The Secret Life of New York

I moved blogs!

2007-01-18T00:07:00.000-05:00

Check my new blog at http://opinionsdaily.net

UCLA Student Tasered in Library by Police

2006-11-21T23:10:00.000-05:00

Fuck tha police
Comin straight from the underground
Young nigga got it bad cuz I'm brown
And not the other color so police think
They have the authority to kill a minority
-N.W.A

Just another reason to be bitter at the man:

So a 19-year old Iranian UCLA student walks into the library but doesn't show his ID to the campus police. What ensues next is unclear...

What we do see is the end result, three or four armed cops tasering the unarmed student as he wails in pain from the electric shock...

Now unless the unarmed Iranian student was physical attacking the police, I think there is zero justification for what the police did.

I realize this video probably doesn't tell the whole picture. Maybe he refused to leave. Maybe he cursed at the officers. Maybe he said he had a fivesome with all the officers mom's last night, and he loved fucking each of them in every orifice possible.

But even if he refused to leave the library, the police could have at the very least handcuffed and arrested him; if he refused that or wouldn't budge from his spot, the three or four officers could have physically carried out the student if need be.

Tasering should have been the last possible choice. It's very painful and has killed 84 people in the U.S. and Canada in the last 7 years. Plus it makes grown men whimper like little girls. (If I was that Iranian kids friends, I'd surely crack a few jokes, but then again I'm an asshole.)

I hope those fucking cops get fired.

Office Space Redux

2006-11-14T16:32:00.000-05:00

Fans of the movie Office Space are going to love this. It's Office Space recut to resemble a horror movie. I know what you're thinking: isn't the original already a horror movie? I'm curious to hear your comments...

Grade: watch it if you have a sense of humor

I hate 401Ks and IRAs

2006-11-13T19:02:00.000-05:00

I'm convinced that everyday people, myself included, think that rich people are better than themselves.

They certainly dress better in their perfectly tailored Armani suits compared to our Men's Warehouse variety.

They certainly sleep with better looking people-- the Angelina Jolies and the playboy models of the world, while we get whatever we can.

And they certainly don't have to worry about mortgages and student loan payments...

Part of me wants to argue that the rich have no perspective, are soulless and don't understand joy and pain go hand in hand, that everything the everyday person calls their own, whether it's material or symbolic, is in a way spiritual because it is earned with blood, sweat and tears. (yes I feel so good about paying my student loans because I did it myself!) But unfortunately, that would be a lie.

I am no more a spiritual person than Brad Pitt. I may even be less a spiritual being because unlike Mr. Pitt, money, and not adopting poor African children, is always on my mind...

America and capitalism is a rewards system, and the benefits and prestige of that system are money and material goods. And no matter how happy you are with your nice paying job and beautiful family, there's always an annoying itch inside of you reminding that other people have more than you, that they have an endless supply of money and expensive items, while you're stuck with your three year old Ipod mini.

So it it with some sadness that I put money into retirement accounts, 401Ks and IRAs, for my future. The child in me wants to spend it all on material good, buy that new Ipod and HDTV because I am a shallow child of a shallow, empty system.

But alas, the Sancho Panza in me-- in all us I guess-- thinks better of that idea. Better to save a little every month, so that by the time I'm old and decrepit and can barely enjoy the money, I'll have more than I know what to do with.

It's an awful system built on a future that might not exist, ignoring the present we live in.

If only I was born into the Hilton family.

Restaurant Review of Vnyl

2006-11-10T16:12:00.000-05:00

Do you have an unhealthy obsession with campy items?

Want to go the bathroom in singer-themed rooms?

Think menus should be actually be album covers instead of regular old laminated paper?

Then I've found the place for you: Vnyl in Hell's Kitchen!

Located at 9th avenue and 51st street, Vnyl offers everything you expect from a trendy-themed restaurant: large crowds who are all as pretentious as you are. But unlike most pretentious spots, this one has a little fun with campy decor that includes Backstreet Boy Figurines.

The music is pretty great at Vnyl as well. When I went on a Tuesday night, I heard the likes of Bel Biv Devoe, Prince and Dexy's Midnight Runner. And my menu was the cover to the Beastie Boys great album "Paul's Boutique." How cool is that!

The food was fine... it's hard to me to comment to much on it because 1) I ordered a Chicken Pot Pie, which is really hard to screw up and 2) I was kind of hammered, so I wasn't necessarily paying attention to the food's taste. But the people I was with thought the food was pretty good and it was very affordable, so take that for what it's worth. (It's really not worth that much because I only hang out people as bright as me.)

The real kicker at Vnyl, however, is the bathrooms. Each is singer-themed: a Cher bathroom, an Elvis bathroom, a Nelly bathroom, and a Barbara Streisand bathroom. I went inside the Nelly bathroom. Inside they were playing Country Grammar ("I'm goin down down baby, yo' street in a Range Rover") and they had a glass case with a cartoonish Nelly figurine. If only every time I took a shit, I could be this amused!

Best For: Trying to impress your out-of-town friends with how eccentrically cool New York is, while spending very little.

P.S. For other New York restaurants recommendations, try the guides below. Or don't. I don't give a shit.

A review of last night's election coverage

2006-11-08T15:14:00.000-05:00

What channels did you watch last night?

I flipped around a lot. I started with CNN, then checked out Fox News. Moved on to ABC, then the Daily Show/Colbert Report. I ended the night with MSNBC and Fox News.

I purposely didn't switch to CBS and Katie Couric because I only like perkiness in the morning. That, and I hate women, especially when they want to be treated like equals.

In between I caught a little bit of "House" on Fox, where Dr. House tries to save the life of a 600-pound man, whose blubbery arms, legs and stomach looked like rotting pieces of dough. Mmm, tasty!

Who'd you like the best?

It was a tough choice. Each channel had it's strengths and weaknesses. But ultimately I decided that no one was the best because all the network's and their talking heads have an inflated, undeserved sense of self-importance, even though everything they discuss only applies to rich white people playing silly, self-important games and has very little to do with reality and normal people.

But other than that, I thought every network did a commendable job.

Favorite moment of the night?

James Carville calling out Bill Bennet for interrupting him while he was talking. And then Bennet repeatedly saying "I'm sorry James, I'm sorry James" like a 4-year old who thinks he's lost his mother's love. Awwww. Those guys are so cute together.

Also Richmond Webb's great run and pass blocking at left tackle in the last two minutes of the fourth quarter, which helped the Dolphins over take George Allen's Redskins was pretty entertaining, too. (Please leave a comment if anyone understands what the hell I'm saying or if it's just another one of my ether-induced hallucinations. I will give you a prize!)

Who was your favorite anchor?

It'd be easy to say Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert, but there was actually a better, funnier anchor last night: Lou Dobbs. Did you see his carrot top hair dye? Hahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Overall impressions?

A waste of time for anyone who doesn't care about politics. Unfortunately for the future of America, that eliminates about 75% of the population. And the 25% who do care about politics:
well, they'll believe what happened last night is an agent for change, either for good or bad. Oh, how it must feel to be rich, white and out of touch with your constituents!

P.S. If you want to buy a book about American politics, please use the amazon.com link below. If you buy a $5 book, I get 4% of the earnings. That means I'm 2o cents richer!

