The Face of Springfield

Proving that lightning can strike twice is a daunting task.  Somehow though, I've managed to accomplish just that with the release of my last music video (I'm from) Western Mass.  I've also discovered that establishing oneself as a celebrated regional icon and hip hop personality requires a specialized blend of chutzpah combined with a singular sense of purpose topped with a bit of good ol' fashioned razzle dazzle.  At this point I think it's obvious that I am not only proud of my Western Massachusetts heritage but am willing to stick my neck out at the risk of great personal exposure to proclaim my love for the 413.  As one of the last true American Outlaws, I'm not willing to put it all on the line for just any cause.  But when the Greater Springfield Convention and Visitors Bureau contacted me about producing another music video to help bring some tourist dollas into the Springfield area, how could I say no to the city that made me what I am today?

Sometimes, a dream is bigger than the dreamer.  And in this case, the dream is all about food and drink.  And limos.  And...strippers.  So when the bureau tasked me with helping them draw "millenials" (that means people between the ages of 21-30) to Springfield's finest eating and drinking establishments, I was relieved that the city was smart enough to call in an expert like myself.  When it comes to food and drink- I only roll with the finest cuisine and the most exquisite libations.

 Once again, I called up the best lens man in the business- Trevor Holden.

And we hired the best limousine Springfield had to offer- Absolute Luxury.

Then we filled that limousine with a bunch of hot chicks and a LOT of champagne!  And the rest as they say...is history.

We wrapped the shoot after some hardcore partying at Plan B where DJ Suspence kicked out the jams.  Last thing I remember is kickin' it at the bar next to some shorties at the Mardi Gras.  I can't remember what happened after that...

But when we had finished editing the video, it was clear that we had changed the advertising/tourism game forever.  What we'd created was not so much an advertisement as a calling to all the young and young at heart.  A demand to drop whatever they might be doing and get to Springfield immediately because,  "Good times happen in Springfield".

I'm flattered to be the new face of tourism for the city of Springfield.  I think the city needs a guy like me.  A guy that you can all point your fingers at and say, "That's the good time party guy.  That's the guy who will double down on Schnitzel at the Student Prince then wash it down with a half dozen dirty martinis at Max's Tavern.  That's the guy who- even though he's wanted by the FBI- will risk his very freedom to make sure the world knows about the culinary delights that await just off of I-91 only moments north of the Connecticut state line."

Thank you for this honor Springfield.  I humbly accept.  And while I've yet to receive the key to the city from the Mayor or a statue dedicated to me in front of Symphony Hall- I'm claiming the title.  I am the undisputed ruler of the 413.  I am...the face of Springfield.  To celebrate this fact (and the release of aforementioned video)- we're going to party.

The video drops on April 12th.  We'll be rocking a little cocktail party at the Delaney House in Holyoke from 5:30-7pm where I'll present the video, press the flesh and ham it up for the cameras per usual.  There will be booze and food a plenty.  After that, I'll be jumping in the limo and heading up to Northampton to Bishop's Lounge to rock the mic at 10pm.  You're cordially invited to both events.  Bring your A-game.  I'll bring the dope beats...

The Adoration of the Charcuterie (Part I)

I don't know about the rest of you but there's nothing quite like the rush of diving head first into a nice board full of charcuterie.  A well-marbled slice of the soppressata- only slightly greasy to the touch sits next to a thinly sliced piece of imported prosciutto.  You choose the prosciutto.  Gently, you lift the labia-like fold of cured ham to your mouth and savor it's velvety mouthfeel before swallowing.  Truly, a divine Charcuterie experience can be a life changing event.

Technically speaking, Charcuterie is the branch of cooking devoted to prepared meat products, such as bacon, ham, sausage, terrines, galantines, pates and confit, primarily from pork.  So the above photo is actually a modern day adaptation (or bastardization depending on your level of purism) of a true Charcuterie platter.

