Well, my goodness. Last night Hot D***a had a song dedicated to itself at Club Cafe. If that’s not reaching new heights I don’t know what is!

There is a brand new hard drive inside of my computer and it’s about time the previously mentioned sobriety check point incident is fully explained.

Last Friday I was driving home around midnight, without a trace of alcohol in my system. I decided to head out of the Southside via the Birmingham Bridge and cut through the Hill District because it would be “faster.” As soon as I turned onto the bridge I knew I had made a gross error.

The wide multi-lane passageway that normally constitutes the Birmingham had been intentionally crippled to one lane. Traffic was at a stand still. I had seen this before, but I had never been stuck in it. Like a helpless ladybug caught in a venomous spider’s web I had turned into a sobriety check point.

After waiting nearly an hour for my close-up with one of Pittsburgh’s finest it progressed as follows:

“Good evening sir, I’m Officer _______ of the Pittsburgh Police Department. Where are you headed?” said the officer whose name I do not recall as he got extremely close to my face.”
“My home on Penn Avenue,” I replied.
“Where are you coming from?” retorted the officer.
“The Waterfront — Snakes on a Plane,” said I.
“What’s that?” remarked the officer.
“You know, the movie, Snakes on a Plane. Samuel L. Jackson…”
“No I haven’t heard of that one. Was it good?”
“Well, you know, snakes on an airplane, what can you expect?”
“Oh, I thought you meant snakes on a plain, like snakes on the savannah….”
“Nope, snakes on an airplane. It’s pretty funny.”
“An action movie is funny?”
“It’s sort of a spoof…”
“Alright sir, have a good night.”

After that conversation I thought that I’d be pulled over, drunk or not, for sure! And all the while I had a huge chocolate stain on my shirt and pants. That’s because the man sitting next to me in the theater, who I’d never met before, had a huge brownie. The first thing he did as he settled in for the film was hand me a plastic spoon and remark, “I’m not going to eat this whole thing myself.” Fortunately the stains vanished completely thanks to a product called “Shout.”

Anyway, it seems a little unfair to me to stop drivers, and potentially confiscate their vehicles, despite the fact that said drivers have demonstrated absolutely no erratic driving tendencies. Then again, I can see why it’s done. Regardless, it’s not very considerate of the average sober person’s time.

So, friends, what lessons have we learned from this saga?

1) Brownies with chocolate sauce eaten in the dark with only a plastic spoon are delicious but dangerous. Not unlike the tantalizing juxtaposition that is snakes on a plane.
2) On a weekend night in Pittsburgh, always steer clear of the Birmingham Bridge. And when you talk to cops keep it simple. It’s safer that way.

Today Hot D***a is serving a tomato basil bisque soup. While pondering this, I have come to the realization that “Busk for Bisque” would be a great name for a charity event.

I think perhaps artists could be sponsored for this event, and the longer they played, or busked if you will, the more bisque that would be donated to a food kitchen somewhere.

So, Phil Collins and Macy Gray, if you’re reading this, let me know.

Since the weather has been a lot like summer this past week, I think I’ll tell you about my friends in the band, like summer. They’re very good. See them at Club Cafe this Friday, June 9th, at 7 pm.

About that cheesesteak competition. Turns out the rules have changed since I last entered the contest. Now there’s a $10 entry fee. I don’t know about that… sounds sketchy.

This weekend I, the single-guy owner of a hot dog shop, took a road trip with two married women, one female vegetarian, and one female vegan. I’m not sure what more I can say.

I saw the symphony yesterday, thanks to some complimentary tickets I recently received. I’ve only seen the Pittsburgh Symphony one other time in the three years I’ve lived in Pittsburgh, and I like classical music.

It makes me sad that there are so few people remotely my age who attend a concert like the one I just did. A ticket in the cheap-seats of Heinz Hall costs less that $20, which makes me fairly certain cost isn’t the issue. I don’t know what “the issue” is, but I hope it goes away. Let’s face it, regardless of what type of music one prefers, it’s very difficult to get more bang for your buck in terms of observing musical talent live and in person than when you go and see a world class orchestra.

