SONGS: #4 - Midnight Crisis - "(Get Home) Dangerous"

"Sunshine couldn't be so clever, the sidewalk sparkles in the midnight heat..."

I wrote the first two verses of this song about 15-fucking-years ago, when I was living in a bedbug-infested building made of Tinkertoys near the southern border of Hell's Kitchen. I'd been in New York City for a short time, and by all accounts, was struggling in virtually every way possible. 

[I mean, when I went out, I'd often bring a little bottle of Jim Beam in my pocket to "modify & fortify" my Friday nights, out in the East Village/Lower East Side, or when I lacked that kind of fore-site, I'd stop by a deli between bar stops & grab a can of Bud to slam on the rockin' stroll onward.]

But, I didn't care! I was becoming what I always wanted to be, or so I thought. I had a band, & I was going out a lot, getting to know cool & beautiful people, playing shows at Don Hill's, The Continental, & CBGB's,  and making my way, becoming part of the city I fell head-over-heels in love with. By day, I'd put my hair back into a pony-tail, caffeinate my hangovers away, and work as an "office temp" - which, essentially, allowed me to subsist & get reasonably "refreshed" while, in my mind, looking for my Street of Dreams and, ya know...all of that shit.

Also, I met a lot of "tragic types" along the way, who had their own stories to tell, and liked having someone to tell them to, even amidst the borderline squalor I was living in. That's what verse 2 is all about.

It really was a different world, then....anyway.... 

Anyway, all these years since I wrote the gist of the first two verses of this song, they always sort-of haunted me in my head, and I knew that I wanted to use them for something, but wasn't sure what, until Lase & I started writing. One night, it dawned on me (no pun intended) when, at bar time, someone typically said to me, "Get home safe!" 

"Fuck THAT," I thought, "Get home DANGEROUS!" 

I guess the point is, nothing cool or inspiring or interesting ever happened as a result of playing it safe, as far as I know. The frustration & struggling & adversity is worth it, because you do your own thing in your own time, whatever that means to you. I think and hope that I convey that effectively in the third verse and in the choruses. 

I don't know what the fuck I have to show for this line of thinking, but...I have this song, in any case.

Lase and I wrote this song on a very productive night (we wrote "Sister Vicodin" that night too - more on that next week). I came in with most of the lyrics & a rhythmic idea that became part of the main riff (dadada....duh-daaaaaaaaah)....we had a drink & worked on it for about an hour, and....shit, we came up with those cool "question and answer" vocal lines in the choruses. We made a demo recording of it right away, a little bit of which remains on the final recording.

When we were recording the vocals, I took a couple of opportunities to do some Monster Magnet-style screams on here. That was a lot of fun.

Lase is particularly stoked on this track, and I believe it's his favorite track on the album. As for me, it's too difficult for me to pick & I don't feel like I've got to choose!

Until next week......Thanks for reading/listening!

- Marty E.

"You haven't done it all
But you've done your part...."

LAST WEEK's ENTRY: SONGS: #3 - Midnight Crisis - "Kiss My Apocalipps" 
 
THE WEEK BEFORE THAT: SONGS: #2 - Midnight Crisis - "Midnight Somewhere"  

THE WEEK BEFORE THAT: SONGS: #1 - Midnight Crisis - "Take Control" 

Stream/Download "(Get Home) Dangerous" on BandCamp

Download "(Get Home) Dangerous" on CD Baby (or buy Heart Beatings CD)

Download "(Get Home) Dangerous" on Apple iTunes 

Download "(Get Home) Dangerous" on Amazon

"(Get Home) Dangerous" on Spotify 

 


 

If I Had Known What I Was Getting Into....or....My First Day In New York

I rolled into town feeling like a cold caller trying to sell beige slacks on June 1, 2000, with about 3 grand (in checks & money orders) rolled up in my sock, over a hundred pounds of luggage on my bruised shoulders, and little the fuck else.

