Newington Day Recap

Sometimes, it takes a few days to gather your thoughts about an event into a series of well-timed blasts that will quickly bring down the wall between Then and Now, leaving the event to be seen as it happened or at least how it was perceived. But this is not always the case, especially for those who are as plugged into the Now as I am... the facts blur, events and timelines diminish - particularly in the company of drink. But this isn't a problem! Simply fill the gaps in time with putty and sand it down. Ho ho, this is how History books are written!

To the best of my knowledge, Newington Day started with the best of intentions; Jenny and I went to Leigh's to help set up. We erected some tents and I made wicks for the tiki torches in the heat. We put out food and set up the stereo outdoors. This kind of labor, as you can imagine, grinds it's boney cleats into your thirst, so I had a few beers. People started to show up - strangers, conversationalists. The Bacon Rap came up, and a crude early version of the recording of it was played, so I had a few beers.

As more people showed up, the event descended into weirdness. There were a lot of motorcycles, which is fine, and I should have been prepared for this, but I suppose I didn't expect them to be in such close proximity to the food... so I had a few beers.

As if from out of nowhere - it was time for the Fireworks. A group of us headed out on foot to the center of town - the center of the party - to watch. Streets lined with cars, people gathering in the streets and their back yards - this was America, this was Neighbor Country. 

I know a few things about this moment: at one point Jenny did, in fact, break away from the group with our dog Django, in a sprint, with one fist in the air yelling "Newington! Newington," the Fireworks display was surprisingly good for a small town, and I definitely had a verbal altercation with a soccer mom in an SUV full of children.

As I walked away from the Fireworks, as many others were at the time, I was drinking a bottle of beer. The last, in fact, of the three that I brought for the short walk to town. The neighborhoods of downtown Newington were swarming with pedestrians and crushing traffic as everyone left the Fireworks. Sometime after doing a poor job of secretly peeing on someone's lawn, and noticing a large gap between myself and the cars and people in front of me, I began waving the cars by. One car, though, would not pass, but instead the driver pulled up next to me and accosted me for my drinking of a bottle of beer in public. Me, with my delicate sensibilities!

This lead to a lengthy conversation about why she wouldn't just pass us, which Dave inevitably took offense to and reacted by walking slowly in front of her car, blocking the way. Her reaction was not favorable when I explained: "He's just being a douchebag,"  claiming she had three children in her car. In a moment, all hope was lost. The only thing left to do was tell her I didn't care if she had nine kids in the there, then lay down in the road in front of her car.

From there, things get a little hazy as we headed back to Leigh's place, but this is for certain; it was very dark out and I think someone attempted to have sex on the steps of the church next door.

Seven Vulgar Gods of the Wooded Plain

Good god, Friday again already? And, as always, this is good news, but this weekend is different. It's time to hose down the animals, hide wooden ducks around the house and bury a crisp five dollar bill in the yard - it's Newington Day's Eve! The Newington Day Extravaganza of Excesses of all Your Favorite Worldly Delights technically kicked off yesterday, but for our purposes, it will kick of tomorrow at around 3 PM.

A brief recap of last year: beer, grill assembled (unused), 1,000 lbs of spare ribs, kiddie pool, Siesta!, more beer, ladies in the kiddie pool, hose?, squirt guns, vegans, el chupacabra, water balloon?, giant feet, crowded party neighborhood, a lot more beer, fireworks, peeing in public, drag a shitting dog, more ladies in the kiddie pool, asleep with shoe'd feet in the kiddie pool and escape. I can't be certain that all of these things occurred as this was a year ago and what am I the Amazing Kreskin; but I assure you, at least most of it happened.

All of this will be happening again this weekend. Religious types may regard this as a small, self-contained apocalypse or perhaps a Sodom/Gomorrah situation, but they are too prudish to appreciate it for what it really is: the good people of Newington offering a sacrifice of twenty nubile young virgins to their Seven Vulgar Gods of the Wooded Plain.

