I’ve written before that I’ll never blog about my night job because I don’t want to get dooced and have to try and find another one. A lot of you don’t even know what I do to pay my rent and bills. Let’s just say what I do is about a half a step above a shit-shoveler, although on bad nights it can be a step below. When I came in, today I thought that due to a job we had to get out, I thought I was going to be stuck here till around six in the morning. But things happened and now I’m getting ready to go and it’s around 12:30 in the morning. And I’m dog-tired.
I could just say, “Fuck it,” go home and put up a couple videos or something, but I feel I owe it to you good people that come here and read this everyday to at least go out and try.So that’s exactly what I’m going to do, go out and try. Let’s see where the night leads this weary soul.
And here we go. It rained earlier and it's a chilly night for a mid-May evening/morning.
The sign says: "Walk this way," so I do.
Must...cross...street...
How odd, I feel like I have no control over my body. I pray I don't shit or piss my pants, that would be truly embarrassing.
Penn Station...I must enter...I don't know why...
Good Gods...I'm walking down the escalator...something I have railed against in the past...I shove past the blonde on the left and...
Head towards the second escalators. Must go down...I have no idea why...I just know I have to follow my impulses.
Okay, it was a bad day at work and I’ve got a fucking headache and don’t really feel like going anywhere. That’s the beauty of MAD versus last year’s 365 blog, this year I don’t have to do anything if I don’t want to. But I still vow to have a new post for all of you who follow the MAD blog, because I appreciate you taking the time to check in everyday. And so tonight will be a return trip to my old friend that I visit when I don’t feel like venturing out too far—Penn Station.
Okay, here we are at the by now familiar Penn Station. Many a night has started here.
A calm escalator. Thank God for that, I've got an aching head from work and jangled nerves.
And speaking of jangled nerves and an aching head, I know right where I'm going tonight...
Papaya Dog! Even though they were rated number two in the Papaya Wars, they've got...
BEER!
And here's my spot in the Papaya Dog. I love it in here, a nice oasis away from the madness of the world. And the beer's are huge in here!
Gumby's all settled in...
The view from where I'm perched.
The hot dog is gone and now it's time for...napkin art!
My body of work and my third beer. The headache is gone, time to go home and pass the fuck out.
An empty escalator signals the way into the night. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Penn Station 7th & 8th Ave. Between 31st & 33rd St. 212-630-6401
Okay, usually I do the midnight movie thing on Fridays, but I’m busy with my parents in town and don’t have time to do it tonight, so I thought I’d just take pictures on my walk to their hotel today in midtown. One of the things I love about New York is just walking around and looking at all the sights, signs and people. So here we go.
And here we go, straight up 6th Avenue to midtown.
This guy's a regular in the neighborhood. He dresses up in newspaper and asks for money. I gave him two bucks and took this picture.
I like the back of this woman's head. I've been following her for three blocks now.
Okay, I'm officially in love with the back of her head. The back of her head is the Jodie Foster to my inner Travis Bickle. All of a sudden I feel like shooting a pimp and getting a mohawk. You talkin' to me?
Sadly she just turned the corner and now I'm stuck looking at this truck. Sob!
Okay, I’m going out a bit early tonight. My Mom and Dad are in town and we’re going out to eat, so I’ll take a few pictures on the way and in their hotel room and then I’m going to write a story about their reaction to when I told them I was going to move to New York when I get back home. So there!
I really hate the daytime and these fucking slow-walkers that fan all over the sidewalk. Bah!
And look, through the magic of the internet, we're already at the Chinese restaurant!
Cheers! From us to you!
I kept telling my mom to order the Chicken with Three Different Nuts. It totally went over her head and she kept asking why I was telling her to order that dish. I'm easily amused.
The chopsticks here are high-grade plastic and made me think of a swizzle stick.
So I stole one of them. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow, after dark.
My Mom and Dad’s Reaction To Me Moving to New York Back in April of 1993, I decided to move to New York. I was going to cash in my pension plan from my job I had worked at for 13 years. I had no job or job offers and knew about five people in New York. You have to realize that if you grow up in Peoria, work a decent job for 13 years and then decide out of the blue to quit it, cash in your retirement fund and move to New York with no friends or job offers pending it’s pretty much the same as saying to someone, “You know, I think I’ll build a spaceship and try and fly it to Mars.” So I was a little concerned as to what my parents reaction would be, when I told them what my plans for the future were.
