Notes from the way, way, way underground

I enjoy a good crowded subway platform in the morning. It means a train hasn't come by in the last 10 minutes. All those people waiting there, they could have stayed in bed 10 more minutes like I did. What a bunch of Suckers.

I enjoy a good crowded subway platform in the morning. It means a train hasn't come by in the last 10 minutes. All those people waiting there, they could have stayed in bed 10 more minutes like I did. What a bunch of Suckers.

I enjoy a good crowded subway platform in the morning. It means a train hasn't come by in the last 10 minutes. All those people waiting there, they could have stayed in bed 10 more minutes like I did. What a bunch of Suckers.

I enjoy a good crowded subway platform in the morning. It means a train hasn't come by in the last 10 minutes. All those people waiting there, they could have stayed in bed 10 more minutes like I did. What a bunch of Suckers.

I enjoy a good crowded subway platform in the morning. It means a train hasn't come by in the last 10 minutes. All those people waiting there, they could have stayed in bed 10 more minutes like I did. What a bunch of Suckers.

I enjoy a good crowded subway platform in the morning. It means a train hasn't come by in the last 10 minutes. All those people waiting there, they could have stayed in bed 10 more minutes like I did. What a bunch of Suckers.

Maybe, like me, you're not one of those people fortunate enough to have a name that can be brought down to a couple letters. If your name isn't Petey (pt), Opie (op) , or say, Katie (kt) you're not left with too many options on the ol' "signing your emails with a couple letters that are your name" front. One way to go is to invent your own alphabet. Something like A, B, C, Pat, D, E, F, Rick, G, H … might work. Also, you could change your name to say Peepee (pp) or Zeeaych (zh). My advice is to avoid the whole thing and sign your emails with some other guy's name, Jim for instance.

Today's Thing is 99 Miles to Philly the new Philly Cheesesteak joint on 3rd. It's owned by a Philly native and he's dishing up the real thing. Thanks Strong Buzz for the heads up.

My Afghani cab driver, Sam the Man, uses kebab as a metaphor for sex. He's got to call his wife every so often, otherwise he gets no kebab. He also thinks I should gets some kebab, because it's healthy. I also learn that Afghani rice is the best. By this, I assume, he really means rice.

Today’s Thing is the Bard. There is still time to catch A Midsummer Nights Dream at BAM. King Lear is at Lincoln Center this spring. Speaking of a Midsummer Nights Dream, it’s too late to catch this amazing production in nyc, but if you are farther a field…

That is all.

I haven’t really been all that underground. You know when you go to the beach and you see some fat guy buried in the sand and his kids are pouring beer down his throat, but then after a while the kids get bored and wander off, and he kind of complains a little but manages to free himself from all the sand and get himself another beer? I think I’ve been kind of like that. Instead of sand I’d say we’re talking about mud, and instead of kids, Carmelite nuns, and the beer is definitely a metaphor for Brooklyn. But otherwise, exactly like that.

Today's Thing is Edward Gorey and the album based on his works by The Tiger Lilies with The Kronus Quartet. Caveat: I love this album, but will respect you in the morning if you don't. Devotion to Gorey is not optional.

BONUS!!!

Blog from the unpublished archive. It's a link yourself ....

Elves that piss me off

1) The Rice Krispies Elves
2) Rumpelstiltskin
3) Sean Penn
4) The Keebler Elves
5) Most of Santa's Elves

Today's Thing is J.M. Coetzee. He's won two Bookers,
he just won the Nobel Prize in Literature, and he's got a new novel out.
Show the man some love. I read most of his early stuff in High School which
makes me cool in an Umberto Eco / Salman Rushdie tremendous nerd kind of a way.
Check out Waiting for the Barbarians, The Master of St. Petersburg, or really
anything the guys written.

How come all these "previous life people" were always Countesses or Chieftains or some such nonsense. Was no one a Kazak goat herder? Do goat herders not get reborn? The whole thing strikes me as not all too egalitarian.

Today’s Thing is Miss Maude's Spoonbread Too. No excessive linking today, I’m just glad to be sending something out. Maude’s serves up some great soul food, way, way, way uptown. I’m all about the collard greens.

There are a lot of problems with shaving your head. Bowling alleys are right out for instance. By far the worst though is living in constant fear of your friend’s bringing out another shaved head guy, and then your friend having to go home early, leaving you as one part of a "Bald Guys Out on the Town" duo.

