What a fucking week this has been. At least I didn’t have to stay as late as I thought I would, but it was just ten hours of pure stress. And it was that way pretty much all week. Crazy deadlines, crazy work, crazy peole, crazy glue...Crazy Eddie where are you? Yes, I’m losing it. So I thought tonight I’d just wander around and have a few drinks on the way home and take pictures. Ready? Set! Wander...
And off we go. It's getting chilly out here, time to get the jacket out of the closet.
I wonder if that pizza place sells beer. I've walked by it probably thousands of times and have never gone in. Let's go check it out.
Biff alert! They have Miller Lite in here, let's go get the first beer of the evening.
Here's the pizza, now where's the beer?
Here we go, they've got a nice selection of bottled beers here.
I chose a bottle of Peroni and this friendly fellow not only sold it to me, but posed for a picture. Cheers!
I'm sitting at a table and relaxing while watching people buy pizza slices.
Hey here's the Green Tomato, one of my less frequented Fortress of Solitude stops.
Tonight they're speaking my language, let's go on in.
And here we are at my usual streetside table. Gumby's hiding as he's still a little paranoid after that "prank" he pulled.
It's really nice sitting here, drinking beer and watching the world go by. A great people watching spot for sure.
Obligatory window reflection shot!
Here's a guy practicing his ATM moves.
And yet another getting cash for ATM. Are these people porn stars or what?
Okay, I"m really tired, time to get one for the road here.
And here it is, bagged and strawed and ready to go.
Ha, I like this graffiti on the phone booth of a stickman flipping the bird.
And check out the Snapple bottle, that doesn't look like Kiwi Strawberry to me!
And I've got a feeling this isn't lemonade in the Subway cup. Yeeesh!
And here we are, the last stop of the evening, my corner deli, The Blue Valley.
Sip Ahoy! ("Sip Ahoy is a patented Uncle Waltie catch phrase, please get permission before you use it.) Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Jeremiah Moss put up a great post and challenge over at his blog, Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York. I’ve written about St. Mark’s Bookshop a few times here on this blog and have encouraged people to buy a book there and help keep this East Village independent landmark bookshop in business. All the information is over at Jeremiah’s blog, just click here: Buy A Book Weekend! And then go buy a book, as Jeremiah notes, you can buy one online, so even if you don’t live in New York, you can help out and get a great book by doing so. There’s no downside, so do it now!
Okay, in the past I’ve whined and moaned about my night job and here I go again. Today was one of those days that felt like I had walked into a wall of shit while getting beaten over the noggin’ with a stainless steel baseball bat. The second half of the night wasn’t as bad and it did settle down, but I’ve really got a headache, I don’t feel like talking to anyone and I need some ice with this white whine. So it’s really going to come as a shock that I’ve decided to got to a bar tonight. And not just any old bar either.
I’ve been thinking about going to the Empire State Building one of these nights and facing one of my many fears and phobias, a fear of heights. When I first moved here I did all the touristy first time New York things and I went to the Empire State Building. On the elevator ride up I had an anxiety attack and was sweating bullets. I took it right back down and got the hell out of there. I’ve never gone back and I recently learned it’s open till two in the morning and might make for an interesting MAD outing to see if I could actually pull it off. And while doing research, I found out there’s a bar on the first floor called The Empire Room. Huh, I never knew there was a bar there and it’s just a few blocks from where I work. So I thought I’d start my way up the Empire State Building the way I live my life: One drink at a time.
And there's tonight's destination, The Empire State Building. Well, actually the bar inside the Empire State Building, let's move on, I get dizzy just looking at the top of that thing.
It's an easy walk over there, just about five blocks.
You know you're close when everything is named "Empire" something or other.
And here we are in front of the Empire State Building.
Okay, we're inside.
A security guard told me to walk down this hallway and I'd find it. Did I mention it's bright in here?
Zingo, here we are...
The Empire Room. Let's go in, I'm dying for a drink or five.
Okay right through the double doors...