I flew in from Minneapolis after spending one last night with my ex-girlfriend, then leaving her and my group of best friends & life as I knew it...and there was no turning back. (I that believe you CAN "look back" every once in awhile - to reflect, which is what I'm doing here).

On my flight, I remember the pilot saying through the loudspeaker, "Ladies & Gentlemen.....uuuuuuuuummmmmm.....if you look to the left of the aircraft.....uuuuuummmmm.....that's Lake Erie...."

It was then that it occurred to me that I didn't know where the fuck I was going to be in a day, much less a week, a month, or a year!  Sure, it sounds exciting and romantic, and all of that crap....but when it's right in front of your face like a burning jungle, it's more than a little bit daunting and pretty fucking scary!

Well, I arrived at LaGuardia, and grabbed my luggage (consisting of a hockey bag that resembled an overstuffed burrito, a backpack, a case with my snare drum, sticks, and kick drum pedal....and I think I might have had my cymbal bag with me as well), and grabbed a cab to Manhattan.  I was to go to the acting school where my good friend Alfredo worked and attended classes, grab the keys to his apartment in Bay Ridge (in South Brooklyn) and head to his house. So I rolled into this old brick building on Jane Street, with all of my crap....which I left in the stairwell (I figured, if anyone wants to carry this shit, BE MY GUEST).  Looking like the dark shadow of death's understudy, I then walked up to the front desk.

"Hi....my friend Al should have left some keys in the desk for me.....??????"

The hag behind the desk squinted, took a look at me, pulled the desk drawer out, gave it a way-too-quick once-over, and dismissed me with, "I'm sorry....there's nothing here!"

Stunned, I asked, "Are you SURE? Can you please look AGAIN?"

"I JUST DID....there's nothing HERE!"

I began to panic.  I tried to call Al, but he wasn't picking up. Perfect.

I didn't know what the fuck to do....I was beyond exhausted, and I didn't have anywhere to go, really. I was in a strange, ENORMOUS, cold, new place that I didn't know my way around yet, and I was weighed down with everything I owned in the world.

It then occurred to me that another buddy of mine, Lenny, was making the same move that I was, and he had emailed me his new # a week beforehand.

With nothing else to do, I called Lenny....thank CHRIST he was home.

"Hey Man....how are you?  I'm completely SCREWED!"

"Well....that sucks, Man," he said, "....well....do you wanna come hang out for awhile?  I'm in Astoria, but...."

I grabbed another cab, this time to Astoria, in the North-Western part of Queens....with a feeling of suspended animation, and also fucking RELIEF, that I at least could be under a friendly roof with all of my crap for at least the rest of the afternoon.

I rolled up to his apartment (which was either on 30th Ave, 30th Street, or 30th Road) and he was unpacking boxes....so I dropped my extra baggage in front if his front door, and fell into a chair.

Lenny, very nonchalantly asked, "Do you want a beer, Dude?"

It's your friends that pull you through.

I eventually got a hold of Alfredo late that night, and he apologized profusely, and said that I should head to his place. He also told me that his keys were, indeed, at that acting school of his where he said they would be, and that the wench at the acting school felt badly about missing them. Right - I'm sure that she's losing sleep over that to this day.

Anyway, I packed my luggage on my aching back and walked to the Subway for the ride to Al's house.  What's funny about that, is that Lenny lived near Ditmars Ave in Queens, which is where the N Train starts....so, I got on board and rode into Manhattan, then I transferred to the R at Times Square (which was the only way I trusted myself to make such a transfer at that moment) to get to Al's place in Bay Ridge Ave, in Brooklyn, near where the R train ends.  Case in point, I took the yellow line for about 3 hours, from one end to another, through 3 Burroughs, to finally rest my beyond-weary head.

Let's recap....I'd taken a cab from LaGuardia to Greenwich Village.....then got in another cab from there to Astoria, then took the train all the way from there to Bay Ridge Ave.  My route that day basically was in the shape of a gigantic number 4!

