Seriously Major VANdalisms

Okay, setting the scene. McTubbins, Jawsdog, Jeff, and I are flying to New York City over the long memorial day weekend to pick up the van that TPC is buying, then drive it back to the Deuce Cities, having crazy adventures along the way. Here we are on the plane -- enjoying our time with bloody mary's, complimentary grilled cheese sandwiches (thanks Sun Country!), and cans of Budweiser.

 

Winged Migration.

 

In NYC, we take a cab to Manhattan to meet up with friends.

 

Our pals Joe, Steve, and Carrie take us to this sweet place called the Crocodile Lounge that gives you one free personal pizza with every beer you order! Holy crap. We take advantage. BTW, yes Steve does look like Jared Leto but they are not related.

 

Sweet-ass back smoking patio at the bar. One of the few places in NYC to have such a thing, we think.

 

Getting real. But not totally real yet.

 

Jawsdog and I smoke at a Subway station before we are told forcefully that that shit is totally not cool with the MTA. Our bad.

 

Steve takes us to a bar in Brooklyn called Barcade, which has about 20 vintage arcade games lining the walls. Total dude factory, but some awesome stuff written on the walls.

 

Totally intense bottle cap sculptures. It's like the modern version of hieroglyphics.

 

Look at how satisfied these assholes are.

 

Ditto here. Hey is that Jared Leto texting on his blackberry? FYI I hear he's a big fan of humanity.

 

Model poses.

 

Waiting for the train to crash at Steve's place (where will end up meeting too many cats named yoko), McTubbins looks like a destitute Mexican hobo.

 

Late night Subway riding, eerily empty in this car on the 6 train.

 

Steve shows us his dope ass platinum weed leaf watch. He tells us the story of how he showed it to famous rap crew backstage at a show once (who shall remain anonymous because I can't remember which rap crew) and they said "Is it real?" To which he responded "Dude, it feels real to me, that's all that matters. So its like, in a way, it really is real." The rappers were apparently blazed up on the chrondo so they simply nodded their heads and went "Right, I feel you."

 

Next morning after a night of Sparks and Molson XXX at Steve's, we catch the train to Manhattan so Jeff can register the van at the DMV and get tatted. McTubbins is not a fan of carrying around Jocelyn's pink computer back. Totally questioning his masculinity right now.

 

Jeff gets tatted by Myles, the same awesome dude who did mine. TPC played with Myles' band awhile back so they shoot the shit. Ink it up.

 

The bloody results.

 

Post-tat lunch and cocktails at a Mexican place on St. Mark's street.

 

Delicious margaritas.

 

You have to walk a lot in NYC to get around. We Midwesterners are not used to this. So, we stop off at TPC's new van to sit in the back for a bit. We rest, drink Sparks, refuel.

 

Exactly.

 

After the Sparks refuel, we are confident, strong, capable, ready to take anything on. Ambitiously, we decide to walk to across the Williamsburg Bridge to Jocelyn's sister's place.

 

In Williamsburg, we kick it on Jawsdog's sister's porch for a bit before meeting up with some friends back in Manhattan.

 

Beers at the Hi-Fi with our friends in the Hold Steady. In the background, Craig probably is telling a story about something involving drugs. And odds are that it is hilarious and spell-binding. Seriously. The Tecates go down like water, a little too fast cause Galen is bartending.

 

Mad billiards sessions.

 

Joe takes us back to Brooklyn for a late night cap.

 

Tat twins. So romantic right now.

 

A bar at 3AM, a few blocks from Joe and Carrie's place. They know the bartender. Drinking. More drinking. Endgame.

 

The next morning we head to Syd's in the Lower East Side to make the final van trade-off. Syd tears up, thinking of all the times Les Savy Fav totally farted in this van.

 

Pleasure doing business with you.

 

On the way out of town, we totally get stuck in some crappy Midtown traffic. New York is cool because you can learn about all sorts of exciting products and services, involuntarily, rammed down your throat by simply opening your eyes. Actually on second thought, that is kind of gay.

