Random Thoughts from Goettle
Goettle had a fine duck dinner at the Tap Room. Duck breast cooked medium rare to medium over a bed of roots vegetables. Would've gone really well with a Cabernet, Amarone, or Brunello, but we're in the tap room, not my house. And I felt perversely satisfied that no one came by to see what I was eating, or my penchant for being nice and sharing would've kicked in. It was pretty tasty.
After one more tasty malted beverage it was time to move onto the worst microbrewery this side of Anheiser-Busch. Triumph should be called "Failumph." I've never had beer in there without wondering how they could make such crap that is always flat. And have always gotten a hangover, from even one – I'm sensitive that way. Your best bet in 'umph is the vodka, but this time i went with bourbon, made in America – it was a Manhattan made from Makers Mark.
For some reason our group became divided with the oldsters (minus me, who just crossed over to the north side of 50) up stairs and the youngsters – those under 35 – downstairs. Funny about being young – you seem to end up attracting/hanging with other young people. Or maybe the old people are just trying to avoid the stairs. But down those stairs, and "Oh, my" just doesn't do the crowd justice. It was like a modeling agency just dropped off a gaggle of good-looking people. And let me tell you, there were even some good-looking women downstairs, too. Maybe, 'umph, in an effort to cover up their sucky beer, has devised a brilliant marketing strategy. Perhaps, it will soon sweep the nation – good-looking people on TV and the Internet selling us cr@p we don't need or want. Keep your eye out for that.
One more note: this is how bad the 'umph beer is: our very own beer connoisseur extraordinaire, E-man, could not wait to flee after but one sip. This guy travels over the tri-state area in search of anyone with a tub and some hops who even mentions that he/she may someday brew a batch of suds. I think if you cut the dude, he would bleed IPA. In years past, he would run the board – that is, he would drink each beer the 'umph had to offer and beg the Masterbrewer to craft a few more for him to sample. But not this year. To this day no one is quite sure if the $hitty beer was just too much for him to handle or if Pods' rants about how he was ready to rumble, ready to eff some people up, and ready to crack some skulls, scared him off. Pods browbeat me, Reese, and Sean (sp?), Reese's friend, into covering his back. Me in a rumble? Sure, you can picture Reese knocking some heads around, and maybe Pods. But me? I've always been more of a lover than a fighter. I was praying that perhaps the fighting would turn into a debate – it is Princeton, after all.
It was getting late and the modeling agency had collected all of their pretty people and the 'umph beer was certainly not getting any better. We were down one G-man and one E-man, and Tamp was pulling chalks, too. It turns out that Tamp had a 9AM soccer game and he wanted to look and feel his best – sometimes I hate friggin' models. The fate of TDDoC Day 10 hung in the balance without these key players. We were in the middle of that Clash song – "Should We Stay or Should We Go". Who would do the heavy lifting when the chips were down? Would Day 10 end in an inglorious fizzle? A sound no one could hear.
But a voice beckoned us to continue, and it kinda went like this:
Bluto: Hey! What's all this laying around stuff? Why are you all still laying around here for?
Stork: What the hell are we supposed to do, ya moron? We're all expelled. There's nothing to fight for anymore.
D-Day: [to Bluto] Let it go. War's over, man. Wormer dropped the big one.
Bluto: What? Over? Did you say "over"? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!
Otter: [to Boon] Germans?
Boon: Forget it, he's rolling.
Bluto: And it ain't over now. 'Cause when the goin' gets tough...
[thinks hard of something to say]
Bluto: The tough get goin'! Who's with me? Let's go!
[Bluto runs out, alone; then returns]
Bluto: What the fuck happened to the Delta I used to know? Where's the spirit? Where's the guts, huh? This could be the greatest night of our lives, but you're gonna let it be the worst. "Ooh, we're afraid to go with you Bluto, we might get in trouble." Well just kiss my ass from now on! Not me! I'm not gonna take this. Wormer, he's a dead man! Marmalard, dead! Niedermeyer...
Otter: Dead! Bluto's right. Psychotic... but absolutely right. We gotta take these bastards. Now we could do it with conventional weapons, but that could take years and cost millions of lives. No, I think we have to go all out. I think that this situation absolutely requires a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part!
Bluto: We're just the guys to do it.
D-Day: [stands up] Yeah, I agree. Let's go get 'em.
