02.03.09
NYC’s Worst Building?
(The following photo comes from http://niemann.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/02/02/i-lego-ny/)
Does anybody know which building is represented all the way on the right, with the red “V”-ish-looking thing?
01.11.09
Just Some Things
I have decided to pledge my support to the notion that Grimaldi’s produces some of the finest pizza in New York City. It’s not because of the coal ovens, though. It’s the ingredients they use. Their mozzarella is the thick, white variety as opposed to the shredded, string-cheese type so by the time it’s been all warmed up it literally all but melts in your mouth. Now I can’t speak for many of the toppings, but I can say that I was impressed with their use of whole, fancy black olives as opposed to the sliced-and-canned sort. Sure, there was the risk of chomping down on a pit. But really, what is life without a little risk?
I would also like to boast that I have now championed the Brooklyn Bridge at night in the snow, although I am not as hardcore as those brave enough to do it in Chuck Taylor Low-Tops. I do feel just the slightest bit guilty for the mild level of frostbite my companion endured, but I am pleased to report that by three in the morning, both movement and color returned to all of her toes. Thanks be to God.
Lastly, Veniero’s — whose desserts are never a bad idea, though there was a question of whether or not anything but gluttony and self-indulgent lust are present within its mirrored walls — really needs to kick their waitstaff up a notch. They aren’t big on communicating or serving once you’ve already been served. I asked for extra waters and I was looked at like I’d just requested the deed to the restaurant. That, and when I ordered a caffe correto, they brought me a double instead of a single which ended up being fine since I was out so late, but entirely not the point. You bring a single unless someone asks for a double. It’s just common courtesy. At least they put enough Anisette in it.
I’m going to eat my eggs now like a good zombie.
05.23.08
The Woes of Rock n’ Roll
I’ve been feeling a little angry lately, and I think it might have something to do with the glaring lack of quality music coming to New York this summer. George Clinton and P-funk will be around, that’s true, and I’m going to brave that ferry to see Radiohead, but otherwise things are looking a little bleak or sold-out. How did I miss Pearl Jam and The Cure? Honestly, I must be getting old. And the Eagles are playing three shows?
Currently, all that’s left is Collective Soul with Blues Traveler and Live. Who’s with me?
03.12.08
Talkin’ Smack, etc.
6 And the tongue is a fire, a world of unrighteousness. The tongue is set among our members, staining the whole body, setting on fire the entire course of life, [1] and set on fire by hell. [2] 7 For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by mankind, 8 but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. 9 With it we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people who are made in the likeness of God.
James 3:6-9
I’ve been struggling with this lately, and by “struggling” I mean talking smack about all kinds of people and making very little effort not to. Mind you, these people are not acquaintances or friends, which is probably why I don’t take the pains to abstain, but I also recognize that my justifications are no excuse.
Most recently, I’ve been bad-mouthing Time Warner Cable. They caused me to spend nearly ten hours of my life waiting for the grace of their services, and every time I called to get an answer, I was given scripted nothingness. I complained to many supervisors and managers, only to the avail of two months and five days of free internet. What bothered me was being treated like a number rather than an individual. If I have a client who I blow off or screw up, I don’t just make the sincere effort to apologize, but I take him or her out for drinks or lunch or something. It’s my duty to retain these people as clients. After all, they have choices. But TWC knows that we don’t have much of a choice here in NY, and that the choices we have are just as bad. So they treat people however they like. It’s crowd control, not customer service. And it makes me cranky.
Speaking of cranky, I think I’ve upset some friends with this latent bitterness I can’t seem to shake. I know that being bitter is wrong, but I’m not sure how to get around it. How does one find the strength to continue to show love when there is little or none shown in return? Christ mastered this, therefore, I must make it my goal to do the same. But alas, I am falling a bit short of the calling, once again.
And that, my friends, is what we call stream-of-consciousness rambling. Appy-polly-logies.
10.22.07
Rice Pudding, Movies, Buses, etc.
Happy Monday. Let’s run over the weekend, shall we?
Friday started as something of a nightmare as I tried to make it to Astoria in time to put the final monies down on the apartment. A manager at my job managed to royally f- something up and then pinned it on me to fix, even though he knew I had to get to my mailbox in Harlem and then the bank before it closed at six. So I did a hasty, rather careless job of fixing his mistake and then took off on a very slow 3 train for my uptown digs. I made it with fifteen minutes to spare, snatched the envelope and tore it open as I hauled @$$ to the bank across the street. Ten minutes to go. That’s when the teller told me she couldn’t release five-hundred of the dollars I needed. I protested. She repeated herself with that pristine, passive aggressive customer service apathy. I argued. She remained calm. That made me angry. I spoke to a manager, then a regional manager (who happened to be in the wrong bank on the wrong day). All to no avail. I was $500 short.
