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 …
Monday, December 23, 2013
Day 10 Stats -- Stat Harder by Yo
Day 10 arrives, we are near the finish line.
Ah, my favorite night…the Princeton Pub Crawl ! A unusually warm, balmy night on hand, it seemed to bring out the most of the TDDoC family tree – a dysfunctional family at best, but we get along. – With Mrs. Yo coming out for her annual point (and my hopeful ride home), we immediate are confronted with the theme of this year’s Pub Crawl, “Massive Pub Crawl Confusion (hereby known as “MPCC”) – Triggering the MPCC was the unexpected closing down of the Princeton Sports Bar (aka the Annex), due, according to Reese’s unnamed church rumor network, to Massive Underage Drinking (MUD) and one underage klutz that fell down the stairwell, drink in hand, only to be tossed back up the stairwell on his head by the bouncer, leaving him no option other than to sue the place for $30M, shutter its doors, hence tossing the entire TDDoC into scheduling mayhem! This conflict was correctly forecasted by your’s truly during early Pton pub scouting report, however, no corrective action report (CAR) was initiated in time to resolve, other than Thursday’s night’s secret committee meeting at Killarney’s, which took place in parallel with flirting with the Jim Bean shot girls, hence the reason (and a legitimate one!) for the in-flight confusion. For the first time in TDDoC history, we are faced with not one, but TWO starting gates – JB Winberries or upscale Mediterra wine bar– a no-doubt about it, deliberate attempt to separate the snooty, affluent wine-lovers among us, from the grizzly TDDoC beer guzzlers, which is exactly why Mertz (according to rumor), was the only one at Winberries, with Cory wingman, saying “WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY” ?? Wine over hops this year, brothers.
At Mediterra, wonderful conversation flowed along the elegant high-top tables, from the likes of Benny and Gman, discussing the flavor of next year’s Charm’s Blow-pop, to the all-female cycling committee, discussing how much salad, wine and water to consume prior to next year’s Charity rides. POD’s arrives with his Daytona jacket on, somehow sneaking in a few loaf’s from the bread-carving station at the entrance. A surprise appearance by Patty Noonan, who was no doubt forming a TDDoC all-Irish subcommittee as a back-up plan in case too many depart for Denver. Lisa Eman and Rita gladly offer up their Bread and Salad left-over’s to Mr. and Mrs. Yo, allowing us to donate that unspent money to the Christmas carolers that we ran into on the way out. Yes, we were “Caroled” to by a posse of teens from the Princeton High Choir (or at least that was their cover-up story), which REALLY brought on the cheer (and salad donations) as we crossed over busy Palmer Square to a crowded Yankee Doodle Room, once again occupied first by the local Outer Circle Ski Club (OCSC), which seemed to have reduced their membership by 50% due in no short order to last year’s over-crowding debacle with us, resulting in the heavy-manned TDDoC crew out-muscling the skinny OCSC membership away from any lingering bar-stools with a large offensive front, spearheaded by Mertz, Goettle and SKA. Great work dudes, we can count on some breathing room at this stop moving forward! Once again, the SAME bar tenders are there, who have remained employed as under-paid bar-tenders/waiter/waitress/table & puke cleaners at least since Pods was tossed out there in his high-school years for stealing too many bottles of JD and stolen muffins at the front desk. The Tap Room always seems to be the joyous “mother-lode” of all TDDoC stops…it’s full headcount, endless Christmas cheer, home of countless fabled and untold TDDoC stories. As we toss down the drafts, under the watch of Norman Rockwell’s priceless bar painting, I could not have felt any happier being there, surrounded in such great conversations on all sides. Martha and Marty join in the festivities, Skugi and Mrs. Skugi, Katherine, Janec, Russ and Lynn, all making their rounds…we are here in full force! Sandor bellies up next to us, scotch in hand, discussing his future holiday trip to South Carolina, where he is considering a new career teaching a class called “The Basics of Amazon Drone-Engineering, Followed by Drinks at My Place” at the local community college. A novel idea indeed. Erin and Ed are making their rounds, Rebecca, Tamps, SKA, Goettle, Gman, Su no doubt discussing the trials and tribulations of the future of TDDoC. Gman, who is finishing his grueling MBA, revealed that he has no plans to lead Lockheed to future Aegis technological world-domination, but did confess that he will use what he learned in his teamwork and scheduling classes to correct future TDDoC MPCC aberrations. Can’t think of a better executive choice to lead this pack!
We stumble over to Triumph Brewery, the prime “no-cover” choice to replace Princeton Sports bar, as we head down the ally way entrance and get situated with choice real-estate near the front entrance. Our lovely waitress “Amanda”, a tall, think dark haired beauty, immediately takes drink orders, as the rest of the crew pile in. I ask Cory about his “Tat” on the arm, to which he gave us detailed visual’s on, revealed a near-naked lady creature thing, replied in reference to its origins of some fabled gothic artist that was related to Lady Gaga, Rembrandt and a snake…I think…with a final quote to the effect of “I do whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want and however the hell I want to” …well because I still live at home..and oh, yeah, Mom didn’t really approve of the Tat!”, to which dad Mertz replied, in somewhat disheveled shoulder shrugging, eye-rolling gesture that clearly spelled “WHYYYYYYYYYYYY?!!” ?!! Ah, the joys of 20 something rebellions with Tats that drink with family and us during the holidays..gives you the warm fuzzies! As Pods and Rebecca wonder the upstairs and downstairs aimlessly, looking for anything but us, we start to ponder the nationality of our long locked “Amanda”…this begins with Al Janec calling her “Pocahontas”, to which she replies “close -very close.. but no cigar you stupid Ski-Cap-headed shithead…cause what I’m really made of is part Italian, mostly Dominican and a 5% of native American Indian…which YOU will never get to see, so now shove that down your throat with that Honey Blonde…and oh, May I get you another ?”. I’m in love already. She actually turns out to be one the nicest servers on the tour, even letting all of us touch and feel those native long, dark locks of hers (except for Janec of coarse). Later, as the buzz really starts to set in, Erin comes to me with her Chocolate Martini in hand, and asks ME to put it up for consignment, as she and hubby Ed are pondering an early exit, to which Rebecca spotted from a distance, snatching that martini from my hand like a lighting fast toad and says’ to Erin – “stay put Bitch...You ain’t going anywhere, cause you and me, cow-girl, we’re gonna get toasted!!” This didn’t go over too well with hubby Ed, who was now demoted to DD for the evening, with Erin realizing more Christmas shopping will be in order for hubby…at least this year.