Martin Scorsese's The Departed

2006-11-07T12:08:00.000-05:00

smack my bitch up

(Spoilers ahead...)
I love M arti n Scorsese. And when I say love him, I mean I love him in a manly platonic way.

But I also love his movies. Even the less than perfect ones (Color of Money, Kundun, I mean you) are more interesting than anything Dennis Dugan has ever directed, except for maybe "Saving Silverman." (I don't care how bad it was, it had a Neil Diamond cover band for godssake.)

But there's a problem with his latest release, "The Departed," a remake of the Hong Kong movie "Infernal Affairs": it's just not as good as everyone is saying. (It's currently at 92% on rottentomatoes.com; and it's currently ranked the #66 greatest movie of all time on imdb.com).

It's by no means a bomb; it's a mostly entertaining, intricately plotted crime drama with specks of real humor, genuinely interesting characters and a very hot lady psychiatrist (ooo, I love Vera Farmiga.)

The problem, however, is that my dad's hairy back haunts me more than anything in "The Departed." The quickly moving story is way too over the top and at too dizzying paced to be taken seriously. And in the critical role of Frank Costello, Jack Nicholson unfortunately decides to play Jack Nicholson and kills any chance for this movie to be taken seriously. (I can only imagine how much better the movie would have bee if a less well-known, low-key actor had taken the role.) As a result by the end, when everyone important has a bullet in the back of their head and you're supposed to be in shock and contemplate the tragedy of what just happened, you just laugh and laugh at the lame plot twist. (Warning, if you actually do laugh at this scene, someone will throw something at you from behind.)

There's still a lot to like here. Leonardo DiCaprio and Matt Damon are great as dueling shadows trying to best each other. Dicaprio, with his pretty, baby-face and intense blue eyes, finds a new depth here that's often lost in his pretty boy looks. His Billy Costigan feels like a battered adult; in previous roles, like "Gangs of New York," Dicaprio always felt like a maturing teenager trying to play an adult but not here. He might just have turned the corner as an actor. Or I might just have a new man crush.

Damon rekindles his fast-talking Will Hunting persona with an Irish accent, as Colin Sullivan, a fast-talking charmer, who's an unusually intelligent cop that stays ahead of the heat. The only thing wrong with performance is that he never got to say "how you like them apples."

And the supporting actors are great especially Mark Wahlberg and Alec Baldwin. In a screen filled with pretty boys, Baldwin's overweight, tough-new york guy machismo is needed; and he's also funny as hell. While Wahlberg continues to prove he's not just a talented hip-hop star. (does anyone really have anything bad to say about Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch? Besides the obvious comment that they were horrible, that is.)

But overall, after seeing "The Departed," I now wonder does Scorsese have anything to say about males playing their silly games that he hasn't already said a hundred times better? I say no, and it's time to move on to more Duganian themes... imagine an edgy "Happy Gilmore" with a rock and roll soundtrack.

My advice: watch "Mean Streets" or "Goodfellas" again.

Grade: C+

P.S. As always, if you're interested in buying any Scorsese movies, please use the links below, so I can support my vicodin addiction.

Borat Movie Today

2006-11-02T23:31:00.000-05:00

The Borat movie arrives today, November 3rd, and I'm excited as hell. The reviews have been phenomenal; even the New Yorker's usually turgid Anthony Lane loved it. I haven't seen, but it's probably going to be the funniest movie of the year, maybe of all time.

Well, maybe not of all time. I doubt anything can beat the antics and hilarity of either Bio-Dome or Son In Law, but Borat just might.

Anyway, in honor of the movie's release, here is quite possible the funniest Borat sketch ever: Borat's Guide to Wine Tasting. I don't want to give away too much for those who haven't seen it, but the sketch includes the line: "My mother, she never love me. She say she wish she was raped by someone else."

Now if that's not genius, I don't know what is.

Ice Cube T-Shirt

2006-10-31T17:48:00.000-05:00

Anyone who grew up in the 90's and listened to hip-hop has a soft spot for Ice Cube's "It was a Good Day." It's one of those rap songs that not spoke to your intellect, but your heart as well.

I remember the first time I heard the line, "Plus nobody I know got killed today/in South Central LA/today was a good day," and I felt an instant connection to my life at the time. Sure I was a dorky 14 year old kid living in the suburbs of Santa Clara, but like all 14 year old suburban kids, I wanted to be a gangster. I wanted to feel steel in my hand. I wanted to shoot at people in rival gangs because I thought I was hard.

Yes, I was an idiot.

Now turntablelab.com has allowed me to relive my idiocy and wasted youth with this T-shirt that reads "I had the brew, she had the chronic/the lakers beat the supersonics." It's almost like I'm 14 again.

The difference between making love and fucking

2006-10-17T23:42:00.000-04:00

Manhattan is, among other things, a place where young and middle aged women from the midwest come because they want to get a taste of their favorite tv show, Sex in the City. If you're observant enough, you can see them lined up outside Magnolia bakery everyday with their dopey, disinterested husband wearing his shorts and a t-shirt that would be ironic if it weren't on someone who didn't looks so damn upstanding, forthright and unironic. (See pic).

They wait for up to a half hour for slightly better than average cupcakes (best cupcake in the city in my opinion: Two Little Red Hens, Park Slope) and then sit down in nearby Bleecker St. park to taste the moist cake with fancy frosting, as they watch the children of people richer than themselves play.

Now most New Yorkers, I assume, judge these people with condescending big-city snobbery. In fact I heard a couple of West Villagers-- two cliches wearing turtlenecks and hip, intellectual glasses that scream faux intellectual yuppie-- say arrogantly a couple months back, as they walked past the line at Magnola, "Oh, they're all waiting here because of that TV show again."

Now like those New Yorkers walking past the bakery, it's easy to be a cynical, judgmental asshole as they grow older. Anything can happen, life doesn't go as planned. I know those are trite cliches, but in a very real sense, I'm coming to terms with these cliches... I can easily imagine being fat and 50, and all I have to show for it is a fat 401K, a job I hate, and a wife I fuck when I'm horny. That kind of life would make me a cynical, judgmental asshole real quick.

So in a very real sense, I appreciate these beautiful, ingenuous Midwest women lining up outside Magnolia bakery to eat there only because Carrie Bradshaw and Miranda Hobbes once did for 30 seconds. In some way they've managed to keep the innocent excitment that many lose with their childhood; they've managed to appreciate the small things, which many city dwellers often ignore or dimiss as unsophisticated. They've managed to make love once more, while the rest of the world is fucking their brains out.

The Unscheduled Arrival of a New Yorker into adulthood

2006-09-21T20:10:00.000-04:00

that's my hero to the right

What is it about a big city that awakens the worst in a person-- vanity, materialism, drugs, atheism, liberalism, drinking scotch in your underwear.

My theory: we're all inherently shallow and hedonistic, (If you could be Vincent Chase or a Buddhist monk, who would you be?) and the glitz and glamour of a big city is not the cause of it, but the result of it. ( I know, it's the nurture vs. nature question all over again. Am I a disgusting human being because it's my nature or because society made so?)

Personally, I've become a hundreds times worst since I've moved to New York more than two years ago. For one, I make an effort to dress like one of the "cool" kids now, which means I 've scrounged through the dollar t-shirt bin at Housing Works in hopes of finding some bizarre item reading "Initech's 5th annual company picnic."