It was after 4am when I finally got to Al's house.  Before I crashed out in my sleeping bag on his floor, I called my Mom.

"I thought I'd hear from you a long time before now....where have you BEEN?"

"I'm too exhausted to tell you, but let's just say my shoulders are, literally, black & blue."

"OH MY GOD," she exclaimed, with a worried, almost-disgusted tone that even I had never quite heard at that point.

I told her I would call her the next day, and I proceeded to pass out on the most comfortable floor I've ever laid my head upon.

This was only the beginning....and it still causes explosions in my mind to think about now.  But, if I'd known then what was waiting for me after that, I'd have told you it was all worth it.  And I'm here to tell you that it was!

That little itch in the deep dark night...or....You're never alone....no, really....never!

This is my first blog entry in months and months....so I'm going to make it a good and titillating one, that you won't soon forget.

About six months after I moved to NYC, I started living in what was perhaps the shittiest apartment building in Manhattan, near the southern border of the neighborhood known as Hell's Kitchen....in the West 30's.  The place was shady to say the least, but my room was relatively cheap, I paid in cash, and the landlord usually left me alone, which is usually just fine with me. But this landlord was the kind of guy who, on one hand, would lock someone out of his apartment if he didn't pay his rent on time....and on the other, would have letters from lawyers (and even The People's Court, once) piling up by the mail boxes because of unreturned security deposits (and, I'm sure that it's no coincidence that I never got mine back).  His name was Kamal, but he asked to be called "John."  File that in the back of your mind if you're looking at apartments/rooms in that neighborhood.

So, to begin with, these were anything but deluxe accommodations.  There was no living room (I used to point at the tall buildings and streets outside when friends came over, and exclaim, "NEW YORK CITY is my fucking LIVING room, ok?!!"  Hahahahaha), and nothing but the most basic of amenities (the kitchen and bathroom were at least sufficient).  The walls between the bedrooms (and between each apartment) were paper thin at best, and shoddily put together. Hell, I believe there was even open space at the top of my bedroom wall...which I think I covered up with something.  We all need a LITTLE bit of privacy, by God!

Well, it turns out that I didn't have as much of that as I had hoped.

One night I decided to stay in and get some decent rest and a little peace of mind.   I was lying in my bed listening to the Verve, and just starting to go to sleep.  Do you know the feeling when you're trying to sleep, and for some reason, you get taunted by these pesky, unexplainable, spontaneous itches?  Well, that's what I thought was happening.  But then...something....fucking HURT all of the sudden.  I shot out of my bed, and there, on my leg, was this little reddish-black bug, feasting on me.  I pulled the blankets back and there were a couple more of them.  I grabbed a tissue and....well, crushed them.  They became red splotches against the white tissue.  BLOOD!  I pulled my mattress back, and there was a mini-New York City of BEDBUGS going on...in MY BED!!!!  The HORROR!!!!

I don't recall having felt so terrified or helpless at any point in my life, before or since.  But I had to do something....these were the days when I had work in the morning.  So, I think I found some bleach or some similar cleaning product and a bunch of rags, and basically caused a mini-chemical tsunami on the city beneath my mattress and temporarily remedied the situation enough to get a somewhat decent night's sleep.

I felt trapped because I didn't have the wherewithal at the time to just pick up and split; Craig's list wasn't really happening yet, so it was WAY harder to find a roof then.  Complaints to my landlord fell on deaf ears, and from what I heard, the entire building was infested.  FUCK!.

The best solution I could come up with was to clean everything up as best I could, get a new mattress....then my roommate and I would get Raid "bug bombs", which were essentially, bug sprays that you'd open up, then leave the apartment for a few hours while they emptied out and did their work.  It didn't really harm the bugs, but at least it scared them into neighboring apartments, and kept them out of ours, for the most part....until we finally just couldn't take it anymore, and split.