I remember taking the night off from work and going to their house for dinner. I don’t remember what we had, but I remember being nervous about telling them what I wanted to do. I do remember my mom saying, “You’re quiet tonight, is everything alright?”
I can be a real motormouth, so when my gums aren’t flapping something is usually up and my mom can read me like a book. So I decided to spill my guts and I told them I was quitting my job, yanking my pension fund, planned on selling everything I owned and move to New York by the summertime. I wanted to move in the summertime because “Summer in the City” is one of my favorite Lovin’ Spoonful songs. I do things for reasons sometimes I don’t even get, but Zal Yanovsky has always been an inspiriation to me and he totally kicks ass in this song.
So told them and there was a moment of silence and then I don’t exactly remember who said what, but basically what they told me was this: “If you don’t do this now, you may always regret it. If things don’t work out you can always move back here and live in the basement and start all over.”
How great is that?
In the movie, “The Last Waltz,” Levon Helm describes coming to New York for the first time and he said, “You come to New York and get your butt kicked. Then you go home, heal up and come out and try it again and eventually you fall in love with the city.”
New York City can kick your ass. And believe me, New York City has kicked me in the ass more than once. But when it does, I just pick myself up, wipe the dust off my jeans and move the fuck on. Knowing I’ve got a room waiting for me in Peoria in case I get knocked out for good has helped me fight the good fight out here. Thanks Mom and Dad.
Bonus Linkage! Here’s more photos from the legendary Easter Sunday at Mars Bar, via the Villager and Ace Photographer, Jefferson Siegel. Check it out: Mars Bar in the Villager.
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Bonus Swizzle Stick!
Jaws sent in his perfect gin and tonic including his very own swizzle stick. Cheers to you, Jaws!
Okay, I’m really hungover tired tonight and so I’m skipping the Papaya Wars for a week (that applause you hear is coming from Miami...who could it be?) and I’m just going to do a random quickity blickity blog tonight. I’ve decided to go to Penn Station again. I know I went there last week, but it’s always full of people and a good majority of the shops and stores are open all night long. So it’s a good place to get some decent shots and then get home and try out my new keyboard. If the blog is blank tomorrow, you’ll know it didn’t work.
Easter Sunday at Mars Bar: Priceless.
New keyboard and mouse after drunkenly spilling a 16 ounce beer all over them after you got home: $106.
Here we are, Penn Station.
And here's some asshole that just pushed by me to walk down the escalator...
Because apparently there was just no room for him on the stairs. Asshole!
Wow, it's kind of empty in here. Is everyone on spring break?
Let's see what's happening at Duane Reade.
What a difference a week makes. Stock up for next year. Let's go see if the cards section have cleaned up their act.
Lyndon Johnson humor? What, are in 1965 or what?
Now that's just wrong! Let's get out of here!
Too bad this is closed, I'm wondering if they have Curly fries in here.
Ace photographer Jefferson Siegel sent in this photo from the Mars Bar festivities on Sunday. About 14 beers later and my keyboard would be history. Great to meet you Jeff and thanks for sending in the photo!
Before I even begin tonight I want to write about an email I got tonight that really bugged the everloving shit out of me.
I get tons of spam email. And I really don’t mind most of it. Here’s one I got earlier in the evening from a certain, fj.becker. It starts off with the enticing subject of: “Good evening darling,” And then when I opened it up I was presented with this message and clickable link:
When you read it, it’s almost like some sort of kooky, free-form poetry. Look at it in a normal text and grammar setting:
Sandwich... Watch big dicks fuck the tiny sluts so hard! Mysterious...hides... Flies into a rage! Guardian angels cab driver...
Not too bad, huh? Shit, I might get some tea-shades, a black beret and some bongos and start a whole new career. Swing, baby...swing!