And here's the bar. This place has the potential to be an okay bar. It's dark, it's got a nice marble topped circular bar, there's red leather banquettes lining the walls, but the music is blaring in here and it's this song by the Black Eyed Peas that I absolutely hate. And they have one of those sound systems that the bass is amped up like Roger Clemens on steroids. I'd leave, but I really want a drink and there's nothing else around here.
Some of the lit up bottles behind the bar. God, I HATE this song.
The service in here is horrible, it's been over five minutes now and the bartender hasn't even looked my way.
Okay, it's over ten minutes now and this song is on some sort of disco loop and doesn't ever seem to end. Have I died and finally gone to hell?
Finally the bartender came down my way. I ordered two drinks because God knows when I'd get another chance. I got a bottle of Corona and the house drink, The Empire. By now a group of about seven drunken tourists have come in and they're screaming, dancing and singing along to this song that apparently is never going to end. My head feels like it's going to cave in. I chug the drinks, pay the bill...
And head to the bathroom for a Travis Bickle-like obligatory bathroom shot. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
The Empire Room 350 Fifth Avenue (Near 33rd St.) 212-643-5400
It’s hard to believe that summer’s over and we’re halfway into September. I thought I should hit some parks at night while it’s still nice out, so tonight’s destination is Washington Square Park.
And here we are at Penn Station for the downtown train to Washington Square Park.
And after stalking this woman for about three minutes I realize I'm a complete idiot and we're at the wrong train station.
And so it's back to the escalator...
And over about five blocks to the Herald Square Street Station. Okay, we'll be there soon.
And here we are at Washington Square Park and the iconic archway in the middle of the park. Pretty dazzling, huh?
Wooden benches line the perimeter of the park.
And all of the walkways are well lit into the night.
It's nice to see someone reading an actual book as opposed to staring at an iPhone or an iPad. Good for her.
It's a nice night out and there's a lot of people in the park tonight.
There's a circular pond in the center of the park.
Here's some people watching a musician. Let's go take a closer look.
It's a one man band. He's playing a banjo on top of a drum...
---------------------------------------- Bonus Photo From Kate At One More Folded Sunset!
Kate sent in this frightening photo from a stairwell and a discovery of a new mutant form of Cardboard Box Man, he appears to be somewhat nuclear and radioactive now. Run and hide! Aaaahhhh!
-----------------------------------------
Bonus Linkage From Michael!
MAD reader, Michael sent in this latest update on the crimes of Gumby. It appears he may have just been pranking, so maybe we'll see him soon, fresh out of the witness protection plan. Here's the link: Gumby was jost joking.
Tonight is Tuesday, which means we go to a bar and see if we can get a swizzle stick. I’m in the mood to go to some place that’s not too crazy, have a couple drinks and just do like my friend the Chillmaster does and chill the fuck out. I decided I’d look for a hotel bar and I found one that sounds perfect, called Bar on 5th in the Setai Fifth Avenue Hotel.New York magazine calls it, “the quintessential hotel bar.” Let’s go see if they’re telling the truth.
And here we go. It's another nice night out tonight, I like this time of year, you don't need a jacket yet but it's not that hot out either.
Scary window display alert! What the fuck kind of toy is that to give to a kid?
And here we are at the Setai Fifth Avenue Hotel. Attention P.D.A. couple to the left: There's a hotel right behind you, get a room already.
The bar is right beyond these doors. Let's go check it out.
Holy fuckballs on burnt rye toast! I'm only halfway to the bar and it's noisier than fuck in here and the place is swarming with after work Yuppie assholes in suits and ties. Time to get out and take that lonely walk elsewhere.
I really don't like this part of the city.
It's all souvenir stands with headless mannequins wearing goofy-ass baseball caps.
Okay, we've made it to the Flatiron area and look at this place, it looks promising.
Let's check it out.
A special "Welcome Tuesday" carpet. Nice.
There's a nice circular bar in here and it's nice and dark, I think this qualifies as an "Al approved bar."
And Ashlee, the pretty and friendly bartender serves up the double gin and tonic. No swizzle stick tonight, but after the long walk I've had, I'm happy to have the drink and Ashlee's pretty smile.