Whenever I walk by there, I usually utter some kind of expletive.  The memories are deeply ingrained I guess.

There was one funny thing that happened because of our bedbug problem.  I very briefly dated a girl who lived a very privileged life in her dad's HUGE apartment in a Park Avenue high rise....but he was never home.  Anyway, once, she decided so "slum it" and spend a night at my place.  A couple of days later, she called me up, said something about having some kind of bug bites, and asked if this might have come from my apartment.

In my best Jackie Chiles from Seinfeld voice, I quickly blurted, "I-dunno-anything-about-it!" and hung up the phone.  I haven't heard from her since. Sorry about that. 

Anyway....needless to say, I don't miss those days one bit!

Thanks for reading!  I know it wasn't easy.  Hell, I'm itching all over now just from writing it....ahahaha....I think!


Marty E.

It's a long way to the top of you wanna Rock N' Roll & eat too....Part 1: My Days as a Temp

When I moved my crazy ass to New York City 10 years ago, I really didn't have a plan whatsoever; no apartment, no job, no band, and I knew maybe four people here. All I had was a few earthly possessions, a few grand rolled up in my sock, and a committed determination to make something of myself.


The first things always being first, I knew that I was going to have to get a roof over my head (which I documented some of in a previous entry and will more in the future) and find a way to support myself and the fulfillment of my dreams.


My good friend Alfredo, who was kind enough to let me crash on his floor in Bay Ridge for a week or two while I got my sea legs, suggested that I apply at some Temp Agencies, like the ones advertised in the back of Backstage (a magazine for aspiring actors and actresses). So, I typed up a decent resume, and faxed it to about 10 of these places.


Within a few days, I'd had interviews with three of them, and made a good enough impression, I suppose, because I started getting work within a week or so.


Life is about pros and cons, as we all know.


The pros w/ making your way this were that the pay was relatively good, and most of the assignments lasted for weeks or months. If you were reliable, you could pay your rent and get by. The work itself wasn't difficult at all, and sometimes was all but nonexistent.


The cons? Tthe 9 to 5 work schedule wasn't exactly conducive to Rocking and/or Rolling, and....well, because I've always been a man to enjoy his late nights out, waking up and going to work was often....well, to put it as appropriately as I can, a fucking NIGHTMARE. Also, I wasn't allowed to show up for work in jeans, t-shirts, biker boots, long, loose hair, and jewelry....no fucking way. I had to tie my hair back, and put on a white dress shirt, dress pants (I drew the line at khakis though....fuck THAT shit) and black wingtip shoes. Yeah, I looked as fucking ridiculous as I felt.


But what made me feel even more ridiculous was the people I did the actual work for. Granted, my bosses at my first assignment, which was the New York branch of a French pharmaceutical company, were pretty cool, none judgmental, and took the time to realize that I was an intelligent guy who just happened to be a recent Midwestern transplant, struggling to make his way. But that lasted maybe about six weeks.


My next job was for some Chinese company, which again, did pharmaceuticals, if I remember correctly. I walked into that job, and without even saying hello, or even taking the time to introduce herself, some crusty old Chinese executive hag handed me 5 pamphlets of some sort, and coldly told me to make 10 copies of each. I felt like she was looking down her nose at me, and didn't respect me in the least. I was so pissed off and degraded, that I just about walked the fuck out....but, again, I needed the money, and had nowhere else to do so at the time, so...I made her fucking copies. Your welcome, Bitch!!!


