lover's spit

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...

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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...

the amish were persecuted, just like the greeks.

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.

le sigh.

i keep forgettin'

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. 

zorro ≤ my boyfriend.

i wish i liked nature

priscilla ahn

the missing piece

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.

marina men

Marina Men.

Sergio Valente is your only friend.

Aqua Velva Geeks.

she speaks

lady and bird.

it's the hardest thing to find, and the easiest thing to do

honey, we're all damaged goods.

gloria

the holidays

it's the little things.

i wear a beret

the 5

If The 6 is for dicks

And The 4 is for whores

Then what's The 5 for?

Where does The 5 go?

rocket queen

it hurts me too

the L

You know what The L?

I'll see you in hell.

the G

Fuck you The G

You are so dead to me

Stop four times for Queens

While I freeze in my jeans

It is clear that you do this on purpose

i am not of this time

back door man

completely inappropriate

the renaissance

rip

(now click on this)

(if you didn't click, you wont get it)

review

August

West Village

An influx of medieval hodge podge (and possibly made up) spices piled together in what appears to be a culinary walk of shame.  A Scullery Maid and Merlon's, illegitimate redheaded child (all growns up) and lost in the woods, seeking shelter in an apocathery's abandoned greenhouse.

 

The meat I tried to eat was called Goat Leg. It was accompanied by mystery greens and a viscid little ball they referred to as Dumplings.  The Oxtail Ragu seemed as though it was sauteed in said Scullery Maid's preserved placenta.  And please, don't even ask about the spaghetti squash and chorizo sudoku puzzle they call Camarones a la Parilla. (Added Bonus: Black garlic and squid ink dipping sauce.  ?.)  But don't worry, they lend you a couple crawdads whose beady little eyes gaze upon you while you eat.  As if to say "You will sit at this table until everything on your plate is finished, or I'm telling your father". 

 

Strong points? The wine was good, and ordered by a dashing and brilliant young man. AND if you move the table around enough, it will stop wobbling.

 

Cheers.

read this

sing it

home

amish

deep red bells

Deep Red Bells

Who led you to this hiding place 

These lightning thread-spun silver tunnels 

The red bells beckon you to ride 

A handprint on the drivers side 

It looks a lot like engine oil 

And tastes like being poor and small 

And popsicles in summer 

It always has to come this 

The red bells ring this tragic hour 

We've lost sight of the overpass 

The daylight wont remember that 

No speckled fawns raise round your bones 

Who took the time to fold your clothes 

And shook the valley of the shadow 

Where does this mean world cast its cold eye? 

Whos left to suffer long about you? 

Does your soul cast about like an old paper bag 

Past empty lots and early graves 

Of those like you who lost their way 

Murdered on the interstate 

While the red bells rang like thunder?

holidays

portrait

truth

"Trust not your heart nor your head, but your gut."

allen

"Allen"

I was thinking about how sick I was of the white walls in my living room the whole ride home from work on the subway. My Grandfather owned a painting business and somehow, I believe this makes me a superior painter. So, I got off at Lorimer and went to Klenosky Paint Shop to buy 'Barren Plain' in a flat finish. ('Barren Plain' is my 'Sig-nah-chuh Kuh-luh'). I walked all the way to Bushwick and Grand carrying two, gallon paint cans. I got home, thanked the Lord, and started taping off the molding.

Luckily my friend Katie called and I convinced her to come over using wine as my lure. Soon my living room was a disaster and we were deep into paint mode. With the inspiring and invigorating musical stylings of Bon Iver pressing us on we decided to paint my bedroom as well. Unfortunately 'Barren Plain' doesn't look the same when painted over 'Shit Eggshell Brown' in a room with no windows. After 30 minutes we were exhausted. We collectively decided to abort mission and concentrate solely on the living room. And then (as usual) I had a fantastic idea.

I called Allen for "Ukulele Lessons". Allen arrived within five minutes of my phone call. (Ever since I read him the poem I wrote for him, I feel as though I get special treatment). Allen was not at all surprised at the state of my living room. The last time he had come over I was making a cape, and the time before that I was having a party. So I'm pretty sure by now, he knows what type of stoner I am.

Allen unloaded his bag of tricks, and I continued the improvement of my home. My Father works in construction and somehow, I believe this makes me a superior home improver. I had installed dimmers in most all the light boxes all by my lonesome. Now that the walls were painted, I was ready to relish in my accomplishments and put the 'face plate on the cake', if you will. As Allen was saying that he watched me walk to the Subway while I was on a date; there was a spark, a zapping sound and I accidently broke my apartment. NOTE: You not only have to turn the electricity off to connect the wires when replacing the light switches with dimmers, but you must also do this when putting the 'face plate on the cake'.

After I screamed, Allen said "Shank what happened?", (Allen calls me 'Shank', and that's another story). I then called Ryan (my downstairs neighbor) because he is a man, and I believed he could fix my apartment. He couldn't, so it seemed I would have to wait until the morning to find out what I had done. Luckily I have a fireplace and candles. Allen rolled us a sympathetic and generous joint, which we smoked in jest.

I then heard a soft voice coming from the door and realized that my roommate had been home the entire time. She was very upset with me. Initially becuase I broke the apartment, but primarily because she could smell the weed and as a devout Catholic was involuntarily sinning. I apologized for taking her weed virginity without her consent. With the closing of the door Katie, Allen and I bursted into a fit of uncomfortable, and uncontrollable laughter. And I'm pretty sure my roommate heard us, loud and clear. Ah, middle age.

dynasty