jeff conlin - winter '03 archives

Well yes I did. Chalk another one up on the board, right next to Sly, Lennon, Marvin, and the Staples. The world's greatest known emotional protest songs now selling your favorite multinational products. I won't go into too much detail, someone already has.

(ouch - cont'd)
the neighborhood lives on... but it'll never be the same.

(ouch)
Kasima's got a recent post mentioning not taking risks, therefore not tasting failure nearly enough.

I think in my life (heh... originally I mistyped "lie"... was going to leave it, but then you'd just think it's a typo... but what a fun little typo) anyway... in my life, I think the latest trend has been (well, in addition to a lack of great risk-taking) that I haven't felt nearly enough pain.

Had a great family, great home, great close friends, things just always tend to work out great. It's only been the last year I think that I've really felt true, searing, soul-shaking pain. Mostly borne of lonliness and feelings of isloation whether due to family deaths, realtionship instability and subsequent events, or a perceived lack of direction. Either way, it's been a very-fucking-hurty year... but you can do two things with that... you can cry and whine and say, "IT HURTS" over and over... and that's warranted. But there has to be a part two. And part two might take a few times to get right. And I don't know what part two is, but dammit, I'm definitely ready for it.

Being the awful son I am, I was two days off on my mom's birthday. I feel terrible about that. Really, I feel terrible. While at their house today, we were looking over some pictures from my recently-departed grandparents' collection.

It's taken a while to start going through their stuff... but there were some amazing pictures in there. I'll try to scan some and get 'em up here soon. My uncle in black and white, high contrast, harshly sidelit while on stage playing his guitar in '75... sideburns ahoy, eyes closed... in his element. My grandparents at a New Years' party in the early 90s, rosy-cheeked, silly hats on, dressed to impress, arms around eachother, smiling like I've never seen them smile before. My grandfather as a strapping 26year old man, proudly cradling my mom in his arms. A wide-aperture narrow-depth shot of the train set complete with handmade bridges and mountains that sat in my grandparents' basement, waiting to enchant Andy and I on the 6 or so times a year we'd come to visit... off in the corner of the frame you can see my grandfathers thick-rimmed glasses sitting on a table. I have his old Nikon... it still has the +2.5 diopter viewfinder adapter in it. My favorite... my sideburned uncle siting at the piano, me in diapers in his lap... he's holding my tiny fingers and touching down a few keys with them, making a G chord.

I bought John dinner tonight 'round 1:45am. John's a homeless guy that hangs out in Adams Morgan. Cool guy... a step above most street hustlers, you can just see in in his eyes. I've talked to him briefly a few times, but felt a need to get to know him tonight. Skilled carpenter. Nationally-recognized and recorded dulcimer player... specializing in Appalachian folk music. Has, at separate times, had Heroin, Crack, and mainlined Cocaine addictions. Kicked 'em all himself. Has recently develped epillepsy after being jumped and severely kicked in the head one night by some drunk kids out after a wild night. He wouldn't accept dinner without some kind of service, so he happily loaded all of my gear into my car after my Toulouse gig. Dinner wasn't much... sausage pizza and a coke... but it was warm and had plenty of carbs.

In the background now, I'm copying some of Mike's songs recorded spontaneously in his basement on a cheap cassette recorder. Almost too perfect for this moment. We're setting out to turn these into a new EP soon... with a "revolutionary" approach to making the album. Or an easy, painless one. Either way, it should be great.

(not what they seem)
I feel like I'm watching reruns.

At least there was partying. I finally met Eric, of Intraduction fame (two links of separation via Kasima). I love this decade. You read someone's website and feel like you know 'em as a good friend, yet if you're lucky, you wind up meeting them once or twice. But it works well for screening potential mates. Too bad I don't know any girls who blog. Sounds like a late-night TV porno commercial. Anyway, Kasima is watching reruns with me... and Eric has been away in a town across an ocean that knows how to party. We tried, but DC is just too damn uptight.

I dropped a ridiculous amount of money on new music gear this weekend. Well, it beats turning to comfort food. (Hey, on that tangent, I'm down to 165. Not great, but a start.)

Impulse buys become warranted if you use them. In addition to my new Nord Electro which I love more than I could have imagined, I also picked up a KORG MicroKORG which is more or less a clonish reinterpretation of the famous Mini/MicroMOOGs from the 70s, only using DSP analog modelling.

