Arizona is a good state to me. No, I don't agree with their politics, be it anti-immigration measures or even the anti-MLK Day policies that even had Chuck D. bellowing through a microphone. But the people are good, and the atmosphere there, and the experiences I have.
In high school, I attended "Camp Anytown" in Flagstaff, a life-changing experience I wrote about in my first book. I've seen the Irish play in two Fiesta Bowls in Tempe and last month, while in Scottsdale for MLB meetings, I ran into the Phoenix Suns' Jared Dudley (at the airport) and Cincinatti Reds manager Dusty Baker (bar at the Ritz-Carlton). Both were impeccably nice and Dusty, upon seeing my "Padres Filipino Night 2010" t-shirt, proceeded to tell me about his Filipina wife.
This past weekend I returned for spring training baseball and along with sunscreen and fresh tees, had Slick Nick, Rossi, and KRB in tow. Slick wouldn't let me bring food into his new car but compromised and allowed a Slim Jim and bottle of Diet Coke. I accepted.
We left Friday afternoon, each of us stressed out by work and ready for a getaway, and maybe a little too getaway. After we left the Golden state we entered a Golden state...of consciousness, happiness, and driving speed. A cop stopped us and said Nick was too quick. Speeding ticket. Fail.
Arriving in downtown Phoenix late in the evening, we expected a burgeoning nightlife like in beautiful San Diego. We checked into the hotel, motel Holiday Inn...saaay whaaat?...and took the trolley/train/subway thingy near the U.S. Airways Arena. Even with an event letting out of the arena, every restaurant was closed and I think I saw a tumbleweed bounce into the street. Finally we saw one block that had an eatery open (exotic food with a booming DJ) and then saw three nightclubs, each charging a ridiculous $10 cover.
We chose a place called Wine Bar 'cause it had the smallest line. It also had the smallest hemlines in skirts; skin flashing everywhere. The crowd was about 95% Latino, 4% black, and Nick, Shawn, and Katie. They stood out like sore...big toes. But we danced and freaked and got low, got low, got low. It was fun.
The next day we discovered that 101.5-FM plays a Gaga song, literally, every other song. But on our way to Talking Stick ballpark, home of the Rockies, we blasted "Black and Yellow" by Wiz Khalifa. One passerby gave my car-dancing a thumbs-up. The ballpark was awesome and we lost but it was so good to see beisbol again.
That night, Jessica Lopez and Monica Guzman joined us from SD as we went to Big Bang, a piano bar in Tempe. We sang and danced and enjoyed sounding like Sofia Vergara from Modern Family. One guy joined The Crew and just sat there the whole night. Ashley T. and her friend joined us too and then we left back to the metrolink.
While there I saw a girl that I dubbed Tall Katie. She was tall and blonde and cute and, well, looked like a taller KRB. She heard me and then yelled out, "Hey, are you Alex Montoya?"
Whaaaaaaaat! Slick and them went nuts. I was skurred.
Turns out last month I had dinner at Cheesecake Factory with desert dwellers Rene and RC and this girl was our server. She remembered I had asked her to do a dance - don't ask - but she couldn't there. So here she was, at a trolley station, in front of everyone, gettin' looooow. It was awesome.
Sunday was awesome too. Seats behind home plate at Peoria Sports Complex and the Padres beat the Indians. We celebrated at P.F. Chang's and an elderly gentleman came up to our table to ask me, "Excuse me but were you in the war?" I wanted to say yes and maybe get a beer but I didn't. I politely told him I was not.
We drove back that night and I realized nothing is greater than live baseball and great friends to road trip with. Then I fell asleep.
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