Monday, January 30, 2012

Brunch. A Gorilla Dunk Family Tradition.

Brunch (New Spot + Old Story!) Side Note: We have discovered the new spot, Old Town, amazing facility, food, décor and did I say, Ms Pac man? The following is an old story about my own, that's right folks, Mr. Charlie Paradies's first brunch incidentally with my sister. The pictures are from a great brunch this past Sunday. The story is well, a rough start. Special thanks to Noelle and JW for the Chantilly Lace both on spot and hook. What a gem, all ours. This huge back room is perfect for cocktails post food. I'm INTENT on breaking the Ms. Pac man record.
The problem with Brunch. BY CP. Brunch is played out. Brunch is cliché, it’s late, it's happened and continues to bulge so far after the fact. And not only that but there are a dozen underlying reasons why brunch, especially over and over again is not a good idea. I should've known this from the jump ball on brunch. The stories that spawned the next year legally, after just 1 brunch should have sent me running for the hills. Clearly it was something out of the gates I couldn't handle. Older, wiser, married and sweating adult life, it's nice to enjoy them on special and even random occassions but to quote T-Bone I was forcen it. Champagne and OJ to start the morning? What a concept. Throw in my affection to get dressed up like the Kentucky Derby to these mutha fuckers all through my 20's it all = a big part of the script. A defining part, often where and I mean JQ and I put on rousing displayers of grandness, styles, beat boxes, frees styles and of course crazy stories about coming up Lex-Vegas, so many good 1's. So many dance moves so much happiness. Just think your favorite people dressed up. Your top Sat morning activate and drink Champagne and OJ to re cap the previous night's shows and after parties. And it spread, and the family went tilt. Much love to JK, one of the first things Summer Crush did in her regime was to ban myself from wearing a robe to any of my usual brunch spots namely Ragtime. Since my earliest memory I always wanted to be retired. Golf cart for a car, gated community, somewhere sunny, just want to drive a golf cart, not play golf and drive around for foodstuff's. I got to do a freestyle tribute to brunch, with a happy beat. For happy people. Hard working people, here we go, just playing I'm really going to do it, freestyle write Bendict bite on the crab tip champagne sip and a tight mix rocking some jazz, spitting words that hiss brunch is bliss, DC I see you, from 14th and U , sick loft we miss her never diss her, just deserve to be happy. OK. Yes So even though Sunday funday has been going for so many years since the turn of the century, and it’s old, I’m old, we still holla back on occasion minus the robe. Although I should’ve stopped brunch after my inaugural experience back in 1997. I remember telling the crowd this story, the family at that 14 person table this at my 100th brunch, Grape & Grain traded the rob for a shirt, tie and pink cufflinks which I'm pretty sure were "light salmon." E. Village. I'm glad I never gave up. Momentous occassion in my career. Anyway funny it was great because it sure didn't start out that that way. BTW Dana was killing me Sunday walking to brunch with some Lines from what About Bob I'd forgot about involving, if you fake it you don't have it. She'd already Black Hawk downed a brother on bended knee,son! Boyz II Men, Philly, Roots, Ritalin, what was I saying? Oh right , brunch, maybe should've pulled the plug after first based on survival guides. But then again I'd never have so many astonishing moments which magically coincided with my always happiest time of the week. The world had come back around and brunch became where I found new business, dynamic side hustles and often dealt with the best and the sometimes worse things the characters assembled at 1 table were functioning through. And they were strong foundations, for dreamers. From NYC, Boston, LA, Chi town DC these were are stomping grounds, it became where most of my best stuff occurred. And I loved what we had. No one was famous, for the most part, and once you activated JQ, Pete Nice, Magic and JK, it was over. I never worked another day outside of work again. I love Boston but couldn't go back over Pleasentville. If I don't make it to Summerland I hope to live out my golf cart days here in Fox Hole DC next 2 Virginia like Red fucking Aurchback. I suggest any wanna be players out there reading to che=ck his book on business management. 1st brunch story a few lines in which I lost: It’s as if God was sending me a personal message about drinking first thing in the morning and what typically kind of pattern this creates. The characters there were many but let’s boil them, down to me, my sister and an older gentlemen / zilla we’ll call for security reasons, “happy.” And this was a Lex-Vegas production, a table of 10, all zilla’s from the high flying, Adidas tying hamlet known as Lexington MA, aka Astori. The crowds my sister and I found ourselves apart of varied wildly and often included the kids with the most free time and least parental supervision for reason that typically weren't good. I was a Junior in college, Happy was 20’s something, barely completing high school and skipping out on college he was back home adrift. But loveable, the type of person people wanted to help but always let you town but you loved him so much you’d never stop trying, or laughing and eventually as always crying.
So as we blazed through bottles of Champagne and tore through our spending “limit” this was by no means startling. This was what dysfunctional kids did. We know we were good anyway for at least another hour. Happy slipped me a yellow one, he took a purple one, it was normal. The 80’s kids that came into our lives in the early 90’s loved the pills. I remember I couldn’t believe that brunch included Champagne, before Charlie Paradise, I was floored. I’d been playing basketball in college, and was trying to do the right thing. However a semester abroad in Hawaii with Monster (childhood friend) and a summer internship in Chicago at the Board of Trade had re-kindled the flames of my zilla youth, being back in Boston drinking with the crazy crew clawed back that which was imperative to escape. The thing is, once you start to drink, it’s hard to stop, inter-day and even further out on the graph sport. So then came the day drinking, skip dinner, followed by the Phoinex (thanks Mr. Doran). By midnight it’s hard to stand and Mr. Happy was a wreck. And despite having no job or income he had a new car, I knew his therapist. When he pulled a bottle of pills out of his pocket, I noticed they were not his! Federal offense I warned him, and gave them back, I knew. Regardless, he was a zilla, it was a long day, my sister and I were tired. An hour later. We’d both fellen asleep and Happy was lost not worried however now far from our drop off back in Boston. So a car with a squiggly antenna had called the state police on Route 128 (?) all the way out by the city of Framingham. And when the police pulled us over, my heart sank. I woke up my sister in the back and tried to rally Happy for his field sobriety test. He settled and seemed confident. I noticed it was a state trooper and they were angry. Anyway Happy took one step in front of the other, and on the 10th was supposed to do a full 180 and repeat back to the jeep, and then presumably we were free. I denied all questions, and my sister, well I’m sure she never wanted to wake up again after that rude 1.
