Wednesday, July 28, 2010

I Don't Know Art But I Know What I Like

Thursday in Cleveland. We had another great breakfast to gear up for yet another long walking session, this time through the Cleveland Art Museum. We traded in my driver's license for a couple of headsets that would explain some of the exhibits. I feel like I earned three credit-hours that morning. I marvel at how I can look at something and go, "Hey, dude, that's old," and then by the end of the explanation of how significant it is I can barely believe I was allowed to see it.

We spent the first long stretch in the museum alternating between looking at old Egyptian, Roman, Etruscan, African and other people's stuff and running from the day care swarms. There's a special kind of annoying frequency occupied by 20 or 90 little kids in T-shirts looking at mummies. Isn't there a nice playground or water park to take these cherubs to? But I digress.

The kicker was when we had walked for two hours and my dear wife's back was starting to ask when we were leaving. Then and only then did we find the Picassos, the Van Goghs, the Monets, the Manets, etc. She got a second wind and I discovered something that might sound smart-alecky but it's not. You can just sit and look at one of those paintings and it's as entertaining as watching a movie, especially the Van Gogh. On some level it was as cool as hearing a great band, and I say that even admitting that I don't know half of the reasons why it was so great. Note to self: keep learning about art. I can't wait to go back there.

Okay, so after the museum we made another kind of ill-advised move. We had heard about these cool beaches on the lake which were to our east. After spending some time getting spun around (courtesy of "Lance," our GPS voice) and our innate ability to screw up simple directions, we arrived at this, uh, beach. Well, it had sand and it had a lake, but it was no Rehoboth. We stood there for a while and left.

By now we were getting hungry again. We had accomplished a lot in terms of getting our bearings but our lay of the land still had holes in it, so we stayed in our comfort zone and went back to Little Italy. We intended to try another restaurant, but looking at the menus at various eateries we realized we were going to pay a lot for cloth napkins and fancy place settings when we could get a perfectly perfect Italian meal at -- you guessed it -- Mama Santa's. Joreen had the chicken parmagiana and I went with the manicotti and meatballs. Good St. Rocco smiled on us again.

Now we had time on our hands and decided to go shopping. We found a mall which was almost exclusively exclusive. How exclusive? We were far and away the two worst-dressed people in the mall, and that includes the maintenance staff. We didn't spend a dime (I don't think they even take dimes there) but we had fun window-shopping and planning on how we would dress when we hit the lottery.

To cap off the night, we headed up a street from University Circle that we should have explored earlier. We were looking for a nightcap, and decided to check out Melt. This is a new restaurant that is hipper than hip in Cleveland, and has been visited both by the Diners, Drive-ins and Dives guy (who is a real d*****bag, but I digress) and the Man V. Food guy (Hey, I'm gonna try and eat five pounds of food! How cool is that?). The location we tried is the second Melt in the area, after the first one went nuclear. We arrived at 9:30 at night on a Thursday and found out it's about the only time there isn't a line to get in. Melt's founder has really hit a nerve, and it's genius. Combine a whole lot of kitsch and buzz with a couple dozen high end beers on tap and something as basic and comforting as grilled cheese sandwiches in a college town, and then just count the money.

Here's the kicker. We're having beers, and looking at the menu, and we thought it might be nice to have a bite to eat. Joreen ordered a small salad, and I chose this sandwich called The Kindergartner. It's white American cheese on bread. My brothers, you remember what Mom's grilled cheese sandwiches looked like? That's not what I got. This thing was about three and a half inches thick, and since I substituted Havarti for white American and had the grilled onions, and since I didn't look at the menu and realize it came with fries and cole slaw, I ended up doing what everybody does. I took a to-go box with me. Once again, I had experienced art -- the art of the entrepreneur, taking something as mundane as a grilled cheese sammidge and turning it into a goldmine. It was delicious. My only complaint is that we didn't go there when we were hungrier.

