From 2002-2005, this ran through my head countless times. Then I stayed for 3.5 years anyway.
8.4 Million New Yorkers Suddenly Realize New York City A Horrible Place To Live, The Onion
In my new self-appointed function as official DJ of patrickstack.com, we’re going with the infamous proto-punk outfit for this inaugural feature. Rock out:
This is very cool, and from having lived there, very evocative:
The Sandpit from Sam O'Hare on Vimeo.
My iPod started acting ill today, and now I’m in the middle of restoring the factory settings. Since I have to completely re-upload all of my music, photo and backed-up files, I got some time to write. First, the news:
• At first today, it really annoyed me that the entire media-swilling world spent the day rending its garments and pulling out its hair over Michael Jackson. (It’s 10 p.m. here, and the funeral is still the top story on CNN.com.) But then I thought, “Parts of the U.S. have been doing this for more than 30 years for Elvis, so this is really nothing new,” and I felt better about our modern era — or worse about past eras, I can’t decide.
• I’ve been asking people for a percentage: how many people watching Michael Jackson’s funeral know who Robert McNamara is, and they have to understand that he was far more historically important than MJ. The common response is less than 1 percent, but I would think it’s actually up around 4 percent. Call me an optimist.
In fairness to that other 96 percent, I did call him “George McNamara” at lunch today. But to burnish my own history-nerd credentials with an even bigger bit of nerdness, I was also thinking of McGeorge Bundy at the time.
• Key line from this good budget deficit rundown:
If policy now tilts too far toward deficit cutting, some argue, that would treat job creation as an option the nation somehow cannot afford, in contrast to “must haves” like tax cuts for wealthy Americans and unpopular foreign military entanglements.
True, but you also can’t ignore the fact that those tax cuts and unpopular entanglements were put in place, and now they are indeed making the job creation that much more financially difficult. I fall reluctantly in line with the spending advocates — I don’t think now is the time to pay down the deficit, because government spending at the moment really is a big portion of the money flowing into the economy. But if things do turn around, raise my taxes. It sucks, but it’s better than betting our economic livelihood on the whim of the Chinese government.
And on to frivolous stuff:
• I’m sorry to see the Penguins lose Rob Scuderi to the L.A. Kings, but they were right not to pay what the Kings paid. The dude is good, but not $13.6 million good.
• I got a Lollapalooza ticket for Sunday, August 9, hombres. Jane’s Addiction original lineup? I am hella there.
• This past Friday I went to see The Hangover. Verdict: four phats. Definitely some gross humor; definitely a weird Zach Galifinakis; and most likely worth seeing. (Though don’t take your parents.)
Even stranger, the movie featured both Heather Graham and Mike Tyson in prominent roles. Why is this strange? Those two were both guests at a 2004 arts-benefit party at the Guggenheim in NYC attended by yours truly, who by all rights should not have been there in the first place. (I’m pretty sure this Heather Graham photo is from that very night.) Mike Tyson is somehow even scarier when he wears fur, and I even made eye contact with Ms. Graham — or as I have no right to call her, Heather — for a full second.
The moral here? I really should have been offered at least a cameo appearance as the third part of that party trifecta, Hollywood.
I’m sure everyone has heard about the jet that ditched into the Hudson River today just off of Manhattan. The photos are pretty incredible, but what’s even more incredible is how everyone was able to get off the plane alive and well. From the pilot to the rescue crews to the passengers on the ferry, I am amazed at how everyone did exactly what they needed to do to ensure the outcome. As stark as things can seem, this is why I don’t lose hope in the U.S. and humanity.
I do miss December in New York. As much as the city often drove me up the wall, Christmastime was always a highlight.
I hope everyone’s Christmas is full of good times and tasty treats. Since this is a holy day, in the spirit of Benjamin Franklin’s adage that “Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy,” I recommend a glass of this Chicago Christmas treat when you get a chance:
Merry Christmas!