People, including me, are missing out. Perhaps I should make it my goal to see the PSO once every season of the year.

When I think about the fact that I go to the symphony at all as a 24-year-old, I wonder if I’m ahead of the curve. That is, when I’m 70 will I be the only one at the symphony, or will my generation be attending in due time? My guess is the latter. Maybe a better question is whether I’ll still be game for the occasional rock show when I’m 70. I hope so, but no promises.

The handlebar is here. 104!

Last night I went to a political function. I’m not all that into politics, but I sure am into free food. It turns out that this particular event was the jackpot.

The event I attended was a pep rally for a woman named Georgia who is running for congress. A friend of mine does some stuff for Georgia’s campaign and asked if my business partner, Megan, and I would be willing to attend as her guests when we were done with work.

We agreed, mostly because we wanted to help her out. I had no idea that what I would be attending involved an open bar and lots of great hors d’oeuvres. Let me tell you, I was pleased as a pumpkin in a potato patch. There was roast beef wrapped around some sort of garlic cream cheese substance! I had Chilean wine. I had many other things. I think Georgia is swell.

While at this party, Megan and I met a man named Victor who plays drums in a band called “Pizazz.” After learning a bit about our backgrounds he’s come to the conclusion that we just might be the horn section he’s been searching for. We find that highly entertaining. I hope you do too. I hope he follows up. Then we can all refer to Megan as “Mrs. Fabulous.”

And, I just ate a chicken-breakfast sausage-horseradish-hot sauce-banana pepper-artichoke heart wrap. Not bad! Better to have garlic in Italy than blood in the onions, I always say.

I was in New York yesterday and I visited Gray’s Papaya, one of the great hot doggeries the world has ever known.
While in the BIG Apple, I was reminded of many funny stories.

First and foremost in my mind is a time I was in Atlantic City and there, on the boardwalk, was a street musician “playing” the clarinet. This man was awful. I mean he was ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE.

He was probably in his sixties or seventies, and perhaps he was good at the clarinet at one point in time. However, the particular day I heard him was clearly not that point in time. He played major scales, and that was it. Each note he sustained would warble, constantly from sharp to flat and back, but never settle to anything remotely resembling correct intonation.

As I headed down the boardwalk his tone began to seamlessly blend into the melodious tones of squawking seagulls. I walked several miles and ran into many more street musicians, but none were nearly as terrible as my claritnetist friend.

Several hours (and cheesesteaks) later, I wended my way back down the boardwalk. I was surprised to find the claritnest in question still going to town.

As I passed our aspiring woodwind virtuoso, a cop suddenly forced him to stop performing because “he didn’t have a permit.” Instantaneously, he switched from a musician with a delusional concept of his own ability to what I would describe simply as a very disgruntled person. He created quite a scene. All the while, several other street musicians in plain view of the officer played on. No one, including the police man, made any attempts to stop them. 78.

Well, today has not been at all what I expected.

First, my bun guy couldn’t get downtown because of the parade, so at about 11:15 I booked it down to Restaurant Depot on my bike. I made it there and back in less than 30 minutes, and thankfully we ended up with buns for everyone (who wanted one)!

Then, as I was making an order, a man named Larry asked me what part of New Jersey I was from. He knew I was from New Jersey because today I happen to be wearing a green hoodie that reads “JERSEY PRIDE” across its back. It’s my all-time favorite article of clothing.

I told Larry I grew up in a town called Summit, and he responded that until two years ago he lived in nearby Maplewood. Now Larry lives in Squirrel Hill, and I live in the Strip District.

Anyway, we got to talking and he mentioned that he works for the Pittsburgh Symphony. I mentioned that I just saw the Pittsburgh Youth Symphony give a free concert and that I’d like to go to more classical performances, but that my budget is a fairly limited one these days.

