Where are my pants?

How did it get so out of control?

48 hours ago I was sitting at the Driskill drinking a Basil Hayden Manhattan when I got a text message from Raul. "I'm in town for a wedding, let's have lunch". Simple enough. Westivus would start off with a mild Thursday, a Friday night on the town, lunch with Raul Saturday, and then a couple of dinners Sunday & Monday with friends and family.

A simple weekend for an easy 34 years.

Thursday went off without a hitch. Dinner and a couple of drinks.

Then comes Friday. An entirely different kind of monster. A monster that wakes up passed out on the lawn in front of his house kind of monster. Why did I take my boots off?

From what I recall, the night started off fairly plain. JS and I headed to Trudy's on campus for some dinner and drinks. Now, if you haven't been to the Trudy's on campus, allow me to incriminate myself. It is full, and I mean FULL, of beautiful women. I think we decided that the "do-able" percentage was in the high 80's. ***disclaimer below***

We hung out for what seemed like forever in slow motion. The next thing I knew, the booze had me in rare form. I was ready for some fun.


We went back to mi casa and drank a few beers in the back yard. Called a cab and hit up the Driskill Bar. Andrew Three Story added to my buzz with a BH Manhattan straight up. Delicious bourbon.

I'm not sure what exactly happened but I managed to piss off a couple of girls sitting a chair down from us at the bar. I didn't have a seat, and the one in between us hadn't been used in the 10 minutes we got there, so I grabbed it and moved it to my spot beside the taps. I noticed my shoe was untied so I bent down to tie it. Next thing I know she's giving me the shit-eye and taking the chair back. We exchange pleasantries and I mutter "go fuck yourself" under my breath. I'm such a charmer. Don't worry though, I found a short chair and nuzzled up to the bar.

Later in the evening it got pretty crowded. We were talking to a couple chaps from London when they walked in. Up first, a 5 foot nothing brunette with piercing blue eyes. J called dibs. Next up, the 6'2" blonde with a perky nose and just as perky ya-ya's. I didn't mind having to jump on this grenade.

We played it cool not wanting to seem too obvious that the entire bar was looking at them. A seemingly wealthy older gentleman made the first move. We sat back and watched him blow through at least $300 trying to get these young lasses drunk. Easy money.

Towards the better part of midnight, we decided to make our move. With Andrew making up random shots for my birthday, we decided to send a few over. Thanks and well wishes were shouted, shots were downed, and the old guy was pissed. We headed over to their side of the bar and struck up some conversation.

I can't recall much of what was said but I'm sure I was funny. I've never been intimidated by or really attracted to the tall blonde girls. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating crackers (you know, crackers make crumbs) but it wasn't the ultimate goal. I was really just wingman for J. He got her number but I think he blew it when he drunk texted at 3am that morning.

I digress.

We left the Driskill, walked around for an hour, and finally caught a cab. J wanted pancakes or something so we went to Kerby Lane "near my house". I quote near my house because that's what I was thinking when I told J we could just have the cab drop us off at Kerby and then walk home.

I ordered but couldn't wait. I was gonna pass out. I ate a bite of sausage and half a biscuit then headed out the door shouting directions to J.

What a shitty walk. I swear I was out there wandering the streets for over an hour. I made it home and ended up passing out on the sidewalk just 20 steps to my bed.

For some reason, I took my boots off.

.......stay tuned for Saturday's adventures with Raul!


***Hey, just because I ordered the steak, doesn't mean I can't look at the menu.***

Westivus O' Westivus

My favorite quote from the 2011 Westivus Celebration Blowout Extravaganza:

"Happy official bday fucker. Thank God it's only once a year....shit" - Text Message from JS.


History of Westivus

You see, for the last several years I've been trying to instill a new holiday into the lives of my friends and family. Slowly but surely it's catching on.

I call this new holiday "Westivus - the 5 day celebration of Wes" Westivus for short.

I'm well aware of how corny and egotistical this sounds, but the truth of the matter goes a little deeper.

So deeper I shall go.

3 years ago I had to do some soul searching. After several events altered the course of my life I came to the realization that I took a wrong turn. My life had reached the pinnacle of funk and I felt like the world was dragging me down.

After quitting the music biz, breaking up with my girlfriend, and finding out my mother had lung cancer I was in a downward spiral of unhappiness. I had to figure something out.

As a logical man, I presented myself with a question: What makes me truly happy?

It took a while but in the end it was simple: Spending time with my friends and family.

Who would've known.....and why the hell didn't they tell me?

I had to make amends and reconnect. I missed my peeps.


Life makes it difficult to live in the past.

At 30+ years of age, who wants to go out on some random Thursday night, get hammered, and "chase some ass"?(Jason excluded of course). Work, wife, husband, kids, etc. all have a tendency to alter priorities and plans.

