LARGE HEADLINE THAT FILLS A LOT OF SPACE BECAUSE THERE’S NOT MUCH TO WRITE ABOUT THIS WEEK BUT IF I GO TOO LONG BETWEEN COLUMNS ALEX SOSIK REALLY LETS ME HAVE IT OF THE WEEK:
I’m tits-deep in the summer grind; 40 hours at Old Navy, 20+ hours of gigs, the occasional sandwich… the scenery doesn’t change much. I just kind of wake up to my alarm every day and go where it tells me… What does this mean to you, my faithful readers? It means that every once in a while you have to force your way through a super-boring column like this that I’m really only writing because some of you pay for it… BECAUSE I REALLY LOVE WRITING!
BUYER’S REMORSE OF THE WEEK:
I was thrilled, absolutely overjoyed, to land our summer residency gigs at Jersey Girl, Joe’s Fish and PigDog. Over the moon I was! And then… I drove into Wildwood every Thursday, Friday and Saturday at peek traffic hours, fought for parking (employee lots are available but spaces are not guaranteed) and carried my gear a quarter-mile (half-mile?) from Pacific Ave. to the waterpark and, well, you know… (this is all, of course, in jest… aside from 4th of July weekend being a total shit show, 30 minutes to get there, 30 minutes to park, which is kind of baked into the holiday cake, we’ve loved our Morey’s Piers gigs. But Geoff, if you’re reading, 2026 negotiations begin and end with three words; Beach. Parking. Pass.) Speaking of which…
GIGS! GIGS! GIGS!:
THURSDAY: Terry & Jerry at Jersey Girl Kitchen, 530-930.
FRIDAY: Terry & Jerry at Joe’s Fish Co., 6-10.
SATURDAY: Terry & Jerry at PigDog, 1130-330.
SUNDAY: Terry & Dave at the Beach Shack & Rusty Nail, 5-9.
PLEASE NOTE: Karaoke Sundays at the Rusty Nail have been DISCONTINUED. It’s not that the karaoke wasn’t going well. In fact, it was going quite well. The issue was; the karaoke was doing well. Let me explain… no, it’s too much, let me sum up… every week we drew more and more karaoke singers to the Nail. So many that Dave and I would not play acoustic all that much after the first set and we’d have to eschew (that’s a good writer’s word right there) our breaks in order to accommodate the booming number of participants. But… if you’ve ever been to a karaoke bar, you know that quantity very very very seldom equals quality. Which is fine. In a karaoke bar. But not so much at a bucolic (boom, another great writer’s word) outdoor dining space where the music outside is piped inside and, well, again… karaoke singers. To be clear, our singers were doing exactly what our singers should do at a karaoke venue; picking big songs and belting them out to the best (or loudest) of their abilities, and… let’s just say the fit wasn’t great. You can absorb a few not-great singers a night if the majority of your people are okay-to-good, but start-to-finish subpar singers can be a little punishing…
FROM THE FILTHY MIND OF ALEX SOSIK:
After “complaining” (I wasn’t really complaining, I was just saying… but whatever) about the blisters on my hand after using the lawnmower he graciously gifted me last week, Alex comes to Jersey Girl on Thursday and says, “You know, if you’d stop [INSERT EUPHAMISM FOR MASTURBATION HERE] before you cut the grass you wouldn’t get blisters…” This is an excellent burn and was well-delivered by Alex, which he should take pride in. But the blisters were on my right hand and, well, I’m a lefty…
OH! THE IRONY OF THE WEEK OR HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LEAN INTO MY HEART ATTACK:
While ferrying my Sunday musical partner, “Sugar” Dave Hughes, from gig-to-gig (amazing and stupendous guitarist, but the motherfucker needs a hoopty) I told him how I’d just made the final payment on my Highlander (spoiler alert; I paid off my Highlander, O.G. Undertow readers know all about my Highlander Adventure) and that I was keeping my fingers crossed every time I turned the key for the new few weeks because that’s when Terrible Things happen to your stuff; final payment, warranty expiration, all that. Anyway, I dropped him off in Cape May Court House after our (stellar) Sunday acoustic gig and, on the way home, start hearing this odd whistling noise. That’s it! I tell myself. My AC is gone or my fan belts are fucked or my transmission is falling out! You know, all the terribly things you tell yourself when you hear a strange noise in your car. Long story short (too late, I know…) turns out Dave left his window cracked about an 1/8” and I just laughed and laughed and I’m totally punching Dave really hard in the shoulder next time I see him…
UNDERTOW SPORTS BOOK LEAD PIPE STONE COLD LOCK OF THE WEEK:
If I had a spare $1,000 I’d bet it on the rest room at the N. Cape May Acme being occupied 100% of the time I need to use one. BOTH OF THEM. EVERY FUCKING TIME! And now for some context…
COOL AS SHIT MUSICAL EVENT OF THE WEEK:
I attended the original music showcase for Maddie Hogan on Saturday night at End of the Road Theater, next to the N. Cape May Acme. Opening act Les DeRose played a handful of lovely songs but, when asked how she got her start in music, failed to credit Terry O’ke at Atkinson’s Tavern circa 2008 for helping her break out of her shell, so I hate her now. (Kidding, Les is delightful and her music is pretty.) Maddie followed with about an hour of mostly-original songs mixed with a few covers and rocked the house. I was familiar with most of the material as I’ve had her country-tinged CD on repeat in my Highlander (did I mention I paid off my Highlander?) for a few weeks now. The songs range from perfectly nice album tracks to potential hit singles (of which there are several), and Maddie sings the shit out of every one of them. She also put on a great live show, though I am partial because I am already quite fond of Maddie and work with 2/3 of her band (Dave Hughes and Pierre Miller). I wish Maddie the best on her musical journey but would it kill her to write a country torch ballad duet I can sing the guy part on and get rich and famous on her coattails? No, she only thinks about herself…
Learn more about Maddie and purchase her music here.
SLIGHTLY LESS FAT-FUCKEDNESS OF THE WEEK:
The real reason I’m writing a column today is that I just finished doing the lawn and, while I was relatively pleased to wake up this morning tipping the scales at 220.5 lbs., I am even more relatively pleased to check-in currently at 219.5, post-mow. Sure, it’s a little bit of a cheat, weighing myself after an hour of pushing a lawnmower around in the heat, but I’ll take it. And I just wanted to brag a little. So there.
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