Archive for the ‘New York’ Category

Welcome Back to MY World

Tuesday, April 24th, 2007

Spring-has-sproooiiig-ed! – AND – once again, we find ourselves in that, these days, all too short comfort zone when “a cool morning” means a fresh breeze, sitting outside with the morning coffee in t-shirt and shorts; and generally really freakin’ enjoying the start of the day. No more having to face the bone chillin’ drizzle while I guzzle coffee and draw those last few puffs before heading up to the studio…

This morning also marked the arrival of “those other people”; the ones I haven’t seen for months [feels like 18 months this year]. Those folks who give you that look of indignation as they walk by me on their way to get their morning fix of mocca-java-supreme-double-double-hoo-ha; The ones who formed the constituency to kick me out of doors, first from the restaurants, then from the coffee shops then from the bars in the first place.

NO, this is NOT yet another diatribe on indoor smoking bans; After years and years and years now, I’ve come full circle. I actually enjoy being forced out of doors. It’s a bit grim some winter days, but really, I have found our winters aren’t really that tough. I’ve come to appreciate those moments either alone in my own thoughts after escaping from dull drunken conversations; or moments with other smokers. There’s a whole world of compatriot “suckers-in-arms” going on out here folks… This is OUR world; and we’ve made the best of it.

No, this is definitely not another tired diatribe; you’ve won, you own the inside. Me, I drink less, and spend less of my drinking money at the bars [sorry, Mike, Ralph and Helen, I hope your non-smoking customers are topping up those college-funds...]. Like my non-smoking friends, I suffer less from ‘itchy-eye’; and my cloths ALSO wreak, OK, just a little less than they did in the days of “the fog”.

Yes, you won; AND this is me thanking you. Thanking you for saving me from myself. Thanking you for introducing me to my “out door” friends; thanking you for the few extra dollars I now have to spend on better ingredients for the dinners I now cook for my smoking dinner guest as we share our cheaper drinks in the pleasant surrounding of my own kitchen table…

Its a beautiful morning this morning. Us smokers have made it through, eh, a not-so-tough winter; but an excruciatingly long period of April-drizzle. I’d like to say hello and offer a warm welcome back to our non-smoking friends as they come outside… AND no, I will not apologize for the occasional errant puff that lands in your face, as try as I might, I do not control the direction of the breezes… AND, I will NOT tolerate, NOR will I even acknowledge one single glare of yours. YOU asked for it, you got it… I’m outside, just as you had wished for for decades.

Welcome back outdoors! Welcome to my world!

HEY, THROW that damned water bottle in the trash! – I wouldn’t have tossed and stomped a butt out on YOUR living room floor!… …EVER!

No… I… FUCKING… LOVE! — New York

Friday, April 29th, 2005

An old pal in SF has just launched a travel site http://www.realtravel.com/, in yet another attempt to spend another entire day fucking the dog at work, I thought I’d oblige him on at least half his request for me and my pals to write up ten reviews of this big ol’ greatest of great places… Let’s enjoy the Spring!

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Sights: Brooklyn Bridge Park
“Romance Under the Bridges”

It’s well known that New York City has great parks, and that New Yorkers Adore them. Central Park is legendary, Prospect Park and the new West End shoreline are favorites for locals and wandering tourist alike. I almost shouldn’t be telling you this, but the best Park, the absolutely most wonderful place to chill the street stress right outta your bones is The Brooklyn Bridge Park in Dumbo.

An urban experience in the most urban city in North America. Imagine sitting on a rock beach, driftwood, wave lapping the shore. Your field of view… Two of the worlds most spectacular bridges soaring out on each side of you and the trillion dollar view of downtowns office towers, SMACK in your face.

Weeknights are best as the place is almost empty. I suggest leaving the office, hotel room a bit early, well OK, early by NYC standards, say 6:30/7:30. Get yourself to the Manhattan end of the Brooklyn Bridge. Take a leisurely stroll across one of the cities finest attractions in itself.

On the Brooklyn side, take the first pedestrian exit and walk one block over to Washington Street. As you turn onto Washington Street, be careful, any fan of Sergio Leone’s “Once Upon a Time in America” is going to faint… Three blocks down Washington St., and you’re in the park.

Insider Tip: Bring a couple of plastic cups, on Washington you’ll find a very fine wine store… Brown bagging it on the shores of the East River, alone or with someone special as the sun sets over Manhattan between the oldest and the prettiest Bridges in the city. A plastic cup full of wine, your arm around your lover, the sound of ferry waves… eh, hem Paris?!? The City of Lights has nothing on “Big City Bright Lights” tonight baby!

