Shadow Shot Sunday

 New York, NY
Lincoln Center

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Shadow Shot Sunday

Brooklyn, New York
at dba after the Saints game last week


dba is the best place to watch a Saints game around here.  Bar None is too intense, East Village Tavern is too disconnected.  dba is like home, especially when Simon is there with his Tchoup Shop, can you say crawfish macque choux, seafood gumbo and short-rib pies?  Best bar food ever.  Simon and Jack were sitting next to me on the plane back to NY when I went to New Orleans for Halloween, but I was too whacked out on Valium to hold a coherent conversation.  We exchanged Halloween stories and I passed out, that was pretty much the extent of our interaction until we landed.

I took this photo out back smoking and drinking with the boys after the game.  It was an easy win, a boring game, and we had already moved on to plotting world domination...

                


dba is one of my favorite bars on the planet.  I spent way too much time and money at their Frenchmen St. location when I lived in New Orleans.  They have live music every night down there.  My friend Julia works the door and has saved me a small fortune in cover charges over the past couple of years.

I left a ridiculously expensive pair of sunglasses at the bar after I took that picture that night.  My mission to retrieve them was quite the emotional roller coaster.  When I called the next day I was shocked and thrilled to hear that they had them.  Then the L train fucked me and I couldn't make it down.  I called back and they promised to hold them until the following day.  I made it down, ordered a drink and waited for the bartender to go look for them.  After looking everywhere, she couldn't find them.  Shit.

So I ordered another drink while she texted the bartenders from the previous evening to ask where they had left them.  As I finished my drink she came over to say, "Sorry, they said they were by the cash register, but I don't see them.  I've looked EVERYWHERE, even the office.  Maybe the clean up people took them, I don't know..."  Shit.  Depressing.

So, I ordered another drink to help with the train ride home.  And the barback started chatting me up.  I told him the tale and he said, "Oh man.  That sucks.  Whattaya gonna do though, huh?"

No shit.  Whattaya gonna do?  As we continued to chat and I finished my drink, the bartender came over.  She said, "Hey, give me your phone number, just in case we find them somewhere."  And the barback said, "Where were they supposed to be?"  And she said, "By the register" and he went to look and found them in about two seconds.

dba.  Best. Bar. Ever.

  vist Shadow Shot Sunday here.

Balloons

It's a miserably cold and shitty day in New York today.  It's Thanksgiving and that fucking parade starts two blocks from where I live so instead of being able to sleep in peacefully this morning, I was woken up at 8am by news helicopters whirling around overhead.  Fan-fucking-tastic.

I should have worn earplugs to sleep, I was given fair warning last night.  I left work early and wanted a nice quiet night at the cafe on my corner with my computer.  Instead I came home to mayhem in the neighborhood.  There were people everywhere, streets were blocked off.  The Jews for Jesus were giving away free hot chocolate.  I questioned their motives, then I questioned if they had put drugs in the hot chocolate.  I was disappointed when they said, "No, that would be too expensive."

Anyway, I went to go investigate the commotion, turns out the balloons were around the corner from my building.  A few were tied down and uncovered, but most were squashed and strangled under nets, which was bizarre and slightly depressing.


    

Some of the balloons looked like they'd had a bit too much to drink, especially these guys...

 

            

Bizarre for sure.

There's a Saints game to watch.  Me and Jenelle are cooking Indian food and drinking rum.  I don't have to wake up early tomorrow, and there aren't any parades that I am aware of.  Things are looking up.

First flight out

Queens, New York

JFK International Airport 

6:30am

                  

I took Jet Blue's first flight out this morning.  The sky was pretty at 6:30 in the morning.  I left my apartment in the middle of the night, journeyed down to JFK, and was highly disappointed to discover that I was unable to get a cheeseburger before my flight.  The food places at the airport were only serving breakfast.  What the fuck kind of shit is that?  This is supposed to be New York, right?  I'm supposed to be able to get anything I want, anytime I want.  It was six in the morning and I wanted a cheeseburger and I couldn't get one.  Fucking BS, man.  Had to settle for a crappy ass slice of pizza because I'm sick of eggs in the morning.