Crazy abstract jazz/funk or electronic possibilities.

Did someone say possibilities? Well I cranked this out tonight using all my new toys in unison. One day I need to develop this stuff into real songs. Again, this could totally benefit from some good black female vocals.

Hey, on THAT tangent, what's with EVERYONE trying to sing like they're in a Pentacostal church? I watched American Idol for the first time last week, and good LORD these people are trying too damn hard to sound soulful. But I digress...

I hope you're having a happy, healthy week. Yeee

(screeeeeeeeeeeeeee...)
Progress. Fear. Wonderment.

Always move forward. Don't be 'that guy'. So you walked away from a gruesome car crash. Actually, it's always been aimed at the guardrail, so you had time to prepare. Sure, you're shaken, but not a scratch on ya. You didn't need that car anyway, it obviously sucked. No need to stand around and wait for the leaking gas to set off an explosion. You're ok. Start walking. Another ride will be along shortly. A better one, at that.

Yeah, it's late. But I'm not babbling.

So yesterday, the friggin' neighborhood snow crews dumped 8' of excess snow on the two parking spaces I shovelled my ass off for this weekend. Then today, I find they were nice enough to bucket-load that stuff and dump it elsewhere so I can park my car again. Only, my motorbike was buried under all of that stuff. They didn't screw it up too much, but it got tipped over. Plus, I pinched a nerve in my neck, and my skin is so dry, you can etch the word "dry" right on it... in blood... with a toothpick.

OK, I'm stealing this from Jon Stewart, but.... is it just me, or is the leader of every major country in the world right now a big dick?

In the midst of so much anguish and bullshit going on in this world, the universe never fails to assert its superiority. Whether or not we're alone, our attempts at entertainment totally pale in comparison.

NASA's SOHO (Solar and Heliospherical Observatory) spacecraft caught Comet NEAT passing right by the sun while a huge solar flare ejected. View the still, or even better, the MPEG video.

(bark at the moon)
I done sold my baby tonihght. Well, ok... it wasn't really my baby. I didn't even use it much. But it had so much soul.

The Wurlitzer 140B. The Volvo 240 Wagon of keyboard instruments. Built to withstand nuclear detonation, charming in a functional sort of way, reliable to the point of annoying... nothing really grabs you when you meet it, but after living with it for a while, you can't help but feel the soul.

Anyway, she's got a new home now, and I think she's gonna be awfully happy there. That's what matters.

Wow, I get way too sentimental about things.

Umm... nothing else really going on. But cool things are in the works. Or have I been saying that for the last month? Listening to Soup Dragons right now. Yeah, their one big hit. Yeah, there's a reason.

(time and distance)
In a funk, understandably. Amazing moments... crushing moments. I don't mean to babble on self-centerdly here. If it comes across that way, I apologize. Frankly, I've been mostly alone, surrounded by nothing but this shuttle science data and a constant CNN, C-SPAN, and NASA-TV feed for 10 hours a day since Saturday... I'm in desperate need of social interaction/decompression... but, well, obviously that's further away than ever. It's the perfect time for a festering, month-long awkward, painful breakup!

Anyway, Sitting in Payload Ops yesterday... on one monitor is the Freestar/MEIDEX feed, backing up to yet another copy (this one earmarked for headquarters or the Israelis... not sure which). On another monitor, launch footage and in-cabin video feed from the crew. On my laptop, I'm copying crew-science team audio chatter during the course of the experiments. On the main overhead monitors, Sean O'Keefe is at the main memorial service at JSC saying, "Their legacy lives on in the science data we have collected." I look down, and the tape in my hand is labelled, "Freestar/MEIDEX digital downlink - day 3 - master copy."

Late in the day Saturday, just before the Israeli science team was headed home, each of them pulled me aside at various times and said, "You do realize that the data you're in charge of is the pride of our country, and the lasting legacy of Ilan Ramon, right? We can't stress this enough. The future of our space program is in your hands this week."

I was e-mailed by reporters asking for insights on the feelings and events taking place within Goddard. I had so many stories I want to tell... of selfless people putting in 12 hour days and going way beyond thier job descriptions... of managers and supervisors openly vocalizing that the lowliest of their employees are now the ones doing the most important of work... of the Israeli scientist pulling out a hundreds (possibly thousands?) of years old piece of parchment with hand-scribed Aramaic whlie sitting in the POCC following the contingency plan. But I don't want my name attached to anything, and unnamed-source policies got in the way. A shame, too... frankly, the press coverage of all of this has fluctuated between blasphemous and only mildly upsetting.