Ah...that's better.  Note the lack of extraneous cheeses, breads, crackers or olives directly on the Charcuterie board.  This is true Charcuterie in it's most raw, emotional and natural form.  Cured meats served on a rustic, wooden board.  One might imagine a Sicilian farmer in 1890 returning from a day amongst the olive groves.  His wife lights a candle and pours her husband a glass of home made red wine.  Next, she presents him with Charcuterie.  He looks up from the Charcuterie, takes her hand and smiles lovingly.  It can be a very romantic thing...that is to say...Charcuterie.

The earliest historical reports of Charcuterie's existence date back to the first century AD when the import of salted meat from Gaul found it's way throughout Eurasia.  It may have even been regulated by the Romans who wrote laws regulating the proper production of pork joints.  It's been rumored that Charcuterie was served to Jesus and his apostles at the last supper although it's curious that as a proud Italian, DaVinci would have chosen to omit any visual reference to a Charcuterie platter in his famous fresco of said event.

See?  No Charcuterie...

In regards to the proper amounts and structure of a Charcuterie platter- the line between good and poor taste remains blurred.  The "bigger is better" outlook seldom pays real dividends for a novice Charcuterist who rams his fists into mounds of chemically-colored pepperoni from Wal-Mart.  The real joy in experiencing a true Charcuterie is the individual time spent with each cured meat.  Certainly, one could choke down a mountain of B-grade Capicola, Bresaola and Speck without ever having had a truly singular Charcuterie experience.  When it comes to Charcuterie, quality reigns supreme and the focus of a truly Artisan Charcuterie chef can help to realize a story of sorts told not with words...but with meat.

Like any craft, the creation of Charcuterie is an art form in and of itself.  Despite its seemingly crude rudimentary elements, the construction of fine charcuterie tells the story of a metamorphosis.  As a pupae encases itself in a silken cocoon so it may emerge a lovely monarch; gristle and meat scraps are encased in a rinsed intestine and left to ferment and cure.  The process is a labor-intensive one.  Furthermore, precise temperature and humidity requirements are apt to render the amateur Charcuterist useless in producing a high quality cured meat product.  However when executed correctly, the resulting product can be a work of art en par with the finest of Tiffany Lamps or Faberge Eggs.

At this point in our musings on Charctuerie, we may find it prudent to make brief mention of the recent upswing in the Global Charcuterie Market or as I have deemed it; The Great 21st Century Salumi Boom.  With global demand for Charcuterie on the rise and wide spread vegetarianism on the wane, it seems that the fragile balance of our cured meat ecosystem or "cuemeatcosystem" is in danger of being upset.  Imagine the panic should Chorizo become a scarce commodity.  Or think of the terror caused by the threat of a low yield Mortadella crop.  In many professionals' opinions, there could be drastic consequences suffered by future generations should we fail to properly conserve and secure our Charcuterie interests in the Middle East and beyond. 

But for the purposes of our discussions on Charctuerie in this series, let us focus on the positive roles that cured meats play in all our lives.  Because man cannot live on bread alone.  There must be bread...and Charcuterie.

#gottablogmore

Alright yo-

Let's face it.  I'm lazy sometimes.  And unmotivated.  And unorganized.  I also have some bad traits that I won't bore you with.  But really these aforementioned are the traits responsible for the fact that my last blog entry was many months ago and was intended to be part one of a recap of the shooting of the infamous "(I'm From) Western Mass" video.  For those of you hanging on the edge of your seats wondering about the second day of shooting that vid- it was awesome.  I mean- goofing around in Northampton with Steven Wright is bound to be a pretty good time in and of itself.  But couple it with an afternoon excursion to the Big E and it falls into my list of "top 10 great days".  Moving on though...

The shows I performed with DJ Hot Mess throughout November and leading up to the New Year's Eve show at the Hu Ke Lau were all great.  Based on the success of the two "Western Mass" videos, I was blessed with an overnight legion of fans many of whom represented at the shows by raging in the front row and sang EVERY word to EVERY song.  There's not much better in life than to put yourself forth creatively and have it resonate with complete strangers to the point where they take an evening out of their lives to attend a performance.  I have to say- I love meeting fans.  And I love it when people ask to have their picture taken with me.  It's a wicked trip.