Tamps & Rita return from a high-command ordered scouting trip to Witherspoon Grill (WG) and A&B (alchemist and barrister)…to which Rita (lead spy) say’s upon return “no doubt, it’s Witherspoon!”. So, Marty/Martha/Yo and Mrs. Yo make an early departure to secure seats at the partially empty, high-end WG bar, complete with a few scantily clad blonde party girls latched onto wealthy Pton men, to which my instincts on this lame scenario said to text Tamps – “we’re here, w/ stools (and some scenery)“..to which a return text arrives, with a last second change order that it’s now A&B, hereby overruling lead spy Rita (Oh boy, paybacks will be a bitch). Ah, the MPCC saga continues! Bar order is cancelled, one last glance at the lacey blonde party girls, as we head out to secure a central table at A&B in the center of 21 something’s(?) tossing down cheap beer. Martha notices the orders of hot pretzels scattered about the wild revelers, and so it goes - we order a batch too, which turns out to be the “Massive Pub Crawl Hit of the Night” (MPCHoN)…many orders are flowing, complete with the nastiest nose-bleed hot mustard on this side of the Delaware! We’re toasted, surrounded by drunken comrades, Reese and Celeste sharing a seat next to me, eating the best damn fresh baked hot pretzels known to human kind…please tell me what could be better ?!! The rest of the crew takes up a strong-hold position between our table and the bar, forcing many ladies to “Twerk” their way through the entrenched encampment. Ah, the temperature is rising fast! Droid cameras are a buzz, Selfies are flying, Facebook’s uploads beaming across the overloaded WiFi network at A&B, abuzz, with pics of us drunken lads flying about cyber-space! Rumor has it Mark Zuckerberg was awakened at 2am to field a frantic phone call from his VP of Photo Surveillance – a quick Google search on this topic turns up evidence of BitCoin trace-feeds and nude photographic material…all linked to Pod’s mobile phone. This could well be the end for him.
I glance at Marty, who is working on finishing his high-octane shot of Cognac French Brandy…I take a few hits to help him… then begin to uncontrollably pound the table 4 times, to which Reese said “YO, you stupid lush, stop this behavior immediately before I smack you and bring SKA over here to fart”! I settled down immediately, the thought of that last piece too painful to imagine, but continued my reunion with the Cognac, trying very hard to control my auto-immune, spastic gag-reflux reaction to every sip of that rocket fuel. Life couldn’t be any better. We all devour the remnants of the hot pretzels, with Martha and Reese taking turns licking the bottom of the bowl, hoping for one last surviving crumb or two to savior until next year. Billy Bob is joyously soaking it all in, as he toasts to me from the corner, along with many other LMCO Newtowner’s, pondering a less than certain future, with whatever that future holds, we non and ex-Newtowner’s will take this moment to say “Thank You for your service, presence and contributions to this great establishment called TDDoC. May it never end! “ A memorable night was had by all !
Ah, my favorite night…the Princeton Pub Crawl ! A unusually warm, balmy night on hand, it seemed to bring out the most of the TDDoC family tree – a dysfunctional family at best, but we get along. – With Mrs. Yo coming out for her annual point (and my hopeful ride home), we immediate are confronted with the theme of this year’s Pub Crawl, “Massive Pub Crawl Confusion (hereby known as “MPCC”) – Triggering the MPCC was the unexpected closing down of the Princeton Sports Bar (aka the Annex), due, according to Reese’s unnamed church rumor network, to Massive Underage Drinking (MUD) and one underage klutz that fell down the stairwell, drink in hand, only to be tossed back up the stairwell on his head by the bouncer, leaving him no option other than to sue the place for $30M, shutter its doors, hence tossing the entire TDDoC into scheduling mayhem! This conflict was correctly forecasted by your’s truly during early Pton pub scouting report, however, no corrective action report (CAR) was initiated in time to resolve, other than Thursday’s night’s secret committee meeting at Killarney’s, which took place in parallel with flirting with the Jim Bean shot girls, hence the reason (and a legitimate one!) for the in-flight confusion. For the first time in TDDoC history, we are faced with not one, but TWO starting gates – JB Winberries or upscale Mediterra wine bar– a no-doubt about it, deliberate attempt to separate the snooty, affluent wine-lovers among us, from the grizzly TDDoC beer guzzlers, which is exactly why Mertz (according to rumor), was the only one at Winberries, with Cory wingman, saying “WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY” ?? Wine over hops this year, brothers.
