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, 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.
Papaya @11:25 pm Penn Station/Herald Square One of the many blogs I follow and comment on is New York magazine’s Grub Street. They announced in a post today that the Grays Papaya in Hell’s Kitchen is shut down due to high rent. If you followed the 365 blog you know I love the Papaya dog places. I was just in this one the first week of this blog, before I went to Show World. I had no idea that would be my last dog at that location. There’s been several of these fine institutions celebrating low-priced, great tasting dogs for years in New York City shut down in the last couple of years. I think there’s only a half dozen Papaya places left, so I thought I’d start documenting them in pictures here at MAD, every Monday. The first one I’m going to is the Papaya Dog in Penn Station. I stopped there once already for this blog, but I only got a couple photos, so I want to do it up right. Now I don’t know if it’s an official Gray’s Papaya dog, but they have corn dogs and beer, so it’s close enough for me and it’s just a couple blocks from work, so it’s off we go.
Update: Fat Al blogged about this yesterday at the fine blog, The Half Empty Glass. I just saw it now and you can check it out here: Bastards.
I thought we'd go to the shuttered Papaya Dog before Penn Station to pay a last respect. It's just seven blocks away.
Oh, shit, what a shame.
Just a little over a week ago it lit up the corner like this.
And now this is all that's left.
I tried to look through the windows, but they're covered in paper. Another local business done in by high rent.
And across the street is the future. Dunkin' Fuckin' Donuts. Fuck.
And a block away stands the evil 7-11. You know how in the movie "It's A Wonderful Life," it explains that every time an angel gets its wings, a bell rings? Well, every time a Papaya Dog closes, one of these monstrosities pops up on the block.
Fuck it, let's go to Penn Station, I need a beer.
And here we are. Let's go down.
What's funny tonight is that no one's running down the escalator...
And the stairs are closed because they're working on them. So you'd think tonight would be a nightmare on the escalator, but no, it's calm. You never know.
And here we are at the Papaya. Let's take a look around while this one is still alive.
Here's the front counter where all the food and grills are housed in.
The Breakfast and daily specials.
Some of the display meals...
But this is a Papaya and this is what you should be eating here. I suggest the corn dogs. Outside of street fairs in the summer, the corn dog is a rare commodity in Manhattan. You don't see them for sale at too many places.
And this is the only Papaya in town that has another wonderful commodity...beer.
The employees here are friendly and the service is fast.
Within minutes, Ramy has my corn dog and a large beer ready for consumption.
We'll load the corn dog up with a liberal dose of Sabrett's spicy mustard and we're good to go.
In addition to beer and corn dogs, this is the only Papaya place that has a seating area to enjoy your meal and chill out. Let's grab a table.
Now that's a fine looking meal indeed!
The corn dog is crunchy and delicious.
And before I leave, the obligatory Papaya mirror shot. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Papaya Penn Station Lower level This isn’t a review, but a recommendation. This is my favorite Papaya. They have beer, corn dogs and a nice little seating area to chill out in. And you can get a giant beer and a corn dog for under five bucks. Who could ask for anything more? It beats the shit out of a 7-11. Further reading: Wikipedia, New York Times, Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York, Eater NY.
Night Shift Workers At Penn Station @11:28 pm Midtown ------------------- First off I want to thank some fellow bloggers for helping to spread the word about MAD. I got a shout out from Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York and I thank him not only for that, but for the mention about the 365 blog and the Q. and A. he did with me last year, he’s got a great blog and it meant a lot to me to be featured on there. And speaking the 365 blog, if you followed that last year you’ll know both these nest two bloggers: My buddy Tim "Clacky" Clack just started his debut blog and it’s called, Tales From The Bunt’s Side, which refers to his exclusive bar he just built in his back yard. down under in Australia. He wrote me up yesterday in this post and I thank him for that! I can’t wait to hit Bunt Custer's Bar someday, but in the meantime we all have this wonderful blog. And last, but certainly not least my friend Fat Al over at the fine blog The Half Empty Glass also devoted a post about MAD along with a video. Which video was it? Well, you’ll just have to check their post right here: THEG. Thanks to all three and if you haven’t seen or read their blogs, you should do so right now...and then come back here of course! Okay on with the blog. -------------------
I started working the night shift in 1986. The day before I started I wondered how much I would hate it. After a couple nights I realized I loved working nights and I vowed never to work the day shift again. And I haven’t, except for a few weeks out of the year when I have to fill in for someone on the day shift who’s on vacation. And believe me, when I do have to work the day shift it’s as painful as a Tabasco sauce enema.
I don’t know why more people don’t want to work at night, especially here in New York where there’s so many places to go to at off hours. I’ve never been a morning person and I don’t know how most people stand getting up anywhere between 6 am and 9 am every single day for work. It’s so early and bright...sunshine...echh! When you work nights you can sleep in, drink at weird hours of the morning, it’s usually quiet in apartment buildings and the whole mood at work and everywhere else is a little looser and kookier as the night rolls into morning and the hours turn from big to small.
