Today a couple workmates insisted I go with them to Costco at lunch. So I did.
I didn’t buy any food because I didn’t want 800 granola bars or a 3 liter jug of soy sauce or a 24 pack of muffins or a billion Red Vines or or or or or.
All I bought was a handle of Dewar’s. For only 25 bucks!
A handle is 1.75 liters. 1.75 liters is a lotta drinkies.
KA-BLAMMO!
Sorry the picture’s out of focus. It’s actually not out of focus. You’re drunk. A-gain.
Overheard from the kitchen one second ago: “I’m cracking open your Dewar’s!” – Mike Nice.
Maybe I’ll Quantum Leap into him just before the glass touches his lips, so that I can get first sipsies.
Nope, too late.
He just drank a glass and then did ten pull-ups. Now, that’s the way a fuckin real man does it.
p.s. I fucking love Red Vines, I didn’t mean to sound like I was disparaging them earlier.
I figured this out this evening, when I was getting ready to make dinner and thinking about how I didn’t have any vegetables. Except for a tomato, I know, that’s a fruit, don’t be that idiot who has to point that out. Because come on, a tomato isn’t really a fruit. Not the way we mean it.
When I opened the fridge to double check the vegetable situation (the v/sitch), I spotted two bagged salads which had been purchased by my roommate (currently “out of town” (mysterious) on “business” (questionable)).
I think I read a few years ago about some woman who found a dead mouse in her bagged salad, or something. I think she had already eaten some of it when she found the rodent. Maybe I made up that last detail for xtreme maxxximum effectidge. But maybe not?????!?!?!??!?
A dead creature in a bagged salad sounds about right. (I’m not including bagged spinach in this discussion. Bagged spinach is great).
The thing is, everyone I know who buys bagged salad, none of those people are very healthy eaters.
That must mean something.
Cue five hundred comments from bagged salad lovers who eat healthy.
Or claim to.
Listen, it’s one thing to claim to be a healthy eater, another to be confirmed as a healthy eater by an objective non-partisan such as myself.
Asian Island Crunch? What Asian island are they referring to? Like Japan? Is Japan considered an island? Why doesn’t Dole just call the salad JAPAN CRUNCH! Tempura? I’d like to get a little Asian island crunch myself, if you know what I mean. I don’t know what I mean by that.
And Summer Salad??? I mean… whaaaaooooookay.
So I did eat a bowl of this bagged salad. I dressed it with a little olive oil, salt, fresh ground black pepper. It was alright.
The third in the I Know What You Did Last Summer series is called I’ll Always Know What You Did Last Summer.
What’s so impressive about always knowing what a group of teenagers did the previous summer? It’s pretty easy. You just wait a year and then ask around, “Hey, that group of friends seems pretty cool. What did they get up to last summer?” “They did this, this and this.” “Thanks. Heh heh heh.”
“Big deal. FUCK YOU!!” – Ed Harris in thebest scene of Glengarry Glen Ross.
The second in the series is called I Still Know What You Did Last Summer. That title bugs me because it sounds like bragging. But the guy is bragging about something so not impressive. If you knew what I did last summer, still knowing it isn’t a big deal. You’re basically saying you don’t have Alzheimer’s.
Also, that guy on the bottom right of the poster is a Skeet Ulrich lookalike. That’s getting pretty far down on the lookalike totem pole. Skeet Ulrich is a Johnny Depp lookalike, which I suppose is respectable, but being a lookalike of Johnny Depp lookalike Skeet Ulrich? No.
It’s like the time I saw a guy who I initially pegged as a Charlie Sheen lookalike, only to realize he was actually a lookalike of Charlie Sheen lookalike Balthazar Getty (this was at Union Pool in Williamsburg about four years ago). Actually that’s the exact same thing. I just repeated myself. Sorry for wasting your time.
Sometimes when I’m driving my motorcycle I think I may already be dead, and in death’s dream I’ve re-imagined myself as a guy who drives a motorcycle and this is what I think it feels like. Because I don’t really seem like the type of guy who drives a motorcycle.
But in driving a motorcycle, I’m becoming the type of guy who drives one.
If someone asks, Do you think you’re cool because you drive a motorcycle?, the answer is, No, I drive a motorcycle because I’m cool.
Or my friend Avi, who’s been living abroad for countless years. One time his lifestyle came up in conversation and someone said something about how anyone could do what he’s doing. But he’s actually doing it. Anyone could do anything. It only matters what you do.
Although, what you think about up until and including when you do what you do matters, too.
“It’s hard to hold the hand of anyone who is reaching for the sky just to surrender.” – Leonard
I guess he’s playing in New York soon, but it’s like 270 bucks.