The funniest place I worked at...(you're going to LOVE this)....was at a non-profit organization....of the Methodist Church....that sent missionaries around the world, evidently, to feed the hungry or whatever, and spread the word of God. Hell, even the Temp Agency I get that job through called them, "The God Squad." Holy FUCK, I wasn't a sore thumb in THAT place, as much as I was an amputated fucking leg. The first guy I worked for there was alright...but, he was looking for someone to be his "permanent" assistant...and didn't waste any time asking me if I was interested in doing that, and if I was a, "good Methodist." Um....no....and no. The second guy I worked for was way cooler...but, I remember one week, his secretary, whom I was helping out, told me that morning that I might not have a job there after the end of that day. Since I still had a big Excel project to finish, I told her that if I didn't get to stay for at least the rest of that week, that I was leaving immediately. I wound up staying for another two weeks. Hahahahahaha. But what I really hated about that place was the bitch who signed my time card every week, which, I might add, she did reluctantly. She clearly hated my guts; for what reason, I don't know....maybe it was my appearance! But for someone who ran a faith-based, humanitarian organization, that struck me as being rather odd.  Hell, I doubt that old battleaxe ever got laid in her LIFE!!!  She would bitch at me for working "too many hours" which was "too expensive", etc. I was thinking, "Look, bitch, no one is FORCING you to get temps to work here, ok?!" But I acted respectful because I needed the money....even though that old bag, of ALL people, had no right to look down her nose at me! It still kind of pisses me off to this day, hahahahaha. I should add that I got food poisoning from the spinach soup I had in the God Squad's cafeteria for lunch. That was a whole fuckload of fun!


I have a million stories like these.


That all being said, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to afford any drumsticks, beers, or to even EXIST here, I was going to have to bite the bullet. I wasn't working these jobs w/ aspirations of becoming the world's most asskicking office worker, for Christ's sake....I was doing it to support myself while working on my music , making myself known, and having as much fun as I could. I justified the shit that I had to put up with by telling myself that it was ALL for ROCK N' ROLL....and looking back, I was absolutely right. Life, especially in New York City, is about doing what you have to do to survive and get to where you need to be. If you work hard enough, and do what needs to be done (and if you're any good at what you do), you get your rewards, with a little luck....and a few stories to tell on top of it!


Thanks for reading!


Marty E.

Open Letter to New York's Music Press

Hi.

I wrote a letter today, in reaction to an ARTICLE I read in New York Magazine.

I don't really think it's going to make much impact, but I had something I needed to get off my chest.

What do you think?

If you have an opinion one way or another, I encourage you to write to comments@nymag.com and let them know, just like I did.

Anyway....

Here it is:

To Whom It May (or may not) Concern,

I noticed your cover story about Brooklyn's music scene. Sure, it's in-depth article, but it is extremely one-dimensional....which is something that the music scene in NYC is definitely not.

I think your coverage of what you call the "New York Rock Scene", as you call it, is limited at best, to Indie Rock, and the like.

I have nothing against that genre of music, and know that there's a lot of talent there.

That said, there is more to life than just one thing. Variety, as they say is the spice of life....and really, that's what life in the city is all about, for my money (or lack thereof).

There are lots of great bands in NYC (whether it be Manhattan or Brooklyn), playing classic American Rock N' Roll, Hard Rock, Metal, Punk, and various fusions thereof, that are thriving in NYC right now, and have for years. These bands are fresh, enthusiastic, work hard, and are very inspired and talented. Some of them also have large followings and sell out a lot of shows in and out of the city. And they don't make any more money than the bands you cover, and are taking just as many "risks" for their craft and the love of their music. Trust me...I know.

For some reason, most of the press in this town has chosen to all but ignore them.

Music in whatever form, is supposed to be about inspiration and expression. Trends come and go, and sometimes happen synonymously. This year's "old hat" is next year's "next big thing." You, as critics, I think, owe it to yourselves, and to your readers, to be a little bit more open-minded to what's going on with music in this great city of ours.

Try something different, and maybe check out a Rock N' Roll show at Trash Bar (a great Brooklyn Rock N' Roll venue that's been around for years, and deserves mentioning in any article about music in Brooklyn) sometime, or countless venues in Manhattan. I think you'll be glad you did.

If you need recommendations, I'd be more than happy to oblige you.