A long shot of the circular bar. It's not loud in here and really relaxing. A nice stop.
Check out the mammoth display of lit up bottles behind the bar, impressive!
There's a nice dining area in the back. It's last call, so the place is pretty well emptied out.
A lounge area is located up front, right next to a window overlooking Madison Avenue.
Obligatory mirror shot in round condiment housing thingy on the bar.
A few weeks ago, I went out in search of porno magazines for my Monday “Six Pack” night. Tonight I think I’ll go to a late night magazine and newspaper store and pick up some random magazines and write about them. It’ll take me back to my fishwrap days. I remember back when I was publishing and writing fishwrap, I subscribed to about thirty magazines and would take trips to magazine stores and sometimes buy a pile of around twenty magazines to make fun of. But tonight, it’s off for a six pack of magazines and a bit of a fishwrap flashback.
And we head down Sixth Avenue to get a six pack of magazines. Perfect!
The Universal News Cafe. It's open till midnight and it's loaded with magazines.
See what I mean?
Okay, the magazines have been chosen and rung up, let's go home and take a look at them.
OK! How They Bill Themselves:“The Magazine The Stars Trust.”What that means: It’s ghost written by publicists. Cover headline:“A Baby At 47.” Wow, that’s one old baby! Number of Kim Kardashian photos: Seven. Scary Headline:“Hugh’s Kid-Tossing Workout!” Wow, and we thought dwarf-tossing was scary! Sheesh!
Woman’s World How They Bill Themselves:“A great week made easy!”What that means: Prozac, Prozac, Prozac! Cover Story:“Dr. Travis Stork: H2O Dissolves Fat!” Yeah, like I’m going to believe Dr. Seuss’s bastard child about anything! Number of Kim Kardashian photos: none. But there is one of Angie Harmon, proving that the editor of Woman’s World is 86-years-old. Article that’s worth buying the magazine for:“Anti-Aging Tricks! Drink Beer To Prevent Alzheimer’s!” True fact that proves that that article is a lie: I forgot what I was going to type here.
Highlights How They Bill Themselves: “Fun With A Purpose.” That’s how I describe masturbation. Number of Kim Kardashian Photos: None, but there are ten scary drawings of The Timbertoes learning to golf. A Poem In Highlights That’s a Total Lie: “My Puppy By Aileen Fisher
It’s funny, my puppy knows just how I feel.
When I’m happy, he’s happy, and squirms just like an eel.
It’s funny, My puppy, knows such a great deal.”
Uh, I hate to be the one to break it to you, Aileen, but your puppy only knows two things: He’s hungry and he wants to dry-hump your left leg. Sorry to be the one to break it to you.
¡Hola! How they bill themselves:“En Su Entrevista Mas Esperada.” Huh? Cover Story: I’m not sure because I don’t know how to read Spanish, but I think it’s something about how Courtney Love hasn’t aged well. Number of Kim Kardashian photos: Thirteen. ¡Adiós!
In Touch Cover Story:“A Wedding To Save The Relationship. Exclusive Photos: Despite Joe’s drunken bullying, Teresa refuses to lose him. Inside their emotional, over-the-top second wedding.” Are you like me right now and are you saying: “Who the fuck are these people and why are they on the cover of a magazine?” Number of Kim Kardashian photos: Only one. But don’t worry, there’s two of Kourtney, so your $2.99 wasn’t spent in vain. Photo caption that sums up this magazine:“Anybody got a barf bag?”
Okay, it’s Sunday night and I’m going to wander down to Carmine Street and have a Sunday dinner at the Noodle Bar and then wander around a little. So there!
And we're off. It was raining earlier, but now it's nice outside.
You can see the Twin Tower lights in the center of this photo if you look real closely.
Okay, we're just about a block away from Carmine Street, almost there.
And here we are at the Noodle bar. Yes, I'm a poet and I know it.
Inside it's a long and narrow space. There's an empty seat, so let's go snag it.
