Friday, October 22, 2010

Diggin' Fer Gold.

There's gold in them thar hills!

Picture it - Manhattan. Polly Prissypants and I are attempting to have one final luncheon before he deee-parts New York City for that Swirling Vortex of Hippies known as the Bay Area. (Yes, in California.) Now, we were planning to go to the gayest of all gay New York restaurants - VNYL - when we saw a notice from the Health Department slapped on their door. They done been shut down, y'all. It appears their pipes burst and flooded the joint with dookies and number ones. Ain't no one want to gobble a tofu wrap in that sort of mess, so we considered our options. I hate most restaurants in this area because I can't eat at any of them. But Polly Prissypants pleaded with me to peruse the menu at Eatery, one of his favorite luncheon diners in the vicinity - and, after glancing at it, I noticed they had added a tofu burger to their menu (a rather toothsome entree, I might add - try it out sometime. The shit was fucking good).

I agree to his terms, so we enter the establishment and are seated right next to a vacuous pair of twat blondes. Polly Prissypants had spotted them and very surreptitiously attempted to get me to sit elsewhere, but I didn't pick up on it. Down I sat, and then I heard one say, "Yeah, it wasn't like English as a Second Language, it was like ESOL - like to teach to people in like a totally different country. Like foreign." And I realized what PP had been trying to do. I said, "We need to move right now." He replied, "I tried to tell you..."

Nothing. And I mean NOTHING - gets on my nerves faster than these airheads who have descended on New York City like a plague since that Sex and the City bullshit made being an upwardly-mobile idiot trendy. GOD DAMN IT. Why can't there be a resurgence in crime so these assholes run back home to their rich parents???

So we move. And then it happens. Behind us, a man in his 50s is flossing his teeth. Not casually - not this one. He is GOING TO TOWN. As if his life depends on getting that strand of food out from his dentition. Back and forth he motions, and despite the fact that he's covering his mouth his his hand, we are HORRIFIED.

Who the fuck goes to a restaurant and flosses their fucking teeth at the table? If you can't wait til you get home, go to the god damn bathroom! No one wants to have to worry about plaque or semi-masticated pasta flying around the joint and potentially landing on their sleeves, their caesar salad, or their face. Just plain gross.

And yes, example no. 432 of why our society needs to crumble. And I mean right now.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Your Ass Is Grass, Kid.

This is a very old post from a long-defunct blog I started in Los Angeles, but VOX (the host site) is closing, and I wanted to keep this around because it is important to me. So y'all just pretend like it's March 28, 2007 for a while.

My aunt Linda passed away yesterday. While her later years suffered from ignominy and a strange penchant for avoiding and abandoning her family, up til that point she was a bright light in my life and in those of many others. I don't plan to blather about how terrible it is that she's gone, but I want to share three stories.

One. When she was a child in Sidney, Ohio, Linda decided that it would be a good idea to rush out into traffic and smash a tomato against her chest and then hold an arrow to the tomato as if she'd been shot. She staggered dramatically and then collapsed in front of passing traffic. Of course, this caused quite a commotion.

Two. Linda used to come down to visit us from Chicago every Christmas. It was the high point in everyone's humdrum lives - the big city family member was coming to impart her sophistication and wisdom on those left behind. She had been visiting for a few days when somehow we wound up lost in the seedier part of town - white trash central. Mobile homes teetered on the brink of collapse while inside 19 babies were subsisting on one can of baked beans, cars were piled up on cement blocks, refrigerators doubled as lawn decor. We were driving slowly when Linda stopped the car. We looked over, and there were two gangly, scummy teens chasing a rooster with a cinderblock. The rooster, neck bobbing frantically, was dodging and darting away from those two hooligans, who were laughing hysterically - apparently traumatizing farm animals is big fun in the hillbilly set. My aunt feverishly tried to unbuckle her seatbelt, jostling back and forth in the car , and then finally screamed across the passenger seat, "YOU HURT THAT CHICKEN, KID, AND YOUR ASS IS GRASS!"

Three. She loved Nina Simone. LOVED HER. A friend of hers in Chicago happened to be acquainted with Ms. Simone and, after a performance, took Linda backstage to meet the chanteuse. As Linda stood nervously outside Ms. Simone's dressing room, she heard her friend inside say, "Nina, I have a friend who wants to meet you," to which Dr. Simone replied, "I hope it ain't no HONKY!"

(yes, you are supposed to click on the link below to listen to and reflect upon the following song.)

So, I always idolized her. For some reason, screaming at children, causing panic among the innocent and being the victim of racism at the hands of a superstar always inspires in me a sense of reverence. I will miss her.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Times Square Can Fuck Off.

What does Times Square need?

Well, let's see... It's got a Hershey's super-store and an M&Ms World, T.G.I. Friday's, Olive Garden, 982 fucking sneaker kiosks that all sell the exact same thing, a motherfucking RED LOBSTER. oh - and absolutely NO SINGLE SHRED OF EVIDENCE that it was once anything other than a god damn shopping center designed for inane tourists who flock to New York City in droves to waddle around and wonder at shit they can see in their own cities. So, what can we add to this miracle knoll of assholeism geared toward the insatiably dull?

That's right. A POP TARTS RESTAURANT. Mmmm!

Yes! Brain dead tourists, weary after shuffling through this blocks-long maze of mass consumerism Hell, can plop their chafed, aching thighs down in this Nutrition-Free Cess Chamber and order Pop Tarts - a food that has NO BUSINESS being associated with breakfast for it provides little but the opportunity for shitheads to gorge on crap - in oh so cute ways, like 'pop tarts sushi.'

I mean, FUCK OFF.

Instead of coming to New York with the sole purpose of getting your pictures taken in front of the H&M or retracing the steps of those vacuous cunts from Sex & the City ("Oh my god, they serve CUPCAKES!"), why don't you follow this suggestion (well, two):

1. Plan a trip that involves seeing things that ARE NOT available in your home town. Museums, plays, concerts, the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, Central Park - these are things you don't have in your city. M&Ms - you can get them at the grocery store. Nikes - yes, you can get them at the mall. Cell phones are available anywhere.

2. If you a) are coming here specifically to shop at mass market chains and b) are afraid to eat anything that doesn't come from McDonald's, Applebee's, Pizza Hut, P.F. Chang's, or Taco Bell and c) are not planning to take in any local culture or sights that actually made New York City the amazing place that it is and was, then why don't you just stay your stupid fucking asses AT HOME so I and others who live here don't have to circumnavigate your shit while you gaze unintelligently at your mobile devices and maps looking for the nearest Club Monaco?

Everyone here hates you because you suck, and TIMES SQUARE has become a radiant example of absolutely EVERYTHING that is wrong with this culture, and, in fact, the world, thanks mostly to people just like you.