Outside, waiting for the M60 bus, I realized I was going to be late because no buses were coming. I had to call the broker and tell him that I would be late for our meeting with the landlord and I’d be short a chunk of money. Thank You, God, he was very accommodating. When the M60 finally showed up I had the most awesomest driver ever, steadfastly decreeing that, no matter the traffic (or the eventual accident on the Triboro Bridge), “Tonight, everyone gets to Queens”. I told him he was my favorite bus driver ever.
So I signed the lease and then went to Luke’s to unwind with a little Octoberfest and discussion about — you guessed it — God. (Does anyone ever talk to Luke about anything else?) His wife gave me half of her microwave pizza for dinner, which was very welcome after schlepping about in the rain and heat and all of that jive.
I got home at twelve-thirty or so and thought that I would go to bed because I was beat tired. That’s when my door burst open (I’m going to have to start locking that thing) and Ally came storming in, perky as always, wanting to watch a movie. Being weak, I acquiesced. I also fell asleep. So did she. We were awakened at three in the morning by another neighbor, Nick, who had apparently joined us at some point. I realize now what I missed in college.
Saturday I fought writer’s block all day and lost. Miserably. So I turned to music and proceeded to play guitar and sing for five straight hours. Matt joined for the last two hours. It’s a wonder I can talk even now.
Yesterday was church with a “baptism lab” (listen to the mp3; Sam should hit Christian stand-up or something), followed by brunch at a lousy pub across the street from what used to be the Hudson Corner Cafe (the original brunch destination). Such amazing conversation and good company called for an extended day, so we went to Rice to Riches for rice pudding. I had the french toast flavor which was delicious and my friend had chocolate chip which was equally enticing. We sat in Washington Square with our bowls, waiting for our movie to begin. At quarter-to-five, we went to the Angelica to watch Feast of Love which turned out to be an absolutely brilliant movie with Morgan Freeman and Greg Kinnear. (Note: I want Morgan Freeman to be my best friend and next-door neighbor.) Then, alas, the day had to end, and I went home to critique manuscripts and ended up answering some questions for a neighbor about God and Christianity.
This morning I went to Astoria again to pay the balance that the bank wouldn’t release on Friday, and now I’m at work. It feels like a blissful, surreal whirlwind recently swept me off my feet and is only now gently planting them not so firmly on the ground again. Oh, sweet rapture. Don’t wake me up just yet.
10.20.07
(Many Nights In) Astoria
Despite many obstacles along the way, I signed a lease on an apartment in Astoria, Queens. I’ve been looking for a new apartment for the past month or so since my Harlem digs are a little over-priced and under-maintained, and I’d spent a good deal of time looking in Brooklyn where I have some friends and where it’s just generally considered to be more convenient. But, as some of you know, Astoria has always appealed to me and as my search in Brooklyn kept coming up short, I thought I’d at least entertain the idea of living in Queens. Soon after looking at a couple of places, I knew there was really no way I’d move to Brooklyn. I’m a Queens guy. And soon I’ll live closer to the Beer Garden than I’d ever dreamed…
10.15.07
Recap
Another weekend gone. I suppose you’d like to know what I did.
Friday I ended up at Katie’s where we shared a fine Spanish-style rice with chicken and green beans, washed down with a deep red Bordeaux (completely ignoring any regulations for pairing wine with food). We’d hoped to follow up with some ice cream, but alas, the pint we got from the grocery store was skunked. Nothing but ice. Eventually, Matt came over and we jammed something awful for a while. I wish we had that one on file.
Saturday The Rents showed up and we went to the Ulysses S. Grant tomb & memorial, which I never knew existed. I wasn’t too excited about it, but it turned out to be pretty interesting. It was epic, if nothing else. You walk into one of those old marble buildings that looks like a miniature version of the Capital and directly in front of you is a large ring where you can overlook the basement floor. As you peer over, the light reflects just perfectly to see the names “Ulysses S. Grant” and “Julia D. Grant” engraved on matching polished tombs. Kinda creepy, kinda cool.
We later ate at Cafe Figaro which I absolutely do not recommend to anyone who is looking for good Italian food with good service. This place, apparently, chooses to provide only one or the other, but never both in the same visit. Because the waiter screwed up, I had to eat linguini with seafood. The problem is, I don’t like most seafood. So I swallowed the linguini, ate the shrimp and the mussels and finished off with a bite or two of calamari. Forget the squid. That’s just gross.
Sunday was church, followed by coming home to write…anything. I felt a bit of the writing bug, so I went to town on it, but got distracted by making marinara sauce (I used port wine this time and it was an excellent idea 
) and talking on the phone. Then Matt came over for a jam since we’ll be busy this week, and then my tres cool upstairs neighbor Ally came down and we watched The Nightmare Before Christmas.