They have more wine than beer, but they have TsingTao, which is a favorite of mine.
Rows of soy sauce line the wall opposite the bar.
There's a nice view of Carmine Street from my seat at the bar.
The kitchen crew is busy preparing dishes. It smells great in here!
This woman's been obsessively texting the whole time I've been here. I feel sorry for the poor schmuck she's ignoring.
The beer has arrived, let the dinner begin!
And here's a trio of sauces to spicen up the meal. Hot sauce, soy sauce and a little bowl of chili sauce.
The first course is served, sesame chicken wings. Nice and spicy and even spicier after I added some additional hot sauce to them.
For the main course I got the coconut shrimp and spicy noodles.
Delicious! A wonderful Sunday dinner! But all the spiciness has left me craving something sweet to balance it out.
So I thought we'd check out the pastry at Rocco's on Bleecker Street, a block away.
Let's go inside and take a gander.
Usually it's packed in here, but luckily it's slow tonight.
Wow, it all looks great, but I'm pretty full, so I think I'll try some of the mini pastries.
And here they are, my three mini pastries. Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo...Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Live, from New York, it’s Cheeseburger Saturday Night. Starring Veselka, with special guest stars, Britta and Tom and featuring the Ready For Prime Beef Player, Marty Wombacher. And now, in the heart of the East Village, please welcome, Britta, Tom and Veselka!
Here's the special guest stars, Tom and Britta enjoying the beers that I've been saving for them. Britta's Sol beer is courtesy of the BBC!
After a couple beers and some snacks it's off into the night in search of a cheeseburger.
And our travels led us to Veselka, a legendary East Village Ukrainian restaurant.
These two friendly fellows welcomed us as we entered the restaurant.
And before you can blink your eyes, we were seated at our table and enjoying a beer.
Veselka is love. Nice!
This baby scares me a little, let's just walk away from it slowly.
Here's the main dining area in Veselka.
Some of the homemade pastries and cakes in a display window.
Chanel was up by the front register and was getting something to go.
Condiments!
And when I returned to our table soup and bread were waiting. What's better than that?
The view from our window.
And now the main courses arrive. Tom got the Reuben.
Britta got the lamb burger.
And I got the turkey burger with cheddar cheese and grilled onions. I slathered mustard on it, much to Britta's horror.
A delicious burger!
And then it was out the door for dessert and a nightcap.
We thought we'd stop by Ray's for a chocolate egg cream for dessert.
And we ran into MAD pal and ace photographer, Bob Arihood outside of Ray's who was chatting with his friend Chrissy.
And here we are with the man himself, Handsome Dick Manitoba and Gumby even gets in on the action. Handsome Dick regaled us with some great rock 'n' roll tales and it was a great ending to a super fun night. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Cheeseburger Rating
Three Wimpy's. A very good burger!
Veselka 144 Second Ave. (@9th Street) 212-228-9682
Ten years ago I was writing a humor column for a website called “Toast.” When September 11th went down, my editor, Hap Mansfield said if I didn’t want to write anything, she’d understand and they’d just rerun an older column of mine. There was a lot of artists and writers involved with Toast, but I was the only one from New York and wanted to say something about the day. So this is what I wrote. Hard to believe that this is ten years old, but it is. Fun really does fly when your having thyme.