And on a lighter note... I heard the all-time best hustle ever uttered down in Adams Morgan after a much-needed blues gig I played tonight at Toulouse. A downtrodden old guy with stained jacket and mismatched gloves is standing next to a gleaming new Mercedes ego-barge which has been parked there for most of the night. "Hey man, you...you got a dollar? I, uh... ran out of gas. I need to get home."

I gave him a cigarette. I don't really smoke, but cigarettes are good conversation starters with folks in general in the city... and if hustlers won't let me buy them food, they're usually content with a cigarette. They only get cash if they have a dog. I have a cat. Stretched out across my forearms. Sort of hard to type now.

Just spent the last 5 hours at Payload Operations Control Center at GSFC... that's always been on the "pluses" list of my job. Not so much any more.

In that center, teams of scientists and supoprt personnel have been in contact with the shuttle crew on and off for the last 2 weeks while in the process of collecting data, conducting experiments, and operating some impressive new earth observation technology (among others, they were testing new ways of determining ozone layer density, tracking effects of forest fires and deforestation).

During missions, a clock is always running with Mission Elapsed Time starting from liftoff. By the time I got into the POCC, The MET clock was frozen at 16d 03h 36m 51s... probably one of the most eerie things I've ever seen. Monitors across the room showed either CNN or NASA-TV... everyone was quiet, going about the mind-numbing task of making digital backups of every piece of data pulled off the downlink in the last 16 days, since all master copies taken onboard are probably never to be found.

Along with the Israeli astronaut, teams of Israeli scientists were working on Freestar and Midex missions. While helping them back up many hours with of video data from a high-resolution earth-observation camera in the payload bay, one of the projcet leads, an older Israeli gentleman with wild hair and deeply set dark eyes, turned to me then pointed at the screen, showing a greyscale overhead view of the Amazon surrounded by seemingly random numbers.

"This... this is their spirit. This is their sacrifice."

His lip quivered a bit... "Do you want any coffee? I need some coffee." I didn't really want any coffee... but I had some anyway.

War, terrorism, the world hates us, our president's agendas are fuzzy and the damn man has yet to learn to pronounce "nuclear" correctly... the manned spaceflight program is one of those little things that just make you feel like there's hope... that knocks you over with amazement at what mankind is capable of. This was made more symbolic with STS-107's payload specialist being Israeli... able to literally rise above terrestrial tensions and work with an international crew... and the fact that this was a science-heavy mission loaded with earth science experiements aimed for the betterment of the entire wolrd.

I don't want to see this goddamn video clip again.

There aren't any poems written like this anymore, be they written about our country or a ship.

(roadmap)
Good things brewing. After listening to some Fela Kuti lately, and catching Antibalas live last night... I gotta say I now see what's been missing in my music pursuits. There's a strong foundation of funk, and R'n'B, with accents of township, cuban, and god knows what else. Powerful but soft... funky, but dissonant. Takes a while to get a feel for it all.

Here's a hastily-thrown-together afrobeat jam from the Fantom. OK, I guess it's more dissonant soul than afrobeat. I dunno. It was late.

I still love soul and blues to death, but I'm anxious to step it up a bit. Good things going in that direction... got a new band in the formative stages... could make for a funky, funky summa. Also doing my own recording projects with other folks, and helping out other folks with their projects. Everyone wants to be on the road... and so do I. Who knows...

(let's get physical)

I got fat in the last couple of months. One of those things you never quite notice until one day you're in the shower and say, "DAMN!"

Not enough exercise, too much convenience food. Ugh. The turnaround has begun. I'll try to be all official and chart out the results here. For reference, the starting stats are pretty sad. 174.2lbs according to the bathroom scale.

Just tinkering around on the Fantom tonight. Somewhat of a success... somewhat of a failure. There aren't enough black girls with good voices and the ability to improvise around here (come home, Erika!)... this could turn into something. Maybe.

(raw materials)
Wool, denim, gunmetal grey wire frames, darjeeling in black ceramic. NPR webcast. Winter in DC.

There are more important things in the world, of course. But still... hooray for winter.

