A Family Torn Apart by Pizza

‘Sally vs. Frank’

I have been serving as a jury member this last week, causing my life to somehow become legal in every way.
For example, Biceps tries to sneak a bite from my plate and I adamantly yell, ‘I object!’. Cowboy is currently awaiting trial for a misdemeanor-he bit my hand while I was petting him.

I just needed some time to cool off before the judgement.

All of that said, I found it only fitting to talk about some legal issues as they pertain to my touring lifestyle.

And as they pertain to pizza. Lovely, warm, cheesy pizza.

In New Haven, CT. there are two rivaling pizzeria’s:

Frank Pepe’s…(yes, that’s the most handsome man in the world-Biceps)…

…and Sally’s Apizza Restaurant.

With family ties involved, the story of the two pizzeria’s becomes very interesting.

Both restaurant’s are ancient and have lines of people waiting around the block before they open.

And both have a fantastic end product. Oh, this is making me so hungry just looking at it.

If you’ve never had a coal fired pizza….you have never lived.

Now, here’s the problem:

Frank’s nephew, Sal (Sally’s), split off from the family business and opened up his own pizzeria.

Sal then set up shop on Wooster Street.

Frank Pepe’s was already on Wooster Street several years before.

Tempers flare not only the Pepe family, but New Havenites, as well.

I say-stop the fighting-and try both pizzeria’s.

Do it because it’s the right thing to do.

Do it because you need to be impartial, leaving your prejudices at the door.

And do it because your tummy will thank you. Many times over will it thank you.

The world doesn’t have to be full of Sally’s vs. Frank’s. Let’s change this world to ‘Sally’s and Frank’s’.

Or at least Sally’s and Frank’s in the same day. Yum.

Almost Death, Almost a New Year.

The moodiness and the loneliness of a Connecticut fall day called to me from inside the bus. Once the parking brake was engaged, I hopped out, climbing past the railroad tracks ahead of me.
In doing so, I tripped and scuffed my very cool boots. I stopped for a moment to survey the landscape and to say, ‘dang it’ under my breath. And then ask God to forgive me for using such foul language.

The world was quiet and cold. My boot was marred and mad. I was sorry and hungry.
Elbow on hip and with my breath held, I lowered my camera lens and waited for the moment.

Dotting the elusive horizon, islands barely large enough to cradle vacation homes, stood alone and silent. I knew what they were thinking. I felt it too.
We were all alone, but together-wishing for a brighter sky, a happier waterfront, a greener surrounding, a day off from tour (that was mostly me…).

Suddenly, a buzzing surged through the rails, tickling my booted feet.
I wondered if there could there be earthquakes happening this far north. I asked the others as they spilled out of the bus behind me. They shrugged, then went back to texting and throwing rocks at each other.
Men.

But, these train tracks were not forgotten.
In fact, they were very much in use. I thankfully watched from a safe distance as a high speed train screamed past while I was in the middle of throwing rocks at Biceps. I was either extremely lucky or I had engaged a sixth sense I didn’t know I had. It’s like when cows lay down prior to a thunderstorm.
Or like when you buy another bottle of ketchup, already thinking you have a back-up at home, but buy it anyways because you are at the store and you’ll save a trip-only to discover that when you get home, you don’t have a back-up and are so thankful you bought the ketchup earlier.
Or something like that.

Peace, Love and Woodstock

The hippies are still there. According to the locals, they always have been.
As far back as the 1920’s, artist and musician types would secretly meet in the nearby forest, throw off their clothes and dance around a gigantic fire. Amongst other things. I submit that if they had left their clothes on, a fire would have been unnecessary, saving precious firewood. But, that’s just the practical side of me.

Just outside of Woodstock, the Bearsville Theater rests among the trees. A meandering stream flits by, whispering secrets of flower children, Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan.

However, the whispering stream might have been my imagination fueled by ancient pot that still lingers in the air. No one knows for sure. It’s a real bummer, man.

Two beautiful wooden staircases in the lobby caught my eye. I asked a runner (a person who takes you to the hotel, shopping, etc) if one of the staircases was the ‘up’ and one was the ‘down’. Then I laughed at my obvious wit. The runner, however, just stared blankly back at me.

As we waited to see if our runner would be the one with the breathalyzer installed in her car or the one with two dogs who would ride along ‘just for fun’ with us, I checked out the rest of the theater.
And said a little prayer for our safety.

We were eventually paired up with the ‘breathalyzer’ runner who turned out to be a very lovely girl. Although she had to tend to her breathalyzer every ten minutes during the drive. It was a bit unsettling…but at least we knew she was sober. Woodstock, thank you for showing us a very unique time like only you could.

Bloomin’ Bloomington, In

During the cold and burry winter, its often difficult to convince myself to leave the hotel room and play ‘tourist’. I find the trip out of doors was worth it as I peruse my new photos later that day.

We suited up for a brisk walk around Bloomington, In. Of course, this involved getting a cup of coffee first. Nothing can be done without coffee.

The town square was quaint and came complete with an old theater (still functioning), several coffee shops (thank God) and old bookstores.

Even though I spilled my coffee on my very cute homemade Sweater Mittens, I was very happy with my decision to leave the hotel room. The coffee washed out of my cute mittens, thankfully. There was a lesson learned-make dark colored mittens for coffee consumption.

Anywho, the town was preparing for Christmas with festive window displays, cinnamon latte’s and….

…twinkle lights.

Lots of lights. This town knows how to party. Too bad I’ll be sleeping when they light these suckers up. Maybe with another cup of coffee, I can stay up past my bedtime and watch the glory unfold…
Or maybe I need another cup of coffee just because. Either way, I am stimulating the Bloomington economy and there just isn’t anything wrong with that.