My Trip To Maine, Part One! :)
I love the holidays in New York City, and it seems this year I'm going to be spending a good deal of them right here. (Hopefully to a bigger place, with lots of space in the next week.)
But it's been an eventful past few weeks.
After losing the job at the Diner, getting injured, and spending the better part of two weeks in bed retreating from the world, I decided it was time to take charge again.
It was a beautiful Monday morning in my head, as I showered at 10 in the morning, and then called Friendly's, back in Maine.
"Kevin?" I said, to the miserably depressed by his job, middle-aged gay man who'd run the store during most of my tenure there. "It's Kevin Benham. I'm going to be in Maine for a few days, and was wondering if you had any shifts for me?"
"You betcha, Kev!" he responded in his borderline-psychotically forced toned. "When ya gettin here?"
And thus began my quest. I planned to leave Wedsneday night, arrive Thursday and stay until Monday morning. That left me three days to search for a job before taking off. I'd applied at two places the previous week. One of them was Jekyll and Hyde, a horror themed restaurant here in Manhattan. They'd called back on Monday, and invited me for a final interview Wedsenday.
Being a "put all my eggs in one basket" kind of guy, I decided to take it easy the next few days. That decision paid off when before getting on a bus to Portland that week, I had my final interview and was hired on the spot. Training would start the following Tuesday... it couldn't have worked out any better.
I left New York, looking forward to a weekend away. I have commented lately to friends how it's odd to me, that while Portland was the place I lived the shortest amount of time, it feels most like my "home retreat" when I want to get away from my daily life. Weird, huh?
I took a 10:00pm bus to Boston, which got me in to Beantown around 1:30 in the morning. My bus to Portland wasn't until 6:50, so I had plenty of time to kill.
It was on my walk outside for some nicotine, I made the horrifying realization that I'd left my cigarettes on the bus!
CURSES! I shook my fist in the air! But there was nothing to be done. I asked a security guard where the nearest place to purchase some cancer sticks was, and he directed me to a 7-11.
Now it's important to know that my knowledge of Boston is strictly the 2 or 3 blocks surrounding South Station, from a few layovers cigarettes on the New York to Portland tour.
While walking I was befriended by a random stranger. Now I realize that I'm a sucker, but clearly I must also be wearing a sign that alerts other of this, because they can always spot me from a mile away. This one's name was Tim, and he was a mildly suicidal, manic depressive "straight" boy from Wooster, Mass who somehow got into Boston for a concert, but didn't have the fare to get home. We walked, talked and smoked pot for a few hours, while he serenaded me with songs I've never heard of, but probably should have. Around 6am we split up (I gave him his bus fare, natch!) and traded emails. I was off on a bus to Portland, which would get me in at 8am, and I would go directly to Friendly's, to be at work by 9.
As it turned out when I got there, someone was late so I was thrown in almost immediately. I checked into the connecting Howard Johnson, with a Friendly's discount (got me a suite for $25 for 3 of my 4 nights there).
That day I was reunited with Kristy, (one of the "treasures" I discovered in Maine, that makes Portland so much a second home) and later witnessed her have an emotional breakdown. I'd been a shitty friend recently, and had hoped to make that up to her while on this trip.
Thursday night I ended up meeting up with Kimmy first. We headed to Margarita's to meet up with April where I had a few drinks and a yummy taco salad. After saying goodbye to Kimmy, April and I headed to a new nearby Latin club where my friend Jules had just started working. I was actually surprised to see how much I really missed Jules. I'd decided he wasn't a very good person shortly before I left, but perhaps I've become a little less judgemental since being back in New York. If we care about people, perhaps their mistakes should just be that and not so signifigant if they don't affect that friendship.
April dropped me off at the hotel, where Adam was just arriving. We grabbed some brews and hung in my hotel room for a while. Jon stopped by to round out the group, but it ended up being just Adam and I who headed back out later in search of a good karaoke night.
Now a Thursday night karaoke night in Portland used to be a no-brainer. "Somewhere Else," the local gay bar, had the best karaoke night in Portland on Thursdays. I spent many a Thursday (and Tuesday when they also did it) drinkin baby pitchers down like shots while warbling out "Sweet Transvestite" for the same old crowd. The karaoke guy even had my own copy of the disk in his collection. (Larry's, my boyeeeeeeeeeeee!) LOL - Anyway, I'd heard a few months ago that "Somewhere Else" had closed it's doors.
We decided to drive by, just to check it out and were surprised to see a ton of homos standing outside. And the sound of karaoke coming from the bar.
I had died, and gone to heaven. And not the cheesy chelsea gay club, real heaven. Gone was the dingy, but charming "Somewhere Else," and in it's place was "Spring Street," a gorgeous martini bar, that would rival some of NYC's own such places.
