Heartwarming

The finish line was crossed this past weekend when I attended my final Summer 2005 wedding-related event. And it was a gasser. But enough about me – my friends Chris and Heather have been together for a very long time and finally made honest Newportians out of eachother Saturday afternoon. A reception followed at the Glen Manor house, but the festivities started long before then. By the time I crawled across the threshold of my apartment late last night, I’d been burnt, punched, pickled and even lost at sea. But in the midst of all the zaniness, one of the best weddings I’ve ever been to took place.

Jim and I drove down Friday night after work, and met Kinger, John and Steph, Clarkey and Detroit Velvet Smooth at the Sports Ticket around 10pm. We then headed over to the Cheeky Monkey where the rehersal dinner was held to meet up with the rest of the gang. An open bar, speeches, old friends, hugs and a narrowly averted street brawl with liquored locals rounded out our stay. After a quick shot one street up at Sabina Doyle‘s, and a fly by of Via Via to look for particularly intoxicated females to take back to our phatio roofdeck patio (I wish I were kidding) – we rolled back to the house we were staying at on Goodwin street. I once heard that when Michael Caine was researching this role, he hung out on main street for a night with Kinger.

A great time was had by all, and it flowed (literally) into Sunday where after an exceptional catered brunch we took to the high seas, only to have the motor cut out and be set adrift. Luckily some helpful fishermen pulled us back to the dock just after dark, and I’m not currently writing this on a laptop made out of an anchor and coconuts. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. I have SO many so I’m going to pick 40 or thereabouts and put the rest up when I get around to them (never). Thanks for having us, kids – and here’s to a long, wonderful life together.

“Just when I think I’m out – they pull me back in“. – Michael Corleone.

I wasn’t going to try and duplicate the naughty nightmare that was last Halloween’s The Big Haunt, but the people have spoken and we’re going to do it all over again. The people have also requested a change of venue, and an offer just fell into my lap. I believe they call this sort of coincidence a harmonic convergence or something. For the sake of my karma and chi, BH2K5 is officially a GO! And this year – it’s taking place in a real live haunted house!

In addition to the genuinely spooky suburban fall atmosphere, there will be a DJ, food, booze, prizes and games. There will be plenty of non-alcoholic options for the designated drivers, and plenty of places to sleep for those who think that designated drivers are for pussies. We haven’t worked out exactly what the costs to you are going to be, but they will be well within reason and certainly worth the short drive to Concord.

Will the Victoria’s Secret angel and the rest of the Canadians return? Will the gay biker drop in to beat the frig out of another kid in the living room? Will I actually spend more than 10 minutes on my costume? I don’t know – but I promise it’s going to be fucking legendary. I also promise not to drink an entire bottle of pucker and crap myself. Stay tuned for the Evite tonight, and keep Saturday, October 29th open for the Haunt. This is going to be one for the ages/Concord PD.

Coach: Can he still play? Trainer: He’s in a coma! Coach: Answer the question!

I ran into Ed Lauter last night in front of the Park Plaza hotel. You’ll recognize his face – he’s a popular character actor who has been in tons of well known flicks, including: Cujo, The Longest Yard (both versions), French Connection 2, King Kong, Death Hunt, Real Genius, Youngblood, True Romance – and the list goes on.

Ed was juiced, and as he walked up to me he could tell I recognized him. He yelled something as he passed by, presumably on his way to Whiskey Park, and I smiled. I’m not going to pretend I’m too cool to be phased when I run into celebrities. I think it’s pretty neat. To have the coach from Not Another Teen Movie brush past me shithoused with a 24 year old broad on his arm is enough to make anyone giggle.

Jeepers, I almost forgot – a special little someone has a special little birthday today. It’s been a fun beer, humor and indie rock fueled 17 year ride, Mike – and I’m glad the Swedes haven’t lynched you yet (although they’ve certainly come close a time or two).

An eerie picture of the both of us up at the lake this past Friday night may set the stage for the next couple of decades: Out-of-doors, mind a million miles from work, cold and double-fisting. Have a good one, pal-o-mine.

I’ll get to posting photos and deep thoughts on Triconi’s wedding eventually – on that note, please send me photos of the actual Saturday service if you were there as my camera malfunctioned for exactly 24 hours for some very strange reason and I missed out. To keep your gallery appetite whetted in the meantime, I proudly present a selection of ridiculous pics from Chris’ bachelor party in Newport three weekends ago.

Eighteen holes of golf, a fifteen man party-bus, a thousand dollar-a-night Mohegan Sun suite. Well done to brother Matt, the organizer, and here’s hoping everyone forgets my Ketel One induced towel-clad antics by the time the wedding rolls around next month. Enjoy.

Jason and I are packing up and getting ready to ship out to Dougie’s wedding at 5am tomorrow morning. I stopped by the dry cleaner’s on the way home to get my suit – only to find out that this afternoon’s North End explosions had rendered it evacuated. So either I’ll be buying a suit out in Whistler, or attending the nuptuals in my Big Country T-shirt. And you all know how much I’d like that.