Anyway, the point I’m trying to make here is that your run of the mill porn/Viagra/heir to a fortune emails don’t bother me in the least. I find a good chunk of them entertaining. But then every now and again you get one that seems innocuous at first, but then gets under your skin quicker than a wood shaving while walking barefoot on Coney Island's boardwalk. Here’s the one I’m talking about:
I hate the way this thing starts off with: “Guess what, Martin?” And then they tell you the answer before you can even guess! It’s like asking you a riddle and then not giving you time to try and answer it. It would’ve been a cool marketing ploy to start off with, “Guess what, Martin?...(we’ll let you know in an email in an hour, till then, have fun guessing what we’re going to email you!)” That would have been fun and I would’ve been guessing right up to the moment I got the email back in the following hour. What in the world were they sending me? Maybe a picture of a basket of radioactive puppies with eyeballs blazing in the color of electric Cheez Whiz! Maybe it would be a photo album of tiny sluts getting fucked by big dicks really hard. Perhaps an offering of a glass swizzle stick emblazoned with a tiny etching of Michael Nesmith. But I had no fun guessing, because they told me one space later. And I received this lame-ass offer because I bought my dad a bathrobe for Christmas from RedEnvelope (it was monogrammed, I’m no cheapskate!) And that purchase allows me entry into an exclusive club of lucky charmers who get 15% off baskets of chocolate covered strawberries from some god-forsaken place called Shari’s Berries.
Oh Shari, first off thank’s so much for that Steve Perry moment. I had forgotten all about that fucking song and now it’s going to be stuck in my head along with this one. Great.
Secondly, I’m highly suspicious that this “Shari” person even exists. It’s just too much of a coincidence that her name rhymes with the item she’s selling online. Shari’s probably some fat, unshaven slob named Lou from Newark, New Jersey who buys vats of strawberries and chocolate at Costco and then sells them online at inflated prices. He probably smells like he’s been marinating in pastrami, Yoo-hoo chocolate drink and out-of-date Aqua Velva for the last fortnight or three.
And speaking of inflated prices, this majestic “deal” that they’re offering me is six chocolate covered strawberries for $24.99! What the fuck kind of mind-blowing, bizarro “deal” is that? That’s over four dollars a strawberry! And I don’t even like strawberries. And the fact that they’re covered in chocolate is making my skin crawl. And yeah, I know I blew 41 bucks on one drink last night, but at least that thing had about a half a pint of gin in it. All you’re going to get from these things are probably a bad case of the hives.
And Shari is not only trying to rip me off with her exorbitantly high-priced berries, she’s condescending as all hell! Check out this line: “Delight family and friends with a Half Dozen Dipped Fancy Berries.” Yeah, as if my family and friends are such low-life, wild and wooly knuckle-draggers that they’d be simply delighted by the chance to have their very own chocolate covered strawberry. What are you going to try and sell me next Shari? Shiny colored beads that sparkle when light hits them? And the icing on the over-priced strawberry is this line: “Order today, before it’s too late!” Too late for what? What, if I don’t order right now something horrific is going to happen? Are animals going to start spontaneously exploding, killing farmers and small children in their bloody, fur-flying wake? Is Armageddon going to reign down from the heavens above because I didn’t buy your four dollar berries? I can just see tomorrow’s headline in the NY Post now:
I’m sorry Shari, I’m going to hit delete now and get rid of your despicable offer as I’ve got other pressing things to attend to. There’s tiny sluts being fucked really hard by big dicks on the internet right now for God’s sake and I don’t want to miss out on that shit!
Okay, tonight’s going to be kind of a simple one, because I’m beat. I was out late last night and didn’t get much sleep and I'm tired. I just thought we’d go over to Penn Station and fuck around.
And here we are. I thought we'd enter from the back of the station tonight, I'm sick of taking pictures of the front of it.
Everyone's stationary on the escalator, nice!
I think this is a mobile art piece called, "A Blast From The Past."
(Joke that only EV Grieve readers will get alert!) There's an angry mob from the East Village protesting the hot chicks in this window.
Let's see what's happening in the Duane Reade store.
There's the Easter stuff, let's go check it out.
Wow, look at all the Easter goodies.
These Easter lambs are sniffing each others chocolate asses. That's kind of gross.
Easter grass, how appropriate, seeing as I'm taking this picture on 4/20.
I thought I'd check out the magazine section. If this woman is trying to look hot, she should try to put on more clothing. She looks a little chilly in this shot.
The greeting card aisle! Let's check out the wholesome humor that these cards always bring.
What kind of card is this doing here? Children could see it!
This is just vulgar! What kind of cards are these?
While I agree with the sentiment here, I don't know if it belongs on a greeting card!