My trip to heaven was complete when I saw Larry, standing behind the now black laquer DJ stand. KARAOKE NIGHT WAS ON!..
But it's been an eventful past few weeks.
After losing the job at the Diner, getting injured, and spending the better part of two weeks in bed retreating from the world, I decided it was time to take charge again.
It was a beautiful Monday morning in my head, as I showered at 10 in the morning, and then called Friendly's, back in Maine.
"Kevin?" I said, to the miserably depressed by his job, middle-aged gay man who'd run the store during most of my tenure there. "It's Kevin Benham. I'm going to be in Maine for a few days, and was wondering if you had any shifts for me?"
"You betcha, Kev!" he responded in his borderline-psychotically forced toned. "When ya gettin here?"
And thus began my quest. I planned to leave Wedsneday night, arrive Thursday and stay until Monday morning. That left me three days to search for a job before taking off. I'd applied at two places the previous week. One of them was Jekyll and Hyde, a horror themed restaurant here in Manhattan. They'd called back on Monday, and invited me for a final interview Wedsenday.
Being a "put all my eggs in one basket" kind of guy, I decided to take it easy the next few days. That decision paid off when before getting on a bus to Portland that week, I had my final interview and was hired on the spot. Training would start the following Tuesday... it couldn't have worked out any better.
I left New York, looking forward to a weekend away. I have commented lately to friends how it's odd to me, that while Portland was the place I lived the shortest amount of time, it feels most like my "home retreat" when I want to get away from my daily life. Weird, huh?
I took a 10:00pm bus to Boston, which got me in to Beantown around 1:30 in the morning. My bus to Portland wasn't until 6:50, so I had plenty of time to kill.
It was on my walk outside for some nicotine, I made the horrifying realization that I'd left my cigarettes on the bus!
CURSES! I shook my fist in the air! But there was nothing to be done. I asked a security guard where the nearest place to purchase some cancer sticks was, and he directed me to a 7-11.
Now it's important to know that my knowledge of Boston is strictly the 2 or 3 blocks surrounding South Station, from a few layovers cigarettes on the New York to Portland tour.
While walking I was befriended by a random stranger. Now I realize that I'm a sucker, but clearly I must also be wearing a sign that alerts other of this, because they can always spot me from a mile away. This one's name was Tim, and he was a mildly suicidal, manic depressive "straight" boy from Wooster, Mass who somehow got into Boston for a concert, but didn't have the fare to get home. We walked, talked and smoked pot for a few hours, while he serenaded me with songs I've never heard of, but probably should have. Around 6am we split up (I gave him his bus fare, natch!) and traded emails. I was off on a bus to Portland, which would get me in at 8am, and I would go directly to Friendly's, to be at work by 9.
As it turned out when I got there, someone was late so I was thrown in almost immediately. I checked into the connecting Howard Johnson, with a Friendly's discount (got me a suite for $25 for 3 of my 4 nights there).
That day I was reunited with Kristy, (one of the "treasures" I discovered in Maine, that makes Portland so much a second home) and later witnessed her have an emotional breakdown. I'd been a shitty friend recently, and had hoped to make that up to her while on this trip.
Thursday night I ended up meeting up with Kimmy first. We headed to Margarita's to meet up with April where I had a few drinks and a yummy taco salad. After saying goodbye to Kimmy, April and I headed to a new nearby Latin club where my friend Jules had just started working. I was actually surprised to see how much I really missed Jules. I'd decided he wasn't a very good person shortly before I left, but perhaps I've become a little less judgemental since being back in New York. If we care about people, perhaps their mistakes should just be that and not so signifigant if they don't affect that friendship.
April dropped me off at the hotel, where Adam was just arriving. We grabbed some brews and hung in my hotel room for a while. Jon stopped by to round out the group, but it ended up being just Adam and I who headed back out later in search of a good karaoke night.
Now a Thursday night karaoke night in Portland used to be a no-brainer. "Somewhere Else," the local gay bar, had the best karaoke night in Portland on Thursdays. I spent many a Thursday (and Tuesday when they also did it) drinkin baby pitchers down like shots while warbling out "Sweet Transvestite" for the same old crowd. The karaoke guy even had my own copy of the disk in his collection. (Larry's, my boyeeeeeeeeeeee!) LOL - Anyway, I'd heard a few months ago that "Somewhere Else" had closed it's doors.
We decided to drive by, just to check it out and were surprised to see a ton of homos standing outside. And the sound of karaoke coming from the bar.
I had died, and gone to heaven. And not the cheesy chelsea gay club, real heaven. Gone was the dingy, but charming "Somewhere Else," and in it's place was "Spring Street," a gorgeous martini bar, that would rival some of NYC's own such places.
My trip to heaven was complete when I saw Larry, standing behind the now black laquer DJ stand. KARAOKE NIGHT WAS ON!..
posted by Kevin at 1:20 AM
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