I will likely check in and do some Kerouac-esque road-blogging from British Colombia, but until then I’ll leave you with a fun meme. Don’t hurt yourselves:

Name three people (famous or personal friends) and the custom ringtones you’ve either set for them on your phone, or would if you could.

Downtown Crossing’s infamous Littlest Bar is closing its grimy doors after 60 years of service to Boston’s booze-bags. To make way for, you guessed it, detestable yuppie condos. Gentrification usually isn’t a bad thing, as far as I’m concerned. I’d rather live in close proximity to Biff and Buffy than crackheads and hookers any day of the week. Especially after my well publicized incident with a crackhead hooker. And by ‘any day’ I’m referring to Saturdays – because that’s when their rates go up.

But now we’re talking about the demolition of a stagger-inducing institution. A lowly liquored landmark loved by lots of lushes. I’ve written about this wonderful and historic establishment before, and there’s also a gallery of photos from Jim’s b-day that were taken onsite. My first date with a former girlfriend took place at the Littlest. I took Triconi there the night before his engagement party. I’m seriously bummed. If you have any memories of the Littlest that don’t include Monster necking with a sea donkey, please share them in the comments below. Good night, sweet pub.

“Mem’ries, Like the corners of my mind. Misty water-colored memories, Of the way we were.” – An Awful Harpy.

10 years ago, I was on a 24K dial-up connection at University which was constantly being interrupted by lovesick housemates. I used something called PINE to read my email, and my address was dpye@uoguelph.ca. I frequented mIRC instead of instant messagers, used Altavista.com as my search engine of choice and would happily wait over 5 minutes for CNN.com to load. And by CNN.com I of course mean Danni’s Hard Drive.

If you’re feeling nostalgic for the early days of the gold rush, have a look at this collection of screenshots to see how some of your favorite sites looked as recently as 5 years ago. It’s hard to believe, and it’s only going to get crazier. By the time I’m forty, I fully expect to be surfing the net on the inside of a pair of sunglasses whilst video IM’ing with people on my wristwatch. As well as hopelessly addicted to Nuke.

I’m zipping along the tracks on the 8:45 out to Fitchburg. Jim is picking me up in Lincoln, after which we’ll spend another in a long line of evenings getting silly at the Red House. Saturday, we’re all headed down to Newport for Harko’s bachelor party. Golf in the afternoon, and Foxwoods in the evening. Gambling and golf are two things at which I most certainly do not excel, and I fully expect to return to Boston Sunday night with a sore back, a light wallet and a stab wound. And a new stripper girlfriend who is extremely mad at her father for something.

Jeeps the train’s speaker is friggin’ loud. Maybe I shouldn’t have sat right underneath it. Must be great for the hearing impaired, though. And perhaps even better at actually making healthy people hearing impaired. I have noticed many such trade-offs during my strange life so far. Like that one about tits and bulls.

You know what this laptop needs? A video game. I need to find a decent distraction for these long periods of internetless travel. Maybe a Tetris clone or one of those Nintendo emulators where you can play old cartridge ROMs on your PC. Yep – me, the open road and Rush N’ Attack. A winning combination if ever one existed.. Unless of course I ever plan on sleeping with a woman again.

To say we’re having fun up here in Montreal would be a gross understatement. And it’s definitely been gross. I’ll go into carefully-proofread detail upon my return. Bachelor parties are supposed to celebrate an impending wedding, not keep it from ever happening in the first place.

And if you’re in need of a severe belly-laugh (you’ve been warned,) I’ve got just the thing. Ladies and gents, please enjoy this new trailer for The Wedding Crashers I created with our old pals Jason and Doug edited in. This is possibly the most amazing marketing ploy I have ever seen. Now, back to the debauchletness.

Yep – I’m smoked. Headed to a bachelor party in Montreal early tomorrow morning with one of the craziest groups of guys I’ve crossed paths with since the definitive glory days of the Brampton Posse. Nate, Lance, Tombeno and I are all staying in an Executive Suite at the Godin, which is about as posh as it gets in Quebec. It’s also a little bit like putting a silk hat on a pig. I’ll be sure to get some photos of the room prior to there being an enormous streak of pink human honk across one of the walls.

If this is any indication, this weekend will border on the debaucherous. The emails that have been circulating between the LA crew and the Concord crew have been a network-administrator-with-a-grudge’s dream come true. We haven’t even left yet and I’ve already spent a small fortune. But I think that through a combination of pacing, penicillin and the buddy system – the four of us should get home in one piece. Or at least with all of the pieces in the same car.

Any photos that don’t include either the groom or myself tarred and feathered whilst being spanked with a trout by a midget that looks uncannily like Anna Nicole Smith will be posted in the gallery sometime next week. Until then, you’ll just have to open a window, stay completely silent and listen keenly for my muffled screams.

