How To Eat Plain M&M's

Hi ya'll.  I have been pretty busy this past week helping to bring a new Baby Sneaks into the world.  His 'sleep-all-day/poop-puke-and-party-all-night' attitude reminds me of my college days and he appears to be a chip off the old block.  The first two songs he heard on the radio on the car ride home from the hospital:  Zeppelin's 'Ramble On' and then AC/DC's 'Its A Long Way To The Top If You Want To Rock And Roll'...absolutely perfect...I could not have scripted it better myself.

Anyways, the car ride home with my wife and two kids got me thinking about all the future car rides/vacations we will be taking, and then that got me reminiscing about all the family vacations me and my 2 sisters and parents took back in the day.  At least once or twice a year Mom and Dad would load us kids and piles of luggage all up in the station wagon for a trip from our house in upstate New York to visit relatives in Minneapolis or St. Louis or Wisconsin or Savannah.  Long, hot, cramped trips spent fighting with my sisters over who crossed the imaginary line dividing our precious space in the back seat, or who got to ride in the way-back and for how long...but one way my mom tried to get us to behave was the promise of treats, or more specifically, small bags of plain M&M's.

When we'd finally get it together long enough for Mom to give up the goods and hand over our 3 bags of M&M's, it was like Christmas and we would happily count them, sort them by colors, trade them...and then finally eat them.  A lot of miles, a lot of bags, and a lot of time eating our M&M's.  Well after years of hands on research and experimentation, I discovered that there are 2 ways to eat them properly.  As I made my way through a bag then, and still to this day, I alternate between the two methods.  I either:

A)   Stick 2 or 3 M&M’s in my mouth and just instantly start chewing them really fast and enjoy the immediate gratification of the succulent chocolate contrasted with the crunchy hard shell for a texture-high.

Or,

B)   I stick 2 M&M’s in the back side of my mouth between my cheek and gum and pretend they’re not there…sometimes upper, sometimes lower.  Then I just go about my business and fool myself into forgetting all about them…la, la, la…nothing to see here.  Then all of a sudden after a few minutes:  "Voila!”  I have a luscious, warm, liquid chocolate pocket encapsulated by an extremely soft, thin, leathery skin…almost like I imagine the skin of a soft-shelled turtle protecting it’s precious partner inside.  Then I apply just a slight pressure on the two jewels now trapped between the roof of my mouth and tongue and the delicious treasure comes oozing out, rewarding me handsomely for my patience by spreading out and coating the inside of my mouth with warm chocolate lava…yum.

Hail Mary

One of the characters in this next story is a guitar player who I will refer to as ‘Dave Malone’.  You will have to be the judge as to whether you think it’s the real Dave Malone or not.  For anybody who has ever known me and ‘Dave’ and/or has ever seen us in action at a late-night function, you invariably at some point have heard us lovingly refer to a woman named ‘Mary’.  This is her story.

She was a very short, old, fat, black woman who happened to be standing next to me and my girlfriend Mugsy Millen at the front desk of a huge hotel lobby in Tampa.  We were all checking in to the hotel and it was about 10pm.  It was the night before Mugs and I were setting sail with the ‘Rhythm & Blues Cruise’, in January of 1998.  This was an annual week-long Caribbean cruise packed with sweet bands playing music on board all week at various stages on deck and inside the ship.  Dave’s band was booked for the cruise, and they had also played a club gig that night that me and Mugs arrived.  They opened for Taj Mahal at the club so they were done earlier than usual, and Dave was just returning from the gig to the hotel. 

So me, Mugs, the old black woman and a few other people were waiting in line to check in when all of a sudden there was this loud commotion off in the distance.  A ‘raucous’ if you will, and I will try and and describe the raucous:  I looked over my shoulder about 200 feet away at the front door and there was Dave struggling with his pack and the revolving door and a doorman trying to help ease the situation...the whole while a drunken tangled Dave was hooting, hollering, laughing and exasperating the situation to the point that Hunter S. Thompson would have been very proud.  Finally Dave and his luggage were extracted from the whole front-door mess and he happened to spot me off in the distance laughing my ass off, so he continued hooting and hollering and yelled "Sneaks!!" as he stumbled his way over to the desk completely oblivious to the crowd in the lobby now watching him. 

The little old lady standing next to me was watching this whole scene, and as Dave made his way over she furrowed her brow and put her properly gloved hand up to her face and was mouthing "Dear me!" as Dave loomed larger and larger.  For some reason (maybe he sensed her deep fear and angst) after giving me and Mugsy a quick hug Dave set his sights on the frightened woman.  He’s a tall guy so he bent down low in front of her so their faces were level and excitedly said:  "Is your name Mary?  Can I call you Mary?  Hi Mary!  These are my friends Peter and Mugsy, and THIS is Mary!  Hi Mary!"  The whole time ‘Mary’ was backing up and stammering and looked like she was going to have a stroke.