I had to find a new approach.

On this day, Wes created Westivus.


The simple truth of Westivus is this: Reconnecting with friends and family.

Whether it be a night of drunken debauchery running around the hallway of a 4 star hotel, chasing a drunk Mexican that just ripped off an EXIT sign, or just a simple dinner with my brother and sister-in-law, reconnect.


I wish there was more too it.

For me, Westivus happens on a daily basis (the peak being on or around the 10th of April of course). A simple text, a call, or a happy hour with a friend keeps the spirit of Westivus alive and well.


Thanks to all who shared in the 5 day celebration of Wes! Next year I might have to cut it back to 3 or 4 days. I'm getting too old for that shit........

......but that's another story.

Wes

Humble Vanity

I wrote a book once.

"The Underwater Airplane" by Wesley Cox

I was probably 6-8 years old. I folded some Big Chief tablet paper in half and stapled a sheet of red construction paper on the front as a cover. I drew a few outlines of my toy airplane on the sheets.

Synopsis: An airplane flies under water, decides to stay for a while, comes back to the surface, and then blows up. The End.

My mom kept it. My masterpiece.


I made C's in all of my high school and college English classes. Apparently, I never could grasp the subject. I can't remember what the problem was. Maybe it was my handwriting. I hated the process of writing.

I didn't care. I was never going to be a writer. I'm too scatter-brained for it.


I set out writing my blog to serve as a reminder to myself. Travel journal per se.

Since it's inception, the encouragement has poured in. I can't believe some of the responses I've gotten.

Without further adieu:

To all that have shown kindness, given compliments, and provided constructive criticism....Thank You!


I'm going to try to find my "voice" in writing. I'll update as much as I can.

I hope you all will join me for the ride!

Cheers to you all!

Wes

Happy Belated!

In celebration of the 175th birthday of Texas, I was on Google looking for "What it means to be a Texan". I found this article from former Houston Oiler Coach, Bum Phillips. I think it just about sums it up........


WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A TEXAN
by Bum Phillips

Dear Friends,

Last year, I wrote a small piece about what it means to me to be a Texan. My friends know it means about damned near everything. Anyway, this fella asked me to reprint what I'd wrote and I didn't have it. So I set out to think about rewriting something. I considered writing about all the great things I love about Texas. There are way too many things to list. I can't even begin to do it justice.

Lemme let you in on my short list.

It starts with The Window at Big Bend, which in and of itself is proof of God. It goes to Lake Sam Rayburn where my Grandad taught me more about life than fishin, and enough about fishin to last a lifetime. I can talk about Tyler, and Longview, and Odessa and Cisco, and Abilene and Poteet and every place in between.

Every little part of Texas feels special. Every person who ever flew the Lone Star thinks of Bandera or Victoria or Manor or wherever they call "home" as the best little part of the best state.

So I got to thinkin about it, and here's what I really want to say.

Last year, I talked about all the great places and great heroes who make Texas what it is. I talked about Willie and Waylon and Michael Dell and Michael DeBakey and my Dad and LBJ and Denton Cooley. I talked about everybody that came to mind. It took me sitting here tonight reading this stack of emails and thinkin about where I've been and what I've done since the last time I wrote on this occasion to remind me what it is about Texas that is really great.

You see, this last month or so I finally went to Europe for the first time. I hadn't ever been, and didn't too much want to. But you know all my damned friends are always talking about "the time they went to Europe." So, I finally went. It was a hell of a trip to be sure. All they did when they saw me was say the same thing, before they'd ever met me. "Hey cowboy, we love Texas." I guess the hat tipped em off.

But let me tell you what, they all came up with a smile on their faces. You know why? They knew for damned sure that I was gonna be nice to em. They knew it cause they knew I was from Texas. They knew something that hadn't even hit me. They knew Texans, even though they'd never met one.

That's when it occurred to me. Do you know what is great about Texas? Do you know why when my friend Beverly and I were trekking across country to see 15 baseball games we got sick and had to come home after 8? Do you know whyevery time I cross the border I say, "Lord, please don't let me die in_____"? Do you know why children in Japan can look at a picture of the great State and know exactly what it is about the same time they can tell a rhombus from a trapezoid?

I can tell you that right quick. You.

The samespirit that made 186 men cross that line in the sand in San Antonio damned near 165 years ago is still in you today. Why else would my friend send me William Barrett Travis' plea for help in an email just a week ago, or why would Charles Stanfield ask me to reprint a Texas Independence column from a year ago? What would make my friend Elizabeth say, "I don't know if I can marry a man who doesn't love Texas like I do?" Why in the hell are 1,000 people coming to my house this weekend to celebrate a holiday for what usedto be a nation that is now a state?

Because the spirit that made that nation is the spirit that burned in every person who founded this great place we call Texas, and they passed it on through blood or sweat to everyone of us.