Of course, I am being semi-ironic. Besides my clothes, my new penchant for Happy Hours and an undying belief that I'm better than everyone else because I live in a city where I can buy crack at any hour, I really haven't changed all too much since I've moved. (Did I mention that I'm now a scientologist, too?)

What has changed, however, is a new understanding and appreciation for money.

I make a decent living for a 26-year old. But in a city where people pay $2200 dollar a month for an apartment in the village or $15 a cocktail at a bar, my decent living turns to a meager amount real quick.

And so for the first time in my life, I've taken an interest on how I can not only make more of it, but how I can invest it.

(That thought still feels strange to me; I watched Motorcycle Diaries and reread The Communist Manifesto just to get the dirty taste out of my mouth.)

And despite what I thought when I was younger, I haven't lost my soul to capitalistic greed quite yet.

But who knows, in the near future, I'll probably get married and buy some property, and then before you know it... Presto chango, I'm voting for the guy to my right cause he's giving me a bigger tax break.

Getting old fucking sucks.

Howdy Stabby...

2006-09-10T20:34:00.000-04:00

the culprit

I'll be the first time to admit that living in New York City can be glamorous. Not quite Friends glamorous or Sex in the City glamorous (I'm neither white or have a lot of money, which rules me out of either demographic), but still it has it's glamour. You see celebrities at random spots; you spend $12 bucks for a Heniken because you're at rooftop bar that overlooks the Hudson; you find little hole in the bar walls on Avenue C that has great live acts.

But all those stereotypes that people not living in America's biggest city (that's right LA isn't really a city) are also true. You know what I'm talking about: New Yorkers are ruder; you could get mugged at any second; don't walk through Central Park at night; watch out for crazy people.

Well on my subway stop (the subway stop I use everyday that is) one of those crazy people struck. It was a little like Friday 13th meets Ghost. A deranged man stole a handsaw from construction workers, chased after a 64-year old construction worker and sawed his chest. Yes that's right a scene right out of a horror movie 3 minutes from my apartment. Here's how the guy who was attacked described the scene:

I was waiting outside to put my MetroCard through. I saw a lot of ... [construction workers] running away down the platform and I saw this guy with a hacksaw, or whatever the hell it was, running toward me.
They ran away. I wasn't sure what everybody was running from. Then the guy came outside where I was standing. He looked at me and before I knew it he was attacking me.

The motor kept going on and he was trying to cut through me.

He never stopped. For two, three, four times he never stopped.

I screamed for help. "Please help! Please help me!"

The ... people [construction workers] heard me. They just looked. They never stopped to help me, and that disturbed me more than anything else. I begged for somebody to call an ambulance and to get this guy off me.

He never spoke. I think he was out of his mind...

...I was bleeding everyplace. No transit employee ever came over to me to see how I was doing. They just kept doing their job.

That's what upsets me more than anything else. There were at least six of them there, and they could have gotten him off me. It's a sad commentary on how people just don't give a damn.

At the end, when he was finished he said, "Give me your money."

But the victim, who was a 64-year old construction worker, is probably going to come out in the end; you see, like any good America he's planning to sue the MTA. And I don't know about you, but I can imagine Mr. postal worker getting a nice payout...

Free TV shows on the Internet

2006-09-05T00:43:00.000-04:00

Ever had the urge to see the first season "Xena: Warrior Princess" before it became too commercial? Ever wanted to see the relationship between Dawson Leery and Joey Potter grow into something real and beautiful?

Well now thanks to the illegal power of the internet, you can. Just go to a web site called TV Links to watch many of your favorite TV shows of years yonder for free.

My personal favorite: even though I don't own a car, I just watched a few episodes of "Pimp My Ride," because I enjoy anything that endorses the value of material goods. Ah Xzibit, what zany high jinks will you come up with next?

Click here to view:

http://tvlinks.voodeedoo.org/

I'm not dead

2006-08-13T21:27:00.000-04:00

It's been awhile since I posted because I've been busy as hell, but things are slowing down a bit, so I plan to writing on my blog a whole lot more in the coming weeks.

Anyway, in honor the world's most boring sports, here's a video to keep you occupied and happy. It's the Simpsons spoof on soccer; it'll have any red blooded American laughing in a second...

Attica means doing the right thing: Great New York Movies

2006-08-06T14:31:00.000-04:00

In honor of Dave Chappelle's Block Party releasing today, I've complied a list of five great New York movies with my usual brilliant insight appended (i.e. Godfather is good. You will like it). Of course this list is by no means comprehensive and is severely limited by my memory and movies I've actually seen, which means movies like On the Watefront are not included. So without further adieu...

Mean Streets
Martin Scorsese's first big hit, and I think his best. Combining the great entertainment value of Goodfellas with the heavier themes of Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, Mean Streets explores the themes of masculinity and sin with vitality and techincal virtuosity. Add in a great pool hall brawl with the classic "What's a mook?" conversation, a very young Harvey Kietel and Robert Deniro, a shocking ending where Scorsese himself makes an appearance, one of the first cool rock soundtracks and a great sense of the Lower East Side's atomsphere in the 70's, and you've one great New York movie.

Do the Right Thing
Bed-Stuy Brooklyn on a hot summer day. A cast of rich characters of many racial backgrounds. Some of the best and funniest dialogue in a Spike Lee movie (Mookie: Pino, fuck you, fuck your fuckin' pizza, and fuck Frank Sinatra. Pino: Yeah? Well fuck you too, and fuck Michael Jackson.) And an ending that will either piss you off or have you saying "finally." One of the few modern America movies to deal with race frankly and from the point of view of minorities and one of the best movies in recent years. Plus you get some great shots of Bed-Stuy.

Manhattan
My favorite Woody Allen film, Manhattan is shot in black and white, and it's hard to imagine the city looking any better. It has also has the usual witty dialogue (You think you're God.
Isaac Davis: I... I gotta model myself after someone.) and a suprisingly mature and touching relationship between Woody and 17-year-old Mariel Hemingway.

Dog Day Afternoon
Al Pacino gives one of the most underrated performances in movie history in this Sidney Lumet classic. The story of bank robbery gone wrong, the whole movie depends on Pacino's performance, and he delivers on every note. The movie requires him to be charismatic, commanding, compassionate, tough, sweet– sometimes at the sametime– and he does it with such ease and grace, it doesn't feel like acting, it feels like real life. Plus some cool shots of 70's Brooklyn.

Ghostbusters
Why the hell is this on the list? Because of the great shots of Manhattan from the Upper West Side to Chinatown, because Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis and Rick Moranis are at the top of their game, because this movie is damn funny. An 80's comedy classic.

The 9/11 Conspiracy

2006-07-27T19:14:00.000-04:00

This video, "911 Loose Change," has been all over the internet and news in recent weeks. Some of the material is provocative and interesting; but like most conspiracy theories, a large amount of suspension of disbelief is necessary (It might help to be drunk or high on something also, in order to believe some of the claims). Anwyay, I've included it below if you're interested in such things. It's definitely worth your while.

I've also included a link to a Popular Mechanics that debunks every conspiracy theory... so much for that missile hitting the Pentagon.

Loose Change

Popular Mechanics Word Trade Center Story

The Simpsons and the Oakland A's

2006-06-23T16:15:00.000-04:00

Two of my favorite things in the world, the Simpsons and the Oakland A's are one...