In a classic Jew move, fly in Christmas Day. Observe Christians at the airport pawning off their I’m-in-a-rush-to-meet-my-kid stories. Maybe you shouldn’t have planned a winter flight without any room for error. Yeah, I know it’s cheaper to fly Christmas Day. That’s why I did it. Short layover in Dallas, reminds me of being pulled over by asshole cop while driving through Texas on road trip nine years earlier. Picked up at Laguardia by parents, who are in town from Chicago. Proceed to cousin’s empty Hell’s Kitchen apartment, where parents are staying (cousin is vacationing in Maui).
Day 2:
After a serious sleep, drive with parents to brother’s house in Queens. Hang with nephews (five and zero) and niece (three). Nephew is at first not into the Transformer I give him, but soon warms up to it.
Day 3:
Chill with family during day. Take killer nap in brother’s basement. At night, meet Anthony at his place in Prospect Heights, where I’ll be staying on and off. Drink beers, eat pasta, head to bar on Smith Street with his roommate Miriam to meet former co-worker Sarah. Anthony observes that Sarah has too many stories involving her somehow getting into troublesome situations for her to be completely innocent. Wind up playing gin rummy on Sarah’s twin-sized bed at 4 am. Watch “The Wire” for the first time. Pass out a few minutes in – more a reflection of my tiredness than the quality of the show, which I still plan on getting into.
Day 4:
Wake up discombobulated, a near-full Budweiser by my head. Sarah claims I promised to take her to brunch. Although I have no recollection, it sounds about right. I order pancakes, am unable to eat more than half. Sarah feels she may puke. She doesn’t. She returns home for a snooze. Head back to Anthony’s. Listen to Jay-Z on iPod while walking around Brooklyn – perfect. Meet Amy in Greenpoint for a second brunch. Order the fruit salad, am made fun of for wimpy order. Drink two mimosas, as does Amy – bill reveals that each costs $9. Welcome to Brooklyn. Amy agrees to come to Park Slope to watch football at Josh’s. Listen to Jon Secada’s “Just Another Day” on the train – transcendent. Amy buys beer. Josh’s stonedness is quickly apparent when he steers the conversation towards the concept of time; responds to questions about his favorite fast food burger by repeatedly insisting that the chicken sandwich at Wendy’s is fantastic; and leaves the stovetop burners on to “clear the air”. All is joyous. Amy and I head to south Williamsburg to meet others for dinner at Williamsburg-fancy joint, where the ravioli is superb. Wine is drank. Back to Amy’s with others for more alcohol consumption. Listen to “Just Another Day” five or six more times. Conversation is flowing. I like Amy’s friend from D.C., whose name I forget. (Later learn when asked what he thought of me, he responded, “I didn’t like his jeans.” My jeans are gray.) Midnight strikes and it’s my birthday. Happy birthday is sung to me. An hour later hit bar for one more drink before training it to Anthony’s in Prospect Heights.
Day 5:
Anthony prepares breakfast. We wander around town, walking all the way to Boerum Hill. Search for a Mexican restaurant, wind up getting sushi. I remember how much I love the overall quality of all New York sushi. Discuss life in general, what to do with ours, figuring out nothing. Dip into bodega for coffees. As I go to pay for mine, Anthony informs me it’s already been paid for. “Happy birthday,” he says. Walk back to Anthony’s, then head to Queens for family birthday activity: dinner. Nephew and niece are extremely excited about dessert (donuts), asking about it every several minutes during dinner. Their desire for donuts combined with their helplessness in serving themselves is a tiny bit heartbreaking. Head back to Hell’s Kitchen with parents. Walk over to Kenny’s – he lives just eight blocks from my cousin. Drink red wine with Kenny and his girl. Kenny invites me to be a guest on his morning radio show. Back to cousin’s for sleep, make sure to not wake parents.
Day 6:
Breakfast with parents. Egg and cheese on a roll. Walk over to Rockefeller Center, into Sirius, “Wake Up With Cosmo”. Introduced as the guy who made the song “Whistlin”, which has been getting airplay. Proceed to talk about hot guys for an hour. Kenny is annoyed that Brad Pitt is the barometer against which all other men are measured. Co-host Victoria is enamored with BP. I suggest George Clooney, Keanu Reeves, and the deceased River Phoenix. Realize I’m out of touch about current hotties, and that I have My Own Private Idaho on the mind. Callers bring up Hugh Jackman, Johnny Depp, and the guy from Twilight with the hair. It seems no one can top Pitt and his combination of handsomeness, ripped bod, and philanthropy. I find myself defending Jennifer Aniston – she wasn’t viewed as crazy until Pitt left her for another woman. Halfway through my argument I begin to wonder why the hell I’m saying what I’m saying. Post-show, head to Amy’s to watch Hot Rod, which she hasn’t seen. She’s into it. We order Thai food. I meet my parents in Manhattan to see David Mamet’s play “Speed-the-Plow”. Play is fucking amazing. Post-play dinner at Sbarro’s. I fucking hate being in and around Times Square. Can’t believe I’m spending so much time there on my NYC trip. Go to Prospect Heights to meet Anthony. Drink beers and discuss women, the benefits of occasional pot smoking, Ryan Adams, and “Arrested Development.”