“The temperature hit 99 degrees at La Guardia Airport, 4 degrees higher than the previous high set on June 9, 1984; it was 99 degrees at Newark Liberty Airport, tying a record set in 1933. In Central Park, the high temperature was 96, one degree shy of the record. Temperatures in Islip, on Long Island, and Bridgeport in Connecticut, easily broke previous records.
Tuesday was not likely to offer any respite from the 90-degree heat, according to the National Weather Service, adding that temperatures would drop back into the 80s by Wednesday.” — The New York Times
So many memories from those New York summers of 2002-2005–the smell of rotting food in plastic bags; the rolling sweat streams down the back of my leg while I stood on the subway platform each morning; sweaty fat dudes in tank tops bumping into people; the brownouts; the residents yelling at each other in anger on the street.
Yes, summer is the worst time to be a New Yorker, and it’s descended on the city like a dumpsterful of fermented trash juice. So to my peeps still living there: I miss plenty of things about my old town, but as for this and the other heat waves headed your way this summer, I sure am glad to have bailed out.
Don’t forget a change of undershirt–I know I used to need a new one by 2 p.m. or so. Sexy.
Erin Go Bragh, dudes.
It being St. Patrick’s Day — at least in one hour — I’d like all of you still living in NYC to take a moment at your local grocery establishment and appreciate the 1/4 of an aisle devoted to feeding the Irish immigrant masses, those still moving to New York after all these centuries. It’s one of the things you don’t really get here in D.C. — the last one I saw was when I went to visit Boston a few weeks back — and it’s much missed by your correspondent. Having lived in Queens, where there’s an immigrant community for every nationality known to man, I’ve gotten to know and love the Irish-food section while perusing the aisles of Sunnyside, Astoria and Woodside.
You’ll know you’ve found the aisle when you see Barry’s Tea, in the familiar red box at the top of the section. It’s meant to be drunk in the Irish style, meaning strong enough that you mistake it for coffee. Also known as “the bomb”. Next to that they’ll keep the breakfast theme going with some McCann’s Irish Oatmeal. They should probably change the name from “steel cut” to “oat gravel”. For real, it’s stony. For those who like their biscuits named for what happens after you eat them, we have my grandma’s favorite Digestives tea cookies from Burton’s. It all finishes off with some Chivers jam and Fruitfield Orange Marmalade. We in America eat normal fruit preserves like grapes, peaches or strawberries, but in Ireland they like to invent weird fruits like “gooseberry”, “bramble” and “lemon curd” (?), pack them in sugar and sell them to toast fans who don’t know better. Watch out for these, they’re strange.
Under your breakfast stuff comes the Knorr and Erin soup. I’m down with Irish potato, but a little wary of the brown tomato. You can top your soup off with some HP Curry Sauce or maybe some Bisto White-Sauce Granules — what discerning eater doesn’t love granules? Also a winner is Chef brown sauce, which comes in a handy 2.5 liter (or “litre”) container for those times when you need to dip 200 dozen french fries (or “chips”) at once.
Below the Cadbury chocolates, the beauty of which I have already described, you have the junk food — a personal favorite. We all enjoy Tayto cheese ‘n onion crisps, but the real pleasure is washing it down with a cool, sugary glass of Club orange. This stuff is definitely the best-tasting orange pop in the universe, but I will concur with my friend John who said it probably shouldn’t be drunk out of the bottle, lest the world’s most well-fed bacteria colony grow in its incredibly high-fructose medium. Club lemon and Club rock shandy (again, ?) are a little disappointing, but you won’t go wrong with pop made from real orange juice. Fizzy orange: favorite of both me and my bro.
On another Irish food note, the one thing missing from the Irish food aisle is the best Irish food of all, the breakfast bangers. You have to special order them in the U.S., but they make a great gift for your family porkosseur this March.
To end on another Queens food note, the poultry market in Flushing, across the street from the U-Haul, is the proud home of the worst smell in the world. That is all.