So, we got to talking more and it came up that I used to play in the New Jersey Youth Symphony. Turns out that his son Jack, who is two years younger than me, did as well. Turns out I remember Jack because we were in the same chamber orchestra when I was in the sixth grade. I played the viola and he played the cello. Jack, considering his age advantage, was better than me.

In any case, Jack graduated from the University of Chicago last year. I gave Larry my card and told him to say hello to Jack for me. After that, Larry told me that I could go see the Pittsburgh Symphony as his guest sometime. He gave me his card. Turns out he’s President and CEO of the entire orchestra.

Later in the day I cut up a kielbasa and a knockwurst into bite size pieces for a man from Washington DC. I served these pieces to him without a bun. I gave them to him in a bowl with some chili and cheese. He tipped me with a t-shirt that reads “THE BIG GAME, FEBRUARY 5, 2006, DETROIT, MICHIGAN.” Aside from a large “XL” in the background it says nothing else.

Quite a day, wouldn’t you say! 45.

You know, few things make me feel more uncomfortable and silly then singing. Not singing in a group, of course, but singing by my myself. I don’t know why that is. Call it the vulnerability of song.

Maybe it’s because when I was an intern at Madison Square Garden several televisions were always on and any time the Foxwoods Casino and Resorts jingle hit the airwaves I had to sing along while all my supervisors stopped to listen. “The wonder of it all…” Today, rather than rhapsodizing about hot dogs, I’m going to attempt to use this space to get over my irrational fear. Here goes nothing!

Lucky you get to listen!19.

What makes your big head so hard? Okay, that’s Caledonia. I was close.

Nonetheless, there is a play named “Saffronia” currently showing in East Liberty. I saw it last weekend, and there will be four more performances this weekend. It’s not funny at all. In fact it explores a rather sad chapter of our nation’s history. Having said that, it’s highly amusing to me. Let me explain.

A few weeks ago I received a call from an associate in the film industry. He wanted to know if I knew of any female twenty-somethings who could sing and who had a complexion lighter than his own. He was involved with the production of a “stageplay” and he needed someone who fit his description as a last minute replacement actress.

I gave him some names. Now a friend of mine is in this play called “Saffronia.” It’s named after the title character and explores the sexual exploitation of female slaves by their masters in 19th century America.

What I didn’t know at the time I got the casting phone call was that the friends whom I recommended were supposed to be mulatto. Whoops. My friend is clearly white, but she definitely sings quite well. As it turns out, singing isn’t a major part of the play. Fortunately I have a talented friend and, hey, as far as I know she really is in her twenties. She’s doing splendidly despite the scenario I’ve described.

Anyway, “Saffronia” really is thought provoking. Plus, my friend is the most convincing white person playing a mulatto I’ve ever seen in a stageplay. Honest.

Go see it and see for yourself.

Some people from the Post-Gazette just walked in and had me sing Auld Lang Syne. In doing that, I realized I only know the first line. I hummed the rest. Apparently I’m going to be singing, and by singing I mean humming, on the Post-Gazette website on New Year’s Eve. My crooning will be spliced with a bunch of other people who were asked to do a similar thing. My picture will pop up when my hum comes up. That’s funny stuff.

I’m not sure how I feel about this, but I may be destined to become a chess player. Just before Christmas a customer convinced me to play a game with him. Let me tell you, convincing me to sit down and play a board game was QUITE an accomplishment on his part. Just ask my friends who try to tell me playing RISK is a good idea.

Anyway, he taught me how to play, I sat through the game, and I didn’t dislike it nearly as much as I thought I would. Then, for Christmas, I received a chess board AND an LCD computer chess game. Last night I was hanging out with a friend. I discovered she just happens to be a friend who plays chess.

Friends, the signs are clear. Come into Hot D***a, where we have a chess set, and play a game with me sometime soon. If that’s not a good reason to visit, the come into Hot D***a, where the owner now knows all the words to Auld Lang Syne…

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?
And here’s a hand, my trusty friend
And gie’s a hand o’ thine
We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne