All these people drinking lover's spit
They sit around and clean their face with it
And they listen to teeth to learn how to quit
Tied to a night they never met...
Wednesday
review
Walter Foods
Williamsburg
Walter is a tall dark and handsome man of mystery who looks like a combination of Clark Gable, Marlon Brando and the Marlboro Man when they were in their prime. In the early 1900's he found a DeLorean in an abandoned cave near Hill Valley, California. Like any red blooded strapping young man he climbed in, started pushing buttons and was promptly teleported to Williamsburg, Brooklyn in the year two thousand eight. At first he didn't even realize that he had actually time traveled over 100 years into the future. He was understandably discombobulated, and aside from a few strange looking motor cars, he was surrounded by what appeared to be his peers from back home in his shanty town. Though no one actually believed his time travel story the Williamsbugers found his delivery very charming, and really wanted to know where he got his outfit. Eventually Walter accepted that he was stuck in this strange new world and rather liked it. He met a girl and moved in with her into her basement apartment on North 7th and Bedford Ave. In order to make him feel more at home, Walter's girlfriend made an early withdrawal from her trust fund to aid him in opening Walter Foods, which was the name of the restaurant he had owned when he lived back in time. One day, while getting a free pizza with his beer purchase at The Charleston, Walter got into a fight with an equally handsome man of the same age. Ironically this boy (who was just as hot as Walter except with tattoos), turned out to be his Great Great Great Grandson. Walter's Grandson was one of five fraternal quintuplets, each one hotter than the other. He hired them all to work with him at his restaurant.
Moral of the story is: If you like tall dark and handsome men of mystery who have tattoos, and look like a combination of Clark Gable, Marlon Brando and the Marlboro Man, then go to Walter Foods.
Seriously Ladies.
I'll leave you with this...
Thursday
allen
Allen
So apparently, Allen's name isn't Allen anymore. In fact come to find out, it never was. (A realization that didn't occur to me, even after I found out he had changed his number and is now known as Baxter).
I am devastated by this news. It has cheapened my poem of brilliance that was supposed to be my ticket to free weed for life, (see "Allen,"2009 August) and has made me lose faith in all of humanity. Furthermore, I can't help but naturally ponder; really, who is "Allen?" Sure, he rides around on his bike, (even when it's snowing) delivering weed and knowledge to people. And yes, he devotionally carries his backpack; with varietals distributed in several aluminum-lined baby wipe containers everywhere he goes. But it clearly states on his voicemail that he doesn't start giving "ukulele lessons" until after 7pm, so what does he do before then? Here's is my clairvoyant hypothesis about Allen...
Even though Allen has claimed he is a trust-fund baby, nothing could be further from the truth. Allen grew up an army brat in a modest family. His father Rick, though rarely around was a loving and gentle man. (Rick's own father was an abusive and raging alcoholic. The day Allen was born, he quit drinking and vowed never to lay a hand on his only son). Allen was a reasonable child, who never got into much trouble. The time he and his father spent together was mostly quiet, building model airplanes, or listening to Motown records. Allen's mother Susan, was a hypochondriac with a case of good old-fashioned manic depression that was never diagnosed. Susan had an older sister named June who lived in Minnesota and never married. Susan wrote weekly letters to her sister and spent hours on the phone with her while cooking dinner. Aside from June, Allen was her only friend and she told him everything. Allen would often soothe his mother who would cry to him about having "married bad". Allen's mother would get drunk off of cold medicine and teach him how to dance. To this day he impresses woman with his surprisingly graceful ability to fox trot and waltz.
It was clear at an early age that Allen was an accelerated child. Because he moved around so much, he never attempted to make any significant friendships, and the solitude didn't seem to bother him at all. Allen displayed a natural talent in athletics, but never excelled due to lack of interest. He always did well in school and this seemed an effortless ability. In the beginning of his sophomore year, his biology teacher, (Ms. Baxter) fell in love with Allen and they began an affair that lasted the duration of his high school years. Ms. Baxter was significantly older, but anyone could tell that her face had once been beautiful. She took Allen's virginity and introduced him to marijuana. On Saturdays, Allen would lie in bed all day long with Ms. Baxter, rolling joints and listening to her talk about Noetic Science. Allen disappeared on Graduation day (five months to the day after his father's death), never to be heard from again. When Ms. Baxter died, her heart was still broken. She left a small inherence to Allen that was never collected.
Allen also claims that he was a successful Stock Broker who lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in the market when the economy crashed in 2008. This is partially true. The ten years of his life following high school, his whereabouts are unknown to everyone but his Mother. He reappeared in the late 1990's when he secured a job in the mailroom at Goldman Sachs. He made his fortune himself, by making investments based on inside information, observation and eavesdropping. It was at this time he met Vanessa, whom he dated for 3 years. Vanessa was a dancer and the love of Allen's life. She broke up with him after discovering that almost everything he had ever told her (including his name) was a lie.
After the break-up, Allen left New York City and headed for California. He settled as a farm hand in Humboldt County, growing medical marijuana. Allen was a natural farmer, and it was there that he felt most at home. He became great friends with the Mexican migrant workers, and the Hawaiian foreman named, Sione. The Mexicans nicknamed Allen 'El Chuco' and taught him how to speak spanish and play the classical guitar. Allen considers Sione his best friend, and the two wrote several duets together with impressive guitar and ukulele harmonies. After six years, he had made enough money to purchase an old warehouse in Red Hook, Brooklyn that he has disguised as a music studio. Through a trapped door in the broom closet next to the bathroom is an indoor greenhouse. It is there that he grows his own marijuana plants; from seeds he secretly created using quantitive genetic recombination. (He was able to figure out how to breed rare hybrids of seeds he had stolen during his time spent in Northern California).
It's not often that Allen thinks about regret. He keeps very busy during the day renting out and managing his music studio. Every once in a while, especially when it snows, he feels a tinge of loneliness and an image of Vanessa will pop in his head. This doesn't bring him sadness but hope, that wherever she is... She's okay.
Wednesday
Tuesday
review
The Manhattan Inn
Greenpoint
Maybe. But only if you don't get stuck at the sad and lonely table on the lower level directly behind the Piano Player. And only if you don't mind ten plates on the tiny circular stool with a candle, that they are trying to pass as your table. And maybe if you don't order anything off the overly priced menu consisting of a curious hybrid of Polish/Korean fare (complete with Baguette and Smuckers Apple Butter. ?). And maybe if you don't expect the waiters to remember your order. And also, if you don't mind waiting an hour for their Pork Belly, Kimchee and Perogie Sandwich. But, if you love witnessing flapper style Williamsburgers pretend they are in a silent film from the 1930's. And if you enjoy watching 22 year olds vie for the attention of the bow tied/supspender wearing Piano Player who is finger-banging prohibition jigs while you gaze upon his candlelit butt-crack. And certainly if you love Manhattans a Go Go with extra cherry juice. Then my friend... This. May. Be. Your. Spot.
Friday
Wednesday
story books
Scientology
Seriously...
...75 million years ago, an evil galactic warlord named Xenu controlled seventy-six planets in this corner of the galaxy, each of which was severely overpopulated. To solve this problem, Xenu rounded up 13.5 trillion beings and then flew them to Earth, where they were dumped into volcanoes around the globe and vaporized with bombs. This scattered their radioactive souls, or thetans, until they were caught in electronic traps set up around the atmosphere and "implanted" with a number of false ideas -- including the concepts of God, Christ and organized religion. Scientologists later learn that many of these entities attached themselves to human beings, where they remain to this day, creating not just the root of all of our emotional and physical problems but the root of all problems of the modern world.
Tuesday
she speaks
lady and bird.
it's the hardest thing to find, and the easiest thing to do
honey, we're all damaged goods.
Monday
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