Thanks for your time,

Marty E.
The Dirty Pearls

My letter(s) home on 9/12/01 w/ follow-ups or a lesson to be learned is to not take anything for granted, least of all your own sanity!

9/6/06
Everyone's talking about the 5th anniversary of 9/11.You hear all kinds of bullshit from the pundits and our so-called President Bush about whether we are "safe" or "safer", as if anything any of them says means a goddamn thing.So, here's what I wrote to my friends and family around the country (including many of you reading this now) in the immediate wake of the 9/11 attack on New York City. There's no influence from pundits, journalists, or politicians; just a no-BS assessment of what was going on through the eyes and ears of a young NYC Rock N' Roller living dangerously close to the front line. As I was writing this at the time, I had no idea how 9/11 would be expoited and used in vain,i.e., gratuitous wars, conspiracies both true and untrue, and convenient scams of every type (especially the Patriot Act and other erosions of our civil rights). All I knew was I'd never felt so awful in my life. One interesting tidbit was that Slayer's God Hates Us All album came out that very day...and interestingly, it was the only album I could listen to for a couple of weeks. I was so numb, it was the only music that made me feel anything...and the only one that seemed to make any sense. And if I sound like I come across as a complete batshit crackerjack in these emails, it's only because I was fucking terrified....but that's probably understood. Enough of my ranting.

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

9/12/01..>..>

Hello everyone.I am alive and well, at least physically. Inside, I've been on the verge of losing my mind since I woke up yesterday. I mean, how is a person supposed to react when there are flying bombs going off, destroying a landmark that you are accustomed to seeing daily, like a close friend, just a mile or two from the place you call home?!!!

For me...I feel my eyes welling up with bitter, angry tears sometimes...other times, I maintain my sense of humor...still others, I feel worried....and others, I feel (still) that nothing can stop me. There's a conflict.There's also a conflict of just WHY I feel this way....from the fact that probably tens of thousands of people are lying in the rubble dowtown, to more selfish reasons, such as not being able to work, play my music, and essentially, live my life. But, that shouldn't be too damn much to ask....For the second day in a row, I have an involuntary day off, so I decided to go down to my beloved East Village and get myself a coffee and maybe some sushi and try to regroup. Well, I got my coffee and ate my sushi, but there is some kind of faint haze in the air from 14th Street on down...consisting of dust and smoke, and what's rumored to be asbestos. I decided to get the hell out of there.

The streets from 14th Street on down are blocked off for automobiles....and everything south of Canal St is evacuated.The streets are surprisingly calm...there are people about, but there is this uncertain, morose calm over most people that I see. Near Times Square yesterday, there was some two-bit sidewalk preacher telling us that the "Lord is coming."I felt the anger rising, and wanted to tell him that I felt that the "Lord" must have taken the day off, but I maintained my cool.I don't know what's going to happen, just as nobody does. I wonder if I have any friends who might've been in the WTC yesterday.

A couple of months ago, when my financial situation was at rock bottom, I took a job as a foot messenger, and made many deliveries, daily, to the financial district in lower Manhattan. To think that I might've gotten caught up in this if I hadn't gotten quickly sick of that utterly thankless job is a lot to fathom.The only thing I can tell you at this point, is that there isn't a lot that matters to me anymore, at least for the time being. All my mad passion and ambition for being a great musician, drummer, Rock N Roll star, and writer seems almost like a thing of the past. But, I think that's merely due to shock.But I didn't realize, at all, what a carefree life I've had for 20-odd years...until yesterday morning. Now I wonder if life will ever be the same. One thing that I've learned from all of this already is the bitter motivation that must have been prevalent amongst the American population during the first two World Wars. I've never lived in a war-torn era, but I'm deeply afraid that I'm about to. The Gulf War, as I understood it at the time, was some rinky-dink little battle over control of oil. This...is REAL. I wouldn't mind kicking some Bin Laden ass, myself, after what he seems to have done! The front line is just a few miles down the road. And, I'm "Man" enough to admit that I'm scared. Do you remember when some kind of biological weapons were released in a Tokyo subway a couple of years ago? Well, I ride the subway every day...and so do millions of other people wearing the same worried face as myself.

