Manhattan Really is an Island

The other night, Glenn Beck covered a segment on how America is experiencing a wheat deficit, which lead to a dramatic price increase.  The government is giving great subsidies to farmers who grow corn, which can be made into ethanol, which can be made into fuel.  So why would farmers grow wheat when they can grow corn?  To most of the country, this shit matters.  People driving their carts through the wide isles of their Marts can actually tell whether a loaf of Wonder Bread went up 32c.  They can act affected while discussing the rising cost of flour with neighbors. 

I’m in Manhattan, along with eight million other people.  We have no fucking concept of how much things are supposed to cost.  I’ve paid $5 for loaf of bread and $7 for a box of Raisin Brand.  I’ve never met anyone who actually buys flour in Manhattan.  Most of us don’t drive and for all we know and care, gas can be $20/gallon.  We’ll walk into one grocery store and buy a bottle of water for 99c and two hours later, we will buy the same bottle at another store for $2.50.  We don’t have any more money than our friends in the bubs but for some reason, it will never occur to us to walk two blocks to get the 99c bottle.   

So while rest of America huffs and puffs at the rising costs of foodstuff, we will remain ignorant and unaware of the crisis.  I will continue to stop off at the bodega every morning and pay $1 for an apple or $3.50 for an egg on a piece of toast.

almost six months ago

We had 34 people come to our wedding.  It was great.  I remember most of the day.  It was sunny and warm.  To keep things festive, we stayed at Tribeca Grand Hotel, just a few blocks from Tribeca Grill, the restaurant where we got married and had the reception. It’s Robert Deniro’s place but he didn’t show.  We didn’t invite him.  The wedding day began with a hangover and a delicious breakfast in bed.  Afterwards, we walked to Embassy Suites, where my parents stayed.  My father presented us with a touching gift.  I wanted to cry but it’s not something our family does.  Cry.  I swallowed tears.  Later on, my friends came over to get dressed, paint our faces and to drink champagne.  I was waiting for my mother.  We were scheduled to meet the photographer at 5, the ceremony to begin at 6.  My mother showed up at 4:40 and she needed coffee.  She always needs coffee. She needs coffee at the most inopportune times.   We jump in a cab.  We’re already late and there’s tons of traffic.  I cursed the other cars for being there.  I cursed the driver for picking a shitty route.  I cursed at my mother for needing her fucking coffee.  B’s family was already there.  My father was nowhere in sight.  My mother was in a cab with her coffee. 

 We took a bunch of pictures outside, on the cobble streets.  The sun was shining bright.  It was nice.  Our friends started to show up and I told the bartender to make me a drink that would totally fuck me up. She laughed and gave me a double Rum and Diet.  We didn’t plan to walk down the isle.  Five minutes before the ceremony, my mother asked me whether I wanted to create an isle.  All the guests were already seated.  The ceremony came and went.  There were no bridesmaids, no gift registry at Bed Bath & Beyond, no diamond rings.  It felt warm and close.  I heard that the rabbi was funny and the food was delicious.  Our friends gave perfect toasts.  We danced.  The night was a beautiful blur.  Afterwards, bunch of us went back to the hotel bar and had more drinks.  At the end of the night, b and I ordered pizza and crashed.  We were married.

Brooklyn Bridge is Cool

Thanks go Global Warming (or whatever) we were able to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge in January.  There was this fear that a gusty wind would throw us right into the arms of the icy East River.  Resolved to make it, we dressed like Eskimos, strapped two bricks to our feet and set out.  I envisioned the two of us, hauling ass across the bridge, holding on to the rails and to each other as we make it to the top, our screams muffled by the wind and bitter cold air.  The bridge was packed with people and we were sweaty as hell by the time we made it a quarter of the way.  The thing about the bricks was a lie.  