Vance and Kasima have a new mantra, and if ever there was an easily-embraceable guiding philosophy, it is this: "YAY! I failed! YAY!" Its palindromic structure and raw, brutal honesty give way to a multilayered, multifaceted reflection on unattained goals and unmet expectations, yet reinforce the futility of such things, and when expressed vocally with adequate display of facial reinforcement of celebration, warps into an absurd victory in mediocrity... make that an addictive absurd victory in mediocrity. What are the long-term effects of this bold yet sensitive affirmation? Time shall tell.

Say it with me once more... "YAY! I failed! YAY!"

I thank you, Vance and Kasima. But more importantly, the world thanks you. Thanks you... for failing. Yay indeed. Yay... indeed. Amen.

(ehh)
The high point of my weekend was having the guys at Subway forget to include my cookie in my order. Only because I actually went back and asked for the cookie a few hours later. They gave me three and apologized. Or maybe it was falling asleep to Samurai Jack with a warm cat on my face.

OK... that might be a stretch, I also got to see The Thumbs' final show, and recorded it for posterity. Opening for them was a bunch of Japanese kids from Minneapolis called "Sweet JAP". I had a weak battery, but managed to record one of their songs too.

Monday the 20th (they changed it without telling Mike), Mike Roy live in-studio* on WUTC at 8pm.
(* recorded in October)

Mike's coming home. Expect big things. I'm excited. Can you tell? No, really. Check out his album, and the way we more or less winged it, uh, I mean interpreted it live without Mike being in town, or any semblance of rehearsals 8 months later in front of an audience. That's some quality, if I do say so myself.

(two to the fizzive)
Yesterday was the first birthday I can think of that I didn't realize was there until a few hours into the day. Unheralded, unexciting... pretty unemotional. But maybe it's better that way.

Though today everyone I like at work surprised me and got me a cake. That was nice. This also marks the beginning of my 7th year with the same company. Hmm...

No sake and karaoke in NYC for me tonight as originally planned. Maybe I'll get to see the Tiny Ninja Theater, though.

Thought of the week : think before you speak... feel before you do... but for God's sake - speak what you feel, and do what you think is right... especially before you can't.

(air traffic)
I was out just driving around in the snow... something I like doing. I brought my picture camera (beaten but trusty Nikon 950) and my audio camera (MD recorder with an AudioTechnica AT822 stereo mic) with me because I wanted to capture that eerie silence that you get in the woods with a fresh blanket of snow insulating the world around you.

After finding a nice little field that led into some woods, I grabbed the gear and got out of the car, only to hear the exact opposite of what I was hoping for... but it was a good example of why you shouldn't expect anything and insead just be ready for good stuff regardless of the circumstances (I know, way cheesy...)

I couldn't see where they were gathered, what with the barbed wire fences and all. I'm guessing it was about 3/4 a mile away from me, in an area of gov't land shared by both NASA and the USDA. Perhaps with all the budget cutbacks, it's one of the many new approaches to flight that NASA is researching. Makes sense. You can hear one squadron departing from left to right... you can also hear snowflakes landing on the microphone. Pretty cool.

(spinach 'n' feta omlette)
I think I've told this story before, but today's snow reminded me of piloting a 15-passenger van filled with 9 drunk passengers through the quainter-than-quaint streets of Saratoga Springs, NY in the middle of the night while coming back from a party relating to the American Collegiate Comedy Consortium or some such nonsense with Inc.

We were somewhat lost, but it didn't matter so much... Grateful Dead's "Eyes of the World" was playing on the Skidmore campus radio station, and a local hippie who put us up for the weekend in his crazy house was my co-pilot. He was philosophizing a little, singing along with Jerry a little, and trying to give me directions all at the same time. I have no idea which of those three he was doing when he told me this, but he blurted out a gem of a phrase that's stuck with me ever since... "Always forward, never straight."

So anyway, a few somewhat tense months recently have built up to this incredibly tense last week, culminating in a minor meltdown. My healing process with things like that usually goes as follows... two days of self-pity and deep thought, then I'm off in a new direction.

My Philadelphian friends Matt and Becky trekked almost 3 hours out of their way after enjoing the surreal Mummer's Parade to come see my Railriders gig last night, then came back to my place to be silly. Sleep at 5am, wake at 11am to heavy snow. Screw with cat. Hearty gourmet diner breakfast in heavy snow. That cool feeling you get driving snowy desolate backroads while listening to slow, mournful bluegrass. A great way to spend a weekend, especially one marking a new chapter in life, a new year, and new birthday.