In a way I’m glad most people don’t want to work nights, it makes it that much easier for me to get a job. Although when you request to work nights, you usually get a weird reaction at the start. When I’ve told prospective employers that I want to work the night shift, they usually do a double take and then squinch their eyes and give me a look like I’m the second coming of Travis Bickle. I once had an interview with the owner of a pre-press print shop and he told me that he’d hire me, but he said, “You have to realize one thing, I don’t foresee you getting on the day shift for years.”
I promptly replied, “Well if you put me on the day shift, I’ll quit. I don’t want to work daytime hours.”
His eyes got narrow and he gave me the son of Travis Bickle look and said almost in a frightened tone, “What? Are you some kind of a fucking vampire or something? Nobody wants to work the night shift!”
Anyway, that brings me to tonight’s after dark journey. I thought once a week I’d go somewhere and take photos and talk to people working the night shift right here in New York City to give some credit to kindred spirits of the night. Tonight I thought I’d wander over to Penn Station to take some night shift portraits. It’s open all night and there’s a good variety of places open late to go and when you’ve got a variety of places, there’s a variety of people, which is just what I want.
Tonight we're going in the opposite direction of the last two evenings, so you get to see the other side of the sidewalk outside of where I work.
This is a couple doors down from where I work. I love how they keep the "On Demand Printing" sign on while they're closed. Irony at its finest hour.
And we turn the corner and Penn Station is just a block away.
And here we are, Penn Station at 11:28 pm in the evening.
Okay, I wrote about this on the 365 blog, but I'm going to write about it again, because it's something that has bugged me ever since I moved to New York and have been traveling here at Penn Station. See the woman on the left? She just pushed me aside as she hurriedly runs down the escalator. What's wrong with that, you may wonder, she's just in a hurry to catch her train to Bumblefuck, New Jersey, why be upset over that? Well normally I wouldn't be, but there's a full set of stairs right next to the fucking escalator! If you want to run to catch your stupid-ass train, take those and leave the escalator for those of us who aren't in such a goddamned hurry!
And what kills me is the stairs are more than twice the size of the escalator. Yet it never fails that people choose the escalator to run down. Life is never easy.
Most of stores on the first floor close early, so we'll go to the lower level. Thankfully this escalator is people-free.
And here we are in the underground of Penn Station.
Here's a crew of Long Island commuters all staring at the Long Island train schedule in commuter zombie style.
Whenever someone from Long Island asks why I choose to live in the city when I could live there a lot cheaper, I think of standing in Penn Station and staring at this every night and I'm happy to pay Manhattan rent and live in a tiny apartment that I can to walk to work from.
Okay, here's a long string of stores open late. Let's go meet some of the night shift workers at Penn Station.
I like the fact that Penn Station has a late night book store, so I thought that would be the first stop.
This is Ryan who runs the cash register here. He told me he's worked here for 8 months and he gets off work around midnight, so his shift was just about over. He said he likes working the night shift because that's when all the manic depressives come out. He read me like a book, which is why he probably works there.
After leaving Penn Books I ran into Brian outside. Brian's worked as a custodian for Penn Station for 10 years. He's a nice guy and said he's happy to have his job.
Here's the Papaya hot dog counter, let's see who's toiling away in the midnight hour here.
Meet Medhat, he's a true overnight worker who told me his shift ends at 6 in the morning.
just a few doors down is the Rose Pizza and Pasta restaurant, let's check that out.
Samuel and Crystal work behind the counter at the restaurant. Their shift ends at 2 am and they, like everyone else I've met tonight said they like working evenings here. Nice to know I'm not the only person who prefers to work on the other side of the workday.
Hellooo...what have we here? Why it looks like...a bar! Deja vu!
There's a decent crowd in here, but I spy a seat, let's go snag it. Holy shit, I'm reverting back to the 365 guy!
And here's Nev, the friendly bartender who happily serves me up a beer. Nev told me he's worked here for five years and said he loves working nights. His shift ends at one in the morning. He told me he sleeps in every single day. Ah, that's the beauty of the night shift. Sleeping during rush hour.
After my beer I went outside and this gentlemen had just started performing for a crowd of travelers.
He's a great musician and was playing a reggae tune.
After I took this shot he finished the song and I bought one of his CD's for five bucks. His name is Jahstix and you can check out his website here: JAHSTIX.
Okay, that's all for tonight. Time to take the escalator up...
And back out into the night. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.
Penn Station Between 31st and 33rd St. and btw. 7th and 8th Ave. Open 24 hours
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.
Five Pictures of Passed Out People
One
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