You see, that spirit that made Texas what it is is alive in all of us, even if we can't stand next to a cannon to prove it, and it's our responsibility to keep that fire burning. Every person who ever put a"Native Texan" or an "I wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could" sticker on his car understands.

Anyone who ever hung a map of Texas on their wall or flew a Lone Star flag on their porch knows what I mean. My Dad's buddy Bill has an old saying. He says that some people were forged of a hotter fire. Well, that's what it is to be Texan. To be forged of a hotter fire. To know that part of Colorado was Texas. That part of New Mexico was Texas. That part of Oklahoma was Texas. Yep. Talk all you want. Part of what you got was what we gave you. To look at a picture of Idaho or Istanbul and say, "what the Hell is that?" when you know that anyone in Idaho or Istanbul who sees a picture of Texas knows damned good and well what it is. It isn't the shape, it isn't the state, it's the state of mind.

You're what makes Texas. The fact that you would take 15 minutes out of your day to read this, because that's what Texas means to you, that's what makes Texas what it is. The fact that when you see the guy in front of you litter you honk and think, "Sonofabitch. Littering on MY highway."

When was the last time you went to a person's house in New York and you saw a big map of New York on their wall? That was never. When did you ever drive through Oklahoma and see their flag waving on four businesses in a row? Can you even tell me what the flag in Louisiana looks like? I damned sure can't. But I bet my ass you can't drive 20 minutes from your house and not see a business that has a big Texas flag as part of its logo. If you haven't done business with someone called AllTex something or Lone Star somebody or other, or Texas such and such, you hadn't lived here for too long.

When you ask a man from New York what he is, he'll say a stockbroker, or an accountant, or an ad exec. When you ask a woman from California what she is, she'll tell you her last name or her major. Hell either of em might say "I'm a republican," or they might be a democrat. When you ask a Texan what they are, before they say, "I'm a Methodist," or "I'm a lawyer," or "I'm a Smith," they tell you they're a Texan.

I got nothin against all those other places, and Lord knows they've probably got some fine folks, but in your gut you know it just like I do, Texas is just a little different.

So tomorrow when you drive down the road and you see a person broken down on the side of the road, stop and help. When you are in a bar in California, buy a Californian a drink and tell him it's for Texas Independence Day. Remind the person in the cube next to you that he wouldn't be here enjoying this if it weren't for Sam Houston, and if he or she doesn't know the story, tell them.

When William Barrettt Travis wrote in 1836 that he would never surrender and he would have Victory or Death, what he was really saying was that he and his men were forged of a hotter fire. They weren't your average everyday men. Well, that is what it means to be a Texan. It meant it then, and that's why it means it today. It means just what all those people North of the Red River accuse us of thinking it means. It means there's no mountain that we can't climb. It means that we can swim the Gulf in the winter. It means that Earl Campbell ran harder and Houston is bigger and Dallas is richer and Alpine is hotter and Stevie Ray was smoother and God vacations in Texas. It means that come Hell or high water, when the chips are down and the Good Lord is watching, we're Texans by damned, and just like in 1836, that counts for something.

So for today at least, when your chance comes around, go out and prove it. It's true because we believe it's true. If you are sitting wondering what the Hell I'm talking about, this ain't for you. But if the first thing you are going to do when the Good Lord calls your number is find the men who sat in that tiny mission in San Antonio and shake their hands, then you're the reason I wrote this night, and this is for you.

So until next time you hear from me, God Bless and Happy Texas Independence Day.



Love it!

Happy Birthday Texas!

Parliament Funkadelic, Tate Modern, and a Fat Stack of Cash

Glorious London.

I woke up refreshed and exhilarated. I didn't have anything planned except a trip to the Tate Modern with my new pal Nick. We were set to meet around 3 so I had the whole morning and afternoon to do whatever I wanted.

Spring was in the air. Blue skies, sunshine, 45 degrees, and perfect. I took a walk.

Strolling up the River Thames is like a history lesson. The London Eye, the Aquarium, Big Ben, Parliament, and Westminster Abbey are all stops you can't help but want to see. Check-check-check it out....

I spent a good 2 hours just hanging out trying to get a good picture. Remember, it's February in England. It's supposed to be cold and rainy. Just take a look at the skies. I couldn't believe it.

What to do now? I headed northwest towards Buckingham Palace. I took a stroll in St. James Park enjoying the day.

Buckingham Palace

I grabbed another cappuccino and hopped up on one of the walls at Buckingham Palace and took a quick nap. I woke up around 1:30 and decided to make my way to Hyde Park. I stopped at the Wellington Arch to text Nick to get an ETA when the strangest thing occurred.....

Backstory: I was asked at least 10 times for directions. I guess I look like a local (or just an easy mark).