Next up: the farmers' market of your dreams and the ride home.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Here's Ya Pizza, I Got Ya Pizza Right Here

Wednesday afternoon in Cleveland:

Heading back towards the bed and breakfast, we began to feel the call of the pizza. We had been told of a place called Valentino's which supposedly has the best pizza in town, but when we got there it appeared to be a tiny take-out place with some outdoor seating, not the air-conditioned pig-out refuge we had in mind. We decided to head back to Mama Santa's for pizza. It was tasty enough, especially with the sausage and mushrooms. The slow service, given the almost empty mid-afternoon state of the place, was a plus for a change as we got to sit in the AC and talk while our feet rested up from the zooathon.

We went back to the B&B and hung for a while until 6:00 when we fell into our next really good time. There is a concert series in University Heights called WOW, Wade Oval Wednesday. This evening's band was a group called The Speedbumps, an indie rock band ("indie rock" meaning they're an unsigned band working their gigi off trying to get noticed, booked and, yes, signed). The lineup is unique: guitar/lead vocals (also the writer), acoustic double bass, drums, keys and cello. The material was the usual introspective, melancholy, journey of self-discovery crap for the most part, but well played and nicely melodic. We bought the CDs -- hey, the show was free -- and it's not exactly the kind of stuff you'd play at a party, or the gym. Still, that's my new model as a music consumer, putting the cash in the hand of the guy who made the record. Some of the songs are really good, and some of the others are growing on me.

It was a flawless summer evening, warm but not oppressive, with local restaurants and even a bar, The Euclid Tavern, selling food and beverages including sushi (which I ate for the first time in Cleveland at the end of May), barbecue chicken that rocked Joreen's world courtesy of a lovely African-American woman named Ruby, and a nice cold beverage -- very civilized.

All full of ourselves (and good grub) at this point, we decided to go back to The Savannah to catch a dance band called Entourage. This was a bit of a mistake, in that they were kind of like going to see Just Friends on a real off night. I suspect at least two of the players were stand-ins, given the way they had to talk about beginnings and endings of every song. The lead chick singer -- er, excuse me, Joreen -- female vocalist was pretty talented and the overall sound was good, but the way the guitar player stomped on his overdrive during the solo on "Long Train Running" reminded me of me, and not in a good way. It was educational, but not as much fun as the oldies band.

The worst part was the tantalizingly cool T-shirt worn by the waitresses. Savannah's has live music almost every night, despite the funky economy. It makes me nuts that there's no place like that around here, but one consequence of having all those local bands booked is that one of the waitresses made a shirt that says on the back, Mustang Sally -- in a red circle with a line through it! They were out of them. I would have tried to buy the one off her back, but she had customized it with some pinking shears and I don't have the figure to pull that off. I'm going to pester these people until they finally sell me one, though. That is so frickin' cool.

Next entry: the art museum, another trip to Mama Santa's, an upscale mall, and the hippest grilled cheese sandwich in the world.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Who Needs 'Em?

Picking up the vacation narrative on Tuesday morning, we had an early breakfast at the B&B, hung out with Gary the proprietor a while, then headed to the Cleveland Zoo. We were there at the opening, 10:00 a.m., and for the next four hours we walked, and walked, and said, "Holy crap, look at that!" and then walked some more. As with every cultural facility we saw in Cleveland, it was a first-rate operation and at least as cool as anything in D.C. How much was there to see? By the time we had visited every major area except the above-mentioned LT&Bs, we were worn out and left them for another day.

I have to mention two high points for me. First was the butterfly exhibit. As cool as the botanical garden's butterfly display was, the zoo's was an order of magnitude cooler. This small, Garden of Eden-like room was filled with butterflies, including the huge, gorgeous blue morphos, a non-descript brown when their wings are closed, but in flight an electric blue not seen since the hippie days. Despite being crowded, the setting, the Japanese music, these tiny floating miracles put me in a state of calm, and quiet awe. Nice work, Lord, very nice work indeed. Butterflies kind of make up for mosquitoes, almost.

As we left the butterfly building, right there was another personal favorite, the giraffes. Maybe it started back when I read Slaughterhouse Five, but I've always loved giraffes. Seeing them in person, the way they move in real-time slow motion, their weird grace and calm, the beautiful coloring, everything about them fascinates me. There were eight giraffes, including two young'uns, and there was one adult who did that eating-over-the fence-with-splayed-legs-and-bent-in-half posture that just makes me laugh. Intelligent design, all right, and with a sense of humor to boot.