My Town… Enjoy it Babes!

Note: You can also get there via the F train, Exit at York Street Station, or the A to High Street Station. Dumbo, the neighborhood itself has more than enough things to do after the sun finally sets. Rice, on Washington is a fantastic Asian fusion restaurant, and there are a number of great bars tucked in and around the cobblestoned streets of what used to be called Viniger Hill.

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Accomidation: The Gershwin Hotel
“This ain’t no Daze-Inn”

Located perfectly conveniently equal distances from Midtown and the Villages this place is great for the folks who want to spin in wide circles and get it all done. The immediate area itself is kind of sparten, but on a nice night you can easily walk to Union Square, the East or West Villages… and anywhere you’d probably want to go is easily within a $6 to $7 cab fare.

This is an old SRO convert, or perhaps re-convert back may be more correct. The rooms are small, pretty sparten, but who the heck stays in their rooms in NYC anyhow. OK, if you need space, rent a suite for something like $20 extra [oh, and that's on top of what an average room price of say $97]…

One important tip… On most evening they curtain off a chunk of the lobby and turn it into a hip little lounge/club. Unless you enjoy spinning off to sleep to the sounds of some trippin’ DJ, get a room on the third floor or above… Wait, who the heck sleeps in New York anyhow!

My Town… Enjoy it Babes!

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Entertainment: Spring Lounge
“This Ain’t No Lounge… No Dive Bar… Paradise”

I came across the Spring Lounge one day while daydreaming my way through Little Italy and the Lower East Side. Dreaming about the teaming streams of good folks that plowed their way through these neighborhoods that were once considered the Calcutta of North America. Day dreaming about mob hits and oversized 1970’s era boat mobiles trying to make their getaways down these tiny bumpy streets.

I came across the Spring Lounge at exactly the moment I needed a beer! OK, plusses, it ain’t no lounge. I mean, it’s not all done up like the waiting area for your 2035 trip aboard American Airlines Space Liner cruise to that Orbiting Hotel that’s become oh so 2034! Nope, this is a great little comfy hang in a great ‘hood you should visit. Big ol’ windows let you people watch and friendly folks at the bar won’t stop talking to you. There’s usually a good looker working the taps, and very few frat boys!

No minuses here… If you need a break from shopping in SoHo, or if you’re just well day dreaming I highly recommend the Spring Lounge, go for one stay for three make a new friend.

My City… Enjoy it Babe!

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Sights: East River Bridges
“I Dare You… Triple Dog Dare You!”

More of a challenge than a review… A challenge to all you spandex wearin’ bike riding, roller blading health nuts, you life-lovers who have recently seen it fit to not allow me and my pals to smoke in those bars you don’t even go to anyhow. I challenge you to what could be your best day in New York ever. A spiritual day, a day you’ll think some new thoughts about how us humans get things done, I mean really done, done! The day you walk every bridge, except for one, that crosses New York’s East River. [bonus points if you name the one you'll miss]

OK, here’s the background… first though, just so you know, I drink about 17 and a half gallons of beer, wine and/or various whiskeys a week and smoke more than a broken down delivery van illegaly licenced out of a chop shop in Flushing so, I love life just as much as you do. And I probably have more of the stamina required to undertake this great adventure than you could imagine. OK the background… I did this one day when suffering the worst hangover of my life… a beautiful walk, a walk that starts with no idea in your head at all… just follow me. I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.

OK, get yourselves to Queens Plaza Subway Station in Queens [I'm giving you a head start, as I actually started this trip a mile away in Greenpoint Brooklyn]. Queens Plaza’s not that far ladies just take a look at your freakin’ subway map, or ask one our famously friendly city folks for directions. The N, R, Q, F and a raft of other trains stop at Queens Plaza. Its at QP that you’ll find the foot of our first bridge the 59th Street, Queensboro Bridge, or as I like to call her, the Grand Old Lady. The Old Lady is a nice place to start, simple nice views of the Upper East side… a pretty picture. Oh, small note, this is the Bridge I used to escape the city a few years back, she’s not my favorite, but the old hulk holds a special place in my heart.

OK, so this is a challenge, I’m not going to give you exact directions, not going to leave you any breadcrumbs… you find your own darned way from bridge to bridge, through the neighborhoods the sweet sweet neighborhoods. OK, That said, I will lead you to the next one as it requires a bit of serious local knowledge. While crossing the Old Lady, you will have noticed the Roosevelt Island Tramway. A ski lift like contraption that you’ll need to take to Roosevelt Island in order to get to the Roosevelt Island Bridge that take you into Astoria Queens.