Anyway- thanks to the fans and SUPER fans thus far.  You know who you are...

One of the questions I'm asked a lot is, "Are you really a Doctor?".  The answer is- sort of.  If having a license to practice medicine makes one a Doctor, then at the moment- no, I'm not a Doctor in the truest sense of the word.  But I was actually a practicing physician before the "incident" in Portland which led to the revocation of my license.  Many of you have asked me for medical advice and for prescriptions.  Those of you who have asked me for prescriptions via Facebook and email need to understand that these traceable social media platforms are presently not a viable forum for me to commit my services to you.  I'm like the fucking A-Team.  If you can find me, maybe I can help you.  So while I am always happy to dispense advice, for the love of God, please stop asking me for weed over the internet.

That's really the only thing I had to get off of my chest.  Oh- wait.  There's one more thing...  No, I will not show up at your cousin's birthday party or office Christmas party and put on a show for free beer.  Thanks for the offer though.  And it would be nice if you'd return my emails seeing as how I was gracious enough to let you down gently.  Another thing we all need to get straight if this relationship is going to grow and prosper- if you wanna book the Doctor, you best have the cash.

Anyway- you want to know what I've been up to lately.  I've been in the studio all winter working on new tracks.  I have six new original tunes and one cover ALMOST finished.  It's been a slower process as I'm really working to refine each track.  I've got a show at Arch. St. tavern in Hartford on March 9th but I don't think I'll have them ready by then.  Most likely for the Bishop's show in Northampton on April 13.  Which new tracks are my favorite?  Thanks for asking.  So far, it's a toss up between, "Fine Bitches" and "Fuck Me Pumps".  At any rate, you can see that thematically- speaking, I've been staying the course and writing about what I know.

Another big chunk of my winter has been spent working on a new "Western Mass" themed music video that has been commissioned by the Greater Springfield Convention and Visitor's Bureau.  This video will be used by the GSCVB to promote restaurants and nightlife around the greater Springfield area.  We are shooting our footage for the video TODAY!  I've somehow managed to secure a limousine and a posse of super hot chicks to ride around with me to help show the world what an amazing place Springfield, MA is to party in.  Pretty excited about this for obvious reasons.

Speaking of which- the limo just pulled up so I gotta jet.  Again, I'll try to be in touch more frequently.  But it's hard when you're as busy as I am with a thriving underground medical practice and hip hop career to deal with.  So...no promises.  Until next time know that I'm thinking of you.  Keep it green and stay in touch on the Facebook. 

(I'm from) Western Mass: shooting the video- day 1

What up y'all!  Sorry for the lapse in blogging.  Suffice it to say, my summer on Block Island led me astray from most worldly duties.  Man!  That is a great place to hide out for a summer.  I HIGHLY recommend!

So now I'm back and I've just released the follow up to the "413" music video.  All in all, I couldn't be happier with the way "(I'm from) Western Mass" came out.  We had a great time putting it together and I think we put to rest the controversy surrounding the fact that we didn't venture far enough away from the greater Springfield area in the first video.

We shot "(I'm from) Western Mass" over the course of three days.  Rhode Island-based videographer Trevor Holden was behind the lens once again for the first two consecutive days of filming which began on Wednesday September 26th.   The forecast looked iffy so we were a bit concerned as we stopped off at my friend Dave's house to pick up the General Lee.

Dave and I have been friends since I was 13 years old.  A lifelong Dukes of Hazzard fan, he bought the 69' Dodge Charger you see in the video in 1987.  With a little TLC, the car was up and running. At the time it was painted a deep maroon and was our passport to ditch many a boring day at Agawam High School and drive to Lake Mark or Misquamicut.  I haven't been in the car since the early 90's so when I first sat in the car after so many years, my olfactories triggered an amazing sense-memory experience.  Trippy man.