To paraphrase "The Princess Bride," let me explain -- no, there is too much. Let me summarize. The lorikeets, rainbow colored opportunists, snatched little cups of nectar from shaking eight-year-olds and hopped on the hands of anyone who looked like they would buy them a drink. People watching? The best. Selected species: the swarm of T-shirted shrieking daycare rats, the acid-tongued mommy shrew, the Aeropostale-breasted teen whiner, the hollow-skulled tweeners, the black-clad pierced emo sulker, the soft-brained bottle-sucking stroller bunnies, and the sunburnt map-reading tourists (hey, that was us!)

The sun was getting to be too much and our legs were reminding us of our age, so we headed back to the gate. I couldn't leave without checking out the rainforest, though, a separate facility in a geodesic dome that contained fantastic animals in a beautiful setting. High point for me was when we walked into a darkened corridor of nocturnal animals, and what appeared to be a blank glass wall transformed, as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, into a habitat for fruit bats, flying right up to the window and roosting inches from us. Creepy, okay, maybe a little, but fascinating.

That's enough for now. I'll pick up the next post at lunch, back in Little Italy.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

That's What I Call A Vacation

This morning, we had a great breakfast with a side order of conversation courtesy of the inn's owner, Gary. We chilled in the room until midmorning, then headed to the Museum of Natural History. Covering the usual arc of "you are here, the dinosaurs were here before you," the facility was full of wonders: gems, artifacts, this and that. Early high points were pieces of equipment built as backups to the Mars landrover unit; a good sized moon rock; lots of fossils and dinosaur skeleton reconstructions. The soundtrack for the morning was full of youngsters squealing with delight at the dinosaurs.

We headed next to the Botanical Gardens. Anyone who has ever tried to grow anything in dirt owes it to themselves to make the trip out here. There are controlled environments with flora and fauna in them, like the one that really got to me, the Costa Rican environment. Imagine opening an airlock-type door and being greeted by about a dozen different species of butterflies. It was amazing. Later, we found our way to a Japanese garden where it was so quiet and peaceful you could ignore the construction and the chitchat of the other tourists and just zen out for a while.

Lunch, we finished off the sandwiches and potato salad we brought with us. This evening, we headed out to a suburb called Rocky River where the real fun started. Joreen indulged herself in a pedicure, coming out with a sparkly color red usually only found on Italian imported guitars. Next, we went up the street to a Pub where the men wear kilts (because if you call them skirts, ye'll get kilt) and the waitresses where what look like Catholic school uniforms except they're so short that Sr. Mary Oblongata would have called your Mom if you showed up wearing one. They had Koenig Ludwig on tap, a Hefeweizen near and dear to Joreen's heart. The fish and chips were spot-on, and it was cheap beer Tuesdays or something like that. Bonus!

And then, the payoff. We went up the road to a club called Savannah's. Located in a strip mall, if you looked at it you would have no idea how cool it was inside. There was a four piece band called the Geezecats. When I called to ask what they did, the guy said, "Oldies." He wasn't kidding. The set list:

At The Hop, Return to Sender, Oh Donna, Pretty Little Angel Eyes, Twistin the Night Away, All in the Game, Splish Splash, Chain Gang, Walk Don't Run, Rhythm of the Falling Rain, Save the Last Dance For Me, Since I Fell For You -- then they all put on Mickey Mouse ears and sang the closing theme to the Mickey Mouse Club, and then Goodnight, Sweetheart.

My musician friends and I have played these songs, but not nearly with the finesse and grace and sincerity of these guys. The tone was perfect, the crowd was absolutely into it, the walls were filled with glossy photos of bands that have played at Savannah's since God made reverb tanks, and we had a high, holy, serious good time. We also danced to the above-mentioned slow tunes. At the end of the night, the drummer, who was apparently the leader, said this: "We're gonna be here next Tuesday. We plan on doing the same thing." That gives me hope. Some good things are still around. The guitar player was playing something called a Duesenberg. All four guys look like they've been doing this a long time, and they're doing it just exactly perfectly. Live music is the best.