Then Dave turned his attention to the guy behind the desk and introduced us to whatever name was on the guy's name-tag.  He instructed the man to give Mugs and I a good room, and when the guy didn't respond immediately Dave got one leg up on the counter and started to climb over, saying he would do it himself.  I somehow managed to pull him off the counter, got my room key, and then dragged him over to the elevators. 

Of course, there was poor Mary standing there waiting for the elevator and Dave rushed up and said:  "Mary!  It's been so long!  How are you doing?  Have you met my friends Peter and Mugsy?!"  Just then the door opened and Dave ushered us all in to the elevator.  By now Mary was absolutely scared shitless and you could sense her horror and dread as the door closed shutting her in with us while Dave was going on about something, his voice booming in the elevator as Mary frantically started pounding on the number "2" button so she could get out of there alive as soon as possible.

Well Mary made it out, mentally scarred for life, but alive.  So then the three of us continued on up to my room where we proceeded to drink the better part of a bottle of tequila mixed with Surge soda.  It was quite the beginning to our weeklong trip at sea, and the birth of our friend Mary who will forever live in our hearts.  In fact, she has risen to almost saintly status since that night and was the inspiration for the poem below written a few years ago:

Hail Mary, full of fear, Dave Malone is with thee;

Blessed art though amongst women,

And blessed is the fruit in thy hotel lobby basket.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,

Now and at the hour of our boat launch.

Amen.

Dome Dog

In retrospect, thinking about the Los Lobos incident (see S.S. post dated 8/10/11: 'Why Rock-stars Wear Pants), I suppose that it was probably fitting that my buddy Mitch's humor had caused me to spew the contents of my mouth onto somebody else, as I had done the same thing to him about 10 years ago.

It was probably the fall of 2001 or 2002 and Mitch Manson and I were at a Vikings/Bears game at the Metrodome in Minneapolis, sitting in my season tickets.  It was before the game started...people were filing in, music was blaring, highlights showing on the big screen…excitement was in the air. 

We were standing up at our seats with me on the left and Mitch on the right, beers in one hand, 'Dome Dogs' in the other hand, taking in the scene, talking and enjoying our lunch before the noon kickoff.  I do not remember exactly what I said, but we were joking around and I must have said something that caught Mitch particularily good while he happened to have a mouthful of hot dog.  Suddenly he bursts out laughing and a large, wet chunk of partially chewed up hot dog and bun came flying out of his mouth and landed in the hair of the lady sitting directly in front of us.

I'd had these two sweet aisle seats in section 218 for several years now and I knew this woman.  She was a nice woman.  A good woman.  I liked her.  She liked me.  I was trying not to laugh out loud and raise suspicion but it was so goddamn funny and horrifying at the same time!  Did she hear it hit her?  Had she felt it?!  Did she sense that this big wet glop of regurgitated mess was now a part of her??!  We stared and then both watched in horror when after about 10 seconds she started groping around the back of her head, somehow sensing that something wasn't right.  She had shoulder-length dark hair, curly to the point of almost being frizzy.  Basically she had 'large' hair and the dog/bun chunk had wedged itself in pretty good, nestled a few inches into her hairdo.

So she starts feeling around the back of her head and I'm frozen in terror, unable to take my eyes off of the glistening mass inbedded in her hair while she groped around.  Was she going to find it?  Was this really happening??  Suddenly her hand came upon the glob and she stopped moving.  Everything was totally still.  Time had stopped.  Then she slowly started extracting the revolting intruder from her curly hair until it was free and in her hand.  My god this is really happening I told myself.

She brought it around to the front of her and took a good look at it.  When it sunk in what she was holding in her hand she suddenly whipped around to confront her attacker.  She was fuming and her eyes were like daggers as she slowly hissed to Mitch:  "Did you just spit this in my hair?!" 

This is when things got weird.  Mitch was completely frozen.  I could see him standing there, she could see him standing there, but it was like he was in a place far, far away.  His body was there but 'Mitch' was gone.  He was just standing there, staring straight ahead with blank, unseeing eyes...slowly chewing what was left of the hotdog pieces in his mouth, but completely ignoring her. 

"Hey!  Did you just spit this in my HAIR?!!", she repeated, now lifting her hand up to show him the evidence.  Mitch just kept slowly chewing, staring straight ahead, somehow willing his face frozen with no emotion.  Her anger was now increasing exponentially as she realized that he was pretending she didn't exist.  Her row in front of us was probably a foot below us so he had been staring directly over her head...but now in an effort to press the matter she leaned forward, stood up on her tippy-toes and got right in his face.

"HEY!  You spit this in my HAIR!", she yelled.

