DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME;

Bartlet Diary No. 2

"Philly"

SATURDAY OCTOBER 18, 2003

Paula, being her usual anal retentive self, shows up to LAX at 8 a.m.
for a 10:25 a.m. flight despite her helpless husband's protests that he
had to make it to a sports bar in order to catch the opening of the
Michigan State game and couldn't she take a shuttle instead?

But it's good she got to LAX early - she wore this huge-ass belt buckle
that set off about 100 alarms and she got escorted to a private area
where they made her open everything and take off her shoes and belt and
lift up her shirt.

Come to think of it, I think she just lifted up her shirt for the hell
of it.

Eventually, everyone else wandered over to the same gate area. I heard
through the grapevine that the Singer forgot his guitar. But he
brought the guitar case. In my book, that's preferable to my hoe
Heather, who once left her viola and viola case in El Paso on some WACO
tour.

"The Band Relaxing"

Arrived in Philly around 6:30 p.m. Why am I skipping the part about
the actual flight itself? How was the plane ride? you ask. HOW DO YOU
FREAKIN' THINK? I'm stuffed in that stupid pocket in the seat in front
of me, leftover peanuts riding up my butt, and Paula, Ana, and Heather
are laughing their asses off at some stupid in-flight movie with Jim
Carrey while poor Chapple and Dan are trying to sleep. This is
supposed to be rock star living? Where's the freakin' crack? No,
these so-called rock chicks insist on drinking juice and then their Don
Johnson-lookalike flight attendant warns them that the spicy Bloody
Mary mix has 2,070 milligrams of salt in it. I'm like, BRING ON THE
VODKA. But no, these girls want to be SOBER for the flight. Get me to
first class, NOW.

Mike Fornatale and Gene Kraut are their waiting for us when we arrive.
Somehow we all end up in the vans and blah blah blah, follow each other
to the Best Western City Center Hotel which is walking distance from
the Philadelphia Art Museum and has a view of downtown Philly.

But no cares about the tourist crap. Everyone dumps their stuff off,
then heads straight for the sports bar/pub in the hotel. Paula stuffs
me in her purse and drags me to the bar to meet my girlz - fiddle chick
Carrie (I know she wants me, she has a thing for bears), violin goddess
Julie (yeah, I saw her checkin' me out when she thought I wasn't
looking, she's got a thing for cuddly bears, too), cello gal Ana (she
ignored me all night, and I love girls who play hard to get with us
teddy bears), and viola chiquita Heather couldn't keep her hands off
me. She's always squeezing me 'n shit.

Now here's the weird thing - these girls are sexy, lithe, and gorgeous.
But they eat like pigs. We're talking huge plates of mushroom cheese
burgers, hoagies, cheese French fries, and an endless supply of the
Philly local brew Yuengling (pronounced Ying-ling). (Educational
note: For you beer afficianados, Yuengling is a lager, and apparently
in Philly, if you ask for a lager, they always pour ya a Yuengling. In
fact, it's the nation's fifth-largest brewery. But enough Googling on
the Internet.)

Meanwhile, the guys - Guitar God Mike, Camera Shy Rusty, School of Rock
Daddyo, Chapple Time Chap, and Horn-y Probyn and Klooky had already
gone through several pitchers and were watching the Yankees/Marlins
game. (Well, everyone except Probyn, who was munching on his home
grown dried strawberries.) In fact, Keep the Peace Rusty almost got
into a bar brawl with a local over the score.

.

Okay, so Rusty didn't get into a brawl. It was just a good-natured
ribbing. But I'm losing my mind. Bartlet Bear here wanted a beer
brawl. isn't that what rock tours are all about? Throwing chairs 'n
shit and getting busted by the cops? But nooooo, these guys are so
goddamn MATURE. they're RESPONSIBLE adults.

People eventually left to hit the sack. Carrie went to her room to draw
up blueprints of her morning 35-mile run (the girl's a marathon
champion, for Chrissakes, that girl can RUN!), soon followed by Probyn
and Ana and Heather. Julie, meanwhile, had a fellow Texas friend visit
her at the bar - this cool dude named Matt who had long hair. But
wait. the dude's an engineering graduate student. AUGH! Does no one
ROCK in this band? Everyone is so healthy and mature and intelligent.
Where the hell are my groupies?

I was so desperate for rock 'n' roll chaos that I tried getting Paula
to body slam Rusty against the table, but she refused. Then I
overheard Randle and Chapple announce it was time for SHOTS.

Now we're talkin'.

But no. Paula and Daddyo decided it was time to crash. They went to
their respective rooms, Bartlet Bear here protesting the whole way.
Bitch coulda left me with the others at the bar to drink some shots at
1:30 a.m. But nooo. She drags me to her bed and makes me sleep until
9 a.m. when that crazy-but-hot roommate of hers, Ana, started brewing
hot water for that sludge she calls tea. (And I swear, I know Ana
wants me, Bartlet Bear. I caught her checkin' out my bear butt before I
too finally fell asleep by 2:30 a.m.)

Next: Phallic sculptures, pink water, and brucethelover.com rules!

=====

Mike Randle
mike@lovewitharthurlee.com

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