After filming the opening sequence where the car pulls out of the garage, we bee lined it for Stockbridge.  Luckily, the weather held out and we got the very nice footage you see around town.  I spotted an older couple standing underneath a tree.  As the gentleman stood waiting to have his picture taken, he bent down picked up a hand full of leaves and tossed them in the air as his wife snapped away with the camera.  I asked if he minded if I stole his idea.  Thus the "I don't even care cuz' it's the Berkshires" shot.

We banged out Tanglewood, Kripalu Yoga, the Norman Rockwell Museum, the Red Lion and Alice's Restaurant pretty quickly.  Back down through Beckett to get Jacob's Pillow and we were off to the Channel 22 to shoot a cameo with the infamous Sy Becker.

Sy was as warm and gracious as you could imagine.  Talk about a W. Mass icon.  When I was a kid, you didn't go see a movie unless Sy said it was ok.  His famous tagline, "I'm Sy Becker and this is another llllllllllllllllllllllllllooooook at the movies!" is up there with Bob Barker's "Please help control the pet population.  Have your pets spayed or neutered" in the pantheon of on-air sign offs.  Got a great cameo with Sy giving us his best.  Unfortunately TV 22's parent company didn't think the idea was so great and in the end we weren't allowed to include it in the video much to our (and Sy's) disappointment.  But we pressed on...

The Big E parade was next.  We pulled in and met up with DJ Hot Mess who was ready to take the wheel.  As we pulled on to the parade route I was amazed at how many people were shouting to me.  "Hey!  We LOVE your video!" or "Hey!  413!" or "Hey!  You're the 413 guy!".  When someone would yell out "Dr. Westchesterson", I made sure to throw them some extra love for knowing my name.  Couldn't believe it when Trevor showed me the footage.  Especially cool was the fact that he was in perfect position as we passed the Army reserve members who saluted us as we rolled by.  Love that shot.  At the end of the parade a guy walked up in a blue, crushed velvet sports jacket and sporting a pipe.  He introduced himself as Eric.  He had come to represent.  My first super-fan.  Obviously he made it into the video.

After stopping by to chat with Dave Madsen and Shannon Hegy (meow!) at the TV 40 news tent, we made our way to the Big Mamou for some major Cajun food.  I'd been in touch with Chef Wayne a couple of weeks earlier to ask if it was ok to include his restaurant in the video.  Apparently he had no clue about the "413" video and it seemed his only concern was that I wasn't trying to hustle him into buying advertising.  After I explained my mission and emailed him a link to "413", he said it was cool to shoot there.  When I told him I wanted him to be in the video his response was, "I'll be there".  I tried to reach Wayne a few times leading up to the video but couldn't get in touch.  When we showed up, the staff couldn't have cared less about what we were doing- which is a good thing.

Unfortunately I forgot that it's BYOB at the Big Mamou so I walked up the block to the nearest package store to grab a bottle of cheap wine.  Upon emerging unscathed from the underpass near the Hippodrome I ran smack into Teresa, owner of Teresa's Soul Food Kitchen standing outside of her joint.  Teresa made her first appearance in the "413" video after a chance encounter.  Awkwardness ensued...

"Hey Dr. what are you doin' round' here?!"
"Oh hey Teresa!  What's up girl?  I'm grabbin' a bottle of wine.  Having dinner at Wayne's place."
"Oh yeah?  You puttin' him in one of your videos?"
"Uh...yeah.  That's what we're doing."
"When you gonna come back and put me in a video?"
"Well- you were in the first one, remember?"
"Yeah- but that was only for a second.  Where's the love?"

What could I do?  I promised to come back and do something else at Teresa's Soul Food Kitchen.  So I guess as a man of my word, at some point- the general public can expect something from the Dr. involving Teresa's restaurant.  Not sure when...but a promise is a promise.

When I got back to the Big Mamou, I called Wayne to see if he was coming down.  After a couple of rings he picked up.