As Happy spun on one foot to come back and crush the 2nd half of this very important field test, not however before throwing his arms up in the air with the flair of a game show host. Once he fell, we were forcibly thrust out of the Jeep, my sister became hysterical, and while consoling her noticed everyone was leaving. The Cop’s, Happy, and then the tow truck with the Jeep! We were stranded. Miraculously I took off for the Jeep, hopped it and climbed towards the truck as it merged on a busy MA highway. He did stop; I apologized for my 1st sentence realizing this was our last chance to get out of here / home I was unarame and angry from the police procedure. THE TOW Truck accepted my apology. He took us to a pay phone and we called a cab, I left a crazy message to my ACE 1, 2 the Mizzle back in Vegas. And then the can came, I made the loyal yet unscrupulous call to head to the state barracks to bail out happy. A tough decision, my sister came out crying, again. Being the closest thing in my life, this activated all defense censors, agitated state. The state cop yelled in response to my question regarding the practice of passengers for drivers that were under arrest for supposedly skunk driving. It was my tone, it was such a fair question but then again these guys, at this point and in this situation didn’t really give a fuck about fair. But we could’ve been stranded with not a ton of upside. I knew they done us wrong, again. And never thought about, well you know, being in that type of situation in the first place. When he ordered me out, and I refused to leave until my question was answered it got ugly quick. "Could speak with a Sergeant?" This guy walked out from behind the secured heavy door. And then on second my sister and the cab driver walked in and watched as I was arrested and assaulted by the state cop who turned around and charged me with assault. It was a chilling reality check after a great starting but bad ending first brunch day.
Jail: My 1st time. How quickly things can change, now I was locked and my sister was hysterical, more than before. I was cuffed to a bench for basic enrollment into the jail cell overnight program. THEN! I responded to the first question, "name?" “Rodney King” I sensed a tiny genius as I was hit over the head with his Billy club aka the Alabama Lie Detector, it hurt. I went down, saw stars and felt all wise ass however clever evaporate. From there on in, I wanted no violence, just a good boy. And when happy finally saw me enter the jail he was ecstatic to see a familiar face. The officer with the midnight complexion who had just thrashed me joked of our impending strip search and how the night might very well get a ton worse. I then remembered Happy shit face’s little bottle of pills from some house and some other name. True story, I railed him to plug them inside his doorbell, this was for his own good. He buckled and washed them down wholly with his remaining slavia he was able to muster to moisture. 8 or 10 who knows , four? All I do now is that he started going crazy, Rainman, hot water burn baby! After that. They took his laces, and moved him to a bigger I’d guess more mental portion of the facility. He screamed back at me, “Tell them about your arm! Get a bigger cell, tell them about your lawnmower accident!” I fought a chuckle before being aware of that which was my current 3AM reality. Finally a couple hours later, Happy’s much maligned father showed up, posted bail and let his much older son, head back into the city with us much younger children. I was still wearing suspenders, braces for the savvy and felt like I might’ve had an amazing mug shot despite the fact they were clip ons. The sunrise spotted felt good. All until I realized I had to appear in court tomorrow morning. The complete Plutonic reversal of Sat morning was now, tomorrow, Mon, manic. And worse of all, I had to inform my own much maligned father. I remember the next morning before I called my dad, we went for a bite to eat, my sister AND HAPPy, and happy in pure zillariffic fashion jumped right back on the wagon, ordering a wicked tall Bud Light from Chili’s in Brighton / Alston down the street from Harvard U. 12:15PM Sun. I was disgusted, and ended up leaving him. Happy would sit there until 8PM that night. As I looked forward to my court appearance the next morning, and getting back to college conceding already to miss my 8AM poly Sci class w / Doc K. Dr. Keaton. Happy had run out of funds by the time we got the call from the bar, it was a $60 something tab! We were broke. So his dad came again, bailed em out. The next day I was informed of the charge against me, yup A & B on a "Statey guy." We fought it, and won, the trial came a full year after. We hired the best attorney whom hired a Private Detective and found the cab driver who witnessed the whole thing. He became our star witness. It didn’t matter though,. The testing cop never showed up and my case was thrown out. It was quite a night, and turned out to be a expensive experience. It was a fight that had to be fought, it’s a miracle I ever did 1 again. These are happy pictures belie the horrendous or auspicious beg.
I love 80's arcades. Mr. Welch and I were "happy" all day long. Donkey Kong W John Welch, Ms. Pacman with Dana D looking on? So sick that girl get's it. Much love to JK, Haley Andy and the FRI NIGHT CREW. I once had a Frogger machine at the Meridian, sky bar, will come back. My sister's quote of the brunch, talking to summer, "Jesus there is nothing more stressful than watching my brother play Ms. Pac Man." Hey I'm going for records. I'm nasty. Posting the real next week, here's my phone filming John PLay Donkey Kong! I loved the spu8nds, infectious, back to my roots, had to press play, I mean record. And here's the hot shit, it's not worth it, Eminem's dir. debut. sooo tight. Bring the strings for the drama of all drama

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