Once in Astoria [hey stop for some Greek food]… You’re going to have to find your way north to the Tri-Boro Bridge. It’s a bit of a hoof, I’ll let you take the train if you like, but remember, I walked this part, AND stopped for two beers in the process. The Tri-Boro is the longest, highest and dullest on this here day-of-you-freakin-health-happy-life wander. But you have to do this bridge. Robert Moses’ proudest moment before he forced the city to span the Verizano Narrows. The Bridge that paid for the rest but has yet to pay for itself. The Bridge that stitched together what the glaciers tore apart thousands of years ago… I could go on.

Here’s where it get’s fun you blading fools. The Tri-Boro can put you in the Bronx or in Harlem. Ha, I see the silliest media brain washed of you kind of feeling a bit uneasy. Grow up, this is the safest city in N.A. [statistically speaking]. You’ll want to get off the bridge at Randels Island, technically part of Manhattan, but really nowhere. Look for a sign, any sign that leads you to the 125th Street Bridge, a gorgeous piece of over engineered lift bridge that take you into the heart of Lou Reeds lyrics… in Harlem, “Up to Lexington 1 2 5, feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive”… OK, if indeed you feel like doing Heroin at this point, that’s your prerogative. I’d strongly recommend against this, as you still have half an hours subway ride and three more bridges to cross. Besides, heroin is so, 1995.

We’ll speed it up here… Grab the 4, 5, or 6 train at 125th and Lex to the Brooklyn Bridge subway station, away aways on downtown. It lets you out at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge, a nice if crowded walk. Crawl through Dumbo and find the Manhattan Bridge, New York’s prettiest Bridge by far… after crossing the Manhattan, you’ll be wandering through the lower lower East Side, walk North to Delancy and there you will find… the Ultimate, my favorite the greatest of great New York Bridges. The ol’ workman, Uncle Saul… Pappa… The Williamsburg Bridge. The bridge that opened the floodgates OUT of the doom a despair of the cities famous east side slums. The bridge that allowed all the pent up Jews, Italians, Greeks, Portuguese, Slavs, Poles and whaty what nots out of lower Manhattan and into, well, OK, into the slums of Brooklyn.

Savor this walk folks, you made it, you rose to the occasion… You took Uncle GoGo’s challenge and beat him over the head with it. I applaud you. At the center of the bridge, take time to note that you can see every bridge you just crossed. You can also see a few you didn’t. When you get to the other side, at the very foot, you’ll find the stop for the B61. Take a victory ride on the bus on up to Williamsburg, about 5 stops or so. Find yourself a trendy bar or a nice pub and consider this for me… give it some thought. Really, you bridge crossin’ spandex wearin’ maniac, consider this for me and put it down in 75 words or less… just why the hell will you NOT let me and my pals smoke in bars!

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Entertainment: Karma
“Smoke Your Brains Out… In Other Words, Pure Transandental Bliss”

As you probably know, New York has fallen prey to the goody goods and has made it illegal for hard working independent business men and women, men and women who have toiled there lives away building business that cater to a particular clientele… the city has made it illegal for these people to allow their customers to smoke in the bars they have built. OK, forget the politics, have your view, mine… I like to mix my poisons on the nights I go out to hang in the places I hang most every night. Exhale, ah… Imagine my joy when a new friend, a new very beautiful Roman friend at that notified me of a place where I can “god forbid”, smoke and drink at the same time!

Karma, a hookah bar in the East Village has been grand fathered under the smoking ban because, well because it’s just that, a hookah bar. You know, the politically correct always seem to work themselves into these lovely dilemmas… We can’t let the sick smoke at the bars we don’t go to, but we also can’t slap someone’s hertigacal practices in the face either… what to do… Hookah bars that have been around for ten years are exempt. Funny enough, they also exempted the Havana Club at the top of 666 5th Avenue, a cigar bar for the cities power brokers… I guess “power Broker heritage” is a heritage worth preserving as well. Been there once, drank my salary in booze and smoked a pack and a half in about three and a half hours. Cinderella Power Broker for a day…

Karma, is a comfy place. Kind of a sweet ol’ dive bar out front. Dimly lit hookah couches in the back. A great place to bring your gal or guy and neck like high school students out on that date when they knew both their parents would be out later than themselves so curfew was not an issue. A great place for PSA… a great place to drop a dime on butts and wag your finger in the general direction of City Hall.

You’d expect it to be crowded, it’s OK, most weeknights that rarest of rare Manhattan real estate, the bar stool, is readily available. You’d expect it to be expensive [I mean this place does have us addicted retards more or less by those thing we're making less and less usable with every puff]… no more expensive than anywhere else, $5 for a beer, $6 for a drink, $10 for a bowl of tabac, if that’s your pleasure. Me, I never touch that stuff sweetened flavored tobacco, please… somebody write a law.

