December 15, 2011

As Al noticed in the comments section yesterday, Jeremiah Moss announced the reopening of The Waverly Diner! I’ve been waiting for this since last summer, so you know where we’re off to tonight. I hope they kept the black and white 8x10’s! And I pray the orange juicer is there for Biff, let’s go see.

I thought we'd walk there, it's a straight shot down Sixth Avenue. Just ignore the angry Cardboard Box Man to the left. He appears to be restrained...and pissed. Aaaahhh!

Hey, check out this photo in the frame store window.

It's a photo of The Waverly Diner!

Okay, we're almost there, in fact I think I see the neon in the distance.

Goddamn...it looks just the same. This is a great moment, nice to see the corner back to the way it was.

Inside the changes are minimal. There's the double and single booths to the left.

The right area is a little different, there's now booths and tables where the kitchen counter once was.

There's still a couple booths up in the front window.

The counter is now all the way in the back, which I believe seems to be a little longer. I think they gained some space in here.

Here's a view of the marble-topped counter from the back end of the diner. Looks nice!

Freddie serves up a beer with Jonna at his side. Still nice and friendly in here.

And here's Bobby, great to see the old crew back in here again!

The only disappointent for me was the 8 x 10 glossy black and white autographed photos aren't back. But Freddie said they may be putting them back up in the future. I'll bug them until they do.

The menu is exactly the same.

And here's Freddie with my order.

I just got an order of the chicken wings. It was too late for a full-fledged meal. I have the night off tonight though to see a friend of mine's band, so I'll return for the Waverly Melt, stay tuned for that tomorrow! Oh... and Biff...

And good news for Biff the orange juicer made the transition! Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

The Waverly Diner
I have to admit, as I walked up to the Waverly Diner and saw the neon signs spraying color out onto a winter’s night on Sixth Avenue in Manhattan, I got a little choked up at the sight. It was really a happy feeling.

I don’t remember my first meal in The Waverly Diner, but I know it was sometime in the summer of 1993 when I first moved here and I was living on the Upper West Side. I’ve always liked to walk up and down Bleecker Street and that area in Greenwich Village and would always stop at The Waverly Diner when I made a trek downtown, which was often. Sometimes I’d sit in one of the burgundy vinyl single booths, other times I’d camp out at the counter. I’d usually get the Waverly Melt and fries, but I think through the years I’ve sampled nearly everything on that menu a couple times at least. I got to know the crew working in there and would have fun kidding around with them.

“You’re charging me for the soup? They give this stuff away for free in the missions!” Was one of my standing routines that I wore into the ground, but it always got a laugh.

You’d see other familiar diners in there and nod and smile and they’d do the same back at you. You never get to know these people, but they kind of feel like family in a strange, dinerly kind of way. It makes you feel like part of a community. And when places like this close and a Starbucks barges in, communities start to crumble and people become less familiar. Not as many smiles and nods become nonexistent.

When I saw the boards on the windows last summer, and the neon signs unlit, I thought it was the end of the Waverly Diner. I dreaded the thought of a 7-11 or a Chipotle or...well, you know the list by now, moving in and wrecking my fond memories of the place. Or even worse, someone would buy it and Fedoradize it, keep the name and completely turn it into a yuppiefied version of what it once was while serving pig’s heads and artisanal hot chocolate to a hapless band of fools who buy into a pathetic shit show like that.

You know what it felt like sitting at the counter drinking beer, talking to the crew and eating chicken wings in there? It felt like I was kicking Mayor Bloomberg in the balls. And boy if that isn’t a good feeling! Stop in the Waverly Diner and experience it yourself, you’ll be glad you did.

Waverly Diner
385 Sixth Ave. (at Waverly Pl.)
212-675-3181

Further Reading: Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York, DNAinfo and Grub Street.

 

When I can, I will,
Words defy the plan,
When I can, I will.

(Surprise link, click on it...I dare you!)

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Bonus Christmas Song From Willy Momo!

Willy Momo sent in his new Christmas song to MAD and here it is. Thanks Willy!

