Monday, May 21, 2007

Rickey's Weekend Running Diary (Of Doom)

Happy Monday folks. Rickey’s back from a weekend Bat-Mizvah in Williamstown and would like to share some of it with you. Now Rickey’s already been there once (proceed here for a recap) but this time, things got even wilder. Generic prose is far too constraining to describe Rickey’s bizarre weekend in Massachusetts. So Rickey decided to keep a running diary of the whole damn thing and present it to you folks. Enjoy.

Friday, 9:12AM: Rickey wakes up from a restful night’s sleep, thanks the heavens that it’s his Friday off from work, and decides to call the bed and breakfast in Williamstown he’s booked a room at to inquire if they have an iron that Rickey can utilize to press his shirt. After being informed that due to a computer glitch, his room was given away and that he now has to spend the weekend at a motel, Rickey quietly excuses himself from Ms. Henderson’s presence, closes the door, and utters the phrase “Mass-holes.” (This is not the last time this phrase will be employed by Rickey over the course of the weekend).

Friday, 12:10PM: While driving northbound on I-87, Rickey hears Ms. Henderson curse loudly (an extremely rare occasion). Apparently she has left an article of clothing at the apartment. Rickey assures Ms. Henderson that there must be shopping centers along the way in Troy, NY that will prove useful. Oh how horrifically wrong Rickey is.

Friday, 1:33PM: The arrival at Troy. Jebus, Rickey had forgotten how awful this town was. Imagine Baltimore from “The Wire,” (starring shiftless white folks instead of disenfranchised African-Americans) and you’ve got a basic idea of what Rickey’s talking about. It’s pretty grim. And why are so many upstate NY towns named after cities in ancient Greece? Did gladiators land in upstate NY before anyone else discovered it?

Friday, 1:45PM: Now completely lost amidst this aging rust belt city of tenement housing and seedy bars, Rickey decides to ask a local for directions to the nearest mall. The poor guy helps Rickey out, surmises that Rickey isn’t a local, then gives Rickey the “dear god take me with you” look. Rickey thanks the good samaritan, then drives away before the situation deteriorates into something resembling the U.S. Embassy’s hasty evacuation from Saigon.

Friday, 2:30PM: The less said about the mall the better. It’s like Romero’s “Dawn of the Dead,” minus the sharp social commentary. What Ms. Henderson finds is just marginally better wearing a barrel with straps.

Friday, 4:00PM: Having arrived in Williamstown, MA and checked into the motel, Rickey brilliantly sidesteps a dinner amidst geriatric Jews by seeking out a nearby bar that is showing the Subway Series. Asking around for a bar carrying DirectTV proves interesting as the locals mutter something about a fire consuming the previous bar while gazing at Rickey distantly. Strange things are afoot in Williamstown, MA.

Friday, 7:18PM: Why won’t the local Indian restaurant put on the Mets game? This Bollywood stuff is creeping Rickey out.

Friday, 7:49PM: Success! “The Catcher’s Mound” pub in North Adams carries the Mets game. (We’d post a link to their website, but oddly enough, none exists). This bar is essentially the scariest environment imaginable: dark, thumping from unnecessarily loud music, and full of sullen BoSox fans wearing camouflage and drinking something horrifically bad known as Amber Boch. “Life’s been Good to Me” blasts over the stereo, despite the fact that for most of the population of North Adams, MA, it clearly hasn’t. Ms. Henderson sits next to Rickey nervously clutching her purse the whole time. Taking a break from being verbally abusive to his girlfriend, one BoSox fan leans over and asks Rickey when the Mets last won the World Series. Wow, just wow.

Friday, 10:25PM: The Mets win and the Hendersons bolt for the car. But not before rolling down the window to yell: “Mass-Hoooooooles!” as they speed away. This has now become Rickey’s favorite word in the English Lexicon.

Friday, 11:13PM: Sleep. (The Hendersons are tired from their long day).

Saturday, 9:00AM: The Bat-Mitzvah. For the record, Rickey is very thankful none of this was ever inflicted upon him when he was a wee lad. The bagels and lox are brought out and good times ensue.

Saturday, 1:12PM: With time to kill before the evening festivities, Rickey, Ms. Henderson, and her sister take a trip to the Mass Mocha to see some modern art. The museum’s central exhibit is a video of an eccentric portly fellow prancing around a huge empty theater shirtless with a German cross painted on his chest, doing the Nazi salute. And what sounds like “The Doors” is playing in the background while the guy’s mother looks on from the stage. Rickey’s strangely hypnotized by all this. When asked, Ms. Henderson refuses to allow this man to ordain their wedding. Drat.