As I struggle with the piece-of-shit-multi-tap cell phone, an elderly gentleman walks up and asked if I knew where Knightsbridge Road was. That I knew. It was the road we were standing on. He quickly mentioned that he was looking for Harrods, the world famous department store. I had no idea where that was but I told him I had a map.

As I fumbled around with the map, he kept mentioning how nice I was and that he thought I was a local. I laughed and told him I was a Texan. He was from Australia.

Randomly, he says "I'm going to Harrods to buy a couple of cashmere sweaters for a woman I met last night. I just won £4000 at the casino and want to get her something nice" I looked up as he pulled out the fattest stack of cash I've ever seen. Folded over, it was probably 6 inches deep, all £20's, £50's and £100's. He just held it out with a proud grin.

Random.

He asked if I would walk with him towards Harrods. How could I resist. What a story.

He was very talkative. He wanted to know if the £4000 was a good win for Vegas. I kept telling him it was a good win for anywhere. The equivalent of nearly $7000 would make me a happy camper.

How many people live in the US? I say 300 million or so. He says 150 million at the most. "Want to bet £100?" No. I'm not taking this old man's money.

For half a mile we talked about population, the Bush Presidencies, the Australian floods, beer, whiskey, and women.

I left him near Knightsbridge Station and pointed him towards Harrods. I got his name but forgot it. I like to think that somewhere in the world tonight an elderly Australian man is retelling his story about a random Thursday afternoon when a friendly Texan helped him find Harrods. I know I'll be telling the story for years to come.

I took off towards Tate Modern. South side of the Thames across from St. Paul's Cathedral and right next to the Millennium Bridge (aka The Harry Potter Bridge).

The Tate Modern was interesting. I'm not going to get into details but here are some pictures of my favorites.

Derain: Portrait of Henri Matisse

Monet: Water Lilies

Salvador Dali: Metamorphosis of Narcissus

Picasso: The Three Dancers

There was an exhibit that prohibited photos but I wanted to mention it.

Gabriel Orozco

If you ever have the opportunity to see his work, do it. It's amazing and original. For modern art, it doesn't get any better than this.

Google his name or follow this link to the Tate Modern exhibit.

A couple of my favorites:

So we headed back, had a few beers, ate some good food, had some more booze, and then I headed to bed.

As I said.....Glorious London.

Dempsey & the Fulham Boys

Brighton on my mind, whiskey on my breath, and a watch ticking on my wrist I headed to bed, visions of sugarplums pounding in my head.

Or maybe that’s just the hangover. I needed rest.

It’s safe to say, I slept in. It’s my vacation; I can do whatever I want.

I wasn’t in the mood for a museum or any other tourist trap so I wandered around Soho enjoying the crisp air, cappuccino, and crack(ers).

Nothing to do but smell the roses and wait. Tonight is gonna be a good night.

What: English Premier League Football
Who: Fulham FC vs. Newcastle United
Where: Craven Cottage SW6

Sandi and I hopped on the tube to Putney Bridge amongst the locals with their hidden Strongbows. We were entertained by a young gentleman describing a friend’s dating exploits. “Heya, I’m Georgy, what type of energy enhancing drink do you favor?” and “How’s your Fantasy Football team stacking up” were the two best pick-up lines I’ve ever heard.

We were herded out of the train and down the platform like cattle being led to slaughter. We had no choice but to go with the flow. I couldn’t get my bearing so we just followed the crowd to Craven Cottage. Home of the Fulham FC Whites!

I’ve never been a football (soccer) fan until the past World Cup. Figuring that a billion fans can’t be wrong, I’ve always wanted to get into it. When the trip to London came to fruition, I decided that I had to see an English Premier League match.

Knowing shit about the teams, I did my research. Only two matches that would fit into our schedule. Everton @ Arsenal and Newcastle United @ Fulham.

Even if you don’t know football (soccer), you might have heard of Arsenal. They’re like the St. Louis Cardinals of the EPL. Both led by stars on the way out, new stadiums, lots of league titles, storied coaches, and a large fan base. That means it’s damn near impossible to get tickets.

I moved on to smaller fish.

Fulham Football Club is more like the San Diego Padres. Both have nice stadiums, no titles, and the fans have come to accept that their teams are not going to compete with the best every year. This translated into cheap and easy tickets. Mid-field, 12th row.

I wanted to become a fan. I needed to know what I was rooting for in the stands of old Craven Cottage. I dug deep into the history of Fulham. I memorized the current starting lineup.

That’s when it hit me.

Clint Dempsey. USA Soccer Star. Born and raised in Nacogdoches, Texas. #23

The football gods were talking to me. I had a team to root for!

We settled into our seats under the famed awning watching the warm-ups.

I couldn’t believe how close we were. We could hear the players talking.

Game on.