So until then, I will be beating the body damage out of my car with a three pound drilling hammer and other various tools that should afford me a great deal of mechanical advantage over that rotten pile of sheet metal, and I'll grit my teeth, too. Tomorrow will be long and harrowing, and I will not rest until we Win Newington Day!

How to Blow Off a Finger This Fourth of July

The Fourth of July is a magical holiday when you can travel back in time and experience the giddy, unbridled joy that can only come from the kind of aggressive, testosterone fueled violence that we Americans have celebrated since the insurgence of our Founding Fathers lead to us winning our independence from our Imperial Overlords, the British. And what better way to celebrate such a holiday than to eat plenty of grilled meat, drink copious amounts of your favorite alcoholic beverages and actively pursue the instantaneous and gruesome loss of one or more digits!

It starts at home

Possibly the most important thing you do in the days leading up to the Fourth of July is to Acquire More Fireworks! I know what you're thinking: But I already have fireworks. Of course you do, but you certainly don't have enough, nor are they of the right kind! A basic rule of thumb when determining the amount of fireworks required to properly celebrate the Fourth of July is approximately one duffel bag of fireworks for every five people celebrating, not including mortars and other professional grade displays. Do not include sparklers in this calculation.

Note: Certain states, such as Connecticut, do not allow the sale of real fireworks, instead only allowing fake fireworks such as sparklers, fountains and smoke bombs to be sold. This is a direct attack on your freedoms; contact your legislator. Until this is resolved, drive to a nearby state that allows the sale of real fireworks such as bottle rockets with report, M-80s, roman candles and jumping jacks.

Finger bang

So you've procured the proper amount and type of fireworks - Great! You are one step closer to losing a finger! On the big day, you'll want to load up on caffeine, sugar, red bull, B vitamins, coolatas - choose your own adventure. You'll need lots of energy, for there is much to do! Once you're buzzing on your energy of choice, you'll want to clear the chatter in your head with several bracing shots of your favorite hard liquor, some beer and perhaps some mixed drinks such as margaritas or mojitos. If you choose to combine the booze and energy drinks into one cup, such as a red bull vodka - good move! Kill two birds with one stone!

Once you've worked yourself into a lather, it's time for the magic to happen. Don't be afraid to throw fireworks at small children and dogs - they love the attention! A lot of people frown on lighting off fireworks indoors, but this thinking is flawed - the Fourth of July is as American as Apple Pie, and like Apple Pie, it should be enjoyed indoors, preferable in the kitchen!

Many people don't know the proper way to launch a bottle rocket because the name is, in fact, a misnomer. These little joy-rockets are meant to be launched from the hand, not from a spent beer bottle! I have gotten great results from lighting these beauts and throwing them straight up in the air - spectators find the unexpected nature of their flight patterns to be delightfully random and exhilarating!

Later in the evening, when all the fireworks are gone, there's one last game to play with your buddies as you sit around the camp fire and reflect on all the freedom you've enjoyed that night. This game is called Uh Oh, and it involves placing a full, capped bottle of beer into the fire and saying: "Uh Oh." As the beer heats and expands, testing the holding power of the cap, time elapses and everyone forgets that some crazed fool threw a bottle of beer into the fire. Then, when you least expect it - BOOM! The pressure created by the expanding liquid and gas inside the bottle overwhelms the crown of the cap, firing it like a hot bullet directly into the faces of all your closest friends and family!

The Summer of Zombies

Sadly, the most powerful firework lit off this weekend was a sparkler. Although, I would be remiss to exclude Dave exploding a lighter in the driveway and it would be a lousy shame not to at least give an honorable mention to Mike for not only suggesting the creation of a sparkler bomb, but for also pulling out a raging gas fire in his back yard in the Zero Hour - i.e. 8 PM on Monday. But it is all probably for the best that we didn't get into the bottle rockets, roman candles and the mighty M-1000's, as we did trounce several handles overproof rum and god only knows how much beer, liquor, wine and other assorted sundries...