At Mediterra, wonderful conversation flowed along the elegant high-top tables, from the likes of Benny and Gman, discussing the flavor of next year’s Charm’s Blow-pop, to the all-female cycling committee, discussing how much salad, wine and water to consume prior to next year’s Charity rides. POD’s arrives with his Daytona jacket on, somehow sneaking in a few loaf’s from the bread-carving station at the entrance. A surprise appearance by Patty Noonan, who was no doubt forming a TDDoC all-Irish subcommittee as a back-up plan in case too many depart for Denver. Lisa Eman and Rita gladly offer up their Bread and Salad left-over’s to Mr. and Mrs. Yo, allowing us to donate that unspent money to the Christmas carolers that we ran into on the way out. Yes, we were “Caroled” to by a posse of teens from the Princeton High Choir (or at least that was their cover-up story), which REALLY brought on the cheer (and salad donations) as we crossed over busy Palmer Square to a crowded Yankee Doodle Room, once again occupied first by the local Outer Circle Ski Club (OCSC), which seemed to have reduced their membership by 50% due in no short order to last year’s over-crowding debacle with us, resulting in the heavy-manned TDDoC crew out-muscling the skinny OCSC membership away from any lingering bar-stools with a large offensive front, spearheaded by Mertz, Goettle and SKA. Great work dudes, we can count on some breathing room at this stop moving forward! Once again, the SAME bar tenders are there, who have remained employed as under-paid bar-tenders/waiter/waitress/table & puke cleaners at least since Pods was tossed out there in his high-school years for stealing too many bottles of JD and stolen muffins at the front desk. The Tap Room always seems to be the joyous “mother-lode” of all TDDoC stops…it’s full headcount, endless Christmas cheer, home of countless fabled and untold TDDoC stories. As we toss down the drafts, under the watch of Norman Rockwell’s priceless bar painting, I could not have felt any happier being there, surrounded in such great conversations on all sides. Martha and Marty join in the festivities, Skugi and Mrs. Skugi, Katherine, Janec, Russ and Lynn, all making their rounds…we are here in full force! Sandor bellies up next to us, scotch in hand, discussing his future holiday trip to South Carolina, where he is considering a new career teaching a class called “The Basics of Amazon Drone-Engineering, Followed by Drinks at My Place” at the local community college. A novel idea indeed. Erin and Ed are making their rounds, Rebecca, Tamps, SKA, Goettle, Gman, Su no doubt discussing the trials and tribulations of the future of TDDoC. Gman, who is finishing his grueling MBA, revealed that he has no plans to lead Lockheed to future Aegis technological world-domination, but did confess that he will use what he learned in his teamwork and scheduling classes to correct future TDDoC MPCC aberrations. Can’t think of a better executive choice to lead this pack!
We stumble over to Triumph Brewery, the prime “no-cover” choice to replace Princeton Sports bar, as we head down the ally way entrance and get situated with choice real-estate near the front entrance. Our lovely waitress “Amanda”, a tall, think dark haired beauty, immediately takes drink orders, as the rest of the crew pile in. I ask Cory about his “Tat” on the arm, to which he gave us detailed visual’s on, revealed a near-naked lady creature thing, replied in reference to its origins of some fabled gothic artist that was related to Lady Gaga, Rembrandt and a snake…I think…with a final quote to the effect of “I do whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want and however the hell I want to” …well because I still live at home..and oh, yeah, Mom didn’t really approve of the Tat!”, to which dad Mertz replied, in somewhat disheveled shoulder shrugging, eye-rolling gesture that clearly spelled “WHYYYYYYYYYYYY?!!” ?!! Ah, the joys of 20 something rebellions with Tats that drink with family and us during the holidays..gives you the warm fuzzies! As Pods and Rebecca wonder the upstairs and downstairs aimlessly, looking for anything but us, we start to ponder the nationality of our long locked “Amanda”…this begins with Al Janec calling her “Pocahontas”, to which she replies “close -very close.. but no cigar you stupid Ski-Cap-headed shithead…cause what I’m really made of is part Italian, mostly Dominican and a 5% of native American Indian…which YOU will never get to see, so now shove that down your throat with that Honey Blonde…and oh, May I get you another ?”. I’m in love already. She actually turns out to be one the nicest servers on the tour, even letting all of us touch and feel those native long, dark locks of hers (except for Janec of coarse). Later, as the buzz really starts to set in, Erin comes to me with her Chocolate Martini in hand, and asks ME to put it up for consignment, as she and hubby Ed are pondering an early exit, to which Rebecca spotted from a distance, snatching that martini from my hand like a lighting fast toad and says’ to Erin – “stay put Bitch...You ain’t going anywhere, cause you and me, cow-girl, we’re gonna get toasted!!” This didn’t go over too well with hubby Ed, who was now demoted to DD for the evening, with Erin realizing more Christmas shopping will be in order for hubby…at least this year.