But, the bottom line is, I guess I can't let this ruin my life if I can possibly avoid it. I still love this city and belong here...and probably feel that way even moreso since this shite has hit the fan. And I believe that someone up there, somewhere, despite my faults, is looking out for me.I deeply appreciate all of the calls and emails that I've gotten from everyone. Feel free to write anytime.

9/13/01

Now, we have some clowns calling in fake bomb threats. There was supposedly a bomb in the Empire State Building (4 blocks from my house) and consequently, they were evacuating Penn Station and routing all traffic off of 9th Avenue (which is where I live). It all turned out to be a hoax, and I was ready to hightail it out of my damn neighborhood. The sense of humor of some people leaves much to be desired.(later)Now there have been over 100 bomb scares in Manhattan...in the Empire State Building (again), Grand Central, Port Authority, and seemingly countless office buildings where friends of mine work. These were all either hoaxes or false alarms. The villains, in some ways have already won; they have instilled a paranoia that will last for a long time. Speaking of work, my office is closed until Monday, but...I really doubt that business is going to be good any time soon. The whole city now smells like smoke, and many people who are about are wearing some kind of gas masks, which I think look ridiculous, which wouldn't matter if I thought that they did much good.You know, just a few days ago, everything was great, and I was on top of the world. Now...that's all disappeared. Many of the great people I know are talking about hoping that the US destroys entire countries, and I find myself agreeing with this...but, I don't want to be this kind of person. There's a loss of any remaining innocence, decency, and mercy, in a lot of ways, and there's not a hell of a lot anyone can do about it.

I mean, down at Union Square, there are a bunch of people singing the Lennon song, "Give Peace a Chance." That sounds great, but I don't think that can happen, here in the real world. I'm sorry, but there is no chance, and I'm as sick about it as the next guy. When the hopes and dreams of most everyone I know have gone down the proverbial shitter, I can't find myself singing along. I never thought in my whole life that I'd say such a thing, but Rock N Roll doesn't really mean a damn thing to me at this particular moment, and Lennon, if he were here today, might very well agree with me.

The latest information that I've heard is that there have been several people caught with fake flight licenses and weapons at both JFK and LaGuardia...apparently, another hijacking or two may have been thwarted. These assholes don't know when to quit, do they? Just when flights are about to resume, these barbaric imbeciles have to add further insult to injury.Well, I'm going to ponder this over a beer....If anyone would like to write, please feel free....

Your good friend...

Marty E

You Should Have Never Opened That Door or This Might Have Been The Guy Everyone's Parents Warned Us About (Wierd Tales from the City, Part 1)

When I moved to New York City, over 9 years ago, it was even harder to find a place to live than it is now....hell, I'd say it was a *lot* harder, now that I think about it. There was no Craig's List, to speak of (I think maybe it was just starting at that point) for one to find ads in, nor was there Facebook/Twitter/Myspace, etc, to help get the word across. There was the Village Voice (the PRINT version), but anything listed in there was almost always GONE by the time you even had a chance to read the ad. There were all kinds of "services" that would supposedly give you "lists" of available apartments if you'd give them, for, like, $200....but most of those were scams, and often, they were just reprints of the Voice ads. Fuckers.

There was one service that I used that *was* legit, and...to the lady who worked there that helped me....wherever she is, God bless your heart, wherever you are....and to my good friend Alfredo, who had a very soft floor in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn for me to crash on for the time-being.

That being said, it was still quite the adventure calling all these people who were looking for roommates, figuring out whether or not they were worth pursuing, and inevitably hopping all over a sweltering New York City (which I didn't know my way around quite yet, but was learning) to look at these apartments and meet these people.