My Good Friend Mr. Booze
When a bunch of maniacs brutally hijacked and then flew two planeloads of innocent people suicide-style into the World Trade Center on Sept. 11th the news hit us all hard. And if you live in New York City, it really hit you in a most horrible and furious manner. I live about a mile away and shortly after I saw the horrific images on my TV, I found myself walking towards the rubble that was once the World Trade Center. It was a strange feeling to walk from my neighborhood, which was untouched, into a surreal, third world-like war zone. Traffic was all sealed off, but the streets were full of people who had wandered down to witness the carnage firsthand. As I looked around and saw the giant brown mushroom cloud in the sky, people crying, a dazed looking woman in her early twenties wondering, “Why?” out loud to no one in particular, policemen trying to keep order in the midst of chaos, buzzing helicopters, news reporters on every corner jabbering in front of hand-held cameras, sirens and dust and debris everywhere, I felt as though I had just walked into a real-life nightmare. And there was a smell in the air. Not just the smoke and dust, but a foul, acrid odor. “Jesus,” I said to a man who had white powder flecking his dark blue suit coat standing next to me, “what’s that smell?” With a face stupid with shock he replied in a tired voice, “It’s burning flesh and hair. I heard there could be 10,000 people buried over there.” All of a sudden I wished I hadn’t walked down there and found myself shuffling away as my mind started processing too many grim thoughts per minute. I wandered aimlessly and ended up in a deli about a half a mile away. The deli was full of people, but nobody was speaking. The TV in the corner was tuned to CNN and everyone’s eyes were glued to the screen watching the never-ending updates, the rising body count and the gut-wrenching footage of those two planes crashing into the World Trade Center. As I stood there and looked slowly around the deli, it was then that I saw him. Housed behind a glass door in a cooler, was my good friend Mr. Booze.
Mr. Booze stayed with me throughout a two hour stretch in the deli. Without regard for his own feelings or well-being he comforted not only myself, but most everyone else sitting around. After a couple hours I felt the need to take a walk. Thoughtlessly I abandoned Mr. Booze and walked the streets of downtown Manhattan and watched a shocked city trying to cope with a situation that was beyond even the most fertile imagination. I was tired, but I didn’t want to go home and sit alone. I took refuge in a neighborhood bar called the Stoned Crow and as I sat down at the bar, once again I spied my good friend Mr. Booze. I was afraid he’d be mad at me for ditching him at the deli, but Mr. Booze harbored no ill will. In fact he was even more comforting than before. Hours passed and Mr. Booze tirelessly soothed my shattered nerves. He never left my side until I decided it was time to go home and try and get some sleep. Once inside my apartment I turned on the TV and watched for the umpteenth time the nauseating film clip of the World Trade Center collapsing. My head felt like it was caving in as I opened my refrigerator door to get some water to chase down four Advil tablets. I swung the door open and much to my amazement, there he was: my good friend Mr. Booze. With the help of Mr. Booze I settled down and tried to get some much-needed sleep. It was to be a fitful night of waking up from nightmares, but like a doctor on an unending house call, Mr. Booze was there every time I woke up in a pool of sweat. He’d help me back to sleep and then an hour later he’d repeat the process, never complaining, never thinking of himself.
I finally drifted off for a few hours straight, but a loud noise outside my apartment caused me to awaken at 9:05 in the morning. I bolted out of my bed and looked out the window and saw that no bomb’s were bursting outside. Feeling both a sense of relief and embarrassment I rubbed my aching head and thought that maybe Mr. Booze had finally left. But as I opened my refrigerator door I found I was wrong. There standing guard at his usual spot, was my good friend Mr. Booze.
Mr. Booze stayed with me through the day and managed to lift my spirits just a little. That evening a few friends came over. We all shared stories of where we were when it happened, talked about the photos in the paper of the people who jumped from the buildings and how the once lively and circus-like atmosphere of Manhattan had turned into one giant miserable wake. The mood in the room was depressing to say the least. Until Mr. Booze showed up. In typical Mr. Booze fashion, he livened up the party and reminded us that even in the most tragic of times you have to keep living. Mr. Booze even got all of us relaxed enough to where we started laughing at jokes and each other for the first time since Tuesday morning. Mr. Booze accompanied us to the Stoned Crow bar and then to another, which for some reason the name escapes me. When it was time to go home, Mr. Booze helped me find the way and once again his calming company helped me get to sleep.
A few weeks have passed since the tragedy and with the help of Mr. Booze I felt like I was back on track. I even decided to sit down and write my column for Toast. It was then that I encountered the worst case of writer’s block in my life. I couldn’t think of anything to write about. I was petrified. I thought maybe all the grotesque images I had seen in the past few weeks had stripped my ability to do what I love most. Hours passed as I stared at my blank computer screen as depression set in. Just when I was ready to call it quits, I happened to look to the right of my keyboard. And there he was. My good friend Mr. Booze. I knew then and there what the subject matter for this column would be.