Tamps & Rita return from a high-command ordered scouting trip to Witherspoon Grill (WG) and A&B (alchemist and barrister)…to which Rita (lead spy) say’s upon return “no doubt, it’s Witherspoon!”. So, Marty/Martha/Yo and Mrs. Yo make an early departure to secure seats at the partially empty, high-end WG bar, complete with a few scantily clad blonde party girls latched onto wealthy Pton men, to which my instincts on this lame scenario said to text Tamps – “we’re here, w/ stools (and some scenery)“..to which a return text arrives, with a last second change order that it’s now A&B, hereby overruling lead spy Rita (Oh boy, paybacks will be a bitch). Ah, the MPCC saga continues! Bar order is cancelled, one last glance at the lacey blonde party girls, as we head out to secure a central table at A&B in the center of 21 something’s(?) tossing down cheap beer. Martha notices the orders of hot pretzels scattered about the wild revelers, and so it goes - we order a batch too, which turns out to be the “Massive Pub Crawl Hit of the Night” (MPCHoN)…many orders are flowing, complete with the nastiest nose-bleed hot mustard on this side of the Delaware! We’re toasted, surrounded by drunken comrades, Reese and Celeste sharing a seat next to me, eating the best damn fresh baked hot pretzels known to human kind…please tell me what could be better ?!! The rest of the crew takes up a strong-hold position between our table and the bar, forcing many ladies to “Twerk” their way through the entrenched encampment. Ah, the temperature is rising fast! Droid cameras are a buzz, Selfies are flying, Facebook’s uploads beaming across the overloaded WiFi network at A&B, abuzz, with pics of us drunken lads flying about cyber-space! Rumor has it Mark Zuckerberg was awakened at 2am to field a frantic phone call from his VP of Photo Surveillance – a quick Google search on this topic turns up evidence of BitCoin trace-feeds and nude photographic material…all linked to Pod’s mobile phone. This could well be the end for him.
I glance at Marty, who is working on finishing his high-octane shot of Cognac French Brandy…I take a few hits to help him… then begin to uncontrollably pound the table 4 times, to which Reese said “YO, you stupid lush, stop this behavior immediately before I smack you and bring SKA over here to fart”! I settled down immediately, the thought of that last piece too painful to imagine, but continued my reunion with the Cognac, trying very hard to control my auto-immune, spastic gag-reflux reaction to every sip of that rocket fuel. Life couldn’t be any better. We all devour the remnants of the hot pretzels, with Martha and Reese taking turns licking the bottom of the bowl, hoping for one last surviving crumb or two to savior until next year. Billy Bob is joyously soaking it all in, as he toasts to me from the corner, along with many other LMCO Newtowner’s, pondering a less than certain future, with whatever that future holds, we non and ex-Newtowner’s will take this moment to say “Thank You for your service, presence and contributions to this great establishment called TDDoC. May it never end! “ A memorable night was had by all !
Day 10 Stats by Reese
Princeton Pub Crawl
This year things were shaken up a little bit with a bit of a Choose Your Own Adventure for the start of the evening. I loved those books as a kid. Mertz chose Winberies and then turned to the directed page to discover that he’d be sitting alone drinking Anchor Christmas Ale for hours.
I chose the Mediterra start, and was joined by Celeste. We get talked into a bottle of wine by the server. It was probably not the best strategy for a pub crawl, but hey, we picked our action and couldn’t turn back and choose again, that would be cheating. We order some food and Lisa, Eman, Rita, Tamp, and Benny arrive and join our community table. Mediterra has really good food. Cheese plates, falafel, veggies in a tagine, and fall off the bone lamb shank all arrive and are enjoyed by the Mediterra crew.
Mertz receives a text message, and chooses to open it, revealing a photo of the food the Mediterra crew is eating. He storms over to Mediterra and finds the large masses of our crew, but only two beers on tap. It later turns out that Sophia, Russ, and some others actually were at Winberries, but couldn’t fight their way through the friendly Westminster Choir men to get to Mertz at the bar, and retreated to the dining room for Stop 1.
Stop number two was the Yankee Doodle Tap room. The only night of the year that this place is ever crowded is the night of the TDDoC Pub Crawl. Regardless of date, the stars and planets align in a way only the Astro people can explain, the Princeton Ski Club appears in the Tap Room at the exact moment the TDDoC crew arrives. This causes the normally slow service at the bar to come to a standstill, as the bartenders stand agape at the crowds demanding drinks.
I wrestle my way to the bar and while waiting for my next drink I talk to Benny. We discover that we’ve been walking by each other every day for years in Princeton but didn’t recognize each other without the Twelve Drinking Days of Christmas Goggles (TDDoCG, not to be confused with Google Glass, Apple Antennae, or Samsung Sombreos). Our crew continues to fight for the attention of the bartenders, and once we’ve pushed the Ski Club out and taken over 51% of the bar, it’s announced that it is time to move on.
After much lamentation and gnashing of teeth over the controversial closure of the Annex/Sotto/PrincetonSportsBar, we descend upon Triumph Brewing Company as Stop 3. They have magnanimously forgone the cover charge that has prevented the TDDoC from visiting in years, which we all toasted with a Winter Warmer beer. Some of us hang out in the lower bar, where the Espresso Martinis are better than those made upstairs, and others stay in the in-between, greeting all who pass on the stairs.
In 2012, the Alchemist & Barrister sent a sentry ahead to discover the time of our arrival and then closed the kitchen just minutes before our drunken souls arrived demanding all the pretzels and nachos in the land. This year we thwarted the spy sent by the A&B and arrived promptly at 11. There are people everywhere – on both sides of the alley, filling the garden terrace, and smothering the bar. Yo and Adrian have secured a table in the middle of the inner bar. Hot pretzels with horseradish mustard arrive in a steady stream, a generous gift from Dionysus, approving our twelve nights of merriment and spirits. Such a feast only tastes this good after a night of much drinking.
We are all enjoying our bounty of pretzels when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It is a boy insisting that I’m in his seat. I blink at him confused, and when he offers that I could keep the seat if I sat on his lap, I quickly vacated and retreated to the bar. Celeste is glaring at the boy as he boasts of his rudeness and before we know what has happened, she has bumped into him, dumping ice cold water on him and “accidentally” clocking him with her fist in her attempt to regain her balance. A huge cheer erupts!
And thus, the time to leave A&B has arrived. They are definitely going to send better scouts next year. I part company with Pods, Ska, Goettle, and Billy Bob, who are on a mission to the Ivy and Hoagie Haven, determined to make it into a 5 stop crawl. I watch them fade into the distance, their shouts echoing through the darkness.
