I did not want to go to Newark, Delaware on Wednesday night. I wanted to stay in Manhattan, stay in my bed, eat some good non-bar food, not drink. I really didn't want to return to Delaware, surely have another stinker small-time event with meager sales totals. And, I didn't want any angry "supremacists" coming after me.
My previous event in Delaware, in Dover just four days prior, had led to a blog post where I wrote about hanging amidst a crowd of "supremacistic, gun-toting, shrieking, hardcore, hatemongers." Never did I bash these "supremacistic, gun-toting, shrieking, hardcore, hatemongers," nor even note what exactly they were supremacistic against (Taco Bell Burrito Supremes?!). I simply passively discussed trying to sell books as they shrieked hardcore music about hate and the like. It wasn't libel, man, it was like...reporting.
*"Wow, your (sic) a real douch (sic). Delfederate Army is by no means a 'supremacistic' band...I don't know if you noticed the native american (sic) bassist."
*"It was a punk rock show...There was a huge cross section of people in that crowd, none of which are white supremacists...Did you notice that a couple of those bands had black members?"
*"HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE!!!"
The thing was, I really had no problem with the "supremacistic, gun-toting, shrieking, hardcore, hatemongers" and, in fact, had spoken with many of them who proudly considered themselves "supremacistic, gun-toting, shrieking, hardcore, hatemongers."
Or so I thought.
But now I was headed back to Delaware, some 40 miles or so from that Dover event, and I was kinda scared shitless that a group of angry "supremacistic, gun-toting, shrieking, hardcore, hatemongers" would be waiting for my arrival, ready to HATE me. It seemed inevitable. I hoped, at the least, after I got knifed in the chest, or took a Louisville Slugger to the knees, that the ensuing newspaper article would note "...How to Fail: The Self-Hurt Guide (available on Amazon!) author Aaron Goldfarb lies in a coma in nearby Christiana Hospital after a brutal attack by enraged supremacistic, gun-toting, shrieking, hardcore, hatemongers..." You can't buy that kind of press!
Nevertheless, I threw my hood up and trekked into McGlynn's Pub to find just the most nice and homey little local bar. Already full of people and esprit de corps at happy hour, I could tell this drinking and chatting crowd would be perfect for me and my book. The great smells of bar food (how am I not sick of it yet?!) and an impressive $2 a pint (a pint!) craft beer list quickly boosted my spirits as well.
And then he walked in. Rob, the door man at Sunday's Dover hardcore show. A nice guy back on Sunday when I had spoken to him, why the hell was he now in Newark?! I braced myself. And, then, he reached into his pocket...and pulled out fifteen bucks.
He simply wanted a book. He works nearby McGlynn's and had decided to come by and grab the book he'd forgotten to grab in Dover. "So I'm a hatemonger?" he joked, now no longer clad in the typical black attire of hardcore hatemongering he'd sported on Sunday, instead dressed neatly in a button-down shirt and slacks. Indeed he wasn't. He was a masters degree'ed chemical engineer (with a culinary arts associates to boot!) and one of the nicest guys I've met on tour.
Yet, even after a book purchase and a nice conversation, when he briefly left the bar to smoke, I was a bit wondering if he was heading out to alert the other hatemongers to come hate. Luckily, he wasn't.
And, within the hour, other hatemongers came to my defense on my blog, noting stuff like:
*"Not sure who posted that [on your blog], but those of us ive talked to in no way take offense at what was said. The bass player and I had a pretty good laugh about that part of the review. So sorry about all that e-fury up there."
*"Don't mind those monkeys, they think they are people :)"
Nice! I now had the A-list "supremacistic, gun-toting, shrieking, hardcore, hatemongers" on my side, turned against the Z-list "supremacistic, gun-toting, shrieking, hardcore, hatemongers" who had been trying to hate on me. Score one for Goldfarb (NOTE: not a Jewish last name).
And with that major boost of momentum, McGlynn's ended up being one of my favorite stops on tour. A real Cheers-like place where everyone knows everyone and was glad to now know me too, our Fail-anetics videos slaying them, my books being bought in bulk. I honestly met some of the most interesting people I've met the whole tour and I'll never forget Big Frank, Dave the biker, Marc the manager, and countless others.
FAIL OF THE DAY:
Fucking New Jersey roads. Jesus Christ, what is with all the jug handle turns and no left turns and poor exits and the like? My manager and I missed a turn running an errand nearby Cherry Hill and then spent about 45 extra minutes just trying to get turned around and back on track.
SUCCESS OF THE DAY:
This savvy Jew getting "supremacistic, gun-toting, shrieking, hardcore, hatemongers" on his side. Great success!
DRINK OF THE DAY:
Twin Lakes Taylor's Grog. This Delaware local micro (nano?) brewery I'd never heard of produces this special house beer for McGlynn's and, unlike most house beers, this one is actually good. A nice IPA in the mold of another Delaware local, Dogfish Head's 60 Minute.
SPECIAL NOTE: The post on Bar #20, Stout NYC in Manhattan, is currently still embaragoed, pending several people giving me the A-OK to absolutely bash certain peoples and places.