To his credit, Mitch somehow remained absent, unattached to his body, and did not even flinch.  She was now almost eye to eye with him but he just kept staring straight ahead right through her...slowing chewing, with absolutely zero emotion or any perceivable sign that he was aware of what was happening 6 inches in front of his face. 

This whole time I was like an observer at a tennis match...head swiveling back and forth from her to him to her again, but with eyes like saucers and my mouth hung open in complete disbelief of what I was seeing. 

Finally she realized that Mitch wasn't going to crack so she viciously threw the handful of wet dog to the ground at his feet and whipped around with her back to us now.  I finally lost it and fell back and to the left into the aisle.  I swivelled around and was bent over in pain while trying to hold all of the laughter, food and beer in my stomach while not spilling anything.  After composing myself somewhat, I looked over and realized that Mitch had returned to his body as he gave me a sideways glance with an ever so slight smile and then took another bite of his Dome Dog.

It was over...but not really...the game hadn't even started yet so we had to sit behind this woman for the next 3 hours.  The poor lady kept running her hands through her hair every few minutes during that entire time, feeling around for more food. 

This was a defining moment in my life...one of several that Mitch has given me over the years.  I don't know if I have ever been so amused and horrified at the same time, and I still laugh and cringe whenever I think of that afternoon.  Thanks buddy.  In the words of a Crispin Glover character:  You are my density.

Flying mishap #1

I have my private pilot’s license.  Over the years I have had a few air-mishaps, but they mostly weren’t my fault.  Let’s see…I guess I’ll start with my very 1^st flight after I got my license.  It was the middle of winter.  I called my friend Laurie Tyler and told her I’d just got my ‘ticket’ and asked her if she wanted to be my very first passenger…she was excited and totally into so we rented a 2-seat Cessna 152 out of Madison’s airport and headed out.  I wanted to practice some touch-and-goes at an out-of-the way airport (where you power down, make the landing, and instead of coming to a complete stop you power up again as soon as you’re safely on the runway and take off again…then you circle around and do it again…good take-off and landing practice). 

So we headed west to Sauk Prairie’s small single-runway airport that didn’t have a tower.  I did a fly over to see which way the wind-sock was pointing and picked my landing direction (you always land into the wind).  We’d had a huge storm recently with tons of snow, but the runway looked like it had been cleared with just a few white patches and I figured it was okay or they would have the runway marked with a big X if it was unsafe…we circled around and prepared to land. 

I powered down and hit the runway going about 50-60mph, started braking, and soon we were fish-tailing all over the runway.  There were patches and strips of ice on it and I was swerving, hitting ice, then pavement and the tires would catch, and then slide on the ice.  There was no way I could take off again and suddenly I was off the runway and heading for a 10-foot snow bank that ran the length of either side of the runway.  Once I was on the snowy grass I thought we were doomed and I was frantically pumping the brakes and hoping not to hit the snow bank and/or flip over.  Luckily we finally came to a stop just before hitting the snow bank.  I looked over at a wide-eyed Tyler who had never said a word through this whole thing, and watched as she had to extract her white knuckles from the death-grip she had on the dashboard in front of her. 

Now we had to figure out how to get out of there.  You need a certain amount of distance to get enough speed to get an airplane off the ground.  We taxied back and found a length the longest stretch of runway without ice that we could find.  I went to the very beginning of it…full power with brakes on till the prop was whining away at full speed and then I released the brakes…we shot off with a massive jerk and started our roll down the runway with an ice patch looming in front of us and getting bigger and closer every second…I pulled the wheel back right before we hit the ice…we didn’t have enough speed to fly, but we kind of floated in what’s known as ‘ground-effect’ a few feet off the ground till the plane had enough speed to actually start ascending…we made it up into the relative safety of the friendly skies and got the hell away from that airport. 

The Perils of Shaving at Work

I hate shaving.  I usually do it at work because I don’t like wasting my time at home doing something I hate, so I drag my electric razor in to work once or twice a week and just do the deed there.  I try and wait till nobody is in the bathroom, but occasionally somebody walks in on me and this usually leads to curious looks as they walk past me shaving in front of the mirror.  I usually mumble something about not having time that morning to shave at home and that’s that.

So recently I was in the bathroom shaving and a co-worker Lenny walked in, peed, came back to wash his hands and he was looking at me with raised eyebrows.  Going along with the usual routine, I turned off my razor and told him that I did not have time to shave that morning so I am taking care of it at work.

Then he says to me:  “Did you get a plate?”

I figured I misheard him so I said:  “What?”

“Did you get a plate?”

“What??”

Slowly now:  “Did  you  get  a  plate?”

I am now completely baffled and have no idea where to go with this.  A plate?  Why would I need a plate to shave?  He is staring at me and my mind is desperately searching for an answer to what the hell he is talking about.  A plate to put the shaving cream on?  It’s an electric razor so I don’t need any shaving cream.  A plate for lunch?  Lunch isn’t for a couple more hours and what does that have to do with shaving?  I am at a complete loss and he is waiting for an answer, so I finally ask:  “A plate?  Did I get a plate for what?!”