I got up at four in the morning and got on a plane so I could spend 44 hours in New Orleans.  Nobody knows I'm here.  I'm not going to tell them, either.  By the time they read this and figure it out, I'll be gone.  I had no real reason to come down.  Just bored.  Had a couple of days off, missed my Sweetheart and decided to sneak away.  It's a routine by now.  Getting on a plane and coming down here is no different to me than getting on the subway and going to work.  I could get to the Jet Blue terminal in my sleep.  I almost did this morning, I didn't truly wake up until I started getting pissed off about the cheeseburger thing.

I hate to write and run, but I'm down to 36 hours now.  I didn't come down here to sit in a coffee shop.  I'm really not exactly sure what I DID come down here to do, (get laid) but sitting in a coffee shop definitely isn't it.  Until tomorrow...

Shadow Shot Sunday

New York, NY

Coney Island

              

I took that picture back in the beginning of September.  It was a sunny day, obviously.  Hot.  Lots of people wandering around on the boardwalk. 

It's not so hot anymore.  I haven't been down to Coney Island for a while.  I don't know how many people are wandering around the boardwalk at this time of year.  It's not really cold yet.  But it's definitely not hot.  

I like Coney Island.  Every time I go down there alone I wind up talking to the most random and interesting people on the fishing pier.  And we all know how much I love bizarre conversations with random and interesting people.  When Jenn Farmer came to town, we went down there with Amber and wandered around all day.  We ate hot dogs and drank beer.  We saw the freak show.  We rode the Wonder Wheel.  We talked to random and interesting people.  As days go, it was a complete success, as far as I'm concerned.

Visit Shadow Shot Sunday here.

Dining!

Ducale
79th and Columbus, New York, NY

Octopus and fennel salad

You've got to be careful about ordering octopus.  When it's good, it's good.  But when it's bad, it's just all wrong.  It's so easy to overcook it, then you've just got chunks of flavorless bicycle tire.  Not what you want to be chewing on.  If I'm the least bit skeptical of a restaurant I won't bother to even try it.

But I had ultimate faith in Ducale, a restaurant on my corner that also happens to serve an outstanding Bolognese sauce.  They did a great job with the octopus, light and fresh and perfectly cooked, tender and flavorful.  I approve!

              

Kid unfriendly

I am dismayed to find myself living in a city that now likes to bill itself as "kid-friendly."

Kid-friendly?  Since when is NYC kid-friendly?  Oh yeah, since they turned Times Square into Disney-fucking-land.  I liked Times Square SO much better when it was all hookers and hustlers and drug addicts.  You know, my people...

There were a lot of things I hated about San Francisco, San Franciscans themselves were at the top of the list. (NO, not ALL of them. Stop yelling at me)  But one of the things I truly loved about the beautiful City by the Bay was how decidedly UN-kid-friendly it was.  There are more dogs than children in San Francisco, a statistic that always brought me untold joy.  It's not an urban legend, you can read the article right here.  Of course, the main reason there are more pooches than pre-pubescents is because San Francisco is so motherfucking expensive that anyone who makes less than half a mil' a year can't AFFORD to have children, but that is neither here nor there.  The important thing is, I didn't have to dodge baby strollers and whiny little brats screaming for soda at the grocery store every fucking day.

Here, they're everywhere.  There's a playground down the street, it might be attached to a school, I'm not really sure, but every day around 11am there's a cacophony of laughter and screaming and I swear one day I'm going to firebomb the place.  My apartment faces the back of the building, so there's no street noise, it's usually quiet and peaceful.  Except for that one hour or so a day when I think my head is going to explode.

I don't hate all children, I'm not a monster.  Nor do I blame them for their misbehavior, their screaming bloody murder on the subway, their howling in line at the bank, (the fucking bank!) their temper tantrums in the aisles of Duane Reade.   I blame THEIR PARENTS for allowing that shit to go on.

