Anthems for the Already Defeated - Rock Plaza Central - Are We Not Horses? - 2006

So my office held a party last night, nothing too big just a few after work cocktails on a thursday, something they say will be a weekly occurance. But as always the draw was the free booze...which was restricted to beer and wine, but hey who's complaining? Anyway when we realized that all of the other guests had left, me and two of the guys I work with decided that it was our job to finish up the remaining liquor. This took us till about 1030 and involved me drinking champaigne straight from the bottle.

I won't claim that it's been a while since I've been drunk. Hell that's about all I did in Mexico, but...it's been a while since I've gotten drunk without meaning to. I thought I was just grabbing a drink or two, taking advantage of the free booze...only to be sucker punched by the evening. When I got home, I ended up eating wings and fries from the chinese place on my corner and laughing uproariously at a Daily Show episode that I can no longer tell you a thing about. And of course the morning was something of a blur. Good times.

Anyway, several bands have been herralded as the next Neutral Milk Hotel, probably The Decemberists and The Arcade Fire most notably. And while the labels weren't completely without merit they generally meant either unconventional instrumentation and quirkiness (The Decemberist) or unbridled overpowering emotionalism (Arcade Fire)...but Rock Plaza Central is the first band I've heard that just tries the approach of ACTUALLY SOUNDING LIKE the band...of course those are big shoes to fill, and these guys aren't that good...but they do alright.

Another Saturday Night - Sam Cooke - Single - 1963

So while my trip to Mexico was largely a success, the trip home was, by every definition of the word, a total clusterfuck. Short of missing our flight or being involved in a plane crash, pretty much everything that could go wrong did.

First we woke up to check out of the hotel and were actually a bit ahead of schedule. The first two nights of the cabana had been paid for in advance, so we only needed to settle up for the final night. This should have occured to me but, due to the bargin basement quality of our cabana (a trait I have to admit, we did chose ourselves) they didn't take cards. So Anne and I had to scrounge togther most of our dollars and pesos to pay for the last night on the spot...leaving us with only enough pesos to buy some coffee for the road.

Then during the drive to Cancun we a pretty big thunderstorm that basically forced me to drive at about 40 miles per hour, basically killing our spare time. To make matters worse, the airport exit to Cancun is not very clearly marked, so we drove right by it in the rain and drove around the town for another half an hour. We finally found it and returned the rental car, making it to the departures desk with a slim 25 minutes till boarding. And of course this is where we realized that I had no idea where my immigration forms were.

This required me to run down the hall to the immigration office and fill out a form and then return to the departures desk (the oddest thing is there was absolutely no vital information on this form...at least nothing they couldn't just pull off my plane ticket...it was a form for the sake of having a form). At the security line, we were of course hassled about the bottle of water my girlfriend had neglected to remove from her bag. Finally, we made it to the plane.

But then...Any time I have flown internationally it has been to Europe...which meant that my stop in the USA was JFK and then straight home. I had never transfered in an domestic airport that wasn't my final destination from an international flight. Apparently, you have to gather up your bags, go through customs and then re-check in. So, we stood at the customs baggage claim and waited for my bag...and waited...and waited...and waited.

Now dear readers, it is entirely possible that in packing up my bag I had "forgotten" not to throw away a few of the cigars that I had picked up in Mexico that may or may not have originated in a communist dictatorship in the Carribean. So, I'm standing in customs trying not to break into a blind panic...but I also figure if I was actually in trouble I would be approached by customs, not forced to stand there and wonder where the hell my bag was. So, I went to the baggage services dude to find out what the deal was. This being Miami, he didn't speak English so well...but I managed to determine that we should just catch our connecting flight and my bag would be sent to NYC.

So we go back through security, passing several ATM's on the way (remember that we have no cash). My girlfriend asks if we should use one, but I say that we should wait till we're on the other side of security so we don't miss our flight. We get done with security and make our way to the gate. I then leave my girl with the bags to get money. I hadn't eaten all day and it was now 3PM. I find out that there is only one ATM in the entire concourse and that it is currently out of service.

Seriously, I realize I come across as a spoiled NYC-er here...but what kind of backwards ass airport only has one ATM in the entire concourse? Even bumble fuck Indianapolis has one every few gates or so. Miami fucking sucks and I don't care who hears me say it!

Now, in addition to everything else, my apartment keys are in my checked bag as well. So, I go to call my roommate to make sure he'll be home to let me in only to discover that, despite being off all weekend, my cell phone is dead. And the charger...that's right...in the bag.

But I finally made it home about 830 that night, grabbed the spare keys and used my roommates phone charger, got myself a big greasy cheeseburger and fries and caught up on the news. My bag showed up (with contraband intact) about 2 the following day...so in the end all was well, but damn did that day suck.

Anyway, this is the incomparable Sam Cooke with one of his many, many fine songs sounding sad and lonely on a Saturday night.

Another Person - Jay Reatard - Night of Broken Glass - 2007

Let me tell you something about Mexico that I did not expect. It's really, really fucking hot. Sure, you think to yourself...haven't you ever seen a movie set in Mexico? But come on, it's October...I figured it would be hot during the day (perfect for the beach) and then cool off at night for some pleasant seaside sleeping.

No, this does not happen...despite being one of the most beautiful places I've ever been too, with pristine beaches and gorgeous skies...I couldn't help spending a little bit of my trip cranky, cause I just wasn't sleeping at night...cause it was just so muggy.

On our second day we took a hike to the maya ruins of Tulum, which are amazing...but within less than an hour both my lady friend and myself were covered in sweat, dehydrated and slightly confused. And of course, cause of the "don't drink the water thing" an ice cold glass of water or a coke were no where to be found. So you drink beer, even if you don't want it...cause it's the only cold thing they got.

All in all, it was a lovely trip...but when I got home, I drank a giant glass of water, straight from the tap...and then went to sleep in my own bed with the windows all the way open so that I could enjoy the cool of an NYC Autumn.

Jay Reatard doing his Devo meets Question Mark and the Mysterians thing. Not bad, but there are songs of his I prefer to this.