Today’s Thing is Today's Papers. Slate is a good source for general O'Reilly bashing, but reading Fair and Balanced Today's Papers is what let's you toss out things like, "Did you catch that LA Times article on Arnold?" Your coworkers will love it.

In the interest of maintaining my special relationship with mankind (man's best friend, loyal companion, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera) I would like to make the following general requests:

Please do not name me "Bill", or "Tom", or "Sue". Those are human names. Would you name your son "Spot"? Your daughter "Lassie"? Proably not. The Dog Park is not a kind place for a dog named "Larry".

Be I male, female, fixed or unfixed, I reserve the right to hump any other dog, be they male, female, fixed or unfixed. This is my personal choice, not an occasion for crass jokes, please respect it.

Doggie Prozac is not an acceptable substitute for a qualified pet therapist.

If you are going to dock my tail, at least throw a doggie Bris.

Canine teeth were named after me. Think long and hard on this the next time you pick up a bag of vegetarian dog food you moron.

Your pal,

The Dog

Today’s Thing is Café Noir in Soho. The half walls make this the best place in the city to sip Sangria and munch on Manchego and Olives on a breezy day.

A handy quiz to determine if a moustache is right for you. Answer the following questions to the best of your ability. Remember that your first guess is usually the correct answer.

A) Are you auditioning to play a French waiter in a movie featuring John Cleese or Tim Roth? (1 point)
B) Are you a Fireman? (2 points)
C) Are you Turkish? (2 points)
D) Does your Significant Other occasionally mention having "A Ned Flanders Thing?" (1 point)
E) Are you a Turkish Fireman? (5 points)
F) Are you over 70 years of age AND a kung fu master? (3 points, 7 points if also a Turkish Fireman)

Total your score and compare against the chart below:

0 - 1 A moustache may be inappropriate at this time
2 - 3 A moustache is probably not called for, but may be acceptable
4 - 5 A moustache is required
6+ Consider multiple moustaches

Today's Thing is Utagawa Hiroshige (sometimes Ando Hiroshige) and his Edo period landscape Manga. Apparently some European painter that lopped off his own ear, and would later go on to wall paper dorm rooms, also liked my man Hiroshige. Katsushika Hokusai was OK too. I've got a ghetto Man Crossing a Bridge in a frame on my wall. The real thing (what is real) can be had tomorrow at Christie's. I'm loyal to Sotheby's myself (despite the remarkably similar commission rates) so I'll stick with flipping through Matthi Forrer's stuff for now. Here for Asian art in New York.

As I was sitting last night on the floor of my apartment… alone… applying mascara… listening to The Cure … naked … in the dark except for the candles … staring at hundreds of black and white photos of my ex-girlfriend taped to the wall... mumbling… and licking a knife… it occurred to me that it’s ridiculous to pay for a gym membership I don’t use. I’m going to cancel it.


Today’s Thing is Butternut Squash. Fall is coming and that means pumpkinesque vegetables at the farmers market. I’m a freak for butternut squash soup, and I make butternut squash ravioli to keep my pasta maker from becoming a prop.

"Of course Jesus was in China, where you think he learned Kung Fu?"

I wish that was my own, but I read it somewhere. It was part of a (reportedly real) conversation between two homeless guys.

Austria has been holding the torch for the German speaking culinary world for some time. Stellar Rieslings, that pre-midnight Gremlin Wolfgang Puck, and hoity-toity Danube all give the lie to German speaking and Delicious being irreconcilable. Speaking of German speaking and delicious, I wonder how many times Heidi Klum has been described in print as an "überbabe"? I bet quite a few. OK, back on track. Today’s Thing is Wallse in the West Village. I’ve got no problem eating wurst at a biergarten, but everyone deserves an occasional table cloth. I hear the upper east side, blue haired cousin, Café Sparsky in the Neue Gallery, is also pretty good.

Today’s post is a result of a rolling lateness. Inexplicably I put my alarm clock within reach of my bed a couple nights ago. Why would someone do something like that? Might as well just call into work late a couple days in advance. It’s not enough to move my alarm clock a few feet from my bed. I could move the thing through my (small) apartment, litter broken glass along the way, hide it under the sink, throw a combination lock on the cabinet doors, and still shut it off, go back to bed (through the glass) and not remember a bit of it. I’m currently negotiating with a small eastern European circus for wake up visits. Forward better ideas along.

