Buffalo: Go Big, or Go Home!

I love an underdog, so it makes sense that I would love Buffalo, New York. I traveled north to a convention on 9/29, and ended up getting a first-class education. When I arrived in the big Buff, it was overcast and about 60 degrees. I checked into the Hyatt, and proceeded to walk down Pearl street to the Pearl St. Brewery. Whenever I travel, of course, I map out the bus/rail/walking routes to all the cool beer joints. Google Earth never quite prepares me for the scary sites I'm about to see. Everything looks pristine from the heavens. Flashback! 1970, downtown Memphis, TN. My walk was through a bombed-out war zone. So sad that I needed some drinks. At the Brewery, my delightful barmaid, Carmen, told me that whatever you do in Buffalo, go big, or go home. At that moment, I fell in love with this tough city.  After I was thoroughly hydrated, I walked back to my hotel along scary-ass Main Street. A couple of blocks into my walk, I spotted a vandal carving something into a tree. A strange man wielding a knife in the second poorest city in the USA...looks like a party, so I stopped to question this criminal. He was Dave the Painter, and he was carving the name of his youngest daughter, Jena, into a sycamore tree. I asked him a stupid question like WHY??? and he said it was like she was there, but wasn't there. These Buffalo natives speak in strange, little snippets, but I told Dave he rocked so he asked me if I wanted my name carved in the tree. HELL YES! Who needs children to achieve immortality when Buffalo Dave can etch your name into a living, breathing part of a city? As I continued my drunken stroll down Main St., I was blessed to meet Buffalo hobo natives, One-Legged, Retarded Jimmy and Mentally Ill Mike. They begged me for $$$ and told me that they loved Buffalo, so I gave this dynamic duo a fiver and took their pictures for my blog. This city just gets better and better.

 Dave the Painter

 One-Legged Jimmy

 Hobo Mike

The next evening I hit a couple of touristy bars and was not impressed, so I asked my Buffalo native bartenders at the Hyatt where I should go for drinks and maybe a tattoo. Richard and Jen highly recommended Elmwood Avenue and Cowpok Tattoos.  So, the next afternoon, after a crack-dealing city bus ride to and fro Niagara Falls, I hopped the #20 bus to Elmwood. I grabbed a beer and some chips for my late lunch, and proceeded to window shop along the avenue as I hunted for Cowpok Tattoos. Once there, Buffalo Donny said he could certainly sear a really righteous buffalo into my lower leg. Sounds good. Once I got back to my hotel, I looked at Donny's masterpiece. It looked more like a chicken wing than a buffalo to me.That's ok since Buffalo is the birthplace of chicken wings. Since then I've been told it looks like a flower, furry squirrel and a pile of dirt. Whatever, because it's the journey, and not necessarily the outcome ,that makes life worth living. And, like they say in The Queen City, go big, or go home!