Day 7:
Hell’s Kitchen to shoot a video with Kenny and Anthony. I get to portray a blind man. Chuck Close paintings are involved. Back to Prospect Heights for about an hour before going to Amy’s in Greenpoint to see her and Stiggers, who has popped into town from Boston. They chide me for jeans and crappy sweater. It’s New Years Eve and we’re going to a fancy dress-up party. I tell them, At least I shaved. Amy is in a black dress and the ever-suave Stiggers is, of course, tuxed out. He’s looking svelte. Car it to South Williamsburg for dinner with some others. Vegetable lasagna is delicious and affordable. On to the Lower East Side for house party at Caroline’s. Anthony comes. He’s a minor celebrity due to his outstanding one-man rendition of a scene from The Pope of Greenwich Village, which has been viewed online by several party-goers. Chico arrives, classy with bottles of vodka and gin. Sarah and her friend Chrissy show up. Chrissy tells surprisingly long and involved story about taking a shit at work (a construction site). She doesn’t seem the type (to work at a construction site or tell an autobiographical shitting story to strangers). Chico is psyched to meet Amy and Stiggers, shouting, “I know you from Facebook!” He asks after Jordi, is disappointed to learn Jordi will be spending the night playing Rock Band in Jersey. Eat a couple mushroom stems that are being passed around. The small portion is nice. Talk to Gaby for a while. Tell her I’ll write about the conversation on my blog. Chico leaves for a different party in Boerum Hill. Sarah leaves for a different party in Harlem, leaving Chrissy behind. Talk to Chrissy with Anthony for a long time. Talk more to Gaby. Am told by her roommate that I have no game. But my game is no game. Or having game is fake. Or something. When a plastic bag filled with bottles is smashed violently onto the floor, decide it’s time to leave. Tell Chrissy to wait outside for Anthony and I, we’ll split a cab home with her. Half an hour later, realize I’ve been talking to Stiggers for the past half hour and Chrissy is gone. Am just fucked up enough to not worry about her welfare. Get Gaby’s phone number twice, each time accidentally not saving it. Decide to get it from Stiggers later. Unable to find cab outside. Anthony and I take the subway home. Discover we each took two beers from the party. Great minds drink alike. Drink brews at Anthony’s while watching part of Cassavetes’ Husbands (unavailable on DVD, VHS out of print but Anthony ordered it online).
Day 8:
Wake up early-ish, sans hangover, listen to Tom Waits on iPod (“You gotta keep the devil way down in the hole…”), go to Hell’s Kitchen to meet up with parents. A few hours later, meet up with old roommates Erez and Brandon. Play Wii and drink orange soda. Am relieved to learn Chrissy got home fine the night before. There’s talk of seeing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button with Chico but it doesn’t happen. Watch the movie Breach with parents. It’s pretty good, and cements my appreciation for Chris Cooper. Think about how many stars I’m going to rate it on Netflix and admit to myself that I like rating movies on Netflix. It receives 4 out of 5.
Day 9:
Breakfast with parents. Head to Queens to chill with brother and his family, then to Greenpoint to browse Eat Records, my old favorite record store. Meet Amy for drink at Enid’s. There’s talk of a dinner party. I suggest Amy make tacos; she’s onboard immediately. Head to Smith Street to meet Gaby for drink at whiskey bar. We G train it to Williamsburg for dinner party, and then to some bar. Second cousin meets up, along with his girlfriend. Am stoked to see him. Listen to The Walkmen’s “Danny at the Wedding” with Gaby, using headphone splitter found at my brother’s earlier that day. I’m really feeling that song. Couldn’t find it on YouTube, but here’s this, one of my favorites off the new album:
Day 10:
Hang with Anthony. Discuss various important matters. Meet Kenny and his girl. We go to Park Slope, having a drink at Union Hall before walking to Josh’s to watch football. Swifty comes by. Tells me Thom has been talking about sending me beats. I tell him Thom should stop talking about it and just do it. Order my favorite pizza in New York, Pizza Roma on 7th Ave in the Slope. Receive contact high due to abundance of weed being smoked. Meet Amy for a couple drinks. Hell’s Kitchen for a few hours sleep, and then an early wake up call to drive fourteen hours to Chicago with my parents. Go to sleep looking forward to the journey ahead.
Conclusion:
Trip was great. Didn’t see everyone or do everything, but that’s just the nature of the beast. Estimate I spent a full day’s time on the train. Afterwards, take a few days to recover, needing a vacation from my vacation.