Boon: Let's do it.
Bluto: [shouting] "Let's do it"!
Well, after that rousing, most inspirational message, we were energized to trek onto the next bar and the next bar. First, it was the A&B – that's Alchemist and Barrister, to those who aren't in the know. It was loud and packed, but that didn't deter those who didn't wuss out after the 'umph. We order pretzels and dipped them in ultra-hot wasabi mustard – even CPL knows not to do this out of the fear of colon and rectum damage. Ska, Pods, and I have one Dogfish Head; BB stays with Red Wine (he is just so classy). Can't comment on the rest. And BB keeps mentioning – to the point of rubbing it in our face – how he will be hung over in a Nassau Inn bed, while we'll have to drive home, yack in our own toilets, and then CLEAN THEM UP. BB really knows how to a hit a man below the belt.
And did I mention that the A&B was packed when we got there at midnight? Well, I'm saying it again, then. And while the people were attractive, it wasn't quite up to the 'umph. If the 'umph were Playboy, A&B would be Penthouse. I hope that none of you are letting your children read these stats – really, you should know better.
We were one and done at A&B and ready to go home. NOT. Well, maybe there smart ones were. We gave Reese the obligatory walk up Witherspoon to not too far from where her car was parked and then headed North – to the Ivy Tavern, all the while reminiscing how cool BB used to be when he lived CPL $hitting distance from downtown P'ton. On the way, Pods is still juiced up and ready to rumble and to prove his point, almost drags Ska down to the ground for a beatdown. Cooler heads prevail and Pods sheepishly apologizes for the assault, but we understand – there is no shortage of D0uche Bags (DBs) in Princeton. At this time, it was BB, Pods, Ska, and Goettle (yes, Goettle) remaining. Sneakers O'toole was long gone. The rest of you were probably tucked in your beds dreaming about how cool BB was when he lived in P'ton. We got to actually hear about it – on the entire walk from Witherspoon to the Ivy Tavern. There was the time that Mick and Keith needed a place to crash and lucky for them, BB was there. And the time, back before Pearl Jam got famous and was pan–handling in Palmer Square, that BB threw two bits in their pathetic cup and told them to keep their chin up. Ah, yes. Those were indeed special days.
But they are far in the past, now that BB has gone all corporate on us. At the Ivy Tavern, it is loud – really loud. I don't even need my hearing aide. And it's a $3 cover to enter the joint. Despite all his charm and his storied past, BB cannot talk the toll collector into letting us in for a discount. And once inside, BB makes a bee-line for the pool table, leaving Pods, Ska, and I to fend for ourselves. If 'umph was Playboy and A&B Penthouse, the Ivy Tavern was Melrose Place (or maybe the OC, but certainly not Beverly Hills 90210). This place could one of the circles of heaven – for Pods. Young women drinking 16-oz tall boys of PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon). Many were drinking the PBR pounders with EACH HAND. Holy Moly. And the music was straight out Rock 'n Roll from the '70s (1970s – were not that old). It was a very young crowd, there. The only folks older than us were in the band – and perhaps, only the drummer. We figured that was why he was sitting.
We wanted to spread the word of this place to BB, but despite our best reconnoitering efforts, we were not able to find him. It looked like he ditched us for a Nassau Inn bed. A beer for Pods, a beer for Ska, a beer and a coke for me, and lo and behold, out of the ether, appears BB - a beer for him too. The band winds up at around 1:30AM. The crowd thins out and so do we.
But are we done yet? Not with Hoagie Haven next door. Pods tries to clean the floor there with a bottled herbal tea and he and BB order some greasy concoction. Ska and I split a good ol' fashioned spicy hot cold-cut sub. We finish it on the benches outside and note that this year the Princeton Police force are not racing up and down Nassau Street looking for jaywalkers. We bid adieu – not AMF – to BB and Pods and head back down/up Nassua St to our cars. After some chit chat about how Secret Committee will no doubt overrule our desire to hold Day 11 at the Franklin Corner Tavern, Ska and I head our respective ways. But my bladder is a bit full and I'm feeling quite mad about the desertions of people who will remain nameless (but we all know who they are). God, sometimes P'ton pi$$es me off, so I did … around the car so no one would take note. We pulled out of P'ton after 2:15AM and I got home a bit after 3:00 AM. Oh, What A Night, In Late December Back in …
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