Parents!  Control your motherfucking children!  Have some respect for the people around you, especially people who had the goddamned sense to use birth control!  When your Satan's spawn starts screaming uncontrollably, TAKE IT THE FUCK OUTSIDE!!  I don't care that you don't want to lose your place in line and have somewhere to go and if you take your kid outside it's going to hold up your whole day, guess what, shit like that happens when you have a kid.  That's what you signed up for when you decided to breed.  I have a friend who once ate her entire meal in the bathroom of a Mexican restaurant because her infant son was screaming like a banshee and wouldn't shut the fuck up and she had the DECENCY to not want to subject innocent diners to that bullshit.  Take a cue, people.  When an entire roomful of people are staring at you and your offspring with daggers in their eyes because they can't hear themselves think, GO THE FUCK OUTSIDE.  Or to the bathroom.  Somewhere.  Anywhere.  Just fucking GO.

This has been a public service announcement from someone who is ready to smack the fuck out of you.  Oh yeah, one last thing.  Congrats to Hans and Moni!  They will be wonderful parents.  Close to perfect, of this I am sure...

Busy doing nothing

I'm glad it's raining today.  It makes me not feel so bad about not wanting to leave the house.  I've been feeling guilty about that lately, not wanting to leave the house.  I feel like I should be out exploring and doing and seeing and enjoying.  Instead I mostly feel like staying home, re-reading Kurt Vonnegut books and fucking around on the internet.  My mind is turning to mush and I'm in danger of losing my social skills.

That's entirely untrue, by the way.  My mind is overloaded with thoughts and information and I think a mile a minute and it drives me insane.  My social skills are better than ever, as I have constant interaction with clever, interesting people all the time.  At work, on the subway, in the bagel shop.  Everywhere.  I had a bunch of friends already here when I moved, and I've made a bunch of new ones too, I'm certainly not lacking in the socialization department.

But more often than not lately, I can't be bothered to leave the building, preferring to sequester myself away up here on the sixth floor and stare out the window.  Lately I've been needing to take a break from the world.  Days like today are great, because I feel validated.  Who the hell wants to go wandering around when it's shitty and wet and cold outside?

Actually, you know what?  I do.  I'm bored.  I feel like I'm wasting time.  I want to go wander around my neighborhood.  Or some other random neighborhood.  I want to go to the library and try to find a Kurt Vonnegut book I haven't read yet, or maybe someone entirely new I've never read before.  I want to take a break from taking a break from the world.

Leave it to me to finally get motivated in a fucking rainstorm.

Shadow Shot Sunday

New York, NY
At the deli down the street from work


Because I like to make up rules as I go along, I've decided that regarding my current challenge, (see previous post here) photos count as long as I write something to accompany the photo.

So I took this photo after work the other night.  To be honest, I can't even tell you the name of the place.  I just stop in from time to time because it's open late and it's on the way to the train and they have good paninis and snacks and I can sit in the window and stare outside and people watch and wonder how long it's going to take to get home.  My kitchen is still somewhat dysfunctional, so I don't cook at home too much right now, and who needs to anyway in NY, what with all this great food everywhere.  The guys who work here have heard the whole story about my kitchen.  They're always trying to get me to take something home for breakfast the next morning, but I can't find it in my heart to tell them that I'm cheating on them in the mornings with the deli on my corner, where the guys can tell how much I've had to drink the night before by what I choose for a morning beverage.  Ginger ale for a hangover.  Fresh squeezed orange juice when I'm healthy...

                                    

   http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

A reasonable request...

I saw this in the bathroom at my favorite pizza place in my work neighborhood.  I'm working on finding a favorite pizza place in every neighborhood I frequent in the five boroughs.  Four, really, because who the hell ever goes to Staten Island?  (apologies to my friends and co-workers who live on Staten Island)  My very favorite pizza place of all is literally around the corner from where I live, lucky fucking me.