Today’s Thing is Antibalas. This Brooklyn based collective of Afro-funk musicians is worth multiple check outs. The hippie contingent at the shows is unfortunate, but Vice can kiss their own white ass for bashing Fela. (Bizarrely) Antibalas headlines Turntables on the Hudson this weekend.

My coworker just got back from Taiwan and brought me a cookbook. My other (Fukianese) coworker made some photocopies and now there’s a lunchbox competition going on. We’re going mung bean noodle to mung bean noodle. No time to write, got to start training.

Today’s Thing is The Star Wars Kid. Just in case anyone missed the link to him last week, this guy deserves his own mention. His parents law suit sort of tarnishes his image as a cause célèbre, but I love the little dumpy bastard anyway.

Re: Batman where are you?

I’ve been a little depressed.

A lot of Wayne Industries Assets were tied up in Internet companies. The bust has left me more or less broke. Poor Alfred followed my investment lead and lost his retirement fund. He had to take on a second job as a bar back in Williamsburg. They make him wear a trucker hat.

Robin has left me. There’s word on the street that he’s dancing at Stonewall and is shacked up nights with The Green Arrow. I’d rather not know.

One of my ear points has flopped over and I can’t afford a new cowl. The batmobile is up on cinder blocks at a storage site in Jersey.

So yeah, yeah I mostly hang out in the cave staring at the wall. Sometimes I get a nyc icy to cheer me up, but it doesn't really help.

batman

Today’s Thing is the Hanger Steak Slider at AKA café. True, the Wylie Dufresne / 71 Clinton Fresh Food empire is a little incestuous, but those tasty little marinated carrots alone are worth the $7 price tag on my maybe, could be, possibly favorite sandwich in the city. I’d take it over Daffodil Root Foam Sorbet across the street at WD-50 any day. A new high-end restaurant opens on Clinton daily, it’s like some giant game of gentrification Whack-A-Mole.

“Women are mean and men are stupid.” I thought I had exclusive worldwide rights to this one. It turns out that my coworker has a friend who has also been saying it for years. I’m not really ready to cede coinage credit. Maybe we came up with it simultaneously, like Calculus and Newton/Leibniz… but with less impact. Regardless, it is a fact. Women will say unbelievable things to their female “best friends”. Things like, “You rub people the wrong way”, or “Your haircut kind of makes you look like Noam Chomsky.” As for guy’s, witness spectator sports like World’s Strongest Man (“I know Jurge can lift that stone more than 11 times. He’s doing it for his grandmother man.”) and sports we make up on the spot, like “Smash Hand”, and “Punch Gut.”

Today’s Thing is Glass. It’s important to make sure the DJ isn’t spinning old school hip-hop before you go. Is it just me or is DWYCK reaching Bob Marley levels of decade long overplay? Thomas Leeser's all curves interior and the one-way mirror out to the street in the bathroom make it worth the trip over to 10th.

I like to think of myself as a sort of latter day Attila the Hun. Sure, I'm not a particularly good horseman, and no, I do not command a Mongol horde, but I did spend a couple years as a hippie in Buffalo, which is cold. Also I'm taller than Attila, which has to make up for some other stuff. If I ever get around to conquering Europe, I'm going to give Germany to Poland. Also clotted cream will be given a more appealing name.

Today's Thing is nag champa incense. This is not that nasty, overpowering, gag inducing stuff that made you stop burning incense in the first place. In every way the opposite, these sticks are the straight man's vanilla candle. Ask for it by name. A lot of people I know get theirs from the nag champa lady on Astor Place, which is as good a reason as any to drop by the Strand.

Marriage is when one person says to another, "I’m so serious about not cheating on you that I’m willing to let all of society look down on me for doing it."

Today’s Thing is babelfish. If you were a junior high nerd (like me) than you recognize the Douglas Adams reference. The grammar is not good enough to cheat on homework, but it can get you out of a pinch when someone emails you in Korean.

The coolish weather has me thinking on fall (or autumn as I like to call it). Specifically, I’ve been thinking about how the leaves change and how beautiful they are. They create all that beauty in the process of dying of course. It’s as if, knowing that they must forever leave this world, they explode forth in one glorious act of artistic creation. I’ve decided to stay as far as possible from anyone who finds this comforting.

Today’s Thing is Buffalo’s Milk Mozzarella. If you’re saying ewwwww, you haven’t tried the best mozzarella on earth. Even in Italy demand for the original has dwindled, but it can still be had in time for one last summer Insalata Caprese. The guys over at Supper claim they’ve got the best in the city, and they might just be right. Don’t tell the people at Artisanal.