Da Vinci Code protests in New York

2006-05-22T20:19:00.000-04:00

I saw The Da Vinci Code yesterday. In short it was a bad movie. Too much exposition, tepid pacing, little emotion-- in short I wish could have my $11 bucks back (yes that's how much a movie costs in New York). The only things I enjoyed about it were a) the preposterous claims about Jesus and Mary Magdalene, which I knew very little about and b) the beautiful Audrey Tautou.

What was interesting about the movie though was the protestors outside the theater. Behind police barricades, a throng of religious zealots prayed aloud, held signs with pictures of their savior, handed out fliers, all the while looking very solemn. (how else would a bunch of people protesting a movie look?) I was half expecting them to burn Dan Brown in effigy but alas I was not that lucky.

I'm probably going to hell and I have strong beliefs about almost nothing so I hate to be judgmental myself, but it seems to me that there's much ado about nothing here. The basis of Christianity is that Jesus was the son of God; that he died for our sins, but was resurrected on Easter. Without his resurrection, Christianity would not exist. Jesus would be another prophet in a long line of Jewish prophets.

So whether Jesus married Mary Magadalene or not seems pointless to me. Do the details of Jesus's life matter all that much as long as he was resurrected on Easter? Does the subtly, compassion and grace of Jesus's teachings lose all meaning because he was married? Of course not. After all Jesus may have been divine but was also flesh, and therefore in theory had all the beauties and flaws of any human being.

I think a perfect analogy would be Martin Luther King Jr. who slept with many women while married, a flaw many great men have had in their lives. But King's message of nonviolence, racial equality and compassion have not been lessened. Instead it's celebrated today for its courage and humility.

Celebrities in New York City

2006-05-04T13:31:00.000-04:00

It doesn't get any better than this

America is a celebrity-obsessed culture. I'm sure there any many reasons why, but if I had to guess the most important reason, I'd say it's because we, the common everyday people, are convinced that celebrities are better than us, the common rabble.

It's not hard to see why; celebrities basically have everything our materialistic, capitalist society says we should want: they have more money than us, they're better looking than us, they have nicer houses and cars, they have sex with hotter people than us, and they're usually more talented than us. (Of course I don't have any real evidence to prove this, but I've got lots of hearsay and conjecture, which are types of evidence)

So as a result people start dressing like celebrities, start acting like celebrities, start buying celebrity magazines, start watching celebrity networks, start watching movies because celebrities are in them... and the next thing you know you're confusing Brad Pitt with Jeebus. (Click on the link. It's funny!)

Well in New York I often get to see my social and physical betters; celebrities and pseudo-celebrities are everywhere. Hell, I see LL Cool J so often, it's lost all of its novelty (He works in my building and once told me it wasn't raining outside). Other celebrities I've seen include David Schwimmer, Howard Stern, Christian Slater, Christina Ricci, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Elijah Wood, Wyclef Jean, Michael Rapaport and many, many more...

The other day, however, I was privileged to see one of the great celebrities of our time. I was walking down St. Marks Place with my girlfriend to a Japanese restaurant, and I noticed a short Asian woman leaning near the wall. She made eye contact with me. I recognized her immediately. It was Lori Tan Chinn (Sorry the picture sucks so bad). Yes that Lori Tan Chinn from "Roseanne" and "She-Devil." Yes that Lori Tan Chinn whose acting talent has been called "out of this world." (I'm not sure who said that, but I'm sure someone has).

There aren't many times I can say this and actually believe it but, I'm lucky to be alive.

Another Classic Simpsons Quote

2006-05-04T12:22:00.000-04:00

(Homer drops a peanut under the couch and finds a $20 bill)

Homer: Aw, twenty dollars! I wanted a peanut!

Homer's Brain: Twenty dollars can buy many peanuts!

Homer: Explain how!

Homer's Brain: Money can be exchanged for goods and services!

Homer: Woo-hoo!

SARS, check it out!

2006-04-21T17:14:00.000-04:00

My brother created a hip-hop music video a couple years back with his friends from Santa Barbara, which I thought was pretty cool. If you don't know who my brother is, he's the one that says the immortal line "Pretending to be dead, to get a free pack of Marlboro Reds"

SARS Music Video

New York Exhibition: Bodies Exhibit, South Street Seaport

2006-04-21T10:47:00.000-04:00

Recently I saw the Bodies Exhibition at the South Street Seaport, and it was pretty fascinating stuff.

Using Polymer Preservation (if you want a detailed explanation of what that is, click on the link because I'm not telling you), the exhibition allows you to see every muscle, vein and organ of the human body.

Some of it made me a little squeamish. To view the damage a stroke does to the brain up close, to see infant birth defects or to see what smoking does to your lungs (thank god I recently quit) is enough to make you realize how fragile our bodies really are and then make you want to puke in the corner.

But it also made me realize how incredibly complex it is to do something as simple as taking a step. Muscles, ligaments, veins, arteries, organs all working in perfect order so you can move.

Later I found out all there was controversy surrounding the exhibit, because all the specimens were Chinese, and that quite possibly some of them were political prisoners– i.e. Tibetans, which is my father's ancestry.

I would have had a moral objection to this but I found out too late... what are you going to do?

Homer Simpson is Funny

2006-04-20T09:28:00.000-04:00

I was watching an old episode of the Simpsons the other day and busted up laughing when I heard this:

Lisa: Mom, I want to honor Bleeding Gums' memory but I don't know where to start.

Marge: Maybe you could get the local jazz station to do a tribute to him, huh?

Homer: Jazz, pfft. They just make it up as they go along. I could do that (in the "Mary Had a Little Lamb" tune): dee dee-dee dee dee dee dee, dee dee dee --

Marge: That's "Mary Had a Little Lamb".

Homer: OK, then, this (again in the "Mary Had a Little Lamb" tune): doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo --

Marge: That's the same thing; you just replaced "dee"s with "doo"s.

Homer: D'oh!

A Weary New Yorker

2006-04-18T18:34:00.000-04:00

my other life

Part of the reason I moved to New York was to expand and explore my identity. If that meant becoming a cross-dressing dominatrix then so be it. I was ready to try anything in my new life. Luckily for my parents sake that didn't happen.

But even though I haven't completely changed my personality or my sex, my lifestyle has completely transformed and not always for the better. I drink too much for one. For example, my brother was here this week, and from Wednesday to Sunday, we drank every night. Not 1 or 2 drinks. Six drinks at the minimum every night. On Thursday night, I had somewhere between 12-15 drinks. And now I'm tired and broke.

I think we counted 14 bars and 5 restaurants in 5 days. That's a month or twos work for most people. And as much as I enjoyed it at the time, my body is weary from all the damage. I'm taking a long break from my life. Don't be surprised if I've become a monk or if am a born again Christian the next time I write.

1986 World Series Game 6 Re-Enacted in RBI Baseball

2006-04-10T17:57:00.000-04:00

If you're a big baseball fan like me, you'll love this. If not, don't watch this. It's about 8 minutes long.

It's the entire 10th inning of game six of the 1986 world series re-enacted with the Nintendo game RBI baseball with the Bill Buckner faux pas and all. I thought it was pretty damn funny:

1986 World Series Game 6 Re-Enacted in RBI Baseball

New York Play: The amazing Sarah Jones

2006-04-08T13:29:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned in the previous article, I was privileged enough to see Sarah Jones's "Bridge and Tunnel" last night. It's a one-woman show with Ms. Jones, who is a black woman, playing all the characters, including an old Pakistani male accountant, a Jewish woman, a Chinese mother and a Mexican paraplegic.