December 10, 2011

Yesterday I wrote about how Gabe Stulman single-handedly wrecked Fedora, so today I thought I’d check in on a place that’s going to have a happier ending to their renovation, The Waverly Diner. Back in the fall I went and discovered boards on the windows and the neon unlit. I expected the worst—Starbucks, T.G.I. Fridays, 7-11, Chipotle...but lo and behold, it looks like it’s going to be open soon and with minimal changes. Here’s the advance photos and story at Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York. I haven’t been by there for awhile, so now I’m curious as to when they’re reopening. I thought I’d go there and check it out, it would be great if it was open!

Well, it's not open yet, but curtains are up and the neon signs are back.

I wonder when they'll finally reopen. It's been closed since July, that's a long time for a renovation.

The neon signs were taken down at one point and I thought that was the end of this place. Nice to see them back, I can't wait to see them lit up.

And I'm not the only one curious about what's happening inside either.

These three guys were checking it out and trying to peer over the paper covering the window.

Here's a shot I took from holding my camera above the paper. It looks like it could open any day now, I'll keep checking.

Since I was in this neck of the woods, I thought I'd walk over to the space where one of my favorite bars, The Stoned Crow used to be. I haven't been there since there closing night last New Year's Eve. I wonder what's in there now? It's right down the street here, let's go see.

Nothing's moved in here. This is what kills me. Betty, the owner of The Stoned Crow told me that the landlord drove her out by raising her rent so high she couldn't afford it. So she had to leave and now it sits vacant. Is this better for the greedy landlord? It doesn't make sense to me.

That's where the Stoned Crow sign used to hang. Now it's just a patch of brown on a vacant basement.

Smile, you're on MAD camera. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

Further Reading: New York Magazine, MAD and 365 Bars.

Holidays and salad days and days of moldy mayonnaise,
Caress me Aunt Jemima.

(Surprise link, click on it...I dare you!)

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Bonus Linkage!

My friend Phil Luciano wrote a great tribute to Mike’s Tavern bar owner, Tony Ward. Check it out here: One of a kind, times two.

If you live in New York and are out and about today or next Saturday or Sunday, CBBM documenter, Spike and his wife organize a hand-made, gifts and crafts holiday fair at d.b.a. Check out the information at this post at EV Grieve: 7th Annual d.b.a. Holiday Fair.

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Bonus Art By Jaws!

Jaws sent in this artwork to accompany the post. Nice one, Jaws, thanks!

September 12, 2011

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.

Further reading: New York Magazine, Ephemeral New York, Alhoa Rag and NY Citysearch.

You Might Also Like: Dad’s Root Beer, Mom’s Cooking and Sister Christian.

Crimson and Clover,
Over and over.

(Surprise link...click on it...I dare you!)

August 18, 2011

I’ve always loved the album cover of the Bob Dylan album, “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan."
It was released in 1963, but I didn’t buy it till I was in high school and was getting into Bob Dylan’s earlier albums. On the cover he’s walking in the middle of a street with his girlfriend at the time, Suze Rotolo. The two of them were living together at the time on West 4th Street in Greenwich Village and it was taken right outside of their apartment. I thought it might be fun tonight to go and try to recreate that photo (and yeah, I know it’s been done before). So that‘s exactly what I’m going to do.

*****UPDATE: A few people have emailed me and said they're having trouble leaving comments. If this happens to you, try quitting out of the browser and cleaning your cache. I don't know why this keeps happening, but I'm sorry if it happened to you and appreciate your patience!

Down into the subway we go for a trip to Greenwich Village.

Aaaaahhh!

And through the magic of the internet, here we are, watching some guy sprinting down the stairs and hog the entire stairwell for himself. Asshole.

Okay, let's make our way to 4th Street and see if we can recreate this album cover.

But first, how about a Mister Softee stop?

I got a combination vanilla/chocolate with chocolate sprinkles.

It was served up by this friendly fellow and it was delicious!

Okay, here's the street, W. 4th Street. Positively.

161 W. 4th Street, where Bob Dylan lived in 1963.

Here's the street. It looks different at night from the album cover. Okay, now to find a couple to pose here.

So far I've asked five different couples and I've gotten responses ranging from: "No thanks," "Not tonight," "We're in a hurry," and two who basically pretended like I didn't exist. It's a lot easier talking to people in bars than on the street I'm finding out.

I just had a couple tell me they don't believe in blogs. I don't really know what that means, but they walked away before we could debate the subject.

Okay, this is starting to get old and I've had two more couples totally ignore me after asking them to pose in the street for the photo. Only one thing can save me at this moment. Ladies and gentlemen, I present...