Running isn’t about feeling good. It’s about feeling bad. There are lots of ways to feel bad when running. There are for instance, shin splints, nausea, knee swelling, feinting, heat exhaustion, hypothermia, sweat in the eyes, twisted ankles, side stitches, and headlong nosedives into gravel, wood chips, and asphalt. Running may be about feeling bad, having run however, isn’t. Having run feels great. Sure there is the increased energy, increased fitness, blah, blah, blah, but let’s be honest. Having run feels good because you get to tell people that you went for a run, and are therefore better than them. There is little in life more satisfying then telling an out of shape non-smoker that you ran 5 miles that morning as you light up a nice fresh cigarette. It’s even more fun when it’s true.

Today’s Thing is nublu in all it’s incarnations. The word is out on the lounge, so late night on weekends can get a little hectic, but great DJ’s, live music, and layout means it’s perfect for weekday chilling. I’m absolutely refusing to classify Ilhan and mates music as Squarepusher meets Post-Bop meets Acid Jazz. You can refuse to classify it yourself this Wednesday at Joe’s Pub.

A reoccurring theme in my oeuvre is things done for no reason. People have the hardest time coming to terms with something done for no reason at all. Right now for instance, I’m learning Turkish for no reason. The conversations usually go something like this:

(friendly)
“Want to hang out later?”
“I can’t I have to meet my Turkish tutor.”
(surprise)
“You’re learning Turkish?”
“Yeah.”
(incredulous)
“Why?”
“No reason.”
(annoyed)
“No really.”
“Yeah really, no reason.”
(confused)
“Do you know someone there or something?”
“No, I’m just learning it. I don’t really have a reason.”
(flabbergasted)
“Is it hard?”
“Yeah”
(unhinged)
“Come on you can tell me.”
“Yeah I did. No reason.”
(angry)
“You’re learning Turkish for no reason?”
“Yeah”
(furious)
“Screw you man.”

Today’s Thing is Blindness by Jose Saramago. Jose taking the Nobel Prize for Literature means António Lobo Antunes will probably have to wait a bit till he gets his. Such is life.

Crazy people can be pretty scary. What with all their ideas about a former life as Helen Keller, or how Angels are hanging out on their couch. But crazy people I can deal with. “ok, no problem, you’re crazy.” What freaks me out is when I meet someone who’s talking some total craziness, and then I notice a wedding band. I can’t help trying to imagine their spouse. “Who is so batshit crazy that they met you, and knew you were the one? Do they walk around wearing tinfoil lined colander hats? Did you meet them at some crazy people supermarket? Do you guys ever mix up your meds?”

Today’s Thing is Cesaria Evora. Cesaria sings Cape Verdean morna, a cousin of Portuguese fado. You don’t have to know any of that, to know she can’t possibly be a grandmother with a voice this sexy. Maybe it is technically World Music, but if it’s good enough for Le Gamin it’s good enough for me. Skip the best of and go right for Miss Perfumado.

I started baking when I was ten years old. I did your standard ten year old baking stuff; pound cakes, meringue shells filled with ice cream, sponge cake layers brushed with cherry infused simple syrup and frosted in butter cream. My father, I'm sure, was a bit concerned about my gender identity. There really wasn't any reason to worry. Behind my cherubic little smile lay the diabolical plan to one day pick up tremendous amounts of women by inviting them over, and feeding them into a sexual frenzy. The plan has been only somewhat successful.

Today's Thing is Hudson River Park. You have to give it to the city for getting something right on this one. The Greenwich and Chelsea sections are right out of San Diego (sans sand). It's true that the weekend scene can be a few foam machines short of a circuit party, but an occasional reminder to hit the gym never hurts. There's still time to catch a flick, although my all time favorite, Casablanca, is long gone.

A lot of people having been asking me "So just how far underground is way, way, way underground?" Great question. Way, way, way underground is really far underground. Somewhere below the mole people.

Another question is, "If you are so way, way, way underground, how do you know about all these cool Today's Things?" Hey, that's also a great question. Once every couple of weeks the mole people gather, I don't know what for exactly, but I know it's happening from all the scurrying noises. They never invite me, which I find a little disconcerting. I usually head up to the surface for a couple days until things simmer down. I take the opportunity to see what's going on in new york city and afield.

