Everyone is up again at 10:30, except for Alan, who sleeps until one. We loaf around for awhile longer, watching more of the Woodstock video. Then step outside to go grab some lunch. As the first two outside, upon reaching the ground, Alan and I bump into my neighbor, Dajie.
“Did you see any vandals in the neighborhood last night?” I ask, pointing to pieces of microwave all over the sidewalk.
“No, no,” Dajie says, then speculates, “maybe it was a dog dragging trash around.”
Alan and I exchange a puzzled glance, attempting not to crack up. While this seems like a highly creative theory, who knows, I guess it is technically possible that something like that could happen. But of course, we know better.
“Yeah, that could be,” I reply.
When Damon and Paul emerge at last, we head on down the road. Or attempt to, anyway, although there’s some chick blocking the intersection at Kenny and Henderson for no discernible reason. Having already determined that we want to hit the Tee Jaye’s on High Street, we must wait for her to move before so doing.
It’s kind of funny how what you perceive (in the moment, if not forever) as a random and meaningless drive around town can touch upon what later turns out to be so many significant landmarks. So it becomes on this afternoon, as we park at the iconic Tee Jaye’s, on the corner of Morse Road, although Damon & Paul want to stroll over to Eldorado’s first to buy some cigarettes. So we mosey over that way, while Alan and I stand around a minute waiting on them. On a mounted TV, Jacksonville is waxing Miami 38-0 in the 2nd quarter of a playoff game.
“This might be Marino’s last game,” I tell some old timer also standing nearby, viewing the action.
“I think he’ll come back one more year,” the guy says.
Now that these guys have gotten their smokes, we venture back across the parking lot. As we are approaching the restaurant’s entrance, who of all people should be exiting but…our Hounddog’s waitress from last night! Unfortunately, she is accompanied by some dude.
“You guys up already?” she asks with a smile, remembering us before we’ve even said anything.
“Up still!” Damon jokes, though by appearances she believes this.
As she and her man continue walking, the four of us head inside. Those three all order a Barnyard Buster (eggs, biscuits, gravy), while I settle for a stack of giant blueberry pancakes. Damon guzzles his beloved Mountain Dew, while Alan and Paul both order the somewhat bizarre combination of orange juice and coffee (not mixed together, I should note). Not quite a full-fledged caffeine addict myself, I stick to water and milk.
A nearby table is filled with some hot, exotic looking girls. We keep glancing over at them while debating what the best possible angle might be for making their acquaintance. Eventually, someone suggests and the rest of us agree that inviting them to the movies sounds like an awesome idea (though we in fact have no plans to see any movies). Only problem is, as we are determining this, they are standing up and walking out the door. So much for that concept.
From here, it’s just up the road to Pro Percussion. Alan needs a replacement bolt for one of his drums, before they play their show tonight. In the meantime we’re all messing with various instruments. Paul and I join forces to screw around with this sweet Doctor Groove synthesizer. Though both of us just so happen to have enough cash on us to buy the thing, it’s hard to pull the trigger on a fun but not exactly essential toy, therefore neither of us do.
Our sales clerk is funny, and tells us he was the former drummer for Desperately Seeking Fusion. They were big in Ohio a few years back, I recall, though he’s informing us that they split up, and some of the guys moved to Florida, California, et cetera. At one point, he hops behind the nearest kit to show Alan a couple tricks, like how to fake the intro on Hot For Teacher using a combination of toms and kick instead of just the kick drum.
“Now what do you know about tuning drums?” Damon asks him, “’cause you hear of a few guys doing it, but no one really knows how.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got a wife, two kids, and a full time job. I don’t have time to tune my drums, you know?” the guy jokes.
From here we cruise out to the Sam Ash on Morse, as Alan was unable to buy his bolt there, plus Paul needs a new input jack for his bass. This time Alan is able to find his necessary piece, but Paul is not, and we have a hard time getting anyone to wait on us besides. Though by no means the first person to observe this, I ask the fellas, “you ever notice when you’re in these music stores that there’s five guys swarming all over you when you’re just looking, but then when you actually need something, you can’t find one?” They mutter their assurances that this is not lost on them, either.
Our odyssey continues with a detour across the street to the Northland Mall, a desperation visit to the Radio Shack found within. Then it’s back to my apartment, where we wait on Paul Radick and Brian Randolph to show up. I’m just the amateur reporter here – those five are part of the attraction, playing the first Bedlam show in three and a half years, for this “Bon-A-Thon” charity event tonight at High 5.
For a recap of the show, please visit that page. In summary, though, it was a performance for the ages, and for a good cause to boot. As such, it’s perhaps understandable that we missed “A Party With the Berenstain Bears,” despite this being held at the Kenny Road Borders, i.e. basically across the street from my apartment complex. In stark contrast, the Sawmill Road one has “licensed astrologists” J.R. & Suzi Schroeder on hand to discuss “the special areas that each sign must focus on for peace of mind.” Not that any of us would have wound up at either place regardless of the circumstances, but hey, you never know.
What else is going on around our fair city this evening? At present I couldn’t really tell you much, except that I know Velveteens play at Little Brother’s and that The Afro-Rican Ensemble are at El Diablo Lounge. However, I can relate that, after winding up back at my apartment, after this Bon-A-Thon show, despite all the carry-out beer purchased, we decide to stow this in the fridge in favor of hitting the Private Dancer. Alan alone stays behind, citing exhaustion, but the rest of us hop back into my car and head off into the night. Somewhere along Riverside, Brian is sweating that my gas light illuminates on the way there. But Damon tells him not to sweat it, because this happens all the time. And indeed, we make it to the strip club and back without incident. On the gasoline front, that is.