Now this is just too much! Date rape is nothing to be laughing about! Outrageous! I'm going to go home and write a letter to Duane Reade about this! It's just sickening!
Ah, home sweet home! I think I'll have a beer before I write my letter to Duane Reade.
Carnegie Deli @11:39 pm Midtown I haven’t been to midtown much since I started this and there’s a reason for that: Midtown sucks! Lots of business and tourist traps and I rarely go there unless I have to. But I want to be hitting all over New York with MAD, so tonight I looked around on Google of possible spots in midtown to go to. I stumbled upon the Carnegie Deli. I’ve never been there and it’s always loaded with tourists, so it might be an interesting MAD stop. It is a slice of New York history, they’ve been on the block since 1937. They have beer and they are open from 6:30 am to 4:00 am, so they get marks for that. How bad can it be? I guess we’ll find out.
The Carnegie Deli is at the corner of 55th Seventh Ave. Twenty five blocks straight up. It's not that cold out so we'll just walk it.
The Andrews Coffee Shop, once a thriving local chain of 15 coffee shops, now reduced to two, thanks to chains like Starbucks. You can read about the Andrews remainders in this fine piece at Jeremiah's Vanishing New York.
If you'd like to open a Starbucks or 7-11 here, just call Jerry Collins. I wonder if he's related to either Phil or Tom? And did you know that Phil Collins announced he's retiring from making music? I heard it and it was so weird, you could almost feel the world stifling a collective yawn. Chilling.
Beauty...
And the Riese. Bah!
And here we are, The Carnegie Deli.
Just in case you forget where you are, it's spelled out in the coleslaw and potato salad as you enter. Handy and a little frightening all at the same time!
Love the black and white cookie!
And of course there's t-shirts here, adorned with a vegetarian's nightmare emblazoned on it.
Some of the people streaming in. The place was doing a brisk business.
I thought there'd be a counter or something I could sit at and just have a couple of beers, but there wasn't and I was told to take a table. Oh well, when in Rome, start roamin' I guess.
I ordered two beers, McSorley's style and this fine gentlemen served them up.
Since I wasn't eating, I took a photo of a neighboring tables sandwiches. A mountain of meat and I think they need to invest in bigger bread slices.
The sandwich kind of grossed me out and I was glad I stuck to a liquid dining option in the deli.
The place has a lot of chatter going on about where people are going and tomorrow's plans on seeing the Empire State Building and The Hershey's Store in Times Square. No one mentioned a Show World trip. Lots of people texting and checking their phones in here. Kind of headache inducing.
There's lots of photos on the walls of known and unknown people.
Once you look at the photo of Raul De Molina and the giant pickle, your Carnegie Deli experience is complete and you are allowed to exit. The forecast for repeated entrance to Carnegie Deli? Karen Carpenter slim to none, son. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow, after dark.
Review Q. How do you get to Carnegie Hall? A. Practice, practice, practice.
Yesterday I introduced this feature showing you my Twitter conversation with none other than New York's very own Papaya King. Here, the Papaya Dialogues continue with The King. Enjoy the banter!
To be continued!
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Some Things I Did Before Work Today Bought tickets to Charlie Sheen’s Radio City Music Hall show. Immediately felt a little dirty. Took shower. Put on The Raveonettes' Chain Gang of Love. Checked Charlie Sheen’s Twitter page.
Food Cart Nightshift Workers @9:30 pm Various Locations Midtown Manhattan Every Wednesday I’m going to be going somewhere and taking photos of people working the night shift. Food trucks have become all the rage these days. Mobile kitchens roam the town selling everything from burgers to steaks to tacos to (of course) cupcakes. They have Twitter and facebook accounts and update constantly to let the hungry masses know which corner the restaurant on wheels will be parked and for how long. However, before the food truck, there was the street vendor selling food from a cart. Usually simple fare, like hot dogs, sausages, meat skewers and pretzels. These vendors are still out there and I thought I’d go out and get some shots of them before the food trucks run them over and put them out of business. I hope you’re hungry!
Okay, one block away from work and we've found a nighttime cart already.
It's a Halal food cart. A lot of late-night carts are Halal vendors. Remember our 53rd and 3rd friend?
And here's the fellow inside of the cart. I ordered a hotdog from him.
And he flew into action. He's got a grill in here, this isn't your average New York dirty water dog.