This year things were shaken up a little bit with a bit of a Choose Your Own Adventure for the start of the evening. I loved those books as a kid. Mertz chose Winberies and then turned to the directed page to discover that he’d be sitting alone drinking Anchor Christmas Ale for hours.
I chose the Mediterra start, and was joined by Celeste. We get talked into a bottle of wine by the server. It was probably not the best strategy for a pub crawl, but hey, we picked our action and couldn’t turn back and choose again, that would be cheating. We order some food and Lisa, Eman, Rita, Tamp, and Benny arrive and join our community table. Mediterra has really good food. Cheese plates, falafel, veggies in a tagine, and fall off the bone lamb shank all arrive and are enjoyed by the Mediterra crew.
Mertz receives a text message, and chooses to open it, revealing a photo of the food the Mediterra crew is eating. He storms over to Mediterra and finds the large masses of our crew, but only two beers on tap. It later turns out that Sophia, Russ, and some others actually were at Winberries, but couldn’t fight their way through the friendly Westminster Choir men to get to Mertz at the bar, and retreated to the dining room for Stop 1.
Stop number two was the Yankee Doodle Tap room. The only night of the year that this place is ever crowded is the night of the TDDoC Pub Crawl. Regardless of date, the stars and planets align in a way only the Astro people can explain, the Princeton Ski Club appears in the Tap Room at the exact moment the TDDoC crew arrives. This causes the normally slow service at the bar to come to a standstill, as the bartenders stand agape at the crowds demanding drinks.
I wrestle my way to the bar and while waiting for my next drink I talk to Benny. We discover that we’ve been walking by each other every day for years in Princeton but didn’t recognize each other without the Twelve Drinking Days of Christmas Goggles (TDDoCG, not to be confused with Google Glass, Apple Antennae, or Samsung Sombreos). Our crew continues to fight for the attention of the bartenders, and once we’ve pushed the Ski Club out and taken over 51% of the bar, it’s announced that it is time to move on.
After much lamentation and gnashing of teeth over the controversial closure of the Annex/Sotto/PrincetonSportsBar, we descend upon Triumph Brewing Company as Stop 3. They have magnanimously forgone the cover charge that has prevented the TDDoC from visiting in years, which we all toasted with a Winter Warmer beer. Some of us hang out in the lower bar, where the Espresso Martinis are better than those made upstairs, and others stay in the in-between, greeting all who pass on the stairs.
In 2012, the Alchemist & Barrister sent a sentry ahead to discover the time of our arrival and then closed the kitchen just minutes before our drunken souls arrived demanding all the pretzels and nachos in the land. This year we thwarted the spy sent by the A&B and arrived promptly at 11. There are people everywhere – on both sides of the alley, filling the garden terrace, and smothering the bar. Yo and Adrian have secured a table in the middle of the inner bar. Hot pretzels with horseradish mustard arrive in a steady stream, a generous gift from Dionysus, approving our twelve nights of merriment and spirits. Such a feast only tastes this good after a night of much drinking.
We are all enjoying our bounty of pretzels when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It is a boy insisting that I’m in his seat. I blink at him confused, and when he offers that I could keep the seat if I sat on his lap, I quickly vacated and retreated to the bar. Celeste is glaring at the boy as he boasts of his rudeness and before we know what has happened, she has bumped into him, dumping ice cold water on him and “accidentally” clocking him with her fist in her attempt to regain her balance. A huge cheer erupts!
And thus, the time to leave A&B has arrived. They are definitely going to send better scouts next year. I part company with Pods, Ska, Goettle, and Billy Bob, who are on a mission to the Ivy and Hoagie Haven, determined to make it into a 5 stop crawl. I watch them fade into the distance, their shouts echoing through the darkness.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
TDDoC 2013: Day 9 Stats by Eman
Day Nine was at Killarney’s Publick House in scenic rural Hamilton, NJ. This scenic town was of course founded by a group of Irish immigrants, who moved to New Jersey to escape the persecution of the ruling class of Ireland, who insisted that every year residents must go to happy hours 12 days in a row before Christmas. Why the “k” in “Publick”? I just don’t know, but then again, why is there a “k” in “know”?
The Publick House has come a long way from its roots. Today, this charming adult coffee shop serves up delicious dishes made from wild game, extinct birds of prey, and reptile roadkill. If you’re looking for some delicious Irish nachos, well then you’re going to need to go back to Day 1 and visit the Firkin Tavern. Its distinct Irish style was seen clearly in the plate after plate of hamburgers, nachos, wings, and quesadillas that were delivered to the TDDoC contingent. Without nachos and wings, the Irish clearly would not have been able to survive the famine of 1740.
The attendees are clearly mostly confused. Why? No stats have been published from the previous night. Why? WWHHHHHHYYYYYY???? Apparently some person impersonating Pods had volunteered to do the previous day’s stats, but in fact Pods’ email had been hacked and it was not him. The NSA is still investigating this security breach. There is scant evidence to find the perpetrator, but the one piece of evidence that officials have is that apparently the imposter also said something about the TDDoC being lame. Initial suspicions lead back to a certain former member of the TDDoC who went by a code name using all capital letters, but investigations continue. #mo
The attendees have huddled around a table in front of the bar, instead of the usual bullpen area behind the bar. The bullpen area is of course traditionally favored since it offers optimal viewing of the mayor of Killarney’s drinking more and more, and getting dangerously closer every moment to falling to the ground. A sighting of the mayor does occur later though, as he pushes and shoves his way through the TDDoC crowd to get out the front door, with a clear look of “I’m going to heave” on his face.