Today’s Thing is the sake bar Decibel. If you don’t like sake because the only kind you’ve ever tried is that warm Beni Hana nonsense, please don’t admit it. Decibel was farther underground when you had to know about ringing the buzzer to get in, but I guess with the no smoking thing they got sick of it. It is still literally underground, which is commendable. Another plus is that there’s no small but fabulous dog (yes I mean you Chibi, you little gentrifier you) to look down on you. I pretend I know what I’m doing by ordering Senchyu Hassaku. Be careful standing up.

All the news about Israel/Palestine has got me thinking about an old neighbor of mine in Austin. Nick was famous for breaking things, insulting people, and inane theories. He sat in my living room one sunny Sunday afternoon, staining my couch with a wet leather belt (he had very recently rode a child’s bicycle into the pool), explaining in detail how the Israelis were like Sammy Hagar and the Palestinians like David Lee Roth. I noticed the couch situation before he could finish and tossed him without hearing his closing argument.

I wish the conflict would be resolved, but I’m not encouraged by the history. It’s like a drunken guy from Brooklyn and a guy from Boston with a lisp coming to blows over the correct pronunciation of corn dog.

Today’s Thing is Euzkadi. The waiters may be drunk, but the chef ‘s not. I’ve eaten here at least a dozen times, usually with upwards of four friends, and everything on the table is always, always excellent. They take reservations, and I’ve yet to figure out what it is they do with them. Better to just show up.

If hair could scream people would dread haircuts.

Today's thing is Deep Dish Cabaret. Sure it has it's off nights, but so do you (although I guess you're not a cabaret, so maybe it's an unfair comparison), and on an on night, Deep Dish is one of my favorite places to be. Chris Rozzi is so naturally funny it's scary (although word is he's going underground for a bit), and Eric Davis (for latest performance info) as Red Bastard is what Americans call amazing and British people brilliant. It looks like MC Steve Kosloff never updates the website, so the best bet is to get on the mailing list. I think performances are usually listed here too. Even if they're not you should know about that site.

It's never a good idea to name the voices in your head after your friends. It'll end up confusing you, your friends, and the voices.

Todays thing is Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami. More hauntingly beautiful than The Remains of the Day.

Tomorrow is my twenty-seventh birthday. I’m not so crazy about the idea. Ok, sure, twenty-seven isn’t exactly old, but it's definitely a thing. When you are twenty-seven you can say things like "when I was a kid", and it doesn’t even sound a little silly. You constantly have to fight the urge to kick the living shit out of ridiculously successful people your age. There’s an element of brutal reality to it. When you were seventeen, you could look at a playboy mag and think, "I’m not dating these women because they’re much older than me." At twenty-seven you pretty much have to admit that you’re not dating them for entirely different reasons. Yup. Climbing Mount Everest at twenty-two, solving some mythic math problem by twenty-four, and being a rock star are pretty much now totally, completely, and forever, out of the question. The odds that twenty-six will be the age at which I finally managed to quit smoking are running pretty low. Off to work.

Today’s thing is The All Music Guide. I don’t know how these guys do it, but they do. The best place when you absolutely need to know who's who in Marseilles hip-hop, and you need to know now.

I check my email about eight thousand times a day. I don’t even admit to people how often I check it, for fear they might take me for mad. I’d say it’s an OCD thing, but I don’t do it in any pattern. It’s not like I check my email three times, open a drawer, wash the cat, close the drawer, repeat. I’m just constantly checking.

Today’s thing is Toytronic. Unfortunately the site is under construction all of a sudden. Every record this label has put out is at least decent. Toy 12 (Abfahrt Hinwill) ist besonders gut.

Today's thing is Williams Pear Eau De Vie, also called Pear Brandy, Poire William, and Williams Birne. This stuff is super popular in Austria, where I tried it for the first time on a James Bond like ski vacation. It tastes sort of like pear flavored gasoline, but in a good way. The trick is to drink it after a few beers so that you notice the incredible pear bouquet and not your throat scarring up. There are a couple small batch distillers in the US that make a good one. I like Clear Creek Distillery and St. George Spirits, both available at Astor Wine and Union Square Wine.

So, my first blog. If you’re reading this than either I never post or you’re some sort of total Patrick freak who insists on reading back all the way to the first words I've ever written. I know it's sort of paraphrasing Groucho Marx, but I got to tell you. You have terrible taste in obsessions.