But even without the fireworks we were still soundly within reasonable risk of dramatic and sudden amputation, thanks mainly to a malfunctioning reciprocating saw and a flagrant lack of safety equipment. It was a long weekend, after all.

For now we shall brace ourselves against the Summer of 2011, the Summer of Zombies, nasty clowns and in-general clock cleaning. To quote Sheriff Brody from Jaws: "You're gonna need a bigger boat." Embrace this, or we all are doomed.

Precious Moments #1

Bad Firework Etiquette

In October of 2008, Jenny and I had a Halloween Party at our apartment in New Britain. I decided that an excellent way for me to enjoy myself at this party was to dress up as one of my favorite writers, Hunter S. Thompson, and really dive in and explore the character.

In the weeks leading up to the party I spent a lot of time looking for bits of the costume - I already had the yellow-tinted shooting glasses, and I eventually found an appropriate hunting coat, a great Hawaiian shirt, a decent white Gilligan hat and a cigarette holder.

As the party got under way and I began to really work myself into character, I drank. Copious amounts of Chivas Regal and cheap beer were just as much a part of the costume as the proper shirt, cigarette holder, etc... inebriation was definitely a key part of the character, as were bad decisions.

Feeling that I had mastered the mannerisms and speech patterns of HST, I began to work on developing the behavior. This coalesced into one beautiful moment when, after having already shown off my character to everyone, boredom forced my hand - I needed to shake things up a bit and make a memory.

Earlier, Jenny had preemptively hid my bullhorn, so I instead prepared for the party by stuffing my pockets with fireworks. Forgoing the real South Carolina fireworks, I pulled out a lousy, bullshit Connecticut firework - a strobe. For being a lousy bullshit Connecticut firework, the strobe really has it's place in distracting people and livening things up - it's the premiere lousy bullshit Connecticut firework.

I went into the kitchen looking for something reasonable to put it on and found someone else's plate. Perfect. I set the strobe up in the kitchen and lit it - the loud sizzling noise and bright flashing lights were of some surprise to the people who were in the room at the time, but none were so surprised as Jenny, who was in the living room - she was quite livid.

From the kitchen I could hear her violent, profane reaction to this, so I quickly escaped out the back of the kitchen to the bedroom. At this point I should note that in the old New Britain three family walk-up that we lived in, like so many of it's kind, the interior was set up in a circuit - so, although the kitchen and living room were directly connected, I could also walk down a hallway and through the bedroom to get to the living room. When Jenny entered the kitchen, bloodthirsty, I was making my way through the living room and out the front door.

I waited out on the front porch with a few smokers, but the sense of quiet was unnerving - I had expected her to immediately find and chastise me for my behavior or something. But there was nothing. So I timidly went back inside to investigate. I was just in time to see Jenny walking purposefully toward the back of the apartment with my whole drawer of fireworks in hand, which were clearly headed to the garbage can.

I quickly rushed to the rescue of my beloved fireworks. For her to get to the garbage can, she would have to go onto the back porch, walk down half a flight of stairs (we lived on the first floor) and round the corner - the cans were just below our back porch. Time was of the essence.

Between the time that she was on the stairs and when she was around the back of the building - five seconds tops - I had run through the kitchen and out the back door, leapt over the railing and onto one of the garbage cans to secure the lid and prevent Jenny from throwing my fireworks away. But, the cans had wheels on the back, and they quickly slid out from under me. I rode those cans to the ground, managing to keep one hand on the railing, so that when Jenny rounded the corner, there I was, standing amidst three huge, fallen garbage cans - having appeared, destructively, from out of nowhere, looking rather confused and disoriented.

Frustrated, she made my friend Brian take the whole drawer home with him. For no less than six months, we were missing a drawer from that yellow filing cabinet.