While self-pity mode is more or less over, life still feels weird... but that's just more impetus to keep moving forward.

(let's be frank - but not Schmank)

Eech, I feel like I've been kicked in the gut. Oh, and I just put away quite a good bit of Bombay (though that contributed nothing to the kicked-in-the-gut feeling). I honestly couldn't sleep to save my life, and got sick of trying. Got sick of trying. Heh. That's funny. To me. Oh, forget it.

Well, for a while tonight, I was creatively wrapped up in getting a long-time groove idea from my head to some ear-friendly format (here's a shorter version for the bandwidth impaired). Sort of funky... but with a definite whiteboy almost southern rock vibe. Either way, dig on that bass... this Fantom never fails to impress me. This will probably become fodder for the Westcott Brothers. They will rise again... just like rednecks keep saying the South will.

Here it comes... the second wave. I've already gone into detail some time in November about the second wave. But either way, WHEEEEeeeeee! The best part is the fact that I can still program HTML and update my Ears page while surfing the Bombay coast. Hell, I can even make a link to it. See the link? It's underlined in blue! Or purple if you've already been there. Wow... now it's getting stronger. But don't cry for me, Beltsville. I'm living in 2003 now... and why not start the year from close to rock bottom such that things can only get better? How cool is that? I recommend it to everyone. Wait... no, I don't. Yes, I'm being melodramatic.

If you're Matt, you're laughing. If you're Bob, you're concerned. Either way, I really do appreciate it. Don't worry... self-pity isn't really high on the current "active processes" list. CTRL-ALT-DELETE reveals a surprisingly sparse array of applications currently running here on my little island paradise. Nothin' like a little NT humor to make you look like a friggin' dork. Happy 2003, bitches- :)

Hehehe... it's 4:15, and the last little bit hit me. I feel like I'm on the Apple Turnover at King's Dominion, and giggling uncontrollably (geez, that whole link depresses me now that I actually read it... and if you grew up around DC, you know what I mean). Well, one of those is true. What am I talking about? This day willl live in infamy... geez... I've retained my HTML skillz this far... that saddens me more than anything else. Shaddap. G'night. (arem't I way cooler than the "afternoon DJ" on this station?)

Ugh.

(out with the old...)
Well, during the change of any year, people sit there and take stock of the direction their life is going... things they want to change... things they want to do in the coming year. The Post prints its annual overly-pretentious "list", the news networks run slideshows of everyone famous who has died in the last 365 days, almost always set to "Forever Young", or "Wind Beneath My Wings".

Well I've been doing that too what with New Years, my impending 25th birthday, and the implosion of all sorts of relationships and friendships in the last few weeks. The weird thing is that my list seems filled with "outs" but no real "ins". Maybe its better that way. I'm trying to streamline my schedule, my creative investments, my posessions. This year I'll have my car paid off and my credit card debt taken care of. Life's about to get a lot more portable. Maybe that means it's time for relocation? The more time I waste at work doing stupid shit like this, the likelier that will be.

(Cleaning Up, Friends, Nizzog)

Welcome to the new site. Things are largely the same, but I'm going to do a better job of organizing pictueres, video, and music, and actually use the other sections of the site for them.

It's been a very odd couple of weeks... but much of that has been covered on other sites Just strange to watch longtime friends all go nuts in the course of a week for no discernable reason.

Combine that with a somewhat depressing holiday season, and it's par-tay time. We threw it together with short notice, but it went pretty well, all things considered. The best part for me was tag-teaming with Q on the music... he'd mix and beatmatch, while I added elements from the synth on his 3rd input...

(codeine)
Well, for those of you hoping to score some free merchandise, you're outta luck. Everything went off without a hitch. Anesthesia was the IV-type, and they didn't completely put me under. Had the same effect on me that (surprise surprise!) good gin does. I just started babbling on like an idiot to the (very cute) medical staff. No idea what I told them, but judging by their comments as they were wheeling me to the recovery room, it was rather personal and somewhat emotional.

Ah well... nothing wrong with being Irish, dammit.

If you need medical work done and just happen to be in central Maryland, do yourself a favor and get it done at the Anne Arundel Medical Center campus. It appears to be run by the Starbucks corp (but, in a good way... wood trim and track lighting... stuff like that.