I can tell he is completely exasperated by now too as he blurts out:  “For WORK!  Did you get a plate for WORK?!”

“A plate for work?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t know, why would I get a plate for work?!”

How long can this go on?  I want to be anywhere on the planet but in this bathroom right now.  Lenny is kind of old, but maybe he is senile too?  We are both just standing there staring at each other.  He is done drying his hands and he’s glaring at me like he’s trying to figure out what my game is.  I have no game.  I just want this to end but I don’t know how.  Fortunately he has had enough too so he just brushes past me and walks out.  Suddenly the light bulb goes on and it dawns on me what he said:  “Did you get up late?”

I ran out of the bathroom and yelled down the hallway:  “Lenny!  Up late!  Yes!  I got up late!”  But he just ignored me and kept on walking…he’ll probably never talk to me again. 

Why Rock-stars Wear Pants

Have you ever noticed that 99% of all rock-stars wear pants?  It could be 150 degrees onstage and they are still wearing the jeans.  I guess it’s a tough-guy image thing.  There are a few notable exceptions of course…easygoing guys who just don’t care.  Like, Bob Weir from the Grateful Dead…Frankie the drummer for the Radiators…or Conrad Lozano, the bass player for Los Lobos.  They always wear shorts whenever they can.

So anyways, last night I was backstage at the Los Lobos concert at the Minnesota Zoo.  Lobos just finished their set and I was standing there talking with my buddy Mitch Marshall when all of a sudden he jabbed me in the ribs and said:  “Holy sh*t look at that!” while motioning over ‘there’.  Coming out of the port-a-potty was an insanely hot chick…long dark hair, stylish, regal, exotic…hot.  “Oh yeah.”  I said, “She was one of the chicks dancing on stage.”  Los Lobos has a tradition that during their encore song they always play some rousing dance number and invite any chicks from the audience that want to come up onstage and dance while they jam.  So last night the encore was ‘La Bamba’ and a bunch of girls ran up and the stage was covered with hot chicks.  None of them hotter than the girl who had just exited the port-a-potty and was walking right towards us though.

She was not coming to talk to us of course, but to her friends who were standing about 10 feet behind us.  As she walked by though I leaned over and said:  “Hey, nice job onstage.”  Big smile, she stopped…and she started talking to me.  Turns out she was not only hot, but extremely nice, very cool, and a singer in a band.  While Mitch just stood there and silently stared at her hottness, she and I chatted for a couple minutes about her band and Los Lobos and the Zoo and stuff.  Before she walked on she asked me my name, she gave me her name (Savanna D’amico), and then she told me to look her up on Facebook if I wanted to see when/where her band was playing.

“Savanna D’amico…Savanna D’amico.”  I muttered it a couple of times to myself as she walked off, at first so I wouldn't forget the name, but then just enjoying the way it rolled out of my mouth.  Mitch, who is normally never at a loss for words, was strangely silent this whole time…just standing there gawking at her.  I turned to him and said:  “Savanna D’amico…that’s so perfect…a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”  Then I took a huge swig of my beer.

Mitch, still staring at her while she was talking to her friends, immediately leaned over and solemnly said:  “Dude, you had me at ‘Sss’.”

I am not sure why, but that struck me as so freaking funny and I knew I was going to lose my mouthful of beer.  In order to avoid spraying him with the entire load of beer in my mouth I did a 180, wheeling around as fast as I could while bending down holding my gut.  Swooooosh!!  The entire mouthful of Summit Ale came flying out at turbo-speed…all over the back of Conrad Lozano’s bare legs.

Then Mitch lost it and he stumbled away doubled over trying not to laugh too loudly at the dismayed Conrad, who had had the misfortune of standing right behind me while talking to some fans.  He spun around and asked if I was alright.  He thought I was puking.  I regained my composure somewhat and through the tears and beer coming out of all of my orifices I tried to explain that I was not puking, just having an unfortunate reaction to something funny my friend said…who was now 20 feet away in an obvious attempt to distance himself from me.  Conrad is one of the happiest, nicest guys I have ever met, but he was somewhat grim as he walked away to go find a towel to mop up the warm beer all over his legs.  Maybe that’ll teach him not to wear shorts.

My new blog..

Hi there,
this is my first post...never done this before.  I have been encouraged to start a blog so what the heck.  From time to time, when I have time I will post stories, thoughts...stuff that has happened to me maybe 20 minutes ago or maybe 20 years ago.  The names in the stories will be changed to protect the guilty, but those who know me, know me.  'Sneaky Sweets' is an old nickname I got from my best friend many years ago.  Have fun...I already am!
Sneaky Sweets