Quite simply, Ms. Jones was amazing. It was as good of an acting performance that you'll ever see. That she played a senior citizen Jewish woman and the audience soon forgot that she was a young black woman tells you something of here talent.

And she was an impeccable comedian, too. Her accents, the perfection of each person's mannerisms (while imitating a hip-hop MC she hilariously points out that one of the ways you could tell she was an MC was because she kept repeating "you know what I'm saying" ), her understanding of what is universally funny no matter the race or creed, her understanding of what makes us tragically and hilariously human, all make her a comedian of the first order. Laughter was heard throughout the theater from the oldest white man to the young black woman.

But what made "Bridge and Tunnel" truly stand out was it's depiction of the American immigrant experience. To see a Mexican paraplegic discussing his time in the fields, the Jewish woman not being able to buy house in the 1940's because a sign read "No Jews" in front of the homes, the Pakistani accountant racial-profiled after 9/11, was enough to make my heart break over and over again.

With congress trying to tighten immigration laws again because it's a "problem" (because they really can't defend themselves, aren't illegal immigrants the perfect distraction especially when there are real problems facing the country?), "Bridge and Tunnel" is the perfect reminder of what America is supposed to symbolize... a better life no matter your class, race or creed.

Tonight's New York Activity: Sarah Jones's Bridge and Tunnel

2006-04-07T16:45:00.000-04:00

One of the benefits of living in New York City– besides breathing smog filled air, dealing with crazy people all the time and spending too much money on rent for a closet of living space– is the thriving culture. (My girlfriend, Erica, who's from L.A. told me the other day: What's the difference between yogurt and Los Angeles? Yogurt has a living culture.)

For example, if I want to watch a jazz show, I can walk 2 blocks down the street to Smoke chill the fuck out and listen to music. If I want to go eat great Chinese/Peruvian, I walk down the street 5 blocks to Flor De Mayo. Or if I want to buy a sack of weed, I just walk downstairs.

Tonight I get to enjoy dinner and enjoy a play called "Bridge and Tunnel," which is about:

"Bridge & Tunnel is the story of the American Dream as seen through the personas of fourteen characters, each with a distinct voice. A charismatic male Pakistani accountant, a Chinese mother adjusting to her daughter's alternative lifestyle, and a young Latina with a quick wit and an even faster tongue are but a few of Jones's gallery of characters. This chorus of voices emanates from the reaches of New York's boroughs with origins far beyond the city's limits."

And then right after I'm going a to a birthday party at Good World in Chinatown.

Of course all of this expensive and often leaves me broke and waiting to get paid, which means I'll probably die alone, with no money and a rotting liver.

But what the fuck, I'm having a good time.

New York Spring: A walk to wake your thoughts

2006-03-31T16:45:00.000-05:00

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome. –Anne Bradstreet

Yesterday I walked from my work on 34th street and 7th avenue to 72nd and broadway, maybe a 2 1/2 mile walk. It was a beautiful day: 65 degrees, bright sun, people everywhere, girls wearing less and less. It was the type of day, I think, Wordsworth or Kerouac or any romantic would appreciate; it felt like the beginning of something new but vague, unknown but optimistic like the wrapped Christmas present under the tree; it felt like the beginning of spring.

I headed up 8th avenue, past the line of sex shops and strip clubs in the 40's (this is the best area in the city to buy a dildo or a vibrator). My thoughts were racing about springs in California, how they seemed indistinct from summer and even winter; it was then I consciously understood something, which I implicitly knew: to appreciate anything, you must first suffer from it's absence, to feel pain because you are without it.

Winter's in New York consist of cold winds, snow, rain and everything else in between. It was novel to me at first, the expatriate Californian, but 20 degree weather soon wore thin. After about 3 months of freezing temperatures, you began to long for warmth, for color, for vibrancy, for more sunlight than darkness, for life.

It is impossible for a person living in California to fully understand this, to appreciate what you rarely miss. I missed the warm weather, the green in the trees, the people walking in the street. I missed the life and color of spring.

One month anniversary: thank you for clicking

2006-03-28T13:06:00.000-05:00

My blog is one month old today. I'd like to thank the people who click on the ads: (Morgan Davis for one) you've made me nearly $13 in a month.

I could care less about the rest of you.

You can step in dog shit in New York City and no one seems to notice or care

2006-03-24T17:18:00.000-05:00

best friend my ass

On the street I love and live, 108th street between Broadway and Amsterdam, there is a whole lot of dog shit everywhere. That it's against the law to leave your dog's shit on the sidewalk doesn't seem to matter to the residence of my street, however.

This sometimes leads to interesting walks home at night to avoid stepping in shit; imagine storming the beach at Normandy unarmed, wearing a pair of blue blockers, with Nazi machine guns firing all around you, and maybe you can start to understand what it's like. (That last statement might be a bit of an exaggeration.)

But somehow I had never actually stepped in dog shit. That is until this morning. Who knows why today was the day. Maybe I was in a bit of daze because I had stayed up late watching basketball. Maybe the dog shit was the same color as the sidewalk. Or maybe God just decided that everyone needs to step in shit once in awhile and today was just my day.

I knew immediately what happened but looked at my foot just to be sure and saw it. I didn't panic. When you expect something to happen for so long, it's hard to get upset because of it. I just calmly walked over to a semi-shallow water puddle and stepped in it to get the shit off my foot.

It was a strange experience because I did this on a somewhat busy intersection, 108th and Broadway so person after person kept walked past me. But strangely no one seemed to notice. Not once did someone make eye contact with me or my foot; not once did I get a "you're a fucking weirdo" glance. It just reinforced a trite old New York platitude: no one gives a fuck what you're doing.

After about a minute I stopped. I looked at my foot. It was clean. And then I started my walk to the subway station for another day of work.

Random Quote Memory: Naked Gun 2 1/2

2006-03-22T09:31:00.000-05:00

For some reason while I was in the bathroom this morning, this hilarious conversation from Naked Gun 2 1/2 came to mind:

Jane: You only lived for police work.

Frank: You lived for the N-zone layer!

Jane: Ozone layer! You never did understand.

Frank: How can you say that, when I bought
acres of Brazilian rainforest, then had it
slashed and burned to build our dream house?

Jane: You're so insensitive!

Frank: Insensitive?! You think it's easy
displacing an entire tribe? You try!

New York Superhero: Antenna Man to the rescue

2006-03-21T17:18:00.000-05:00

I met a superhero yesterday on the subway.

I had just jumped on a 2 train uptown after work. Inside a black man with one arm held a saxophone. He didn't look much different from anyone else except his eyes were bigger and seemed kinder than most and two metal springs with stars at the ends were taped to his beanie like insect antennas. He wore a navy vest and jeans. He smiled at me and then other people. I looked away, trying to ignore him, and read my book.

As the doors closed, he yelled fanatically that "the next stop will be the twilight zone." Then he laughed heartily, almost like a madman. Almost.