The Freewheelin' Gumby! And please appreciate the fact that I almost got run over by a cab while snapping this photo in the middle of the street. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

Further reading: Rolling Stone, All Music, About.com and BBC (radio, Not Gene, Smoopy and Terry).

You Might Also Like: Hall of Fame, Hall of Shame and Hall of Blame.

Five Other New York Album Covers
Some Time In New York City—John & Yoko/Plastic Ono Band with Elephant’s Memory Plus Invisible Strings. (Whew.)
Physical Graffiti—Led Zeppelin
New York New York—Frank Sinatra
Safe In New York—AC/DC
NYC—Brazilian Girls

I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind,
You could have done better but I don’t mind,
You just kinda wasted my precious time,
But don’t think twice, it’s all right.

ARCHIVES

(Surprise link...click on it...I dare you!)

June 28, 2011

Okay, I had a big day/night yesterday at the Chillmaster Dance Party II, so tonight I thought I’d take it somewhat easy and just wander around the West Village and snap photos of neon, signs and maybe a person or two. A totally unplanned night, let’s go see what happens.

Usually I go somewhere and just shoot tons of photos and hope I can make a little movie of the night in static photos here, quality be damned, it's the story that counts. Tonight I thought I'd take ten photos and really try to make them decent and pay attention to composition and all that jazz. And I'm just doing one take for each photo, so here goes what will probably be nothing, but I have to go to work early tomorrow, so it's off we go. I call this one, Deja View from the liquor store on 12th street and 6th Avenue.

Cocktails from Charlie Mom restaurant on 12th and 6th.

Creepy baby alert in a baby store on 10th between 6th and Greenwich Avenue.

The Layfayette French Pastry store on Greenwich Avenue near 10th Street. They sell ice cream cakes and logs. Logs?

The Waverly Diner on the corner of Waverly and 6th. I've had 7,934 grilled cheese sandwiches in here and uncountable beers. It's a good diner.

Here's Wolfson who was enjoying some French Fries on a stoop on W. 4th Street.

Vogue magazines on 7th Avenue South near Bleecker Street.

Marilyn Monroe behind bars on 7th Avenue South.

Joe's Pizza on Carmine between Bleecker and 6th. Okay one more shot to go, let's see if we can find a friendly face to end it all up.

Aaaaahhh!

Further reading and watching: New York Magazine, Grub Street, Joe’s Pizza and The Happy Wanderers.

You also might like: Chocolate Chips, CHiPs and Chip.

Five People With West For A Last Name
Adam West
Leslie West
Billy West
Mae West
Kanye West

 

Cuz love comes in spurts,
In dangerous flirts,
And it murders your heart,
They didn't tell you that part.

ARCHIVES

(Surprise link...click on it...I dare you!)

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Bonus Links to Photos From The Chillmaster Dance Party II!
Here’s some photos from Sunday’s Chillmaster Dance Party II at some other fine blogs from fellow friends and Chillers:
One More Folded Sunset
Neither More Nor Less
The Gog Log
Slum Goddess

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(Update) Bonus Photos From the Home of Jaws!

A couple months ago when I put up a post from my Fortress of Solitude, Papaya Dog, I wrote that the first person to comment would get one of the pieces of art that was featured. Jaws won, but I'm so shitty at mailing stuff out and I've been so busy it took me months to get them to him. Well I'm happy to say I finally mailed them and included a Joan Jett drawing as well as a copy of Natalie Word as bonus gifts for being so slow to get them. I'm honored that Jaws framed them and the artwork is hanging on his walls. Below are the pictures Jaws sent in and the last one is Jaws and Natalie Word, together at last! If you'd like to hang some artwork from Jaws, check out his storefront here: Jaws the Cabbie Online Store.

April 12, 2011

Okay, time for Battle Number Nine in the delusional idiocy that seems like it’s never going to end ever-exciting, ever-popular, Papaya Wars!

Tonight we’re going to Gray’s Papaya in Greenwich Village at the corner of 6th Avenue and 8th Street. It was suggested by the fine blog onemorefoldedsunset and I believe the equally (emphasis on “e”) impressive blogger esquared mentioned it a couple weeks ago as well.