There are photos, but they're in the camera which I left in the car. I'm pretty bushed, because on top of all of this I managed to find a Planet Fitness and got a workout in while Joreen was getting her tootsies done. Tomorrow: the Zoo, and the pizzeria in Little Italy that is supposedly the best around.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Getting Ready to Get Out of Dodge

An action-packed weekend here at the Kellys. Last night I got home just minutes ahead of the rehearsal time for the Reasonable Facsimiles, the newest iteration of the Durable Goods franchise. Alex, Joreen and I were joined by John Wilson on drums, preparing for a birthday party at the brewery for a friend of Alex's. Thanks for the gig, Alex, and thank you also for an excuse to crank up and play some sweet tunes in the basement. To listen to us you'd never know we were a bunch of old farts, some older than others.

Today I called Ed and we decided to get together for eats at Ed and Grace's, which is like being on a Food Network show without the bright lights and the rude, annoying judges. If Donald Trump ate better than we did tonight, who cares. Dan and Phyllis came over and we sang four part harmony while Ed did tilapa and steaks on the grill -- well, it took two grills, but the end result was might tasty.

Meanwhile, Roger called me at 4:30 and asked me to play his brother's birthday party with him. How can I refuse, especially when the consideration we finally negotiated was a case of Troeg's, which will provide a six-pack to take on vacation. The party was a blast, and Brian, Roger's brother, had some amazing food catered for the celebration. Imagine a white cake with icing that tastes like Creamsicles. Yeah, Creamsicles. Oh, baby. Roger and Chris play have found a niche playing intimate, living-room size places and keeping the audience entertained in that framework, which is harder than it sounds. Anybody can play loud, but to play softly and still keep the energy up is a nice trick.

As summers go, I'm really enjoying this one. There's a good balance of work and play here, and there's that sense of impending joy that comes when you're expecting another grandkid. Watch this space for coming events. Next stop, after Mass and a bunch of transcripts turned in: Cleveland.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Two-Day Long Weekend

It seems long because it's been so action-packed. Yesterday we celebrated Roger Wilkinson's birthday, which is actually today. He turns 60 and had more than one guest for each of those years at his party, which was impressive. He found about the surprise party early and volunteered to bring his own PA system and do the opening set, which was impressive. He dealt with some serious failures to communicate among various levels of management at the brewery without going into Donald Duck mode, which was impressive. Now, if he really wants to impress me, he'll play and lug equipment at my 60th birthday party. Happy Birthday, Roger. We're glad you were born.

Today was Andrea's surprise baby shower, and unlike Roger's, it stayed a surprise until she walked in the door. She actually walked in the wrong door, but that's all right. Brian's family and friends were all there, and they are a really fine bunch of people. Joreen, Mary, the boys and I felt very welcome and at home with them. The food -- hold that thought. Andie just called while I was typing this. She's still smiling from today, and I could hear it over the phone. At some point I'll have to post a picture. She's really, really expecting. Anyway, the food was outstanding. It was a place called Mama's Pizza in Loganville, and everything from the stromboli to the wings to the pasta was great. I'm going to have to dial in an extra ten minutes on the exercise machine tomorrow.

And now, I'm going to go to bed and hope this bug bite on my left pinkie continues to subside without killing me or, worse, making me play with only three fingers and a thumb. I need all the help I can get. I think it was a spider, but not one of the recluse, skin-melting, yucky kind.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

So That's What Pommes Frites Are

We finally decided on Cafe Bruges in Carlisle for our anniversary dinner, and it was very interesting. They have authentic Belgian food and beers, in some ways too authentic. I always wanted to try the fries and they were really good, although I balked at the traditional accompaniment, mayonnaise. I have an open mind, but it's not open that far. I went with the horseradish sauce, which I'm sure was mostly mayonnaise, but tasty. I had a salad of green beans, little red potatoes and bacon cubes. I think Bruges is Belgian for "Let's go carbo-load till we blow up." Joreen got something whose formal name I forget but it was basically a beef stew. The meat was great. The gravy was even better on the fries than the horsey sauce.

And of course, the beer menu is ridiculous. It's about a ten page booklet, designed to be taken by the patrons and used to make notes and keep track of the beers tried, and also to know the ABV, which is important. I got the flight of 5 ounce drafts, and surprisingly the one that made the most impression on me was the raspberry lambic. I disparage fruity beers all the time, but this was amazingly good.