[Overwhelming? Welcome to my life....and maybe yours too, right?]

But I'm writing today to tell you about the best story I picked up while desperately seeking a feasible living space. Some of you who know me might have heard this one, but....this is the type of story that NEVER gets old, and one I will never forget.

So, I saw a listing for a room in a two-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, right by the corner of 83rd and Broadway, for about $700. So far, so good, right? So, I called this dude, who sounded sane and cool enough in the brief conversation I had with him on the phone. Furthermore, if I remember correctly, I believe I was the first caller, which inspired confidence. So I made an appointment to see meet this guy at his apartment that afternoon, around 3pm. Good shit!

So, I looked at my trusty Subway map and got my ass in gear and went over there....the apartment was on the 8th floor I think....the building at a doctor's office at street level....I got in the elevator, which lifted me to the 8th floor. The first thing I saw when the doors opened up was a "welcome" mat that said, "GET LOST!" I looked at my piece of paper, and was relieved that this was NOT the apartment I was to look at (but it was, indeed, good advice, as we're about to find out). I turned to my left and walked on down to the end of the hall, and knocked on the door.

The door opened up....and what I saw was a weird motherfucker in his mid-fifties....he sort of looked like a way-more-weathered Gary Busey. He was fat, had "gin blossons" on his nose, and had the three long hairs on his head pulled back in a pony tail. No shit. He sort of lunged at me, grabbed one of my shoulders, while "patting" the other one (pretty hard, mind you), sort of pulled me in and bellowed, "HI! HOW are YOUUU?!!!! You must me MARRRRRTY!!!!!" The guy seemed to be perpetually shouting...not in an angry way but....they guy was just too happy in his own skin, especially when it looked like that!

Anyway, we stepped into the living room, where there were two grand pianos, some sheet music strewn on the floor, and some college kid from Laos, who was all of 19-years-old at the very most, lying on a mat in the corner. "THIS IS ONE OF MY TENANTS," the guy said. I wondered how much he was charging this poor kid for a corner of the living room....but it occurred to me quickly that I'd rather not know what the arrangement was.

He led me to the room I was there to look at, which was fine....then we went through the door to the bathroom....then through another door to his room....all the while, he was constantly patting my shoulders....the thought of which still makes me queasy. I guess he wanted to discuss business in his room. Great. "HAVE A SEAT HERE....on the BED", he all but screamed. "Fuck that shit", I was thinking, while I practically jumped into the chair at his desk instead.

So he began telling me his story, with occasional interjections from me. "WELL....I'm an ACTOR and I TEACH PIANO LESSONS in the LIVING ROOM, there, which is why the PIANOS are IN THERE!!!! I go OUT from TIME to TIME, and DRINK and PLAY CARDS.....and I DATE MEN AND WOMEN...."

Which, is fine, but.....

Holy shit, this guy was just too much!!!! Do you remember the dude you were afraid was going to come and GET you when you were a little kid and couldn't sleep? Well, THIS was the GUY!

So, I mentioned that my former girlfriend from back home was to visit me for a week or so, and asked if he would have a problem with that. "NOOOOOO.....NOPE....I can't be HAVING THAT," he roared.

"OK, then," I said, "Um....really nice meeting you anyway!"

Hahahahahaha....

It wasn't over yet. Apparently he had to go downstairs for something, so....I had to do what no living organism ever wanted to do, and that was get in the elevator with this guy!

So, in the elevator, he asked me why I moved to New York, and I briefly explained to him that I was a drummer looking for a band.

Without as much as a split second's hesitation, he ROARED, "YEAH!!!! THAT WAY YOU CAN BE A ROCK STAR and FUCK 'EM AAAAAALLLLLLL!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

[I couldn't do anything but laugh my ass off right along with him, if only because....I knew what he meant when he said, "ALL"!

The End.