Oh, and this is going to be what I call a bit of a quickity blickity blog. I’ve got jury duty (insert Pauly Shore joke here) tomorrow, and while I don’t mind jury duty (I’ll write more about that another day), jury duty starts at 8:45. In the fucking morning! And I hate the morning. So let’s go get this shit over with, I’m breaking out in hives just thinking about the alarm clock going off...in the morning! Aaaaahh!

(And please note: If I get stuck on a dayshift jury, this may wreak havoc here at MAD, but I will continue to post daily. Just be patient with me, I might be a little stressed out. I hate morning! And right now it's 7:31 in the morning. FUCK!)

It’s not that far and normally I’d walk, but since I have this obsessive fear about being late for jury duty tomorrow, I’m going to set my alarm for 6:30. In the morning. Fuck!

And here we are. Let’s get this shit over with. Let the battle begin! KHHAAAAAANNN!

You have got to be fucking kidding me! Is there no sanctuary from this dollar pizza mania?

I'm just going to ignore the pizza part of this place and pretend it's not there. Nyah, nyah, nyah nyah, nyah.

Okay, this gentlemen served up tonight's entree. A hot dog with mustard and a small orange papaya drink...

Which, with the help of my little friend, will soon be turned into my patented Screwdapaya drink!

New York Magazine says this place is the best Papaya, but that was written before they turned half of the joint into a stinking one dollar pizza ghetto. They also wrote that Mario Batali is a fan of the place. I don't know about you, but just thinking of that guy in his shorts and orange clogs ruins my appetite.

See what I mean?

I almost forgot my patented Ebony and Ivory ketchup and mustard shot. With all these fake patents looming, I need to find a fake patent attorney.

And now time to head home. I have to get up at 6:30. In the morning. Fuck! KHHAAAAAANNN!

This Week's Papaya Wars Standings.
As always the rankings go from worst to the best. (The latest entry is  in bold.)
8. Hell’s Kitchen Papaya: Because it’s not there anymore.
7. Papaya Dog in Times Square: They don’t have beer and I forgot to bring vodka. Plus my corn dog was borderline cold and they have a cracked window in there which can only mean bad luck to all who enter.
6. Gray’s Papaya at 6th Ave. and 8th St: They don’t have beer but I did remember the vodka for my patented Papaya Wars Screwdapaya drink. New York Magazine declares this the best of all Papaya’s but then tell’s us it’s endorsed by Mario Batali. Thinking about Super Mario in his shorts and orange clogs always cause me to lose my appetite, so that’s going to drag this place down in the ratings. And they get points knocked off for hopping on the dollar pizza wagon train that is multiplying faster than bedbugs in this city. Plus I’ve got jury duty at 8:45 tomorrow. In the fucking morning. KHHAAAAAANNN!
5. Chelsea Papaya: It’s clean, people were nice in there, but there’s no beer.
4. Gray’s Papaya on the Upper West Side: It brings back good memories and the signage is nice, but there’s no beer here and I don’t know if I’ll ever get that horrible taste of the papaya drink out of my mouth or mind.
3. Papaya Dog at 14th and 1st: The staff is super-friendly, it’s clean and the hot dogs are great there. However, they robbed me of my patented Ebony and Ivory ketchup and mustard shot! War is hell.
2. Penn Station Papaya: They’ve got beer!
1. Papaya King on the Upper East Side: They’ve got vodka...okay, you’ve got to bring it yourself and sneak it in, but still, this is the original Papaya King in New York City. They've been in the same spot on this block since 1932. The Beatles ate here on their first trip to New York when they appeared on the The Ed Sullivan Show. So does this put the King in first place for now? Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Gray’s Papaya
402 Sixth Ave. (@8th St.)
212-260-3532

Further reading: Grub Street, DNAinfo, Wall Street Journal and Gothamist.

You might also like: KHHAAAAAANNN!, Juicy Fruit gum and Ice Cubes.

The top ten Google suggestions when you type in, “Morning is...”

They left off one, “Morning is totally fucked!

I fought the law
And the law won.

ARCHIVES

March 14, 2011

Bleecker Bob’s Records / 8:45 pm
Greenwich Village
One of the many things that the internet is killing is the record store. Most people download their music now, thereby eliminating the middleman, the record store. It’s too bad, because I’ve always loved hanging out in record stores and flipping through albums. There’s not that many left in Manhattan, so I thought I’d start spending every Sunday visiting record stores that are still left. Tonight’s destination is one of Manhattan’s more famous record stores, Bleecker Bob’s in the heart of Greenwich Village (though ironically, it’s not on Bleecker St.) It’s been featured in films and in an episode of Seinfeld.