Brooklyn Bridge is pretty awesome.  For one, there is a completely separate level for the walkers.  It also has a pretty cool history.  For example, it took 13 years to build and was opened on May 24, 1883. About 27 people died while building the bridge and workers made less than a dollar an hour.  So there people, you better appreciate what the poor immigrants did for you.  If you’re crossing from the Manhattan side, it’s worth looking back and checking out the view of the city.  To the right, it’s the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island and the Verrazano Bridge, which connects Brooklyn to Staten Island.  From what I hear, Staten Island is a total dump.  I mean, literally, there is a huge landfill there.  To the left it’s the Manhattan Bridge and the Williamsburg Bridge.  There were many people speaking different languages and they were taking pictures.  We saw some women wearing lavish fur coats and lots of makeup.  I don’t think they were from Williamsburg.

Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead

As the name suggests, this is NOT a feel good movie.  It’s a thriller/drama about two brothers, who desperate to get some money, plot to rob their parents’ jewelry store.  Everything that could go wrong turns even worse.  The motive to commit this crime is different for the two brothers.  Hank (Ethan Hawke), younger of the two wants to be able to provide for his daughter.  Andy (Philip Seymour Hoffman), it seems, just wants to be able to shoot more drugs and maybe move to Rio with his loser wife (Marisa Tomei).  Andy, definitely the sinister of the two, lures Hank into carrying out the scheme by fronting him two grand.  Hank, too chicken to do the job himself, talks one of his parasite buddies (Brian F. O’Byrne) into doing the robbery.  The buddy fucks up and the supposed perfect and victimless crime goes to complete shit.

 Hawk and Hoffman are both excellent!!!  Tomei is naked in three-fourth of the film and in the other one-fourth, she’s smoking cigs.  She has nice tits but what the fuck happened to her acting career?  There were also a couple of things that didn’t make sense.  For example, they all lived in these huge apartments in Manhattan. Hank’s apartment was pretty crappy and depressing but it was still big.  Now, if you’re so desperate for cash and live in the City, your apartment is probably super tiny and you have at least one roommate.  But that’s a small thing to nit-pick when the film is so awesome. 

We saw it at Angelika (Houston and Mercer), which in my opinion, is one of the ultimate NY experiences.  The subway runs right below the theater and once in a while you can hear the train go right underneath your seat.  There is also an awesome café so you can hang out while waiting for the movie to begin.  The popcorn is pretty good and the soda is self-serve, which means refills, refills, refills.  They also don’t show children movies.  The crowd is pretty chill and smart-looking.

Apples to Apples

I was craving an apple so I went to Zeytuna, a Whole-Foods but smaller type of place, on John and William.  Holy shit, I did not know that there were 14 breeds of apples, not including the organic counterparts.  There were also many different kinds of pears but the apple selection made a huge impression on me.  One of the stock boys, probably sensing my peculiar expression, asked whether I needed help.  I told him that I was counting how many different types of apples there were.  He asked me how many I’ve counted.  I told him fourteen and he said “no shit?”  I said, “really, no shit” and he seemed to believe me.  I mean, what’s the sense of lying, it’s pretty easy to verify whether I was telling the truth.  I picked a big good-looking red apple and went to pay.  On my way to the register, I saw a guy gorging on olives.  He was right in front of a big sign that said, “please do not eat until you pay.”

My Gold Christmas

In Chinatown, everything is either Golden Bakery, Golden Chicken, Golden Unicorn, Golden Dragon.  You get it.  Christmas day is especially insane, possibly almost as insane as the Chinese New Year, which will begin on February 8^th.  2008 is the year of Rat.  How disgusting?!?!  If Confucius knew today’s rodent situation, he probably would be pretty pissed that Rat gets a whole year and all the festivities.  Yesterday, we met some friends for Dim Sum at the Golden Unicorn on East Broadway. Dim Sum is little dumplings filled with shrimp, pork, beef, chicken, or vegetables.  It seems that every culture has a variation of Dim Sum, or dough filled with different crap and tastes pretty good.  Food is only a part of the Dim Sum experience, especially at Golden Unicorn.  The restaurant is four floors and each floor is lavishly decorated with red valor-like cloth, chandeliers and gold dragons.  Little women push around carts that are filled with different delicious dumplings and pastries.  You can also order fried rice and lo mein off the menu. The staff is not too friendly; they sort of just want to get you the hell out.  We came a little late and the carts stopped coming around toward the end of our meal.  I asked for dessert and the waiter guy said that dessert is all done.  I’m sure the little ladies were munching on plenty of pastries in the back and the guy just wanted us to leave.  We sat there until the food and tea was gone.  It’s kind of fun to play their game and stay as long as possible.  