His eyes searched the train and then met a white child's gaze. The boy was sitting with his mother and looked up at the man with curious wonder. "I am Antenna Man, and I'm playing this song so all kids eat their veg-a-bulls. Ha, ha, ha." The child grinned, maybe amused by this weird Antenna Man. The mother looked as though she didn't approve, as though Antenna Man might corrupt her child like some scary black man she saw on the news.

The train started to move. Antenna Man began to play "Pop Goes the Weasel"on the saxophone with one hand. It was awful, maybe the most awful rendition of any song that I've heard on the saxophone. It seemed as though every other note was a wrong note. Some people covered their ears. One rollie pollie man standing near the door literally gave him a thumbs down and shook his head like an embarrassed father. I sensed that most people thought this was just a typical New York crazy, and I was starting to think so too. I looked away ashamed for him. I tried to concentrate on my book, but it was too noisy.

As the train begin to slow down at the Times Square stop, Antenna Man quickly changed from "Pop Goes the Weasel" to the "Twilight Zone" theme. It was equally as horrible, but it gave the train's environment an eerie vibe, kind of like an episode of the "Twilight Zone."

Then as the train was about to stop, Antenna Man yelled out, "people of New York, I will stop now for your sake." He gargled his throat for a moment, maybe for dramatic pause. "But before I go, I must tell you," he yelled. "My name is Antenna Man, and my mission is to make everyone happy and make sure no one is hungry! Ha, ha, ha." He then grabbed something his pocket and gave it to the white child before his mother could interject. I couldn't see what it was, though, but I saw the child look at it and smile. His mother then looked and didn't take away the mystery object. Antenna Man paused before the child for a moment and then the mawkish hero quickly walked out of the train.

After he left, an old white man said while laughing, "I'm glad he stopped playing. He was horrible." The younger woman he was with nodded in agreement. She grinned and then started to read this week's New Yorker. I looked at the white kid, and he was looking at what appeared to be a plastic army man. He looked happy, too.

My search for the divine: Trader Joe's and Harold Reynolds in New York

2006-03-20T13:24:00.000-05:00

hallelujah!

I thought New Yorkers had finally been enlightened, found salvation, stepped into the light-- we now have a Trader Joe's in Union Square. It opened on Friday with the fanfare I thought was only reserved for the Lindsay's, Paris's and Britney's nowadays: camera crews, reporters, stories in the New York Times. I was truly excited about this awakening, thought I'd found a replacement to that overpriced, overcrowded disaster, Whole Foods.

However, things didn't start well when I showed up on Sunday; there was a fucking long line not to shop but to get inside the store.

And predictably it got worse. Once inside there were too many people and the shelves were pretty bare so I knew I had to hurry to get the items I really wanted-- frozen gyozas, two-buck chuck and mochi. When I reached the frozen section, however, all the gyozas and mochi were gone. Nothing. Zip.

And the two buck chuck, well it wasn' there either. I was told that it wouldn't be sold for another couple of weeks. Some bullshit about not the wine shop not being open. Fuck that. You don't know how long I've been waiting for two-buck chuck.

All in all, it was a huge disappointment. Trader Joe's promised me salvation in cheap fruit, quality frozen foods and two-buck chuck, but instead all I got was spiritual disappointment-- another overcrowded grocery store in Union Square. The upside, however, is that it can't be this busy forever. Also, I was able to pick up $0.19/lb bananas and awesome frozen burritos, so it wasn't a total loss.

Plus, I found some spiritual satisfaction in other ways this weekend. For one, I saw the man to my left at a restaurant on 76th and Broadway this weekend. He was eating by himself and although I didn't talk to him, the sight of him almost made me cry with happiness, because it meant baseball was almost back, and I could watch him soon everyday on ESPN. Hallelujah.

St. Patrick's Day in New York

2006-03-17T09:32:00.000-05:00

I've never been one to partake in St. Patrick's Day activities. Of course I've had my share of fun on St. Patrick's Day but nothing I'd call a truly alcoholic, binge-drinking experience. (And by binge-drinking, I mean drinking more than your actual tolerance.)

Well, I think that's going to change to tonight because I'm attending the 6th annual Guinness 'til it hurts pub crawl. As you can see above, we've got a fucking map. The plan is to start at The Dancing Bull in the East Village right after work and then hopefully try to follow line of bars throughout Alphabet City.

Quite honestly, I doubt I'm going to make it to the last bar. I think I might have to break off and eat something at least once. And plus I really can't imagine going to 12 bars, drinking at least one Guinness from each bar, and being semi-conscious at the end of the night. But as a wise man once said, "Son, when you participate in sporting events, it's not whether you win or lose... it's how drunk you get."

Anyway, I hope everyone has a Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Random New York Moment: Hawaiian Punch at the Liquor Store

2006-03-14T21:54:00.000-05:00

By my apartment on a 109th and Amsterdam there's a deli cleverly called the 109th Street Deli. (A lot of New York store owners seem to be suffering from a severe lack of imagination. Throughout New York you'll find places called the 12th street deli, 7th avenue deli or just Deli.) It's an interesting place because it's so stereotypically urban.

In front you'll usually find a swarm of Puerto Rican kids selling weed, cocaine and a whole host of other shit if you're interested. Inside, a group of five to six Yemenese men take shifts behind the counter to keep it open all night. There's also a Yemenese guy making great sandwiches in your choice of rolls, heros, wheat or white bread, all for $4 or under. (This guy is a savior at 3:30 in the morning, and you've been drinking for 7 hours straight on an empty stomach.)

For some reason, the place is always crowded. There's usual a drunk guy buying a $2 forty of Ballantine ale and making surprisingly witty comments (last week one guy said to me as I bought Budweiser "That's piss beer. You're gonna piss a lot.") or some young Puerto Rican guy buying a blunt wrap to roll a nice cigar filled with tobacco. Then there's a whole host of other people trying to get a sandwich, buy cigarettes or a soda.

Anyway, the other night I was in there to buy a pack of smokes. I get to the front of the line where there are two Yemenese guys instead of one. One guy I know pretty well-- he gives me shit about how Yemen killed Nepal in soccer-- the other guy not so well. The guy I know, however, wasn't paying attention to me-- he's staring out the window at some smiling Puerto Rican kid who was maybe 10 or 11 years old and had a long braided ponytail.

The guy I know started yelling something at the kid-- all I could make out were the words "asshole" over and over again. The kid then cautiously opened the door to come into the deli. The Yemenese guy I know started yelling louder and said "get the fuck out of here." His usually kind face was snarling and angry. The kid, however, just kept smiling, but there was a hint of fear in his cautious body language at this point. I was of course watching this whole thing, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. The other guy had already given me my cigarettes but I stayed to see what would happen next.

And then without warning my Yemenese friend threw an open can of Hawaiian Punch he was drinking right past my head and at this kid's chest. Red liquid began to splatter on this kids grey t-shirt like a gun shot wound. The kid just stood there, stunned. I just watched him, stunned. The Yemenese guy kept yelling. The kid picked up the can, the smile off his face, and took it outside. The Yemenese started pointing now and kept yelling.

Outside the kid took the half empty can of Hawaiian punch and started to pour it all over the glass door. The smile was back on his face, mischievously happy that he had pissed off my Yemenese friend so badly. The Yemenese guy stopped yelling and headed for the door. The kid, of course, ran. The Yemenese guy stopped and walked back to his post.