And now I’m sitting at home, late for work, waiting for one of the lazy (expletive) who works in the building management office to get into work so I can drop off the check they told me four weeks ago I didn’t have to pay. Apparently, they forgot that agreement. I wish I could exercise selective memory for the sake of convenience.
Have a nice week.
10.08.07
Four-Day Weekend? Hardly.
The weekend was insane, to say the least. Thursday night (yes, my weekend started on Thursday!) I went to Katie’s for a lovely dinner party, complete with authentic Victorian decor, a swanky record player with a built in whiskey bar, homemade cavatelli, a delicious salad with cranberries and cheese, and apple pie for dessert. And, of course, no dinner party thrown by Katie is ever complete without copious amounts of wine. Cheers.
It took me two hours to get home that night because of train problems, meaning I didn’t get to sleep until three a.m. I woke up soon after, still a little tipsy, to go and meet my “new roommate”. We viewed some apartments, but my gut said something wasn’t right. File away for later, I then went to an impromptu job interview which ended something like, “You are definitely not the right person for this job, but we have another we’d like you to interview for next week.” The question I have is, why wait until next week? I’m already here, I’m already wearing a suit, I’m already feeding you BS on-the-spot. Let’s just get on with it! So wish me luck in all of that.
Friday night I cleaned and…um…what did I do on Friday night? No lie, I can’t remember.
Saturday, Niya and Janine rolled in from Rhode Island and we had a nice time catching up. Then we toured The Village (nothing official, just me wandering aimlessly and them oooing and ahhhing). Then we went to the french fry place on Second Avenue with the mayonnaise sauces (a few doors down from Paul’s, anyone know the name?) before meeting up with Katie to go down and see the Statue of Liberty. We didn’t go to the island, but it was nice to look at it from far away. Afterwards, Katie nosed out drinks at an Irish Pub in the municipal district and then we returned home for dinner. I made my becoming-famous spaghetti alla vongole and we drank champagne and pinot grigio. Then we put our walking shoes back on and headed out to The Slaughtered Lamb for rivers of Blue Moon and very mean waitresses (just one, really).
Yesterday we went to Eros for the best breakfast I’ve ever had in my life. I had an omlet with ham, cheese, and peppers and it was exactly the way diner breakfast ought to be, complete with free coffee refills. Afterwards, we went to Central Park and then to Times Square so Niya could find a touristy shot glass. At last, my guests returned to the train and I proceeded to make phone calls before throwing in the towel and going upstairs to watch family guy with Brian, Ali, and Sorrell.
And today, I’m still not at work, but instead I’ve been compiling all sorts of information for grad school which is a pain in the butt. I’ve just determined it will cost me $585 just to apply for an M.F.A. program. Not cool. Not cool at all.
Onward.
10.03.07
When Did This Happen?
I haven’t been feeling very bloggy lately. I’ve got a little too much on my plate right now, I think. I’m taking a writing class at NYU on Mondays and a TVC small group on Tuesdays. That already shoots two weekdays full of holes. Then there’s looking for apartments with the roommate who I’ve yet to meet. (And this is also my official disclosure that my new roommate is, in fact, a woman.) She will be up this weekend before heading back to D.C. where she currently lives. That means many stressful viewings (because real estate in NYC is always stressful) in a very condensed period of time. To make it more entertaining (haha), Niya is rolling in with her homegirl Janine so I’ll be entertaining visitors while looking for a place to live. Tomorrow night, Katie is having a small dinner party and tonight Matt is coming over to jam. I also have to complete five graduate school applications, which means writing five letters of intent and selecting excerpts of fiction to submit, and I have to find two more recommenders (because my boss just doesn’t do grammar). For one last rousing round of spice, my only solid recommender is in Costa Rica on sabbatical and doesn’t happen to have any Quinnipiac University letterhead available. Hrmph, I say. Hrmph.
Where is the martini shaker…
09.28.07
Another Thing To Love About NY
Anywhere else you go in the country, if you carry an umbrella with you on a sunny day, most people look at you as though you’re either ridiculous, excessive, or just plain stupid. But in New York, there is a genuine look of subtle fear that creeps into the eyes of anyone who may not have seen a weather forecast within the last twenty-four hours.
“Is it supposed to rain?” they say, smiling and pretending not to care.
“Forty days and forty nights is what they’re saying.” I like to see the fear twitch around their pupils.
“Really?” Yes, really.
You can even see it in strangers on the street, the ones who pass by two quickly and are too unknown to make conversation. They look at the umbrella, concern hardening their faces as they casually look up at the sky as though God Himself is about to come back to say hello. And what do I do? I smile. I smile because ridiculous as I may look in the sunshine, I’m going to be dry when those clouds roll in.
I love New York.