And so ladies and gentlemen, in closing I would like to ask...no, beg you to join me as I stand up and salute my good friend...Mr. Booze!
I’ve been burned out this week and haven’t gone out in a couple nights, so I thought I’d go out and have a MAD adventure tonight. The only problem was I couldn’t think of a destination to go to, so I turned to my old friend Google. I decided I’d type in “New York place” and go to the first place that came up and here’s the result: So it’s off to the New York Palace, they’ve got a bar, maybe we’ll get a swizzle stick out of this trip!
Okay, out into the night. We'll take the subway to midtown.
Fuck, being a complete idiot and out of habit, I hopped onto a downtown train and here we are at 23rd Street. I briefly thought about crossing the street and getting back onto an uptown train, but you know what? Fuck it, I'm so burned out from this week, let's just see what we can find to do on 23rd Street. Time to improvise.
Alright, let's see what's shaking on 23rd Street on a Friday night in New York City.
Dunkin' fucking Donuts, definitely not going in there.
Here's a man passed out in a taco shop. That's how I felt all week!
I just thought of a place to go to, it's right down the street.
The Chelsea Hotel sign is still unlit and closed. I wonder what the new owners are going to do to it. Time will tell.
And here we are, I thought we'd have a drink at the bar in the El Quijote restaurant. This is a classic place and it's been on the block for 80 years.
Let's go inside, I'm dying for a drink.
I love this place and the food is great here, but tonight it's packed with a bunch of loudmouth after-work yuppies. Ah, fuck it, there's one seat at the end of the bar, I'm going to snag it.
A long shot of the back of the bar.
What a great old cash register.
I accidentally took this flash shot and the bartender ran down and told me I can't take any photos in here.
So it's back into the night I go.
The good news is, The Chelsea Papaya is a block away...
The bad news is they don't serve beer in here.
And it all happened on 23rd Street, on a random Friday on September 9th. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
What a fucking week this has been. At least I didn’t have to stay as late as I thought I would, but it was just ten hours of pure stress. And it was that way pretty much all week. Crazy deadlines, crazy work, crazy peole, crazy glue...Crazy Eddie where are you? Yes, I’m losing it. So I thought tonight I’d just wander around and have a few drinks on the way home and take pictures. Ready? Set! Wander...
And off we go. It's getting chilly out here, time to get the jacket out of the closet.
I wonder if that pizza place sells beer. I've walked by it probably thousands of times and have never gone in. Let's go check it out.
Biff alert! They have Miller Lite in here, let's go get the first beer of the evening.
Here's the pizza, now where's the beer?
Here we go, they've got a nice selection of bottled beers here.
I chose a bottle of Peroni and this friendly fellow not only sold it to me, but posed for a picture. Cheers!
I'm sitting at a table and relaxing while watching people buy pizza slices.
Okay, the Peroni is drained and we're back out on the road again.
Hey here's the Green Tomato, one of my less frequented Fortress of Solitude stops.
Tonight they're speaking my language, let's go on in.
And here we are at my usual streetside table. Gumby's hiding as he's still a little paranoid after that "prank" he pulled.
It's really nice sitting here, drinking beer and watching the world go by. A great people watching spot for sure.
Obligatory window reflection shot!
Here's a guy practicing his ATM moves.
And yet another getting cash for ATM. Are these people porn stars or what?
Okay, I"m really tired, time to get one for the road here.
And here it is, bagged and strawed and ready to go.
Ha, I like this graffiti on the phone booth of a stickman flipping the bird.
And check out the Snapple bottle, that doesn't look like Kiwi Strawberry to me!
And I've got a feeling this isn't lemonade in the Subway cup. Yeeesh!
And here we are, the last stop of the evening, my corner deli, The Blue Valley.
Sip Ahoy! ("Sip Ahoy is a patented Uncle Waltie catch phrase, please get permission before you use it.) Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
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