I’m really running behind on things this week, so there’s not much time in Beer Frame land. Tonight, I’m going to post an excerpt from my book, 99 Beers Off The Wall, because I’m still writing shit for this week’s show!
Enjoy the excerpt and I still have a few of these left, email me if you’d like information on how to buy one.
See you all around noon today!
Cheers,
Marty
Excerpt from “99 Beers Off The Wall:”
Tuesday
One isn’t the Onlyest Number
2:00 p.m. Amazing, there’s no hangover. The hangover fairy must’ve chosen to spare me and decided not to sprinkle my brain with headache powder and dry mouth dust. Then again, maybe I’m still drunk from last night.
NY1 weather (weather on the one’s) just reported that the temperature today will be a skin-blistering 97 degrees, with a heat index of 105. I have no idea what a heat index is, but I’ll throw caution to the wind and take their word for it. Here are some of the helpful hints they gave to be safe when you’re walking around in this kind of heat: 1. Wear light colored clothing—every stitch of clothing I own is black. 2. Don’t drink caffeine—I just drank two 16 ounce bottles of Diet Mountain Dew. 3. And the final hint for being safe in the heat is: don’t drink alcohol. I’m heading out the door to drink 13 beers in 13 bars today. Translation: I’m fucked as fucked can be.
2:30 p.m. It’s such a pot-boiling hot day today that as I pass a fruit stand on 5th Ave. I expect the peaches and plums to start exploding—pulp bursting through skin like raw eggs in a microwave oven. They don’t, but it’s only a matter of time Charlie, it’s only a matter of time. That wicked heat index is zooming in from the horizon and the humidity is making the air feel thicker than overcooked chocolate pudding.
I decide to surrender to the heat and take a cab to the first bar (the One and One) which is located at 1st Ave and 1st St. (I’m doing a special theme day on bars with the numeral one in the name. Since the Irish bar theme day went down in disaster, I thought I’d make it up with another theme day. I feel just like Merv Griffin, sans Arthur Treacher of course.) So I’m standing at the corner of 14th and 5th, index finger pointing up towards heaven and all its creatures, trying to hail a cab. I’m not having much luck finding one because everybody’s taking cabs today because of the heat. I’m standing on the corner with sweat pouring out of my frying skin for three minutes when some woman who looks like a cross between Dom Deluise and Carnie Wilson before she got her stomach stapled, walks up and puts her stubby little chubby finger in the air trying to hail a cab, right next to me. I couldn’t believe it, I mean that’s just not done. I’d been there for at least three minutes, I owned that corner. It’s the rules. So I turn to her and say, “What are you doing?” And she just gives me a look like I’m some sort of a nut job. Believe me, I know that look. So I say to her, “I’ve been here for three minutes this is my corner.” And again she shoots me the insane guy look. And now a cab pulls up and she starts to get in it, so I say, “That’s my cab.” She just shakes her head and climbs in with her massive girth jiggling like jelly in a dress all straining to get through the door. Unbelievable! I could feel the air conditioning streaming out of the cab. So she not only stole my cab, she snares one of the few cabs where the cabbie actually turns the A.C. on. “That was my cab,” I yell out as they lurch into traffic and speed away. And then, as if things aren’t bad enough, a car service/town car sees me yelling at the cab and pulls up. The tinted window rolls down and the Japanese driver is yelling, “Get in.”
“I’m going to the corner of 1st Ave. and 1st St.,” I tell him through the window. “How much?”
Without batting an eyelash this wicked son of a bitch spits out, “$20.00, get in.”
“What, 20 bucks, are you fucking nuts? I’m just going to the east side, not the airport,” I retort in a pained manner. My shirt is completely soaked with sweat by now, not that this Japanese scumbag on wheels cares. No this evil bastard doesn’t even pretend to care.
“Get in,” he says, his voice raising like he’s pissed.
“Fuck you, I’m not shelling out 20 bucks, it’s like a six dollar cab ride tops,” I say raising my voice and upping the ante.
“You want a ride, you pay,” He says raising my yell and taking it up to a scream.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I reply raising his scream to a full bore yell.
“Asshole,” he yells, calling his hand as he speeds away.
“You’re the asshole, you’re the asshole,” I scream about 10 times in a row even though he’s long gone. And now I get insane guy looks from every stinking person on the corner.
“He wanted to charge me 20 bucks,” I explain to the people staring at me on the corner. More insane guy looks are tossed my way as I realize the town car is long gone, so they must think I’m talking about some imaginary car service guy. My stomach sinks as I realize my reputation is completely shot on the corner of 14th and 5th for the moment, and quite likely for the entire day. One more corner in the big city where everybody and their cell phone jabbering brother thinks I’m a flipping nutjob. It just isn’t fair.
“I’m trying to do a service for this city by providing them with a new and refreshing guidebook and I’m looked at like I’m Charlie freaking Manson, wide eyed with a fresh swastika carved in my forehead. There’s no justice, no justice,” I mumble to myself as I start hoofing it to the One and One. The sweat pours out as the horrid corner of 14th and 5th shrinks in the distance over my shoulder. I make a mental note not to hail a cab from that corner anytime soon. They won’t have this journalist to kick around anymore. Goddammed rotten taxi thieves.
Saturday, June 27, 2009 at 12:48PM 