45+ min of back and forth. Several shots on goal. “Come on Fulham, Come on Fulham”

Halftime: 0-0

2nd half: 67th minute, Damien Duff sprinted past a Newcastle United defender to receive Danny Murphy’s pass, held off the challenge before shooting past the keeper!

1-0 Fulham!

Fulham put the pressure on Newcastle the rest of the evening. 5 shots missed wide and a couple from Dempsey sailed over.

Fulham Wins!

It was amazing.

On this dreary cold evening, chants and cheers filled the riverbank in Southwest London.

We reveled in the win, walking the neighborhood in search of a cab.

Fulham may not have the biggest stadium, the most money, or the greatest team but they have loyal fans and a definite sense of pride in their football club.

Here's a sign posted at every entrance.

I felt protective when I heard a group of Newcastle fans chanting ill will about Fulham.

Watch out for the Craven Park Hooligan!

Maybe this will Brighton your day....

Grandfather's Watch History 101: Complete.

The journey continues.....

Location: London Bridge Underground Station

I recall lots of beer, a Canadian, a Russian, lots of Maker's Mark, and random blathering before bedtime. I drank too much last night. I feel like shit.

Unfortunately I can't let that stop me. My grandfather's watch is ticking. I have to be in Brighton by noon in order to make it to Paul's by 1. I hear Mick Jagger singing "Tii-iiii-iiime, it's on my side." Yes, it is. I'm early.

The train is empty. The weather is typical London. Cloudy, cold, wet, and dreary. Perfect sleeping weather. I nap on the train.

Van Morrison is reminding me that "Momma always told me, there'd be days like this." I love my Ipod. It always sets the mood.


I finally hit Brighton. I need coffee to get me out of this funk. Maker's is hitting it's mark. Head is pounding. Snap out of it.

Mmmmmmm.....I've become addicted to cappuccino. And these little crackers it always comes with. If my stomach was a spot, this combo would be beating the hell out of it.


I'm waking up now. It's around 12:15. I have to be at Paul's by 1. He lives up in the hills of Brighton. Beautiful old city.

I hop on the #27 bus. On my way now.

WTF? The pier. Shit, I'm on the wrong bus. Too late now, I've been riding for 30 minutes. Might as well enjoy the scenery.

I call Sandi to see if she would e-mail Paul to let him know I'll be late.

Rain is rolling in from the English Channel.

I make friends with the bus driver. He assures me that I'll make my stop by 2.

The pier again. Looks like Santa Monica covered in fog. Lights, ferris wheel, roller coaster. I want to ride in the front with my hands up, screaming like a kid. Ahhhhh, nostalgia.

I love this town. The bus ride inspires me. I'm coming back here for vacation one day.

I finally make it to Paul's. Random walk up a one lane road to Hillside Dr.

First time I've been offered tea since I've been here. I had to piss so bad that I declined. In retrospect, I wish I had accepted.

I was too excited about the watch to rescind my decision. No tea for this Yank.

Paul is probably in his mid-50's. He mentions his retirement from a pharmaceutical company and how he began working on watches as a hobby.

I'm led up to a door in a small hallway that, when opened, reveals the tools of his craft. Lots of screwdrivers, batteries, crystal removers, and many things I couldn't name. He shows me his collection. The Ventura, the Winn Dixie Electronic, the Pacer. Amazing.

We talk for about an hour about my grandfather's watch and it's history.

I'm not sure if he realizes how important the moment is to me. My mother asked me to take a picture of when he handed me the watch but I forgot. It was like I was in a trance. I don't really remember everything. I know I was nervous and probably shaking.

We exchange pleasantries and talk a bit about motorcycles. I mention my affection for 70's Triumph Bonneville's. I don't know much about them. Just that they look cool.

Time to go. Paul helps me get my bearings and points me to the correct bus. We say goodbye. I thank him for what he did to my watch.

Looking back on Hillside.
















It's about 2:30. My train doesn't leave until 7pm.

He recommends The North Laines. Several city blocks of random shops. Too much randomness to explain.

I head for the Laines.

I wander up and down the streets for several hours stopping for a good 45 minutes to get my guitar fix at a small shop. Cool kids working in there. What a life. We talk amps and electric guitars. They were pretty shocked that a yankee knew anything about vintage Fender Amps. Yeah, I'm old. But I know my shit.

I stumbled into the craziest shop I've ever been in. If you're in Austin, picture all of the little vintage stores on Congress, 1st Street, Lamar, and Burnet. Now imagine everything they have for sale into numbered display cases, multiply the amount of crap by 10, throw in some drunk English kids handing out keys to the displays to boot. This is the store I was in.

Vintage Heaven.

I played a mandolin, took some pictures, worked magic on a switchblade, bought a couple of tie bars, tested a flask, and tripped over a midget.

Who knows how long I spent in there.