Nepotism sucks

If you read yesterday’s Styles section of The New York Times, you probably stumbled across the article written by Jenna Bush.  Jenna talks about how challenging and rewarding it is to be a teacher in a poor neighborhood.  She sets up the story by talking about kids overdosing on Lucky Charms and puking. Then, it was along the lines of blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  Bush ends the article with a story of how joyous it was to watch the students discuss the cultural differences between a Chinese “Cinderalla” and the version written by the Brothers Grimm.  I am not going to read Bush’s novel, “Ana’s Story: A Journey of Hope” and if the writing is anything like this sappy piece of shit article, I’ve certainly made the right decision.  It is super annoying that The Times and whoever published “Ana’s Story” did so because it was written by the President’s daughter.  I am pretty sure that many teachers from inner city schools have written and submitted much better pieces but did not receive any acknowledgement.  Imagine how many doors would fly open if Snoop Dog was my father.

Napoleon Dynamite fucked Little Miss Sunshine

 ….and Juno was born.  This movie is good, good, good.  Ellen Page is awesome.  The shit that comes out of Allison Janney’s character is surprisingly hilarious.  Michael Cera, who creepily resembles Will Ferrell, plays Juno’s boyfriend, makes me happy that I’m no longer in high school.  Jason Bateman is good and Jennifer Garner’s character is a dumb cunt.  Though the plot surrounds a pretty serious topic, a 16-year-old getting preggers, the film is funny, like laugh out loud funny.   

We saw it at Lowe’s on 68^th and Broadway.  It’s a huge-mega-super-duper-behemoth movie theater.  There was a mob so if you go, definitely fly Fandago style.  Fandago charges a service charge but it’s worth it.  Otherwise, you may be toppled by a bunch of screaming six year-olds who are there to see the Bee movie.  It’s no Angelica crowd, I’ll tell you that much.  The popcorn is shitty.  We got a medium and it had two kernels and there wasn’t enough butter. 

Babbo Shmabbo

Everyone raves about Babbo. Here’s the deal.  Do not go there if you actually want to eat… something other than bread and olive oil.  The atmosphere is nice and the service is great.  If you come from the school of the Little Penguin and Yellowtail, the wine list is super long and confusing.  We finally picked a bottle, red something or other, and it was very good.  The waiters swept the bread crumbs with the little butter knife type thing and it gave the illusion that we didn’t eat that much bread.  The appetizers were okay, no better or worse than at other places.  For the entrée, we ordered rabbit and stuffed dove.  Dove was described by the waiter as a “meaty bird”. The dove was nothing but a bag of bones decorated with parsley.  The rabbit tasted like a three-day old KFC drumstick.  Still hungry, we ordered dessert, gelato with chocolate something or other and it was delicious.  They should call this place BDW, for Bread, Dessert and Wine.  It took about two months to get a reservation and even that was because of a cancellation.  The other day, someone was boasting about Babbo. She was a scrawny little creature, the dove had more meat on its bones.  Babbo is a type of place where skinny trendy New Yorkers go so they can talk about it at parties.  If you really like to eat and not just pretend that you like to eat, I’d definitely go somewhere else.

A total gem

Klatch is a 200 square foot, quaint space on Maiden Lane, b/w Nassau and Broadway that serves fresh coffee, teas and the most delicious breakfast stuff.  You wouldn’t think that too many hippie-types hang out down here and you would be exactly right, except that about five or six of them work at this place.  Everyone is super nice and one of the guys likes to sing along to Leonard Cohen.  Every month, they feature art from a certain local artist.  Sometimes it is very good, while other times the shit is just scary and I’m pretty sure I could paint better if I were blind and used my left hand.  Oh yeah, they also serve soups, quiche and wine. On Fridays, with a glass of wine you will get a nice cheese tasting (no charge for the cheese).  The latest addition is a little bookshelf right by the entrance.  It has a sign that instructs you to either leave a book, take one for yourself or for a regift. Though this place is two blocks from Wall Street, you will not see too many Pink shirts here.