Saturday, 6:00PM: While pre-gaming in the motel room with Red Bull vodkas for the evening’s Bat-Mitzvah party, Rickey quietly determines that this will be the best night of his adult life. Besides, the Mets are whomping on the Yanks yet again, what could possibly ruin the night?

Saturday, 9:10PM: We’ll tell you what could ruin the night: vodka tonics, awful red wine, and the sudden & inexplicable urge to dance (quite badly).

Saturday, 9:30PM: Apparently DJs don’t like it when people storm up to them and belligerently demand that “The Hustle” be played. Nonetheless, “The Hustle” is indeed played.

Saturday, 9:47PM: A unique combination of red wine, asparagus, and roast beef now covers 71% of the men’s room. Rickey quickly decides that since the bathroom of the Williams Faculty House now looks like an abattoir, it’s probably time to call it a night. But not before interpreting Ms. Henderson’s command of “clean it up” as “rinse out your mouth and fix your hair then we’ll go home.”

Saturday, 11:45PM: Darkness.

Sunday, 3:24AM: Oh god.

Sunday, 5:08AM: It hurts when Rickey blinks.

Sunday, 8:00AM: Surrounded by Mass-Holes at a local diner, Rickey munches on the worst corned beef hash known to mankind, hoping that the grease can make him feel somewhat human again.

Sunday, 11:00AM: Sitting at a send off breakfast, Rickey is informed for the umpteenth time that the elderly folks at the Bat-Mitzvah just loved Rickey. This is most likely because being old, they all called it a night well before Rickey unleashed hell in the Williams Faculty House bathroom. So yes, while the elderly dig Rickey, everyone else has most likely surmised that he's carrying the Ebola Virus.

Sunday 12:00PM: 70mph is a respectable speed for the Taconic Parkway, no? Apparently not for the police officer brimming with gravitas who promptly tickets Rickey and sends the Hendersons on their very un-merry way.

Sunday, 2:00PM: The clouds part, the sun comes out and things are looking up for Rickey once again …until Rickey pulls in to the apartment to see that (wait for it… wait for it…) …his car has been hit by someone while he left it parked at the apartment over the weekend. Fortunately it’s just a dent and the person was nice enough to leave their number. When asked by he’s so calm about the accident, Rickey thinks back to last week’s mishap, shakes his head and smiles.

Sunday, 4:10PM: Blessed time with the Halo 3 Beta brings Rickey’s eventful weekend to a merciful close.

Believe it or not, this running journal acutally omits a few embarassing details. Look for a forthcoming column from Ms. Henderson summarizing this past weekend, entitled “The Airing of Grievances.”

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Adam said...

Excellent post. I was waiting for Dom Deluise and Burt Reynolds to make an appearance, but like you said, some things were omitted!

Man... nothing dull at all.

Toasty Joe said...

Wow. Just, wow. Great stuff, Rickey.

Mike said...

Oh my. What a series of disasters. Even the parts not involving Troy.

Rickey Henderson said...

Thanks thanks... It just occured to Rickey that he's turning into the John McClaine of weird situations.

C. L. Hanson said...


I love the way it starts out looking like you're just going to mock the locals, but then it segues into a tale of your own drunken embarrassment. ;^)

I've a post of my own that ends in a similar way: Wedding in Brittany

Rickey Henderson said...

Yeah it wouldn't have been as much fun if Rickey spent the whole weekend taunting people without finding some way to make a complete jackass out of himself.

Rickey's good like that.

Otto Man said...

And why are so many upstate NY towns named after cities in ancient Greece?

Hey, I actually know the answer to this -- these towns were founded by Revolutionary War veterans, who were flush with the new "republican" spirit of the post-Rev era and hopped up on classical allusions to the republics of Rome and Greece. That's way you have towns with names like Syracuse, Ithaca, Homer, Rome, etc.

Here endeth the lesson.

Ms. Henderson's Sister said...

You forgot the part where the busted old hag hit on you and I, without thinking, put out the fire. Hahahahaha! We had some good times!
By the way Rickey, your dancing isn't that bad!

Rickey Henderson said...

Wow, Rickey had totally forgotten about the fire and that female land monster that was hitting on him.

DigitalRich said...

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