So anyway, Palermo Pizza is a few blocks away from where I work, and I'm guessing they were having problems with people urinating on their bathroom floor, because otherwise, you know, why put up the sign?  It's not something I want to think too hard about, because it's not going to stop me from going in there.  At all.

Palermo Pizza.  West Broadway and Murray.  Really good fucking pizza.  Use the bathroom at the Whole Foods around the corner.

For those who are curious...

...and apparently some of you are, the photo in my previous post was taken looking down the stairwell in my building from the sixth floor, which is the floor I live on.  Good thing I've got an elevator!

wandering

I'm in New Orleans right now.  I came in for a family wedding, to visit Sweetheart before I snap in half from lack of sex, and to take a break from the apartment from hell.  It's been great being able to shower without a wall full of peeling plaster staring me in the face.  It's been especially great having a kitchen (and a honey who makes me duck paninis for breakfast).  I had forgotten the simple pleasures of a stove upon which to cook.  I had also forgotten that apartments usually have kitchen sinks and people aren't supposed to be doing their dishes in the bathroom.  So I'm really enjoying a comfortable place to crash.

The wedding was lovely, as far as weddings go.  As you may know, I'm not the biggest fan of weddings, especially after what happened last time.  But this one was painless, a beautiful ceremony in Jackson Square followed by a second-line through the French Quarter ending with a great reception overlooking the river.  Food, booze, family.  Very nice.

Aside from all that though, I really fucking miss New York.  I'm getting spoiled as shit up there and I hate myself for it.  I hate it because it's going to make it impossible to leave, and I'm going to have to leave because I can't stay in one place for too long and I miss the West Coast and I kind of have a plan to move back there, maybe Seattle or back to (shudder) the Bay Area, but the plan requires me to stay in New York for a while longer, like at least a year or two and by that time I'll be so used 3am sushi deliveries and a 24 hour Duane Reade half a block away that I will be hopelessly stuck there for all eternity.  Or at least until I can figure out how to open a bar somewhere in South America.

Brazil.  It should be in Brazil.

Lazy evening

New York, NY
Hudson River

        

WHO DAT!!

I would be remiss if I didn't make mention of the fact that my (Superbowl champions) New Orleans Saints are squaring off tonight against the San Francisco 49ers, the city I formerly (and often begrudgingly) called home.  I had to laugh at the people who actually asked who I would be rooting for.  Seriously?  Is that even a question?

Oh, I forgot to tell you what happened at last week's game!  Jenelle and I decided to forgo Bar None, as it was disgustingly crowded three hours before the game and was only going to get worse.  We decided to go to dba in Brooklyn, another Saints outpost in NYC.  My friend James (also from New Orleans) met us down there as well.  We get there and I notice a guy running around who looks really familiar.  It took a little while, but I finally realized, holy shit, that's Jack.  He used to come into a bar I worked at ten fucking years ago.  I made a mental note to say hello when I got a minute.

Next thing I know, James is next to me saying, "Hey, wanderlust, have you met Jack?"

And I said, "As a matter of fact, I have.  I used to get Jack drunk ten years ago.  Shot of Jim Beam and a Budweiser, right Jack?"

The look on his face was priceless.

Of course he remembered me and of course we had lots of catching up to do.  Turns out he moved to San Francisco for a while and hated it too!  (OK, I'm being dramatic.  I didn't HATE living in SF.  Not all the time, anyway.  I just complained a lot)  He's much happier in NY, as am I.

That's the thing about New Orleans.  Once you've lived there a little while, it doesn't matter where you go.  If there's any sort of gathering involving New Orleans in any way, be it a Saints game, a crawfish boil, or oil-spill fundraiser, you WILL run into someone you know.  You just will.  Like it or not.  I once ran into a guy I used to HATE at the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge in San Francisco.  Fortunately for all involved, he was way too drunk to remember who I was.

But it's a beautiful thing, and I love it.  Anyway, I've got to go.  I have a date with James and Jack and the rest of the Who Dat nation.  Bar None has no idea what it's in for.