I headed back to the train station only to find out that I could've taken the 6pm train.

I had an hour to kill.

As a people watcher, I set up shop in the middle of the station.

Poetry in motion. The good people of Brighton are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen. Men, women, and children were dressed in their Tuesday bests. It was like I was in an advertisement in GQ. Style was abound, grace was ever present.

Even the hipsters were cool.

I made it back to London without incident. Met up with Sandi and her crew for dinner and more drinks.

Early bedtime. I'm flippin' hungover.

Tomorrow is a new day, but it will never compare to my day in Brighton......

The Electronic Expert

The watch was ticking, but intermittently. I noticed that the minute hand was loose. It was 40+ years old and needed help from an expert.

I love Google.

Search "Hamilton Electronic" and you'll find a man named Rene Rondeau. If you are at all interested in the history of Hamilton Electric watches you have to check out his site. He is the authority. www.rondeau.net

I was giddy. I read as much as I could until I ran into this: "PLEASE NOTE: I am no longer repairing Swiss-made Hamilton movements..."

Shit! My grandfather's watch has a Swiss-made movement.

I e-mailed Rene to find out if he knew of anyone who would/could work on the Electronic movement. It turns out that there is one man in the world that is considered an expert on Hamilton Electronics.

Paul Wirdnam. www.electric-watches.co.uk

I checked out his site and found this:

That's right, a Hamilton Electronic "Armco" Presentation Watch.

I knew this was the man I needed to talk to.


I e-mailed Paul about my grandfather's watch. After a few days of correspondence I found out that Paul lived in Brighton.....in the United Kingdom.......an hour south of London.


As fate would have it, I'd be in London in early February. The stars were aligned.

Maybe I was supposed to have the watch after all?


I arranged to ship my watch to Paul, have him cure what was ailing it, and then pick it up whilst across the pond.


The adventure begins......

JLS

My grandfather died on August 23, 1972. I never had the opportunity to meet Mr. Joecephis Lee Snodgrass but I hear tell that he was a wonderful man. I like to think that him and I were alike in many ways. I picture him as kind of quiet at first but when he warmed up to you the personality came through. He had to have a sense of humor. Living with the likes of my mother, grandmother, 5 aunts, and my Uncle Tom, it's hard to picture him with anything BUT a sense of humor. A crazy wonderful family! Yeah, I can tell that him and I had a lot in common.

The legend has it that my grandfather passed with this '69 Hamilton Electronic watch on his wrist. Armco Steel Corporation presented it to him "In recognition of 27 years of loyal and faithful service" mining for coal in the West Virgina mountains. Amazing. 27 years.

My grandma Bea kept the watch in the original presentation box for 14 years. She gave it to my mother sometime in March of '86 telling her that it hasn't worked for years and that none of the jewelers knew what was wrong with it. When she handed it to my mom, it started ticking. From then on, the watch was my mothers.

I have vague memories of that box with my grandfather's name on it. It traveled with us on our move from Llano to Marble Falls, ever present on my mother's dresser. I think my dad wore it several times. But still, it never worked.

Several years ago I started getting interested in watches. I randomly looked at the watch to see what kind it was but of course it didn't say Rolex, Omega, or Breitling so I didn't think much of it. Until December 24th, 2010.....

My mom was sitting on the bed in my old room when she called me in. There wasn't much ceremony when she handed me the box. All she said was "I want you to have this". Something came over me. I knew how much this meant to both of us but didn't realize it until then. She told me the story about when she got it as I looked closer. I noticed how beautiful the face was, how pristine the hands were, how polished the case was. When I turned it over, it was ticking.

Tears were shed and a legacy was passed on to me. I knew what I had to do.


I found out as much as I could about the watch. Brand, history, movement, etc. all came easy.

Hamilton Electronic's pre-date Quartz watches. It wasn't an automatic but it wasn't quartz. There was a race amongst all of the big watch companies to make the most efficient time keeping device out there. The Accutron won but there was a huge market for Electronic and Electric watches.

The problem was that the market didn't last long. To me this meant that it was going to be hard to find someone to fix my grandfather's watch.

As fate would have it, London was calling........


.....to be continued.

Tourbillon, Super 200's, and a cloud of dust.....

.....continued.

After the museum I took a trip down to New Bond Street.

I find the older I get the more I appreciate the finer things in life. Not that I can afford most (if not all) of them, I still like to dream.

As an aspiring horological aficionado, I've known about Patek Philippe timepieces for years. It's not common knowledge that there are only 3 official Patek stores in the EU. Geneva, Paris, and (you guessed it) London.

Here's the website: www.patek.com

I've been to the website 100 times. I had to check out the store in person.

When you walk up to the door, you're greeted by a security guard who eyeballs you for a minute and then swipes his card to get you into the door. I was welcomed by Alenoush Ghoudikian-Graham. She immediately offered me tea, water, coffee, and a seat in front of her demonstration table.