 

Peace out NYC, what up Jersey. I forgot to take photos of the raging party we had with Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen on our way through the Garden State. Richie Sambora was totally hitting on Patti Scalia.

 

On the way to Pittsburgh for the night, we murder thousands of helpless bugs.

 

Breakfast at King's family restaurant outside Pittsburgh. They have a "cyber" section, which is not as sexual as it sounds or as one would hope.

 

In the van, Les Savy Fav left us a whole grip load of awesome shit, including Travel Scrabble. I taped my piece holder to the passenger door for ultimate secrecy.

 

A raging scrabble game ensues. We decide to play the cool way, where you can use the name of towns and companies that aren't really words. Totally po-mo (post modern).

 

They also leave us a bible? WTF? Syd's explanation: "In case you want to get spiritual."

BTW a lot of pages were torn out of the back, hmmm.

 

Cleaning bug guts.

 

Chicago! Consistently one of the awesomest cities in the country.

 

We head to the new place of our awesome friends Bob and Urs, and meet up with a whole grip load of old friends. This is the sweet view from one of their two decks. Chicago, like the Deuce Cities, has a wide variety of porches and decks to crush brews on.

 

Joel (aka Andy Koufax) is looking good in the wife beater and Cobain-glasses. Way to be, homie.

 

Dollar Bills, Bob, and Chuck from Indianapolis are also repping shit hard. Brews and Boca Burgers.

Bob and Bill tell us a little about their dad apparently he loves the champagne, Andre, the Beer of Champanges is his favorite. His wedding ring also doubles as a bottle opener.

 

This is the only picture I have of these awesome little kids who lived next door. They kept singing up to us "Feliz Navidad! I wanna wish you a merry Christmas!" Wish the picture was better.

 

We are heading to a kegger in a little bit a few blocks away, but the pre-party gathers on the deck for brews and circle- sittin'. Energy is building. We introduce Chicago to Sparks. Results are mixed. Brenda shows up!

 

As we're leaving to the kegger, Jeff implores everyone to kick this exercise ball as hard as they can while he sits on it. Whitney obliges.

Yeah Dun, Kick him in the ball!

 

On the way to the kegger.

 

Ian shows us how to properly drink a beer in Chicago: while wearing a logoless baseball hat, sporting muttonchop sideburns, and obscuring your head with a light.

 

Kegger. On the upstairs porch of this awesome guy Mike's house. Totally felt like being at a Minneapolis party.

 

Urs and I don't fuck around.

It's at this point in the night where I seriously start getting into shit. The phrase "Get Rich or Try Crying" comes into play

 

There is video karoke at this party. Jeff and Whitney wow the crowd with some Sir Mix A Lot. Joel gets down with Digital Underground.

 

The next morning, after sleeping on Bob and Urs' porch (totally awesome) we all make a huge breakfast. Their AC isn't working, so its totally hot. Someone remarks "it's like being in a third world country." Bob smartly replies "Except we have a shit ton of food to eat." Point taken.

 

Upside-down thumbs up!. Tubs is so pumped about the weekend he asks the question "If I pooped in a bag would you eat it?" this phrase he explains is a sign of pure joy.

 

Post breakfast deck smoke before we leave town.

 

Blue skies, white dudes.

 

The view from the porch into the neighbors yard.

 

The view from the porch continued.

 

Porch tiger coffee.

Chicago bulls.

 

Change the "a" in "flash" to an "e."

 

We are obviously not in the South Side.

Driving home, we run into a huge dinosaur who runs his own gas station. On the right, Jeff worships his almighty power.

 

In a mall in Rockford, IL, Jawsdog and McTubbins share some final moments together. We are dropping Jaws off to get picked up for her summer-long photo assisting gig that will take her all across the dirty campgrounds of the midwest. You won't see her face here for awhile, unfortunately. Hat friends for life.

 

Jeff and I buy Guitar Hero at the mall, and proceed to get totally addicted to it once we get home. The solos are the hardest part. We name our band "Flytard."

 

Married to the road.