Plate after plate of food is ordered. Sandor has a huge plate of appetizers and is bravely battling through them. However, in the end, just like Monday at JoJo’s with the nacho plate, Sandor comes up short. “I’m not the man I used to be” was his summary of the experience. Trent is also soundly defeated by a plate of “mac and pork”, which is like a complete pork sandwich over top of a big wad of mac and cheese. Eman orders the death/body bag/carcass/cadaver burger, which is a hamburger with cheese steak, bacon, pork roll, and an egg on top. Not to be missed, unless you plan on living past the age of 50. Amato makes his first appearance of the year. The waitress comes up to him and says “Is there anything I can get for you Ron?”. When asked about his familiarity with the waitress, Ron offers only “I get around”. The bar has Sweet Baby Jesus on tap, which is a peanut butter porter. Nice, although it quickly kicks. In the “that’s not news” department, Su mentions that she hates the TDDoC.
It looks like the Rookie of the Year competition may come down to Rose’s daughter Kim, or potentially Rita if the Comite Secreto runs the analytics and determines that her Rookie status has not been voided due to occasional past year outings. Ska continues his quest to win the Warmest Man competition. During most nights he has kept on his jacket (fully zipped) and scarf, with not a hint of sweat. This as opposed to Gman, who becomes drenched at the mere sight of a chicken wing.
Eman suddenly realizes that Reese has not yet shown, giving him the opportunity to potentially take over the longest current TDDoC attendance streak title from her. He vows to keep an eye out for her in the parking lot, and going “Tanya Harding” on her legs to keep her from entering and getting a point. Of course a few moments later Eman has completely forgotten this devious plan and Reese walks in. Eman does confess the plan to her, and Reese shows her fascination with the plan by sharing “thanks for not beating me up.” Eman looks up and finds this creepy man across the way giving him a disturbing stare. Oh, wait, it’s Cole, and he’s not creepy. Well, for the most part he’s not. The look certainly was, though. It’s the look of “I’m going to kill someone in this bar, and I don’t know who yet, and…oh wait, it’s that guy over there”. Fortunately it was Cole, and not Mike the Homicidal Maniac, because if it were Mike tHM, he would have had the look AND that thought. Earlier in the day Sophia had expressed deep disappointment that Mike tHM had not been at the LEB the night before. Sophia didn’t show up tonight, so perhaps that was the only reason she was coming to the TDDoC.
Ska has met some new women…wait, it’s just the Jim Beam Honey shot girls doing a little marketing for the new Jim Beam Honey. They offer up free shots for several members of the crew, and they all report that it tastes delightful….ly awful. Whose idea was this mess? It tastes like Winnie the Pooh spilled a little bourbon in his honeypot. Now hopquila….that’s an idea. Yo engages the Honey girls in some banter on the latest David Blaine magic show and they are mesmerized. If Yo actually knew how to pull off the magic tricks himself, he’d be on the cover of People magazine.
Mertz shows up and regales the crew with stories of shopping at Victoria’s Secret with this wife. I had him pegged as more of a tighty whitey guy than silk and lace. Reese expresses disappointment that Mertz has chosen not to wear his Santa suit. He probably has something red and lacey and silky on underneath though.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
TDDoC 2013: Day 7 Stats by Goettle
Day 8 location: Larry's Euro Bar
(more affectionately, The LEB)
965 New York Avenue Trenton, NJ 08638 609/ 695-9590
Day 7 Stats:
Made it through another Day Seven. At Dacey's. In Morrisville. Dacey's is what every neighborhood bar should be. Friendly, warm, relaxing. Filled with good cheer and good beer.
We had a rather large crew for a Tuesday evening – it seems like it was Famly Day at the TDDoC. Not in any particular order, there were Sophia and her sister Teresa; G-man with Su, Julian (who has recovered very nicely from his bump on the noggin), and Andrew; the E-mans - E–man, Lisa E-man, and Trent; Dave and El Chorba and daughter; Mertz and Corey Mertz; Helen, Pods, Yo, Reese, Scugi, Tamp, Benny, Felicia, Rebecca, Erin, Ed, Art, Ska, and Goettle.
I'm not sure I've ever seen so much food at a non-X-mas Eve TDDoC gathering. You couldn't swing a dead chicken wing in there without hitting some ranch dressing. Wings, pasta, sandwiches, burgers, sliders… you name it, they had it, and we ate it. It was fun watching Pods and G-man do their eating tricks. Pods could fit an entire unplucked, raw chicken wing into his mouth and voila… he pulled out a fluffy white rabbit with at least two limbs intact. And no magic words were required. And G-man… he would stand near a basket of hot wings and then (imagine the sound of drum roll) begin to glow, beads of sweat glistening in the soft warm light. Ah yes, a sight to behold – mere words cannot begin to paint the picture.
And finally we almost got to play that game that is sweeping through the nation - "Who's your favorite Kardashian?" Unfortunately, we are not exactly the trendy twerky hep-cats we used to be. And not all of us knew how to play. Pods' favorite was the 1972 Datsun Kardashian, with bucket seats and a Hemi – I guess we'll have to be more explicit next time – the point of the game is name your favorite useless Kardashian.
Still, this edition of the TDDoC has been missing at least a few of the more prominent members. We're talking about Big Lou and CPL (Crack Pipe Larry). The season is just not the same without Big Lou's rants about how lame we are and how every place we go, everything we do is just plain LAME.