I realized quickly that I had to play it cool or I'd be asked to leave. Luckily I did my research and drooling prior to this visit.


Alenoush inquires about why I'm interested in Patek Philippe. I mention tradition, excellence, luxury, and class. We're engaged in conversation about the classics, the rare, the impossible to find, and the future of the company.


1st up: The Nautilis 5980/1A - Stainless Steel Chronograph £28,500

Quite heavy and a little too big for my wisp of a wrist.

Next: The Calatrava 5196P - Platinum £21,480

This is Patek's signature watch. Elegant, simple, and classically understated. One day this will be my 1st Patek.


We take the plunge into timekeeping excellence.


The Sky Moon Tourbillon Minute Repeater 5002 - Rose Gold £350,000

Amazing. Simply Amazing.

Look up "Patek Minute Repeater" on YouTube. You'll understand why.


I had to get out of there before they decided to do a credit check. Alenoush and I talked about watches for nearly an hour. I'm inspired.


Off to Loro Piana to see if I can try on a "Super" suit.

Mission accomplished.

There's nothing like wearing a Super 200. Look it up and experience it yourself.


Next up: Ferrari

I walked in the door and quickly understood why one would want to spend half a million pounds/dollars on a car.

They were quite busy so I didn't have a chance to ask many questions. Plus, I didn't want to look like a pretentious dick.

So I only took a turn in the driver's seat of a 458 Italia. Check this bad boy out.

I think I might have spilled some coffee inside. I couldn't find the cup holders.


After my day of excess luxury I headed back to The Bloomsbury for a change of clothes. I got a little restless so I took off for a pub down the road. Starting with a typical Guiness, I chatted up the bartender Jenna from Canada. She had the accent and was extremely nice to this Yankee. Drinks flowed.

After her trade show, Sandi met me at the pub where I had already had 3 or 4 pints. We took off to a small Italian place to eat with her co-workers. I didn't want to let go of my buzz so I drank several glasses of wine. We all decided to go across the street for more drinks.

The two of the Irish gals (names omitted) surprised me with their drink of choice....Sol. That's right. Sol. Apparently it was the closest thing to Coors the bar had.

The rest of the evening was a blur. A few of us headed to the bar at the hotel for more drinks. By this time it was only 11pm. I remember meeting Paulo, the bartender. He loaded me up on Maker's Mark. I was told that I had at least 2 drinks there but all I remember was the 4 fingers of Whisky in my glass the first round.

Sandi came and got me at 12:15am, asking Paulo what time he closes. He casually mentions "half past 11:30, but he has 30 minutes left". I tried to get him to drink with me but he had to go home to his girlfriend.

Made it back to the room. Sandi said she has only seen me this drunk one time. The time I passed out on the sidewalk 3 blocks from her house with Nicholas trying to find me.

Ahhh, good times.

This evening I'll update with my story of "The Watch".

Life, Death, and Timepieces

Monday was filled with all sorts of random awesomeness.

It started off with breakfast around 9am followed by a quick jaunt to the British Museum.

I've found myself thinking quite a bit about my own mortality, death, and afterlife. Airplane rides are usually the catalyst but this time it was different. It seemed like every piece I was drawn to had something to do with the subject.

Chitipati - Spirit of the Graveyard

So there I was, roaming the halls of this amazing place stumbling over thoughts that shouldn't be in my head whilst on vacation, when I ran into this.

I wonder how many men questioned their mortality when they saw that coming at them. It would be safe to say that I'd be shitting myself.

The mood lightened a bit when I rounded the corner and saw this:

Respect and Love

If you think about it, you could probably sum life up with those two words. Kind of like the golden rule. Harmony, friendship, and favor.


I saw spectacular statues, the Rosetta Stone, and lots of mummified people inside gorgeous halls and staircases.

I spent a few minutes for each of those to play with my camera and get some pictures that would create some memories but what kept my attention for the longest time was this:

Rolling Ball Clock - About 1820

The steel ball takes 30 seconds to roll from one end of the table to the other. At each end a catch is released, enabling the mechanism to tip the table the other way so the ball rolls back. The ball travels about 2,500 miles each year.

I watched that little ball for at least 20 minutes. Talk about mortality, just watching time roll away.


I made my way out around 2:30 surprised to see a perfect day. We were expecting rainy and cold. Today it was about 45 degrees and sunny. I bought some coffee and basked in the sun for an hour or so. People watching in London is priceless. You never know what you're gonna see. Some of these people would put Leslie to shame.

To be continued.....

Johnny Come Lately

This time change is kicking my ass.  I don't know if I should be tired, wide awake, drunk, sober, excited, or relaxed.