Here we are, Bleecker Bob's records in Greenwich Village.

Let's go inside and check it out.

John was minding the store this night and I asked him to pose with one of his favorite albums. He chose the "Velvet Underground and Nico," which was a nice pick, seeing that the first nightcap video on the blog was the Velvet Underground. John has worked here for twenty years and has seen everyone from Keith Richards to David Bowie to Rick Rubin to Frank Zappa walk through the door. Speaking of Zappa, the owner, Bleecker Bob is Godfather to Zappa's daughter, Moon Zappa.

Okay, let's take a look around Bleecker Bob's.

Here's some posters and records in the front window.

Boxed records are labeled and stacked up on one another behind the counter.

John Lennon's last single, "(Just Like) Starting Over" hangs next to an early Beatles album on the VJ label.

A wall of vinyl.

Separated at birth moment: The cash register at Bleecker Bob's...

And the cash register at the Mars Bar.

I love all the hand-lettering in here.

Yes! Cheap Trick! My heroes!

Cool Little Steven promo poster. Note the cassette offering! That's a great album by the way, Dino Danelli drums on it.

Johnny Thunders and Jayne County, would've loved to have seen that show!

Rachel Sweet! I had this album back in the day, I wonder what ever happened to her?

The very first album I ever bought was "The Best of Herman's Hermits." That's what I love about record stores, all the memories that start coming back.

There's a nice crowd in here on a Sunday night and that's good to see.

Irony at its finest hour. The punk rock section behind "Guitar Heroes!"

Here's the Jacksons with many of their influences stacked behind them.

John's a regular in the store and here he is posing with one of his favorite albums, Cream's Disraeli Gears.

A poster of The Clash hangs on the wall.

Records to get you "in the mood."

Some vintage rock 'n' roll magazines and newspapers.

And on the way out, time to play, spot the MAD card. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

Bleecker Bob's
118 W 3rd St. (Between 6th Ave. and Mac Dougal St.)
212-475-9677

Further reading: TV.com, New York magazine, Turntabling and NY Times.

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Some Things I Did Today
Cursed the idea of Daylight Savings Time.
Opened a Twitpic account.
Ate some Chef Boy-Ar-Dee Beefaroni.
Read a feature article about teen sensation, Justin Bieber in Rolling Stone.
Paid my bills.
Drank two bottles of Dasani Lemon Water.
Got a haircut.
Flipped through the new Best of New York magazine.
Read the Charlie Sheen story in that issue of New York magazine.
Felt bad about wasting more time reading about Charlie Sheen.
Checked Charlie Sheen’s Twitter page.

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Nightcap

I've got no kick against modern jazz,
Unless they try to play it too darn fast.

ARCHIVES

Monday, February 21, 2011

Wandering around @8:45 pm
Bleecker St. in Greenwich Village
One thing I like about this blog is I can do whatever the fuck I want to do. Some nights I may just wander around and take pictures and that’s the plan for this evening. I’m going to try and go to one bar a week, but I just am not in the mood tonight. It’s one of those nights I don’t feel like talking or being sociable, so maybe I’ll go to one tomorrow. This is what I love about this blog. If I don’t want to mingle with people I don’t have to. Do you know how many nights I didn’t want to go to a bar last year, but still had to drag my sorry ass to one and then be the motherfucking life of the goddamned party, I’m breaking out in sweats just thinking about it.

So, no bar tonight, I think I’ll walk down towards Greenwich Village and see what’s happening.

Here I am, ready to go out outfitted in my recently purchased Jaws the Cabbie jersey. Check out the Jaws the Cabbie store here: Jaws the Cabbie Store.

I've wandered down towards Bleecker Street and thought we'd take a little tour of this fine street in Greenwich Village.

The walking man says, "Walk," so that's what we'll do.

And so, here we go. A journey of Bleecker Street begins.

Here's one of my favorite stops on Bleecker Street: Bleecker Street Records.

Here's Caleb who's manning the counter at the store.

A sight for sore eyes in this day of mp3's, a wall of vinyl records.

It's time for Regis...to retire, from what I've read in the papers lately.