This is a New York secret, if I see you there, I’ll kill ya if you tell someone I sent you there, they’ll kill me, so, don’t say hello, and keep your damned trap shut.

Great DJ’s as well, puff…

Something New at York

Wednesday, March 30th, 2005

Nothing New at York as I rode the train home everyday in the first year I lived here; here in the greatest of great places. Nothing New at York as I’d ride the train into and out of the station that no one seemed to get on or off at. Nothing New at York, always assuming suspecting that those few people I never saw get off or on were, special. Nothing New at York… I somehow always knew someday, there’d be, something…

I hesitate this, pause it, until I remember that it was the wind rustling the pages of this open book that alerted her to me. It was these sappy splatters that made her know me and say hello. There is no public or private today, the day after the most important bridge walk I have ever walked. A walk from there to here; a walk in the howling wind and cacophony of a city closing down it’s day and starting it’s most wonderful evening. Wash your hands and spray on some pretty perfume; Sappy, happily sappy… a lifetime on a windy bench, just inside my blessed Brooklyn, two green chairs pulled closer than a 1000 years of roman bathouse history and two bottles of bunches of grapes… the promise of peaches. Snap shots more clear than the fastest paper could ever hold; little stones in plastic boxes, a stone on the shore, asked for and handed me by a skilled stoner, ancient tools that only special hands can know. My head spins from glimpse to glimpse, two chairs, a sip, a rest from the conversation for a breath, for smoke, a stare and then more kind words, all the while just simply completely utterly, wonderfully, comfortable… Next, Peaches.

Something New at York. I’ll no longer ride looking for the people, who I know, who are special, and who are not there. I walk down the pillared isles of this empty place, spinning around half to dance, half to see if I’ve been followed. A blast of shiny steel, the sound and the rush familiar to every morning on this most surprisingly familiar of mornings. Sitting in the sunshine on the shore beside this greatest of great places, dawn… There is something I’ve always known, Something New at York, me thinking of nothing but you.

yo, leave home the book of rules!

What Does This Smell Like? — Part I

Saturday, March 19th, 2005

Current mood:  blah

I woke up this morning in a kind of haze… but honestly, it’s not about this morning and the things I did last night. Sappy sentimentalism has been coursing through the veins for months. Long walks, bridge walks visits to the places I first visited on my first visits to this place I always wanted to live in… I have lost my memory of how it all used to smell.

I have this vague memory of the tingly excitement I would feel as I got off of the bus, train or plane and the dove head first off the deep end into this place. I recall a tradition where I would immediately hit a bodega, buy a beer in a bag and drink it seripticiaously as I walked through midtown thinking whoa, mudda fucka, I’m walking the streets of the greatest place on earth, drinking a beer on the streets where nobody gives a rats ass about me OR the fact that I am doing that, god bless the 80’s.

My first trip here was a twelfth grade Urban Geography field trip… I carried about 60 spliffs across the border and triped on ‘cids the whole way down. I got an 80 on my notes and saw “West Side Story” while tripping and holding my first Ultravox album in my arms, waiting to puke on the Eddison’s roof while looking at the wooden rockets that hold the water that bathe us and feeds our thirst.

That was high school… Art School brought me here at least 5 more times between 1980 and 1984…

What did it smell like?

It did not smell like the aroma of Seattle brewed coffee… It did not smell like garlically pesto… It smelt like a great big pile of lubrication, lubrication, grease that makes things go. It smelt like garbage, a great big pile of garbage… it smelt like the sweat of COOL people doing COOL things. It smelt like the big ol’ place I knew I’d someday come to help myself to the ultimate newness, freshness and excitement. I needed to vindicate the urges some folks in my life have always told me to avoid.

We’re four months away from my fifth annivesrary… although I have completely enjoyed integrating myself into the greatest place on Earth… I have also mourned the loss of the excitement I used to feel when I came… this being the Zenith of all places, I wonder if I’ll ever know that feeling again, I mean, I’m not going to London, Paris or Ho Chi Min city thinking, well this, that, there will be the place I will define myself.

I got it, I have it… I read my books on the V and wish these mother fuckers would stop holding the door open so that I could get to work. I walk the streets of the West and East Villages, Williamsburg, Cobble Hill, Coney Island, Clinton Hill and Greenpoint; as I am walking home a citizen, rather than, as an excited tourist.

It’s good… It’s bad… I miss the way it used to all smell.