"Hello?"
"Hey Wayne.  It's Dr. Westchesterson."
"Who?"
"The guy who's been talking to you about shooting a music video at your place."
- momentary silence-
"Oh yeah!  Hey what's up man?"
"Not much, we're here now and I'm wondering if you're planning on coming down."
"Aw shit man, I'm out gettin' my mack on."
"OK- so...you're not coming down?"
"Naw man- like I said, I'm out."
"OK- is it still cool if we shoot here?"
"Yeah man, that's cool."

Luckily, Chef Wayne bottles his own hot sauce the label for which has his picture on it.  So Wayne made the video after all.

After a fabulous meal we went back to the safe house and crashed.   Day two of shooting was only 12 hours away...

An Old-School Beach Party

Scotch Beach is where the locals hang out.  When we arrive, a massive bonfire made from wooden pallets boosted from the ferry dock throws flames fifteen feet into the air.  Big, lifted F-250's and tricked out Jeeps with diamond plate panels and winches bolted to the bumpers are haphazardly parked in a semi-circle around the fire.  Van Halen's "Hot For Teacher" blasts from one of the truck's open windows.

The people are a motley, shaggy-looking crew decked out in de rigueur surf wear and flip flops.  They clutch Coronas, pass joints and play fetch with happy go lucky dogs all free from leashes.  A group of pretty, young waitresses fresh from work wear t-shirts that say, "Mohegan Cafe, The National Hotel and Finn's Seafood". They smoke cigarettes while huddled around a keg half buried in the sand.  The buzz of a dirt bike engine rips over the din as a scraggly-looking guy in dirty jeans, no shirt and a leather cap tears off down the beach into the darkness.  Seconds later, he turns the bike around and guns it towards a small ramp made of packed sand and a piece of washed up plywood.  He hits the jump at full speed and clears a seven foot sea kayak set lengthwise.  The party goers erupt in a chorus of, "Whoohoos!" before chanting, "Josie! Josie! Josie!".

I turn to Boomer who has just come back from the keg with fresh beers. "So I take it his name is Josie".

"Ha!  Yeah!  That dude's crazy.  He's the moped mechanic at the shop I run.  He basically lives on Budweiser and cigarettes."

"So that's what you do?  You run a moped shop?"

"Yeah. Well...during the summer.", says Boomer.

"And what about the rest of the year?", I'm intrigued.

"I carry sticks around".

"You're a landscaper?", I ask confusedly.

"Nah man- I'm a caddy.  You know, like- Golf?"

"So let me get this straight.  During the summer you rent mopeds.  During the winter you're a golf caddy?  That's what you do?"

Boomer takes a gulp of beer, wipes the runoff from his chin then shrugs, "Beat's workin'..."

Teddy, the lighthouse keeper, approaches with a small group of friends.  "Boomer- I keep trying to tell these guys that the Doc here is that rapper everyone's been talking about but no one believes me."

"Yeah- this is the guy", reassures Boomer.

"This guy?!", pipes up a long-haired kid wearing a Pabst t-shirt.  "He looks like a history professor or some shit!".  The group erupts in laughter.  "Yeah- if this guy's a rapper then I'm Kelly Slater", mocks a tatted up kid in a Rip Curl hoodie.  More laughter...

Boomer and I exchange looks.  My gaze turns steely.  Boomer gives me a slight nod before turning back to the group.  "Well if you monkeys want a show- you came to the right place".

I stand up and brush the sand from my amazing brown polyester pants and sports jacket before adjusting my orange tie.  "Any of you Point Break rejects got an iPod adapter in your rig?"

"Yeah.  I do.", says Pabst boy.

I produce my iPhone from my pocket and cue up my groundbreaking track, "413".  "Put this on and crank your shit to eleven.  If you think you can handle that."

The kid in the Pabst t-shirt scoffs, takes my iPhone and obediently plugs it in.  Moments later the beat drops as I jump on the hood of his jeep as heads turn and a crowd gathers.  As the first verse kicks in, the entire beach party has surrounded the makeshift stage.  Heads bob up and down as I launch into the first verse...