We started off at ABIA at about 2:30pm on Saturday.  Sandi and I checked in, cleared security, and made it to our gate in less than 30 minutes.  2 1/2 hours of waiting for the plane to DC.  What to do, what to do.....drink and take prescription pain killers, that's what.   

ABIA

We nestled into a nice spot for people watching and ordered our 1st drinks.  Sandi had a bloody Mary and I went for a Maker's Mark and water.  Unfortunately they didn't have Maker's (we're still in Texas for shit's sake), so I had a Knob Creek and water.  After pounding the first round Sandi's knee started hurting so she took her Vicodin and I had another Knob Creek.  When I closed out the tab I realized that this wasn't going to work at all $30 for 3 crappy drinks wasn't cutting it.  Plus I had already pissed 4 times.  I didn't want to have to weasel my way to the bathroom 5 times on a 2 1/2 hour flight to DC so I bought a water and some chocolate covered pretzels.  

Made it to DC.  It was supposed to take over 3 hours but with a 50 mph tail wind helped us get there in no time.

So far so good.

We had about 30 minutes before boarding for London so we stopped for a bite to eat.  We made it right as the boarding was called. I got in this long ass line of jackasses only to realize that it wasn't moving.  I was group 2 they were, well, losers.  I jumped the line and cut in front of some big business class guy.  I knew I just cut about 30 people but I wasn't gonna go to the back of the line.  I figured someone would say something but the whole scene was a cluster-ufck anyways.  Made it to my seat with no incident.

Sandi was in the aforementioned group of suckers that couldn't get on until the cool kids were through.  She made it though.  We had the window and middle.  This big English dude with tattoos everywhere was hanging around our isle seat.  Sandi prayed that he wouldn't be taking the spot.  I guess whomever she prays to wasn't listening.  He plopped down and settled in.  

The view from our room in SoHo

The flight was uneventful.  Unless you count getting stoned out of your mind on Ativan.  About an hour in, we took a pill each.  30 minutes later, Sandi was out.  I tried to watch "The Town" but had to cash in as well.  We both slept at least 4 hours.  Woke up with about 40 minutes left.  Landed at 10:02 am local times, cleared customs behind some sticky bastards, and hopped on the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station.  Cab to The Bloomsbury.  Unpacked, took a bath, shit, got dressed, found a pub, and started drinking.

Happy Cabbers!

I had a London Porter and Sandi had the Organic Honey Dew.

I think the pills we took on the plane were still in our system because after 1 beer each we started to feel a bit loopy.  Here's a shot of the pub we were at.  Great meat pies!

We finished up and headed back to the hotel.  The rich food, heavy beer, and Adivan put us into a deep slumber.  We napped for a good 4 hours, trying to shake the jet lag.  We woke up a little groggy but hit the road to find some nice fish & chips.  We settled for Rock & Sole Plaice @ 47 Endell St.  It was a bit crowded so we got it to go and headed across the street to a little grocery store.  Picked up a pint of Strongbow and James Smith's to wash it down.  Took it back to the hotel and ate in the lobby.

We decided that we needed something sweet.  The chocolate covered pretzels were't gonna cut it.  Sandi had heard about a little 24 hour spot that supposed to serve great desserts.  Balans Restaurant on Old Compton street.  Great cappuccino & Bailey's not to mention the bread pudding and the black cherry cheesecake I got.  Amazing stuff.

Trying to lighten the mood and wake up

I was gonna take pictures but after my experience in Paris a few years back I decided to keep the target off my back and not look so much like a tourist.

We came back to the hotel planning to hit up another pub and drink the night way until Sandi took her shoes off and decided she was too comfortable to go out into the cold again.

So two showers later, we're lying in bed and getting ready to face another day in London town.  I can't wait!

In the meantime, check out my Facebook page.  I've been updating it more than this.  Plus I've added more pictures.

Tomorrow:  Sandi will be working so I'm gonna hit up a museum, Hyde Park, some pubs, vintage shops, book stores, and whatever else strikes my fancy.

Hope everyone is doing great!

London Homesick Blues

I've always considered myself one lucky bastard.

In 2002, I had the opportunity (and cash) to take a trip to London.  Saw the sites, did the tours, ate fish and chips, drank the Bottingtons.  Unfortunately, the latter took up most of my trip.  That being said, I don't remember shit about that trip.  Sometimes I go through my photo album and try to reminisce but not much rings a bell.

Ahhhhh booze.  Like my long lost friend Ezra Spitzer used to say "the nectar of the gods!"

Anyways, it's now 2011 and I find myself prepping for another trip across the Atlantic.  Several of you have asked me to take lots of pictures.  That coupled with my lack of memory from my first adventure got me thinking about doing this blog.

So what I'm about to delve into is a first for me.  I hope I can entertain you, dear reader, enough for you to come back for some updates.

I promise not to disappoint.....

Stay tuned.