Sure, we are still in his thoughts as evidenced by a recent a Big Lou Facebook post: "I hear from a good friend that one of those twelve drinking day losers insulted me in their daily email . I don't read that bore blog and don't get the email. It does explain why I don't go to that borefest anymore. AMF!"
In Big Lou's eyes we’ve been demoted from LAME to BOREFEST – if only he’d come out to see for himself – we are still as lame as ever. At least he ended his post with “Arrivaderci Mother Friend (AMF)”. I guess we’ll have to solace in his kind and respectful sign-off.
CPL – what to say? It's not like some of the evenings have not been customized to suit his commuting needs. Yes, perhaps driving more than 35 yards off of Rte 1 to attend Big Fish or the Cheesecake Factory is a bit much to ask of a man of such importance. Or picking a PA place that is $hitting distance from his place of residence is also insufficient to satisfy his needs. You are probably wondering how we know CPL's "$hitting distance." There are many stories … Pull up a toilet (preferably a comfortable one) and prepare to be regaled. It all started when CPL was a young boy. Many of us have long since passed the "diaper phase" of our development, but CPL has always been fascinated by what can be deposited into diapers. As the years passed, he has accumulated more knowledge of this activity. In fact, CPL, never one to brag, has become a world-renowned expert in human excretions from below the waist and above the thigh. What he knows about these things can fill all the toilets in the greater tri-state area. In fact, I'm sure he is conducting another of his experiments while you are reading this. The man is prolific. In fact, many of you are still wondering how Pods was able to pull a rabbit out of his gullet. Pods himself is clueless. But somewhere in a bathroom stall in a pathetic Central New Jersey establishment, CPL is smiling, for in his latest experiment, he has pushed the boundaries of quantum entanglement to greater heights. Yes, the remnants of that chicken wing that Pods ate last night have just been flushed.
And you thought Christmas had no more miracles to offer.
965 New York Avenue Trenton, NJ 08638 609/ 695-9590
Day 7 Stats:
Made it through another Day Seven. At Dacey's. In Morrisville. Dacey's is what every neighborhood bar should be. Friendly, warm, relaxing. Filled with good cheer and good beer.
We had a rather large crew for a Tuesday evening – it seems like it was Famly Day at the TDDoC. Not in any particular order, there were Sophia and her sister Teresa; G-man with Su, Julian (who has recovered very nicely from his bump on the noggin), and Andrew; the E-mans - E–man, Lisa E-man, and Trent; Dave and El Chorba and daughter; Mertz and Corey Mertz; Helen, Pods, Yo, Reese, Scugi, Tamp, Benny, Felicia, Rebecca, Erin, Ed, Art, Ska, and Goettle.
I'm not sure I've ever seen so much food at a non-X-mas Eve TDDoC gathering. You couldn't swing a dead chicken wing in there without hitting some ranch dressing. Wings, pasta, sandwiches, burgers, sliders… you name it, they had it, and we ate it. It was fun watching Pods and G-man do their eating tricks. Pods could fit an entire unplucked, raw chicken wing into his mouth and voila… he pulled out a fluffy white rabbit with at least two limbs intact. And no magic words were required. And G-man… he would stand near a basket of hot wings and then (imagine the sound of drum roll) begin to glow, beads of sweat glistening in the soft warm light. Ah yes, a sight to behold – mere words cannot begin to paint the picture.
And finally we almost got to play that game that is sweeping through the nation - "Who's your favorite Kardashian?" Unfortunately, we are not exactly the trendy twerky hep-cats we used to be. And not all of us knew how to play. Pods' favorite was the 1972 Datsun Kardashian, with bucket seats and a Hemi – I guess we'll have to be more explicit next time – the point of the game is name your favorite useless Kardashian.
Still, this edition of the TDDoC has been missing at least a few of the more prominent members. We're talking about Big Lou and CPL (Crack Pipe Larry). The season is just not the same without Big Lou's rants about how lame we are and how every place we go, everything we do is just plain LAME.
Sure, we are still in his thoughts as evidenced by a recent a Big Lou Facebook post: "I hear from a good friend that one of those twelve drinking day losers insulted me in their daily email . I don't read that bore blog and don't get the email. It does explain why I don't go to that borefest anymore. AMF!"
In Big Lou's eyes we’ve been demoted from LAME to BOREFEST – if only he’d come out to see for himself – we are still as lame as ever. At least he ended his post with “Arrivaderci Mother Friend (AMF)”. I guess we’ll have to solace in his kind and respectful sign-off.
CPL – what to say? It's not like some of the evenings have not been customized to suit his commuting needs. Yes, perhaps driving more than 35 yards off of Rte 1 to attend Big Fish or the Cheesecake Factory is a bit much to ask of a man of such importance. Or picking a PA place that is $hitting distance from his place of residence is also insufficient to satisfy his needs. You are probably wondering how we know CPL's "$hitting distance." There are many stories … Pull up a toilet (preferably a comfortable one) and prepare to be regaled. It all started when CPL was a young boy. Many of us have long since passed the "diaper phase" of our development, but CPL has always been fascinated by what can be deposited into diapers. As the years passed, he has accumulated more knowledge of this activity. In fact, CPL, never one to brag, has become a world-renowned expert in human excretions from below the waist and above the thigh. What he knows about these things can fill all the toilets in the greater tri-state area. In fact, I'm sure he is conducting another of his experiments while you are reading this. The man is prolific. In fact, many of you are still wondering how Pods was able to pull a rabbit out of his gullet. Pods himself is clueless. But somewhere in a bathroom stall in a pathetic Central New Jersey establishment, CPL is smiling, for in his latest experiment, he has pushed the boundaries of quantum entanglement to greater heights. Yes, the remnants of that chicken wing that Pods ate last night have just been flushed.
