent most of it at my father’s house surveying the damage following a recent basement flood (it didn’t appear that any recording gear was destroyed) and cataloging the remainder of my East Coast record collection. At some point I will have to marry the East Coast and West Coast collections to create one gigantic, beautiful record collection, but who knows when that day will come. I can’t even bring myself to register my car in LA — how the hell am I going to decide where I want all my vinyl?
Dinner was from a local Chinese restaurant. I’ve been craving good traditional Chinese takeout for ages, so my mother, sister and I shared a bunch of things and tried to make plans for the night. Apparently my sister had planned a big Monday Night Football party in my honor at the local sports bar, where she is something of a celebrity. A night out on the town with my sister generally means a lot of free drinks and a lot of wacky shit, but I think last night reached new levels of insanity.
She refused to go to the bar with me if I was not wearing some kind of New York Giants apparel, but since I don’t own any sports clothes (I’m too wussy, remember?) I had to borrow a t-shirt from her. It was about three sizes too small. In exchange for wearing the stupid shirt, I made her drive so I could drink.
We walked outside to her car and I suddenly remembered that a few months ago she’d called me because she needed a microphone. When I asked her why, she said she was installing a karaoke machine in her car. So when I opened the passenger-side door and climbed inside, I noticed wires strewn everywhere. I asked if the karaoke machine was operational yet, and she plugged everything in to show me how it worked. As we drove to the bar, we sang a lovely duet together, Meatloaf’s “I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)”. It was pretty awesome. I mentioned something about how every vehicle should be a car-eoke mobile. She responded by saying dozens of people have used it and no one even though to call it “car-eoke” before. I guess my sister and her friends aren’t that smart. Or, at the very least, they are not as “punny” as I am.
Before we made it to the bar, Elissa had to buy nuts at Target. It seemed odd to me at the time, buying nuts when you’re going to a bar to watch a football game, but it wasn’t nearly as odd as my sister blatantly parking in a handicapped spot in front of Target. It also wasn’t as odd as her climbing aboard an electronic shopping kart for old or handicapped shoppers and nearly reversing over a guy who wasn’t paying attention. It was not his fault. I know when I walk into a Target I ignore the electronic shopping carts, too. I never anticipate a 28-year-old chick might run me over.
We got to the bar and my sister went to find the owner to find out where we’d be seated for the night. He’s a pretty nice guy, he remembered I live in California and told us he reserved a special VIP area for us. Right a the front corner of the bar there’s about a 12-foot by 12-foot area filled with leather recliners and couches with dedicated flat screen TVs. This area was where we’d be drinking and watching the Giants game. It was very cool. Ken, KT, Hornet and Mike showed up to hang out and watch the game, along with 10 of Elissa’s friends and three members of the New York Jets. The football players didn’t mingle too much with anyone other than my sister. They mostly played Scrabble on their iPhones and nobody drank any booze. I, on the other hand, drank a half-dozen Makers Marks on the rocks and ate a shit-ton of pub food. The Giants won, which made the night just a bit better.
Once the game ended we drove down the street to another bar. I don’t really remember who brought me there, or who put the whiskey and coke in front of me, or who gave me ten dollars to get lost in Photo Hunt and Quiz Show at the bar, but I’m very grateful for that. My sister’s friend Liz and I set some high scores on both Quiz Show and the Word Jigsaw games. Someone ordered nachos and more drinks. We didn’t leave the bar until about 3:30am. We drove Mike home, and he had to endure my sister and I singing Bon Jovi and Cher songs all the way to his house. From there, we sang “As Long As We’ve Got Each Other” (the theme from Growing Pains) all the way back to mom’s house. As per usual, I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow, and I didn’t wake up until 11am this morning. It was the first time I’ve “slept in” in months.
Gail Simmons was nowhere near suburban New Jersey last night (as far as I know). If she was, I definitely would have probably lunged at her and groped her inappropriately.
The most frightening picture of the night is this one. There are so many things wrong with it, I can’t even really begin to describe how awfulsome it is. My sister drives home, a drink in her hand, microphone in her face, eyes closed, singing her heart out. It’s about the most irresponsible photo ever taken.