"Yeah yeah I'm from the 413 off of 91 south of Chicopee
Across the river from the C-I-T-Y the city of Springfield I drop dope beats
With a signature flow that I call my own it rings true like a solid gold telephone
Dr. Westchesterson ringin' your bell, I'm doin' it and doin' it and doin' it well..."

It take the kids a minute to catch the chorus but once they do, the entire beach party has their hands in the air chanting, "413! 413! 413! 413!".

Per usual, I've just rocked another muthafuckin' party.  But that's what the Dr. does so you know...no big.

Lighthouses Rule

The moped coughs back through town and up past the Spring House Hotel.  The road winds down and around following the rocky shoreline.  It's absolutely beautiful out here.  A few minutes later, the beacon of the Southeast Lighthouse emerges from behind a rise in the hill like a Leviathan Cyclops.

"Whoah. That's cool".

"Pretty sweet eh?", replies Boomer.

We bump up the dirt driveway towards the brick structure which sits atop a high bluff overlooking the waters of Long Island and Block Island sounds.

A beat up, white delivery truck sits in the driveway of the lighthouse keeper's house.  Boomer parks the moped and we dismount.  As we approach the truck, a string bean of a guy with buggy eyes and some sort of weird afro pops out of the back of the truck like a spring.

"Hey Teddy!  What's good?", shout's Boomer as we approach.

"Boom Boom!  What's happenin' my man?", waves Teddy with an enormous smile.

I'm introduced.  "Teddy, this is the Dr.  He's gonna be over at Captain Nick's this summer."

"Hey!  Nice ta meetcha man!"  With both hands Teddy grabs my hand and pumps it up and down vigorously.  "I heard about you!  You're the guy with the videos right?  Love your stuff!"

"Thanks man- nice to meet you too.  This is some lighthouse you've got here".

"What?  This old thing?", Teddy waves his arm dismissively at the glorious landmark.  "Ha!  Yeah she's pretty cool I guess.  Wanna go inside?"

Boomer interrupts and winks, "Teddy- I was thinking we'd take a little hike up to the lantern room, if you catch my drift.  The Dr. here is a specialist in remedies of an...herbal nature".

"Ooooh!  Abso-friggin'-lootely!", exclaims Teddy- his eyes widening. He sweeps his hand dramatically towards the lighthouse's porch.  "Right this way gentlemen".

Moments later Teddy opens the creaky old door and we're blasted by a musty rush of air.  Words can not describe how cool this place is.  It looks like nobody has touched the place since it was built.  An old dressmaker's dummy sits in a corner amongst various other brick-a-brack and antiques.

Teddy begins the tour as we walk up flights of stairs. "She was built in 1874 in the Victorian style.  The 67 foot-tall light tower is connected to a two and a half story residence that is split into two halves.  Back in the day there were two lighthouse keepers who lived here with their families.  They'd work in twelve hour shifts.  Both sides of the residence are mirror images of each other.  The lighthouse itself was at one point closer to the bluffs. In 1993 they dragged it back 360 feet because the eroding bluffs threatened to send it tumbling into the ocean."

"How the hell do you move a lighthouse 360 feet?", I ask.  Teddy stops and turns to me...

"Very carefully..."

A few moments later we arrive at the final flight of old iron stairs that wind up along the cavernous wall of the tower towards the lantern room.

"Whatever you do- don't look down", warns Boomer.

"Yeah. Thanks", I smirk.  I should've listened to Boomer because looking down through the wrought iron staircase brings on Vertigo like you read about.  I white-knuckle the iron railing all the way up until...

We emerge into the soft green glow of the lantern room.  Surrounded by glass 258 feet above the ocean, the sun has begun to set on the other side of the island.  The clouds burst with pinks, purples, yellows and reds as a lone lobster boat bobs up and down in the distance.

"Holy fuckin' shit", is all I can manage.

"Pretty nice huh?", says Teddy.

For a couple of minutes we walk around the lens.  Looking out at the panorama. 

"Hey- is this a first order Fresnel lens with a focal plane?, I ask.