I walked outside, trying to make sense of what just happened, and opened my pack of cigarettes. (I still don't know what the hell happened.) I took a step and felt liquid on my foot. I looked down and saw my foot in the Hawaiian punch the kid had just poured on the door. I shook it off, lit my smoke and walked back to my apartment.

Mash-up Movie Trailers: The secret love life of Doc and Marty

2006-03-10T12:17:00.000-05:00

Love in bloom

There's a new trend in cyberspace, the Mash-up Movie Trailer. The idea is to take a movie-- usually something that's been released already-- and recut it into a movie trailer. The movie trailer, however, is recut so the original movie looks like it's about something completely different. The results are usually pretty funny.

The most popular of these is the Brokeback Mountain mash-up (there's was even a freaking article in the New York Times about this.) I think the funniest of these is "Brokeback Heat" which makes it seem like Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino have man crushes on each othe. Others include "Brokeback to the Future" (Doc Brown and Marty McFly's Forbidden Love) and "No More Ballyhoo" the gay take on Good Will Hunting.

There are others like "The Shining" mashup, which makes the film look like a heartwarming family comedy. And also "Sleepless in Seattle," which makes the movie look like a thriller.

The links to these are below:

Brokeback Heat
Brokeback to the Future
Brokeback Hunting
The Shining
Sleepless in Seattle

New York Subway Story: A man and his pants

2006-03-09T09:43:00.000-05:00

"What are you looking at?"

I prefer riding the subway rather than driving. Don't get me wrong, I miss driving; it was one of my favorite activities in California. Sometimes I wish I could speed down the 101 in my old Ford Escort, honk at a old Chinese women driving too slow and then flip her off as I speed past her, while listening to Bryan Adams "Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman" on KEZR at high volumes, singing and unashamed.

But on the subway, especially on a fairly empty subway, you can get things done. Because of my rides on the train, I've read numberous books and magazines, played countless Sudoku puzzles, and written thousands of words of useless crap (i.e. this article).

There are disadvantages of course; standing next to some fat slob who's wearing a neon colored tank top, while he's holding the railing above you so his armpit is right in your face is definitely a disadvantage. Long waits and train rides at night while you're drunk because you were to cheap to drop the $20 on a cab is another. And I have no idea what's going on in pop music anymore because I don't listen to the radio anymore.

One of the main attractions of riding the subway is the entertainment value. Mariachi bands, hip-hop dancers, a capella groups singing, people yelling at each other because they bumped into each other, people sketching other people, people dressed in strange, strange clothes: you really see some shit on the subways.

One incident I witnessed happened a few months back on the R train to Brooklyn. It was a realtively empty and quiet Sunday night train, and I was reading a book. Suddenly at the 23rd Street stop a man stumbled into the train. He was obviously homeless; he reeked of cheap alcohol and his dirty clothes smelled like a rotting corpse.

As the train started to move, the homeless man began to lose his balance and fell right on to the horrified middle-aged white woman. I wish you could have seen the look on her face; it was every sanitized person's worst nightmare: a homeless guy who smells like shit and has been god-knows-where rubs all his disgusting germs on to you.

(Of course like a punk, I was watching the whole thing, snickering.)

Next the homeless man regained his balance and stood up again and held on to a pole. The middle-aged white woman quickly stood up and switched seats. The man waited for a moment as the woman walked by him, building up the train's anticipation of what he would pull next.

And then he did it. He pulled down his pants. The 10 or 15 people on the train just watched him, dumbfounded. He still had underwear on mind you-- dirty white underwear though. His legs were skinny, two scarred and cracked baseball bats. His expression was surprisingly normal as if this was a normal everyday ocurrence for him. He then yelled something incomprehensible, his voice hoarse and angry.

The train started to slow down for the next stop, Union Square. The subway doors opened, people left the train, others came in. The man stood in the train waiting, his filthy sweat pants around his ankles. Then without warning, he pulled up his pants. The doors started to close. He moved toward the door, and his body got stuck between them. The door reopened. The man got out. As the train moved away, I watched him yelling incomprehensibly to no one in particular. And then he was no longer visible as we headed to the 8th street stop.

The whole incident took about a minute from the 23rd street stop to Union Square. Some of the passengers shook their heads, some laughed and talked about the man, others just continued reading their books. The middle-aged white woman whom the homeless man fell on just stared ahead at the Club Med ad.

But like most things in the city in a few moments it was forgotten, a lost memory of urban life. And the train continued moving downtown and into Brooklyn.

Mr. T Raps

2006-03-08T15:13:00.000-05:00

This is one of my funniest web videos I've had the privilege to watch. Most of you have probably seen the video of Laurence Tureaud-- aka "Bad Attitude" Baracus, aka Clubber Lang, aka Mr. T-- rapping "Treat Your Mother Right." (But you probably didn't know was that the lyrics were written by Ice T. and in that same year he released a related rap album titled Mr. T's Commandments.)

But if you're one of the few who hasn't seen it, prepare for incredulous laughter:

Click here to watch

Kirby Puckett R.I.P.

2006-03-07T13:57:00.000-05:00

He was large, round and rotund, but as light on his feet as a sprinter. He exploded toward a ball hit over his head-- always one of the toughest balls for an outfield to judge-- like a whirlwind: breathtakingly quick, seemingly out of control but he almost always ran the ball down. He had Incredibly quick hands that sprayed the ball to all fields with a sweet flick of the wrist. He had a joyous, infectious smile that charmed the Twin cities and even an Oakland A's fans like myself despite the Twins being our biggest AL West rival.

He played the game like numerous worn out cliches-- with 110% effort, at a different speed, like a fire hydrant, with joy, with passion, with heart. And that was what stood out about Kirby Puckett for me more than anything: his joy for the game, his passion, his heart.

Like so many of you, my lasting memory of Kirby was Game six of the 1991 World Series. In the third inning Kirby leaped high into the air to rob Ron Gant of at the very least extra bases. It was a great catch not only for its sheer athleticism and acrobatics but also because it was on the biggest stage, the World Series. It saved a run, maybe two.

Then there was the eleventh inning with the score tied 3-3. On a 2-1 pitch, Puckett crushed Charlie Leibrandt's changeup into the left-center stands. On TV, Jack Buck remarked understatedly and perfectly, "We'll see you tomorrow tonight." Kirby rounded the bases and pumped his fist. The Metrodome chanted him name. His teammates mobbed him at homeplate. His legend was born.

As we came to find out, Kirby Puckett was no angel in his personal life. He choked his wife, he had affairs and allegedly sexual harassed women. But for me to judge him for his mistakes and flaws after his death would, I think, be a little pompous and self-important. He was a great, exciting ballplayer, and I'm just glad I got to see him play. R.I.P.

New York Bar: Lions Head Tavern, where Everybody knows your name

2006-03-06T13:48:00.000-05:00

I wish I could quit you

I always thought the neighborhood bar where everybody knows your name was another fantasy created by television like true love or affording a great apartment in the West Village even though you're a fucking waitress making minimum wage at Central Perk.

After all I grew up in the burbs and the idea of walking to a bar– walking anywhere actually– was ludicrous. Plus, there were no bars within a reasonable walking distance. People, for the most part, drove to bars and clubs because that was there only option.

But luckily for us New Yorkers, the neighborhood bar is a reality. In my neighborhood alone, I can count six bars within a two-block radius of my apartment. The best of these is a little place called Lions Head Tavern on 109th and Amsterdam Avenue.