GEAUX SAINTS!!

Shadow Shot Sunday

Brooklyn, New York
Coney Island
Jenn Farmer on the Wonder Wheel

    


Jenn was in town visiting from San Francisco a couple of weeks ago.  I was so happy to have her here.  She herself is an extremely talented artist and photographer.  She's trying to convince me to let her paint a mural on my walls.  Actually, it didn't take much convincing.  I was like, when can you come back?  Check out her work here: http://jennfarmer.org/  Shamelessly promoting my friend, I know.  What can I say?  She deserves it.

       http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

Weekend Reflections

Brooklyn, New York
Brighton Beach

            


Weekend Reflections  http://newtowndailyphoto.blogspot.com/

Way up high

Brooklyn, New York

Coney Island

From the top of the Wonder Wheel

                   

randomness

New York, NY
Brooklyn Bridge

        

The resentment begins

You're probably going to want to smack me for what I'm about to say.  I would want to smack me for what I'm about to say.  But whatever, it's on my mind, so I'm just going to say it.

At first I was excited about fixing up this apartment.  I ran around saying, it's going to be so great!  It's going to be so much fun!  I get to fix it up however I want, paint it any colors I want, put in a new kitchen and new light fixtures and it's going to be SO MUCH FUN!!

You know what?  This shit isn't fun.  At all.

As a matter of fact, it's so not fun that I really haven't even started yet.  I put a rug over the huge stain on the ugly carpet, replaced the sheets and pillowcases on the sofabed, got a new tablecloth and threw a blanket over the ugly-as-shit-but-comfortable-as-fuck chair.  I hung a few random pictures in spots that already had hooks in the wall.  After that, the home-improvement project came to a screeching halt.

I look at the carpet and it depresses me and I think, oh, I should go to the hardware store and get a big knife and a pair of hedge clippers and tear that shit up and throw it away.  Then I could at least sweep and polish the lovely hardwood floor underneath, and eventually have someone re-sand and re-finish it for me.  But then the thought of actually DOING that depresses me even more and I want to go back to bed.

I should remind you here that I'm really lazy, people.  Really, really lazy.  I hate doing shit that requires me to, you know, move, unless it's something I personally find enjoyable and rewarding, like riding my bike or climbing around on mountains and shit like that.  Tearing up a carpet and painting my apartment don't qualify.

I need to call a fucking painter to come over here before I rip out the carpet though, because there's no way in hell I'm painting it myself, and picking colors gives me a headache.  Once they start painting my life will be thrown into upheaval until they are done, and I'm sick of my life being in fucking upheaval.  I've been living in a state of upheaval since JANUARY when this whole mess started.

But I can't stand the way it looks for much longer, so there you go.  I'm kind of fucked for a while, no matter what.

We're not even going to talk about the kitchen right now.

One of my biggest problems is that I can clearly see the finished result in my head, and I really can't seem to wrap my head around the concept that it's a "process" as they say, and that it will "take time and patience (and lots of fucking money, of course) to complete but will be so rewarding once it's finished!"  Yeah, I know it will be rewarding.  But if I know what I want it to look like, why can't it be done tomorrow?  Why can't I just leave town for a couple of days and get a team in here and have it be magically and beautifully finished upon my return?  Isn't that how it works on all those TV shows?

So yeah, I'm feeling resentful over having to direct my time, money and energy towards all this crap right now when I have better things to do with my time, money and energy.  Much better things.  Like, you know... write this blog, or see what people are doing on facebook.  Or ride my bike around the park, or sleep.  Or eat pizza, or sit in bars and talk to strangers...

Yeah, I know.  I'm an asshole, aren't I?

The Dude abides

New York, NY
215 Thompson, between Bleecker and 3rd.

My friend told me about this store and how bad ass it was.  So I went, and yeah.  It was pretty bad ass.  The Dude who owns it even wears a bathrobe all day.  Seriously.  You should go check it out.