We ran up a moderately impressive tab and didn't feel we'd wasted a dime. I'd recommend it to anyone who wants a different dining experience. The ambience is not very formal. The location was formerly a regular bar and grille, I believe, and it's kind of noisy, especially on a Friday when you're next to a table full of people whose trippels and saisons are starting to kick in. Fruity, sour, bitter, malty, however else you describe these beers, they are also high octane, and we were very careful to stay away from the "big" beers since we weren't planning to spend the night there. I would also recommend, if you're going to get a salad with your fries, take note whether it has potatoes in it. I didn't, and ended up bringing a bunch of fries home, which is okay because I'll reheat them for breakfast as soon as I come back from the gym


Oh, that's the other news I haven't put up here yet. I joined Planet Fitness last week. That's another one of the things I'm getting around to here in the Year of Getting Around to Things. I'm still in the process of being trained on the different equipment and I'm concentrating on the low-impact cardio stuff right now, mostly the elliptical machine which is kind of a cross-country skiing deal. Too early to start kicking sand in weenies' faces on the beach, but the big thing is it really clears the head and improves the attitude. I should have gotten around to this a long time ago.

Finally, I spoke to Dad last night (hey, Dad!) and he got a new car after somebody decided they were too damn important to stop for a red light on Derry Street last week. He's fine except for a little stiffness in the neck and an ache in the budget from having to go back to car payments for the first time in ten years. He got a Toyota Yaris. He said he likes it so far, and I'm going to have to check it out. It's a shame about his 1995 Saturn coupe, though. The cost to repair it was just too high. That was a cool car, and it sucks that GM discontinued them.

In a little while I'm going to set up for Roger Wilkinson's surprise birthday party. The surprise was for his wife and son when he found out about it a couple weeks ago. It's in the Abbey Bar upstairs at the ABC Brewery. I intend to concentrate on playing and socializing rather than eating and drinking. One side effect of resuming exercise is that you want to eat like a machine, and I can't go for that, no can do. In fact, I think I'll go break a sweat now.

Friday, July 09, 2010

34 Years and Counting

Today is our wedding anniversary, and the weather is just as hot and humid as it was back in 1976. Readers of the blog will remember this story from last year. Something very cool in the Patriot-News this morning: a Lower Paxton Twp. man and wife who make us look like newlyweds. When you get to the double nickel and think of all the cool things behind you, the temptation is to think that there's less road ahead than behind. Then I read about these folks who are still ribbing each other and flirting after 70 years, and I realize that I just got a great anniversary present, the best there is: hope.

Joreen and I will be laying low for the occasion. It's become a tradition lately to celebrate our anniversary on our vacation. Week after next we are going to Cleveland for the week. I know, not the first vacation spot that comes to mind, but there's a lot to see and do out there. There's a first rate zoo, for one thing, which the Mrs. is very into. We're staying at a B&B near Little Italy, and planning to check out the local attractions. We might even do the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame again.

Under coming attractions, Just Friends will be available to the public twice in August. Sunday, August 1, we'll be at the Hershey Antique Auto Museum for a one-hour show, from 1:00 to 2:00 p.m. They have billed us as an oldies show, so we're accommodating them. Tequila, anyone? Come check out the classic car competition and vote for your favorite. The event is a benefit for MDA, and we're in discussions with Jerry Lewis about having him open for us. Yes, really.

Saturday, August 7, we are at the Verhovay on 29th Street in Harrisburg. It looks like a dive from the outside, but it's really a very nice place to hear music. The drinks are ridiculously reasonable, the food is cheap and tasty, and of course there's Just Friends. Come hear some of the new stuff. Unfortunately, there's a conflict for some of our peeps that night, with Tom and Susan having a party, but there's ways to do both. Shuttle bus, anybody? We start at 8:00, so try to drop in for at least a set, if not the whole night.

Now, back to work. First, I think I'll go downstairs and kiss the wife. Check out the picture of us at Hummelstown. Isn't she cute? "We are the feeling you get in the golden state."