Happy hour is the main attraction at Lions Head because it lasts till 8 instead of the usual 6 or 7. And on Mondays it's is 20 cent wing night! Many a Monday Ive drank four pints, eaten 12 wings, and only spent $15. And Pabst is always $1.50 per a can, which might be the best deal in any bar in Manhattan. Plus, theres a great bar-food menu with everything from a BLT to Nachos.

The crowd is diverse and unpretentious– my favorite kind. Columbia kids and working-class people from the neighborhood form a motley, raucous mix. The crowd and the bartenders usually wear hats, t-shirts and jeans. And of course most everyone is friendly. Theres also a couple of weed dealers who hang out there, and they all seem to know my roommate (I have no idea why).

Lions Head has several TVs all playing sports, including a couple of large plasmas. Its a great place to go for any sporting event because you wont spend a lot, and you can actually see a fucking TV.

I've had some of my strangest but most interesting New York encounters at Lionshead. Just a couple of weeks ago an older white guy who knew as much about basketball as most people know about Brad, Jennifer and Angelina. He regaled my roommate and I with stories about The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh, the 70's classic with Dr. J. and Kareem, playing pick up ball with Andrew Toney and why James Worthy, not Magic, was the reason why the Lakers won all those championships in the 80s. The point of this diversion wasn't to bore you– although I'm sure it did. It's to point out that Lionshead is a place where I feel comfortable talking to almost anybody about almost anything.

There is a downside to this place, however. If you like places where you have to wear a dress shirt, the lights are dim, the beer is $8 a pint and the music's so loud you can barely have a conversation, stay away from this place. You won't like it. We don't really want you here anyway.

New York Dining: George Michael in the village

2006-03-05T00:50:00.000-05:00

Trying to avoid the viciously cold weather-- the fiercely cold wind had numbed my face at this point-- my girlfriend and I ran into the first open restaurant we saw on the street last friday night. That happened to be Senor Swanky's on Bleecker and LaGuardia Place in the Village.

Combining the best elements of Olive Garden and Chevy's, Senor Swanky's had it all-- funky, laugh-at-loud signs, an obnoxious and underage NYU crowd, wide-eyed tourist and George Michael's greatest hits played at a very loud volume. (This worked out perfectly because I often play George Michael when I sit down to eat.) At one point a tourist couple walked in-- they had a New York guide book in their hand-- and my girlfriend remarked, "I wonder if their guide recommended this place. 'For a real taste of old New York, check out Senor Swanky's.'"

Obviously atomsphere wasn't a strength of the place. But there were some positives... for one it served your garden variety chain Mexican food-- think Chevy's and El Toritos-- which I always enjoy. Of course I had a big margarita and was barely buzzed, which is a negative. But that's probably because of my drinking problem.

Danny Tanner meets the Old Dirty Bastard

2006-03-02T14:22:00.000-05:00

Nostalgia is a seductive liar. ~George Wildman Ball

I'm a sucker for nostalgia. If there's a Full House marathon on Nick at Nite, I'm probably sitting through it, reveling in Uncle Jesse's perfect hair, D.J.'s boy troubles, Michelle's too-cute phrases and Danny's OCD habits.

If The Goonies are on, as they were on quite a bit last year on HBO, I'll start to watch if only to catch a glimpse of one of the great characters in modern movie history, Sloth. I even watched Wayne's World recently just to hear the phrase, "Nuprin. Little, yellow, different."

I'm not sure exactly why I'm so stuck on these things. The only idea I have is that those old TV shows and movies took place during my childhood when everything felt safer and a little less scary and depressing. And by holding on to my nostalgia, I'm holding on to my youthful innocence, my security. But that could be a bunch of bullshit I just made up.

Despite a bad case of traveller's diarrhea from my trip to Rio, I waited in line for 35 minutes in the freezing cold for the possibility of hearing SWV's "I'm So Into You" for the first time since 7th grade. My hope were high; it was at the Pepper's Lounge in Tribeca where I had had fun before and the usually reliable DJ Spinna was spinning. But high expectations often lead to high disappoint. Just ask Michael Bay.

Once we entered, we headed downstairs to the dimly lit confines of Peppers. Predictiably weed smoke was in the air, the music was way too loud and people were dancing and bobbing their heads. I didn't recognize the song, but I didn't care. I had just got there. My friends and I navigated our way through the big crowd, twisting, turning and stepping on toes, and headed for the drinks. And then I heard this: "Who's the black sheep, what's the black sheep." Of course I immediately started rapping in my most thugish voice, which sounds a lot like my voice only more retarded (if that's possible.) The next song was Tribe's "Scenario." I knew the chorus but didn't know most of the lyrics to. That of course didn't stop me as I mumbled like I knew the words until we returned to the chorus.

Later as I had a few vodka tonic's into my system, DJ Spinna played Tupac's "I Get Around," Dre's "Nuthin' but a G thang," Snoop's "Gin and Juice," and Naughty by Nature's "Hip Hop Hooray" which includes the timeless lyrics, " You drew a picture of momma, but couldn't draw my daddy, hey."

My favorite part of the night was when they played a Wu-Tang block. It included "Wu Tang Clan ain't nothing to fuck with," "Protect Ya Neck," "Method Man" and everyone's favorite "Shimmy Shimmy Ya." At the chorus everyone seemed to be yelling, "Oooh baby I like it raw." Or maybe they weren't and I was standing in the middle of the club yelling the lyrics as everyone watched my embarrassing spectacle. Either way, I was having fun.

Some of my friends complained afterward that they didn't play any Notorious B.I.G and very little Tupac, and yes I wished they played more too. But to let that overshadow most of the night is kind of like complaining about having sex only 5 times a week. Be happy with what you experience and you'll enjoy it a lot more, dumbass.

The Secret Life of New York

2006-02-28T23:42:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the Secret Life of New York. I started this blog because I wanted a place to get things off my chest, whether it was to be sincere or to have a little ironic fun. Hopefully people will read it and be entertained, but if they're not at least I can unload and they can always read something else. (By the way, the picture of the Brooklyn Bridge was taken by yours truly.)

I stole the title from a poem I read in the February 27, 2006 issue of the New Yorker called "The Secret Life of New York" by Linda Gregg. It's a great poem. It really captures what it's like to live in the city; how if you're really observing, you can catch a glimpse of a strange, secret world all around you. I pasted it below:

The Secret Life of New York

She decided to walk there.
Put the high heels in a backpack.
Walked down two flights, through
two doors, and up three steps to the street.
When she reached the National Wholesale
Liquidators, a black man
gave her a torn card numbered 110
and took the backpack.
She chose some biscuits that cost
twenty-nine cents and a box
of foaming bath granules
for a dollar-sixty-seven. Went upstairs
to see if there were any bras
without underwires. Found one.
It was not as plain as she wanted
but she tried it on over her undershirt.
It was too big. Paid for the two items
and started walking. Four Asian women
raced by to see an Asian man
in a silver convertible. One turned back,
saying he was not as good-looking
as she expected. On the other side
of Houston, two old women stood
next to card tables, each with
two cans of kidney beans. One had
a few boxes of macaroni and cheese
on sale. At the bookstore
she sat outside and changed
into a good jacket and the heels.
Then went into the party
at the back of the store.