Donald Trump’s Hairpiece

So, here I am on December 4, 2007, 55 years old. How can it be? Sweet Jesus Juice, what happened to the last few decades?

I’m considering going back to school. I think I need a Masters degree if I’m going to do anything except what I’m currently doing, and you know what happens when one stands still. 55 and considering going back to school, now that fries my noodle even more.

Damn, I’m trying not to get morose but it’s a fine line between consciousness and depression sometimes.

The weekend in New Jersey was a riot. KG and I drove up Friday afternoon. It was a gorgeous fall day, cool but not cold, with some residual leaves still giving a rusty look to the roadside foliage. We drove over the bridge to Long Beach Island a little after three and settled into our room at Daddy O for a short nap before dinner. The room was sparse and modern, but comfortable. Actually, KG took a nap, I walked down to the beach and checked out the neighborhood. It really was a long beach, 18 miles to be exact. Not real wide, but it was clean and deserted, and surprisingly cold. In spite of it being close to 40F, the wind kept things pretty fresh.

We ate dinner in the bar that evening, a happy hour feast of Kobe beef sliders, steamed clams, and a nice chopped salad. During the time we sat there various locals and visitors rotated through; we touched all of them in one way or another (not that way though.) One guy was a local, an environmental engineer. I asked him about the buried munitions in Surf City and got the whole story. New Jersey is a trip in many ways but environmentally it is mind boggling. They say you get used to the smell.

It was a good night and we slept well.

Saturday we went out early and found breakfast at a pancake house. It was all locals and was quite a slice of life. KG, who is ethnically Italian and a New Yorker, fit right in. I was obvious worthy of some suspicion but generally tolerated. Actually, everyone the entire weekend was really charming to us. Anyhow, after an embarrassingly large breakfast we drove up and down the island to check out both ends and then went back to the room for another nap. We had a little more chopped salad before we left for Atlantic City at about 3pm and arrived about an hour later.

Atlantic City, I don’t quite know how to describe it. Maybe as a bus station in an ashtray. During the concert, Suzanne Vega, who has a new song called ‘New York is a Woman’, asked ‘if New York is a woman, what is Atlantic City?’ I wasn’t quite quick enough to shout out that it’s Donald Trump’s hairpiece, but that’s what I thought.

Anyhow, we hung out drinking and gambling for a couple hours before the concert. It was boring but we had fun in a being together way. We played video poker at a bar for a while, went away and had some appetizers at Hard Rock, and then went back to the bar where the same woman was still playing and still shoveling 20s into the machine. She looked like she was ready to leave but her fingers wouldn’t let her go. Onward and onward she played, losing and losing, smoking and drinking and losing. Losing kind of sums it up, really.

You know KG and I got married in Las Vegas, and we always thought Vegas was kind of seedy, but not like Atlantic City is.

So before the concert they had to search us for weapons and drugs and shit. What the fuck was that about? The room held about 250 mostly middle-aged people, arranged in three sections on folding chairs in a banquet room with the worst acoustics one can imagine. It didn’t start on time either, but of all of the detractors to the concert, the acoustics were the worst, except that for all one couldn’t hear of the band, during quiet moments one could plainly hear the bartender arguing with the security guards. House of Blues, Atlantic City, it sucked (and I don’t often say that.)

Suzanne Vega was really good. In spite of the venue, she was professional and charming and played three encores. The guitar and bass were too loud but I think it was because of the acoustics and that we were on the side. As a concert, it was great to see Suzanne Vega but I’ll not go back to the House of Blues there.

We got back to Daddy O a little after midnight and settled in for a long winters nap. When we woke up on Sunday it had snowed. Not a lot, but enough to look pretty cool. We packed up and on the way back to the turnpike stopped for breakfast at the Stafford Diner. That place was great, a real 24 hour diner.

In spite of some nasty weather we got home in good time and safely, tired but happy, and not at all ready for another week. It was a fun trip and it made coming home seem really nice.