And you thought Christmas had no more miracles to offer.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
TDDoC 2013: Day 6 Stats by Sophia
Hey, it's Day 7:
Dacey's Pub
215 West Philadelphia Avenue
Morrisville, PA 19067
215/ 295-4838
Day 6 Stats: Jo Jo’s. I turned into Jo Jo’s parking lot – and that’s the last time I’ll bother to do that during the Twelve Days. I got there a little late expecting a nice crowd but there were only three there - Reese, Russ, & Yo. I think. Maybe. It could have been three other people, but it was defnitely three. Although a fourth, Erin, was leaving as I entered and said that Rebecca had already left. Is there a point for leaving the earliest? (I hope not.) No Scugi, who I have missed for all of these days so far. I hear he has been around but I have been there every night! Sort of. Well not really. The crowd did eventually grow into a decent Jo Jo's bunch and I had fun. There were the Emans – sitting in the corner eating only THEIR pizza, Gman flying solo, Goettle, Tamps, Rita, Ska, Pods, and Benny. I thought I saw Sandor but, well, it’s day 6 and who can keep track?** Boo hoo for anyone who decided to skip it. There was talk around the bar that no one from the super-secret committee was there last night and that really confused me since I thought they were all there, or mostly there, or that the committee of one was at least there. So I guess they really are super-secret. I was going to recommend Grey Goose as the liquor of the day in deference to "6 geese-a-laying", but I forgot. The TDDoC Day Six fatigue is really starting to show - I noticed that even my lower-math skills were deteriorating when it took 20 minutes to decide about leaving a stray $5 on the bar and how to pay for the pizza. I don’t know what could possibly go with "7 swans-a-swimming" as a liquor of the day.
I was working the crowd for a possible Day Seven location of Dacey's Pub - I even tried bribing Benny. We'll see if that worked if and when 1) Dacey's is approved by Tajny Komitet and 2) he shows (or doesn't). I know it's a LONG way from New Jersey across the bridge to PA but it’s well worth it on this night. The DRJTBC has even called in extra salt trucks and plows just for the occasion. But if you knew what I thought about the DRJTBC…
Russ, Pods & I left kind of early to go next door to buy our Mega $$$ lottery tickets and I thought that would get me out of doing stats, aka penance, but no. The stats gods were not so easily sidetracked. There were some TDDoCers spread out along the bar that I didn't get to talk to, even with my roaming Dacey's boosting. But but don't feel left out - check the "x" next to your name. You were there. I hear that the TDDoC points are the one thing that are not screwed with. But I’m becoming convinced that about 98% of the stuff I hear about is all bu11, and maybe that is a conservative estimate (maybe not maybe). And last but not least a reminder: women produce only 60% as much alcohol dehydrogenase, the enzyme that neutralizes booze, as men do. Especially if you’re drinking bourbon.
That explains a lot.
**Editor's note: She did see Sandor.
Day 6 Stats: Jo Jo’s. I turned into Jo Jo’s parking lot – and that’s the last time I’ll bother to do that during the Twelve Days. I got there a little late expecting a nice crowd but there were only three there - Reese, Russ, & Yo. I think. Maybe. It could have been three other people, but it was defnitely three. Although a fourth, Erin, was leaving as I entered and said that Rebecca had already left. Is there a point for leaving the earliest? (I hope not.) No Scugi, who I have missed for all of these days so far. I hear he has been around but I have been there every night! Sort of. Well not really. The crowd did eventually grow into a decent Jo Jo's bunch and I had fun. There were the Emans – sitting in the corner eating only THEIR pizza, Gman flying solo, Goettle, Tamps, Rita, Ska, Pods, and Benny. I thought I saw Sandor but, well, it’s day 6 and who can keep track?** Boo hoo for anyone who decided to skip it. There was talk around the bar that no one from the super-secret committee was there last night and that really confused me since I thought they were all there, or mostly there, or that the committee of one was at least there. So I guess they really are super-secret. I was going to recommend Grey Goose as the liquor of the day in deference to "6 geese-a-laying", but I forgot. The TDDoC Day Six fatigue is really starting to show - I noticed that even my lower-math skills were deteriorating when it took 20 minutes to decide about leaving a stray $5 on the bar and how to pay for the pizza. I don’t know what could possibly go with "7 swans-a-swimming" as a liquor of the day.
I was working the crowd for a possible Day Seven location of Dacey's Pub - I even tried bribing Benny. We'll see if that worked if and when 1) Dacey's is approved by Tajny Komitet and 2) he shows (or doesn't). I know it's a LONG way from New Jersey across the bridge to PA but it’s well worth it on this night. The DRJTBC has even called in extra salt trucks and plows just for the occasion. But if you knew what I thought about the DRJTBC…
Russ, Pods & I left kind of early to go next door to buy our Mega $$$ lottery tickets and I thought that would get me out of doing stats, aka penance, but no. The stats gods were not so easily sidetracked. There were some TDDoCers spread out along the bar that I didn't get to talk to, even with my roaming Dacey's boosting. But but don't feel left out - check the "x" next to your name. You were there. I hear that the TDDoC points are the one thing that are not screwed with. But I’m becoming convinced that about 98% of the stuff I hear about is all bu11, and maybe that is a conservative estimate (maybe not maybe). And last but not least a reminder: women produce only 60% as much alcohol dehydrogenase, the enzyme that neutralizes booze, as men do. Especially if you’re drinking bourbon.
That explains a lot.
**Editor's note: She did see Sandor.
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