Just woke up from a double-codeine-induced early sleep. Listening to music now... Thelonious Monk... it seems to be playing double-time, even though the pitch is unchanged. Sadly, the codeine isn't helping decode all the abstract goodness that makes up Monk's voicings. Need heroin for that... or a stroke of genius. Oh well.

Oh, and it's official as of today. I hate our government. I hate the Bush administration. I hate the Republican party. OK, so I know I'm late to this shin-dig, but let's just say I try giving everyone a chance before I judge them. Well... hello 2001... I'm Jeff. Nice to meet you. We have a lot of catching up to do.

(living will)
Surgery tomorrow. Well, today. Well, 5 hours. Heh.

Can't sleep. Lots on my mind. One thing I did tackle this weekend was trying to improve my complete lack of skills as a jazz pianist. Sure, I can hang all day long on blues and funk organ... but the main component of jazz playing is left-hand proficiency. My left hand sits there 90% of the time, doing nothing. Super odd because I am left handed. Anyway... I'm no Bill Evans or anything, but after a few hours tinkering around tonight, I think I'm off to a good start. I want to thank Vince Guaraldi wherever he may be (yes, best known for his Charlie Brown Special compositions)... his laid-back simple style was the best schoolbook I could find, as the Herbie Hancocks and Chick Coreas of the world blow my mind, and frustrate the hell out of me during deconstruction.

While talking to the prep team at the hospital on Friday, they started asking me about my next of kin, if I had a living will... etc. Kind of freaky. I mean, it's a simple procedure, but anesthesia always has that .001% chance of going wrong.

So if things don't work out... umm... if you want some of my shit, talk to my parents and make a case for why you think you should have it. They get first dibs. The Geeper goes to Joey Thorne, that's a given. Kasima can have my CD collection and a keyboard of his choice. Bob gets my computer... and my Andrew Blake DVDs. Vance woiuld properly respect my Japanese-spec Sega Saturn with Outrun import. Mikey gets my psychedelic Wurlitzer.

As for funeral... I want all disparate social groups of mine represented. I want motorcycle touring nuts present in their Aerostiches. I want bluesmen present... the oldest (Jesse James and the Raiders) need to play "Way Back Home" and "Mercy Mercy Mercy", while the youngest (The Westcott Brothers) need to play "Gonna Move (Away From Here"). I can think of no better theme songs for life when it all comes down to it. I want all the geeks talking to all the dorks... uniting in their shared but separate status. I want lots of Guinness flowing, and have the thang catered by Chipotle or Chick-Fil-A or something nummy and fattening like that. I want my spiritual influences along the way present... and I'd like them to give their take on everything... but if they try and convert everyone and give the "heaven or hell" speech, please turn the mic off and show them their seat. Let the record show that I don't want that.

The motorbikes should escort the hearse (but no wheelies in the parking lot afterwards... well, ok... just one or two... but it has to be by Joey on my Geeper) Or, if I'm powedered, then fling the ashes out the window of a Cessna 172 somewhere over the Blue Ridge Parkway... or if that doesn't work, throw 'em in someone's hardcases, gimme one last twist'n'turn on Skyline Drive or the BRP, and throw 'em off a cliff somewhere.

This isn't meant to be grim or morbid by any means. I'm just sayin'... it's something we all need to think about. Why not make suggestions for your own shin-dig... I went to too many funerals last year and didn't have much fun at any of 'em directly. That's a damn shame.

(more thanks)
Well, the pressure mounting in the last few weeks seems to be shunted thanks to a removal of my creative block at work (nothing like being under a huge time constraint and not being able to come up with one single good idea for anything, including lunch). Still a lot going on... but another little beam of sunshine arrived today in the form of a 45 pound chunk of titanium.

I haven't had much time to spend with it, but in the hour or two I have... I cranked out this little number. I was in a mellow mood, and can't get that too-catchy-for-its-own-good Norah Jones song out of my head (need to learn it for a wedding band gig coming up). I'm excited, though, I think this board is going to be a nice little creative oasis.

I also bought a tux this weekend for said wedding band. New. Custom tailored. Why the hell not? Now I can make due on a longstanding dream to ride wheelies thru downtown DC wearing the tux and a helmet... flying by the state department and making people think I'm some debonair double agent. Or just a lunatic. Probably the latter.