Mick Jagger's first solo outing, the soundtrack to "Performance."

Buttshakers!

Here's the store's security cat. Hey, wake up fella!

Night time shoppers around an outside jewelry sales table.

That's one bold statement!

The Back Fence Bar. This place has been on the block for years, maybe I'll go here tomorrow night.

I had a late lunch of a grilled salami and swiss cheese sandwich on rye and it's giving me heartburn like crazy, so I'm stopping in here to get some Rolaids. Maybe I can get a shot of a deli man in my travels.

The Chinese deli man was shy and didn't want his picture taken, but Sammy, who was buying some bagels was happy to pose for the MAD camera.

Sammy told me he works two doors down here at the Trattoria restaurant.

Here's the legendary Bleecker Street nightclub, The Bitter End.

Tom Howes was having a cigarette outside. I had a nice conversation with Tom about New York, The Lovin' Spoonful and other topics. Tom's a singer, guitarist and writer who'll be performing here in a few weeks.

And they say there's no jobs in New York these days.

And they say there's no jobs in New York these days, part II, the search for a cook.

A shadowy portrait of Kari and Mike who were relaxing on a bench on Bleecker Street.

Guitars behind bars.

Racks of postcards on Bleecker Street.

Alfrey was decked out in a suit and tie and waiting for friends to show up on Bleecker Street.

I wonder if this place is any relation to Frank Booth?

The question here is, do you really want your teeth whitened by someone who can't spell, "guaranteed?"

This is one of the best pizza joints in New York City.

Hookah pipes in a window on Bleecker Street.

The biggest margarita in the world atop the Caliente Cab Co.

Eye spy.

This store has legs.

Okay, up Sixth Avenue and homeward bound.

Boy, there's just no escape from this shit! Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow, after dark.

Bleecker St.
One of the chapters in my book, “99 Beers Off The Wall,” was spent on Bleecker St. Here’s the introduction to that chapter.

Yesterday’s scattered, all-over-the-city bar battles have left me fatigued and a true General Patton-like weariness has sunk into my battered body. My head aches, my eyes are reduced to sunken globes of a pinkish hue and my jeans stink of blood, sweat and beers. Today will be a more relaxed day as I plan to keep close to home by leisurely reviewing bars close by the homefront on Bleecker St., a mere pebble’s throw away.

The reason I chose Bleecker St., other than the fact that it’s close by, is because in my wild-eyed youth when I was in high school in the midwest town of Peoria, Illinois, my friends and I would pile in a couple of cars and park in a field on the outskirts of town where we’d proceed to get high on a variety of pills, powders, smoke and beer. When it was winter we’d sit in the beat up cars with the heaters on like they were our little apartments, stoned out of our gourds, jabbering, joking and being silly in a carefree way only a stoned 16-year-old can be. When it was an exceptionally clear night we tuned up and down the FM dial for a late night show called “Bleecker St.” The DJ/Emcee of the Bleecker St. show was one of those low-voiced, stoned/smooth talking DJ’s that emanated “cool” in the mid ’70s. He’d play music unknown and unheard of in Peoria, Illinois—the first time I ever heard The Velvet Underground was on “Bleecker St.”—and we’d get high, drink and listen intently to these new and wonderful sounds. We all wondered where this elusive Bleecker St. was until one night the stoned DJ, announced, “You’re listening to Bleecker St., here in New York City, maaan.” I remember trying to imagine what Bleecker St. and New York were like. Even my imagination stoked to the gills on pot, various pills and cheap cans of Blatz beer failed to conjure up the proper imagery, but I knew it was world’s away from sitting in a car in the middle of a field, stoned to the bone in Peoria, Illinois.

Most of the people I used to sit in cars and get high and drink cheap beer with are still in Peoria. The majority of them are married with kids, cars, jobs, house payments and lives steeped in the middle class world of midwest America. And as I consider my life of freelance writing, being single, working a goofy, responsibility-free night-shift job to pay my rent in New York City while I count the 56 bucks in my only pair of jeans, gather up my cigarettes and head out the door to drink 14 beers in 14 bars on Bleecker Street, I feel like the luckiest son of a bitch in the land.

Further reading: New York Songlines, Bleecker St. Bars on metromix and Wikipedia.

Nightcap

Thirty dollars pays your rent
On Bleecker Street.
(Not anymore, Paul, not anymore.)

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