Bali: Gift from the Gods

The waves have died, but the streets are swarming with Muslim vacationers from Java, buzzing the crowded streets on scooters and sightseeing down shopper-friendly sidewalks. We just got off an eight-day catamaran surf charter to arrive back on this tropical island during the last week of Ramadan. That’s around the same time of the terrorist bombings in 2002 and 2005 here. We soon discover that every room in town is booked and we even plea with our cab driver to stay at his one room shack. After hours of searching I think we literally find the last hotel room in town; good thing too cause we are in a third world country and it can get sketchy sleeping on the beach at night. Because Bali is of Hindu religion and culture, it is seen as a safe and exciting paradise for all kinds of travelers and remains the largest tourist destination in all of Indonesia.

Just days ago we were sailing the Indian Ocean, surfing famous, uncrowded waves like Desert Point on Lombok and Supersucks on the island of Sumbawa, but now we are tourist-trapped in Kuta Town, which is basically Cancun for Australians. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, you can buy anything (anything!) dirt-cheap and the nightlife is insane. However, for world-class waves, you have to travel to the southern peninsula. A new swell is approaching; we haggle the many vendors for sport then flee the sandy beaches of Kuta for adventure. [Read more]

Talking About LSD On Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving of 1990, I came home from New York to find the house full of people, at least 35, all talking and playing cards.  It seemed like an almost wholesome experience, Norman Rockwellian, if Rockwell had grown up at the Hazel Park Raceway and knew how to hustle Clubyash. Children ran all over the place, a minimum of two turkeys were on the table to feed the massive hordes of family and friends, all served after the assembled watched the Lions lose yet another football game. 

After the meal, I found myself sitting at the head of the table next to Jerry Stein, one of my father’s oldest friends in Detroit and Uncle Jerry to my brothers and I.  The Old Man was quite fond of Jerry, even as he belittled his old hippie politics and lifestyle.  After all, he had shown Dad what a dresser was.  Aronchick, however, was always proud that he attended all three of Uncle Jerry’s weddings including the Jewish/Buddhist affair held in the Detroit Institute of Arts on Woodward Avenue. [Read more]

Book Review: Classic Electrics - A Visual History of Great Guitars

We’re nearing Holiday shopping time again and I’ve come across a perfect stocking stuffer gift for your favorite little rocker. Jawbone Press brings you Walter Carter’s Classic Electrics – A Visual History of Great Guitars and it’s sure to please the gear-head axe-grinder in your life …or perhaps that’s you!

From Bruce Springsteen’s Telecaster to Brian May’s signature Guild and from Eddie Cochran’s Gretsch 6120 to Strawberry Alarm Clock’s custom-made green skateboard cutout Mosrite (yeah, you have to see it to believe it!), Classic Electrics is pure eye-candy for electric guitar geeks. There are over 350 guitars represented in the book and they all have brilliant photos and informative text, and some with period brochure reproductions and promotional shots. Perfect coffee table fodder and rock conversation starter. [Read more]

A Brief History of Snarky

I thought I learned about arrogance from the Old Man.

“Your father admired your arrogance,” Jerry Stein said during his eulogy for my father. I sat back and nodded, filled with self satisfaction.

The Old Man was absolutely contemptuous of the surroundings and people in Bloomfield Hills. At the neighborhood New Years Day party, the main focal point was the College Bowl games, specifically the Michigan game. People milled around, screaming and second guessing Bo Schembechler’s game calls. I found Aron sitting by himself stroking his chin. I was familiar with that look; Dad was looking into these people, sizing them up. It was a look that scared the hell out of everybody who saw it. [Read more]

Talking to the Fed Ex Guy - A Dispatch From Detroit

Last Tuesday, I got a chance to catch up with my buddy Jimmy Fallon at our local bar.  He’s been finishing up his film commitments before he begins working on the precursor podcasts to the Late Show with Jimmy Fallon.  I found it touching to hear someone else wax poetic, other than the Old Man, about Detroit, where he and Drew Barrymore were filming on location a couple of weeks back. “Someone talked me into riding a bike through the downtown section of the city of Detroit,” Jimmy said.  “I liked the city; it seemed like it was sleeping but awake.  So here we are, riding in the middle of the street and this car pulls up, looking for directions.  They recognized me and we got to talking.  ‘What are you doing in on a mountain bike in the neighborhood at 3am?’ they asked.” [Read more]

The End of the 40 Year Old Bartender

The panic is just beginning to set in. It seems no one knows what is coming next, the paranoia over bank closings, unemployment and the possibility of unrelenting inflation has fallen squarely from the skyline to the streets of Manhattan. The first segment of the economy to take the hit is the service industry.

And taken the hit I have. Now over two weeks into my job search and there appears to be almost nothing available in the way of shifts in New York City. My thoughts turned to timing. Perhaps I was missing out on certain gigs that would be right for me because I was getting there after the interviewer had seen 40-50 people. It was all about trying to put the odds in my favor as I had seen just how many people were looking for work. I ran into that cluster f*** last Tuesday when a friend called me to say a bar on East 36th Street was looking for a barman. The interviews were scheduled to begin at 2pm. I was there at 2:05 only to find a 1,000 sq. ft. room filled with nearly 60 perspective applicants, all in the 24-28 age range. I have an excellent resume but I was stunningly intimidated by the turn out; not only were there all those people in the room but I was the oldest one there. I filled out the application and left my resume with the manager on duty. [Read more]

Post Urban Culture

Cell phones are lovely things when they keep you in contact with the proper people. Bill collectors, politicians looking to get elected and the occasionally crazy family member who wonders if now would be a good time to talk about some arcane piece of family fiction I don’t care about are the problems with being connected to the rest of the world on a constant basis. Yesterday, in an attempt to disconnect from everyone else in a world that is quickly slipping into anarchy, I left my phone at home for several hours. Of course, I missed a call that I wanted to take, in this case, Tomas, my former bartending partner who moved to New Orleans with his wife and daughters after she received an excellent job offer. “I’m walking on the street drinking a beer I got to go from a bar,” Tomas teased. “You can’t do that in NYC. Call me brother; it will be great to catch up.” I was kicking myself for not having my phone with me the one time in the past week I actually wanted to answer it.

Our game of phone tag ended a few days later. “Not only will she be working at an excellent salary in her field (psychology) but we’re near her family so it cuts down on the cost of babysitters,” he joked. After an hour or so of shooting the shit, I asked him how it was living back in the suburbs we both came from after being in the city for so long. “It’s peaceful. I’m working an adult joint and I don’t have to contend with kids asking for Long Island Ice Teas at 2 in the morning.” [Read more]