“I grab a dog. I choke him and I kick the shit out of him. All day long got my foot up a dog’s ass. Just bang, bang, bang up his ass. That’s my pleasure.” – Mr. Jones

The 16 hours in the car were well worth the three full days up in Ontario. Janet, Jim and I arrived at 3:30 Friday morning after driving up post-work because we wanted to be on hand for Canada Day. Many of my American friends have asked me recently what the signifigance of Canada Day (July 1st) is. Glad you asked – It’s similar to Independence Day, only instead of being beaten back to Blighty by the minutemen after the invention of the long-range bored rifle – the Brits just sort of got bored and left Canada quietly.

During our time at the new Pye compound we hung drywall, landscaped, fashioned enormous illuminated maple leaves onto boats, prepared a huge deep-fryed Mexican feast for three sets of neighbors, got lost on the lake for 5 hours in the dark, caught sick jetski air, floated amongst fireworks and hung huge portraits off of ladders balanced on stairs. That we all returned with little more than a few mosquito nibbles to show for our chicanery is truly miraculous.

I don’t quite remember at which point choking a 1/2 wolf, 1/2 Rottweiler seemed like a clever fricking passtime – but luckily Koba had watched us rip through several bottles of wine at dinner and didn’t take it too personally. But then again, he also chased Spud up a tree twice and was already in the doghouse. He didn’t need to add mauling moi to the manifest. I can go on and on – and yet might – about our glorious weekend up North. But a picture really is worth a thousand words, so I’ll leave you with this massive new holiday gallery for now. Happy 4th you Yankee buggers.

I’m donating my old work desktop to an intern next week, and decided it was high time to clean some of my legacy MP3s and photos off of it. Or “cover my tracks” as someone with a flair for the accurate would probably say. As I dug through nearly 2 years of emails and hundreds of photos, I found a few worth firing up to the new gallery. Since many of you have been enjoying it to date, here’s the quick, straight, poopy dope…

I found a ton of great photos from 2004’s Cinco de Mayo party, or Cinco de Quatro as it became known, that I don’t think anyone’s ever seen. You’ll remember that night if you were there – a crowded, boozy evening at Tiernan’s which ended in extreme violence. But it was still better than this year’s feeble attempt. My Cinco parties have run their course and gone to the big hacienda in the sky.

A few additions to the homeless revelry section were in order. The only common theme in this album being severe alcohol abuse – Highlights include the 2004 Boston Wine Expo, Frank N’ Stein’s this past Christmas with the Guelph boys, BHP nonsense and me trying to cling to heterosexuality somewhere in the South End.

And finally the I Like Having Friends section has some new life breathed into it courtesy of Colangelo, more Herb, Beyonce Knowles (seriously), and the rarely seen tender side of JJV. Why are you putting so much work into the galleries, Dave? – glad you asked. It will all make sense soon enough. To date, the gallery has added nearly 1000 pages to the davepye.com domain – all of which will eventually be spidered by search engines… and all of which will eventually have advertising on them. I love the gallery, but there’s a method to the percieved madness. Enjoy.

Cornett (aka Detroit Velvet Smooth) and myself drove down to Newport at the ass crack of dawn yesterday to take in the 2005 Newport Rhode Island National Guard Air Show. Then we displayed further post-show ass crackery whilst jumping off of Harkins’ dock and just generally being ridiculous. When you’re finished abusing yourselves to the sexy photograph below, you can keep the self-inflicted orgasms going strong by viewing the full gallery here.

If you look carefully, you can see a concerned Sam the dog paddling towards us at breakneck speed – eager to rescue the flailing fatties. Chris and Kinger stand watching on the dock to the left just in case we need them to throw us a life-preserver/bottle of Pucker. The best day I’ve had in a long, long time. And by far the worst sunburn.

My office has been my home as of late, and my home has become little more than a place to sleep and punch the clown. Initially I really embraced this crazy time at my company, but I’m losing friends as a result of these long hours. And that’s not a joke along the lines of “close your legs, man – you’re losing friends”. I mean I’m literally dropping in the popularity rankings among many of my peeps. So if you’ve been personally left miffed by my M.I.A. meanderings, I do sincerely apologize like you read about. Which is certainly uncanny because you’re reading about it right now.

I’m only trying to get ahead in life. Just trying to get a jetski to go along with that dock. Frantically trying to pay off my unemployment credit card indiscretions from 4 years ago. Tired of paying to live in someone else’s house. Sick to death of riding around in my friend’s cars when I don’t even own a skateboard. And while I am proud of my successes in the last few years, and thankful that I am capable of keeping my nose to the grindstone in this manner, it’s not worth damaging that which I hold most dear.

Those of you for whom this was written know who you are. You’re not a chick, you’re not a casual acquaintance and you’re officially off the back burner should you still care. I don’t like to get too personal on this ridiculous site, but I fucked up last weekend and I know it.