And a liberal dose of mustard seals the deal. He almost put ketchup on it, but luckily I stopped him in the nick of time. Ketchup does not belong on a hotdog.
And there you go, a perfectly cooked, New York street dog. Delicious!
This woman waved at me as I took a picture of her and her cart.
She was a very nice Russian woman and she happily served me up a pretzel.
Here's a loaded Sabrett cart. I'm not hungry after the hotdog and pretzil, but let's see who's manning this food cart.
He was a nice guy waiting for customers on a chilly evening.
Okay, let's go down the block and see who we can find.
It's the Nuts 4 Nuts man!
Here he is, displaying a bag of his product. Pretty nuts, huh?
That cart has an electric sign on top of it. Let's go check it out.
Pretty fancy, let's see who's manning this food cart.
There's a lot of choices here, foodwise. I kind of wish I wouldn't have filled up earlier.
There's no one in here though. An empty cart.
Hey, here he is, he was taking a break outside of his cart. He told me business was a little slow tonight. Hopefully it'll pick up when it warms up outside.
Speaking of warming up, I was freezing, so it's time to head homeward bound. We'll go down 7th Avenue.
Graffiti on a window on 7th Avenue.
Holy smokes!
Look, it's a station wagon with a thyroid problem.
Health is wealth...
But liquor is quicker. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Eating from street vendor carts is a little like eating a buffets in delis around town. You’re kind of taking your stomach on a little bit of a joy ride that sometimes doesn’t end up quite so joyous. I’ve heard street vendors carts referred to as “roach coaches,” and the most disgusting thing I’ve ever witnessed was in Times Square, a long time ago. I can’t remember where I was going, this is years ago, I was probably headed to Show World to go watch the cum cleaners in action, but all of a sudden I realized I was starving. There was a food cart a few feet away, so I went over and ordered a hot dog from the guy. It was the middle of summer, hot and while the cart didn’t look like the cleanest thing in the world, I was starving so I tried to ignore the grime the cart was covered in. I asked him to put mustard on it, but I got a bonus. Right after he applied a liberal dose of mustard to the dog from a dirty, generic yellow squirt bottle, he sneezed. Directly on the hot dog. And then acting like nothing was wrong he spat out, “Buck and a quarter.” He was a big guy and he was holding the hot dog with one hand and held the other out for the money.
“But you sneezed on it,” I said in horror.
“You order, you pay,” the guy said in a clipped accent I didn’t recognize. Wherever he was from, I guess it’s okay to sneeze and serve.
“Forget it,” I said, raising my hands in defense and then turned to walk away. Seconds later and just a step away I felt something hit me in the back. I stopped looked down and saw a hotdog. He threw it at me. I looked up at him in the cart and he was giving me the finger. At least he didn’t hit me with the mustard side.
I’ve written before that I’ll never blog about my night job because I don’t want to get dooced and have to try and find another one. A lot of you don’t even know what I do to pay my rent and bills. Let’s just say what I do is about a half a step above a shit-shoveler, although on bad nights it can be a step below. When I came in, today I thought that due to a job we had to get out, I thought I was going to be stuck here till around six in the morning. But things happened and now I’m getting ready to go and it’s around 12:30 in the morning. And I’m dog-tired.
And here we go. It rained earlier and it's a chilly night for a mid-May evening/morning.
The sign says: "Walk this way," so I do.
Must...cross...street...
How odd, I feel like I have no control over my body. I pray I don't shit or piss my pants, that would be truly embarrassing.
Penn Station...I must enter...I don't know why...
Good Gods...I'm walking down the escalator...something I have railed against in the past...I shove past the blonde on the left and...
Head towards the second escalators. Must go down...I have no idea why...I just know I have to follow my impulses.
Down...down...down...
Must...turn...left...
Down the hallway...but...to...where? KHAN!
Of course, the Papaya in Penn Station! My Fortress of Solitude! The perfect stop on such a grueling night.
They have beer in here! Four bucks for a 32 ouncer! Perfect.
And it's served up with a smile!
The joint is empty except for the workers.
My dog and drink. And this can only lead to...napkin drawings!
The body of work, an empty hot dog holder and half of my second 32 ounce beer, on such a tired evening.
And suddenly the escalator to...
Gumby! Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark!
Three Happy Wanderer’s Clips
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