Teddy looks at Boomer impressed, "The Dr. knows his lighthouses".

I'm a little embarrassed, "Yeah- I'm kind of a lighthouse geek".

"Hey- that's cool man.  Me too.", answers Teddy.  "How do you think I got this gig?"

Boomer- getting a little bored with lighthouse talk interrupts.  "Hey Doc.  Ya know what's even cooler than being in the lantern room of a lighthouse?  Being really REALLY baked while you're in the lantern room of a lighthouse".

"Oh shit.  Right.  I almost forgot why we were here."  I reach into my jacket's breast pocket and produce my trusty pipe.  I crumble a little of the Nor-Cal Cheese in and pack it down with my thumb handing it to Teddy first.  "Bottom's up".

"Whoah.  This smells AMAZING!", Teddy laughs.

For the next half hour as the sun sets I chat with Boomer and Teddy- filling them in on my recent rise to fame as a regional superstar in Western Massachusetts.  Although I've just met these guys, I can tell that they're very nice.  Very genuine.  The conversation is lively and peppered with outbursts of stoned laughter.

Apparently, there's a beach party about to start on Scotch Beach.  Sort of a locals "start of the season" thing.  We bid the lantern room adieu and descend the treacherous staircases.  Leaving Boomer's moped behind we pile into Teddy's truck and drive off to begin the night's adventure...

Never Trust a Trustafarian...

I'm running down the dock with my suitcase clutched to my chest.  I'm also praying that the gun-toting trustafarian hasn't completely snapped and isn't aiming his AK at my shoulder blades.  I mean- can't a guy just attend a nice, normal, civilized dope deal anymore?

I've been on this island less than an hour at this point.  Why do I always end up in these situations?

The rattling of Boomer's moped approaches from behind with him yelling, "Whoah!  Doc!  Hold on! Where ya goin' man?"  He pulls up along side me as I continue to run- "Bro- where are you running to? Brian's cool- he just wanted to show you his gun collection".

I scream at Boomer, "Really?  That's all?  He was just showing me his gun collection?  What kind of sick fuck pulls out that kind of heat at a buy just to show it off?"

Boomer chuckles, "You actually kind of hurt his feelings running out of there like that.  You should go back and apologize".

"Apologize?  You want me to apologize to that nut-job?  And for the record, I fuckin' hate the Allman Brothers man!".  I stop running as Boomer cuts in front of me.

"Alright alright bro.  Easy does it man.  Look- I can see where Brian comes off a little weird but trust me- he's a good guy.", Boomer reasures me.

"Oh really?  If he's such a good guy then why did he just sell you twenty dollars worth of brown frown for a C-note?"

Boomer pulls out the little plastic pill bottle, unscrews the lid and sticks his beak in deep- sniffing.  "Nah.  This is good shit man!  Brian wouldn't do me like that!".

"Wait here.", I say to Boomer then duck into a nearby public restroom.  I go into one of the stalls, open my suitcase and break off a nugget of extremely pungent Northern California Cheese.  I return to Boomer and hand him the bud- his eyes grow wide as his mouth drops open.  Again, he lifts the ganja to his nose but this time when he sniffs, his head jerks back as though he's received an uppercut.

"WHOAH!  Now that is some REALLY good weed!"  Realizing he's been had, Boomer looks back at Brian's Daddy's yacht.  "That little motherfucker!  I'm gonna kick his dready little ass!"  Boomer makes a move to turn his moped around but before he can, I grab the front handbrake causing him to lurch forward, his chest hitting the handlebars.

"You sure you wanna confront Brian and his two friends over a lousy dime bag?  I mean- I'm guessing he's got those AK's for a reason.  Wouldn't you?"

Boomer considers this as his shoulders drop.  "Fuck.  That little bitch."

"Forget about it man.", I say.  "Let's go somewhere and smoke some of the Dr's special private reserve." I grab the helmet and hop on the back of Boomer's moped.  As we pull away down the dock, Boomer tosses the vial of Brian's dirt-weed into the harbor.