Welcome to Bellman Barker’s Mustache Diary. You’ll be following us on a journey through five states in five days (check out Maryland yesterday) on our way back to the Velvet Lounge for a show on Saturday, October 27th. Each day, we’ll also profile someone we meet that has a great mustache.
Today, we’re in Wilmington, Delaware…
On Sunday we played a club called Mojo 13 in Wilmington, Delaware. Cool place – kind of like Palace of Wonders; the kind of bar where Blade would hang out.
We were hoping that Novit (fake name) from the local Starbucks would come by after she got off work; no dice. However, we got a good smattering of folks from every walk of life, from one of Tom’s coworkers to “Wild Bill,” a straight-talking man who got out of the federal penitentiary 8 days ago, hitchhiked 1,200 miles to get to Wilmington and couldn’t stop talking about the “father of zine-dom”, Fact Sheet 5.
But the MUSTACHE winner of today was a gentleman who insisted on using the pseudonym Michael (but whose real name was Greg):
You may notice there’s no photo of this gentleman. Unfortunately, Michael/Greg insisted that his checkered past (including weapons charges, multiple DUI’s and a possible stint with the US Government during which he was made to hold pellets of plutonium in his bare hands) might catch up with him if the authorities were to get wind of his whereabouts. So, no good photos.
But even without the photo, this guy was more than gnarly enough to merit this MUSTACHE profile. He was wearing a Stevie Ray Vaughan hat. His mustache was salt and pepper, and only casually groomed. He coughed fiercely, cursing twenty years of asbestos poisoning. He brought his own pewter-topped stein to the bar.
Michael/Greg has led a storied life and has the scars to prove it. During a tale about a motorcycle accident in which he slid 180 feet along the pavement he compelled our keyboardist, Steve to touch his grizzled leg. Raising his pant leg, he revealed a series of deep, old gashes and said, “I ain’t no f@gg*t, but TOUCH IT!” Steve said the baseball-sized crater felt like a plastic bag full of curdled milk.
Michael/Greg DID NOT want his photo taken. Below are the best shots we could get.
SVET: INSERT THE FOLLOWING PHOTOS
After the show, we took off for rest and relaxation in Queens, where we ate Costco chicken with our fingers. See you tomorrow in New York City.
BB
