Four Loko

I got a temp job at the Visiting Nurse Service of New York. I file stuff and make time with the older ladies at the office. I quit the diner within the hour of being offered this job. With a big smile on my face, I got on my bike and raced to Park Slope. The ride to work was never filled with so much glee. I giggled and laughed out loud, I sang to myself and waved to the people I normally saw on the route. I imagined they were waving back as I rode by, smiling at me and calling out, "Go, Ryan, go! Quit that job and tell those bastards to fuck off!" But, I took a more respectful approach and I feel like it was more satisfying. I walk in and find Debby at the counter, she's speaking to a customer. Debby is the owner, she runs the diner with her two sons. Debby is under 5 feet tall and has a thick Greek accent that makes her hard to understand. And she's a bitch. Her two sons weigh a metric ton each. So when I need to vomit for any reason, I just imagine her giving birth to those two Christmas hams, and puking is no problem. This was pay day, so I was in there to get paid and then quit. I saw her talking to someone, and I made the universal hand gesture for money so I wouldn't disturb her. A normal person would receive my message, then continue talking to the customer, and after they were done they would get my money. I understand how my communication can be seen as rude, but it's not something to get angry about. Debby ended her conversation immediately and pulled me into the other room. Here, she began to yell at me with her usual craziness, mostly about my bad attitude and apathy for the rules of conduct. I looked at her, nodding my head and smiling quietly to myself. Then she walked away. She came back and handed me the money. At that point, I told her I got another job and I wasn't coming into work any more. She was unhappy, but didn't make a fuss. That was a week ago. Today was pay day again, and I needed to collect the pay for my last shift. I worked 3 hours because of a job interview, so they owed me $12. I went in today, and told one of the sons that I needed my pay for my last shift. He gave me $40, assuming that I worked a full shift. Sweet.

Tonight I'm trying Four Loko for the first time. If you're unfamiliar, it's a caffeinated alcoholic beverage which gained popularity just recently. Here's the stats: 23.5 ounces, 12.0% alcohol. Contains: Alcohol, artificial flavors, guarana, taurine, caffeine, and FD&C Red #40.

It basically tastes awful. I got the Watermelon, my other choice was Cranberry-Lemon. It's like carbonated medicine that leaves that liquor burn in your stomach. The drink is worth mentioning because last week the senate announced that after December 10th, Four Loko will no longer ship to retailers in the state of New York. NY is the 4th state to place an official ban on the drink. I think it's ridiculous, and I'm sure I'm not alone. I can take a Red Bull and pour vodka in it, and that's perfectly legal. The argument of those white-haired fun-killers is that Four Loko attracts kids and makes them bang each other and have heart attacks and die. It's bullshit. Each year, a heartbreaking number of kids die from alcohol related incidents. Four Loko is just a target for the dudes in high office. They can kill Four Loko, but kids are still going to get killed. I'm not arguing for a caffeinated booze that tastes like candy, I don't care about the drink itself. I'm angry because someone introduced a product, and someone sitting at a desk had the power to ban it.

I've begun rehearsals for "Anna," a one-act drama put on by the Afrikan Women's Repertory Theatre in NYC. The story is about a young girl and her mother. The girl is a Broadway and movie star, the mother is a resentful and overbearing stage mom. It's not so much a story but an analysis of their relationship. And I play some dude. It opens in late January.

Listen to The Dardys Live

The Dardys live at Pianos Nov 16

Doin Thangs

Nobody wants to hire me and I suck. In other news, I'm writing a sketch show for the opening of a new dinner-theatre at Tolani Restaurant. It's a very posh and very expensive bar on the upper west side. The stage is currently being built in the downstairs dining room, and they're planning on opening the show in mid-December. Jordyn refered me to a girl in our neighborhood, Amy, whom she met on the train. We thought she was a film maker, and I was looking for film makers to make other projects of mine. It turned out that she wasn't a film maker, she's an actor and she works at Tolani. She told me about the dinner-theatre that's in production, and they needed a writer for the first show. More updates to come.

Hanging at Tolani, I was fed free cocktails and wine, which usually runs at $12 to $15 a drink. I was given a pickle and cucumber martini, and it was probably the tastiest and most refreshing thing I've ever had. After that, I followed Amy and her crew to the Auction House just across Central Park. This place is hard to describe, mainly because I was drunk. What I remember is lots of red velvet seating and large Baroque style paintings on the walls. It was really dark and I felt like I was in a game of Clue. I talked to a guy who spoke Spanish, but I didn't tell him I didn't speak Spanish. I just stood there while he talked at me for probably 10 minutes, I just nodded my head. I guess I couldn't think of anything better to do.

I joined a band, Inis Oirr. They're cool people. After my intro practice with them, Jordyn and I went to Atlantic Ave to the Trader Joe's. We thought they had 3 dollar bottles of wine, but they didn't because apparently grocery stores can't sell wine in the state of New York. Which is crazy talk. We were about a mile away, and the store was closing in 10 minutes, so I ran the rest of the way. I got to the door and had to argue with the guy to let me in. I stumbled through the aisles, exhausted. I looked like the guy in Outbreak who sold the monkey to the pet shop in the beginning. There was no wine. Only warm beer.

I had an interview today with Teachers College at Columbia University. If I get this I can leave the diner. Hello? Can you hear me God? It's Ryan. I know we don't rap that much anymore, but if you could take a minute and get me this job, I sware I'll stop masturbating. Thanks.

The official new Dardys lineup: me, Don Chino, Brian, Dave and Jimmy the Bonesaw. We're playing at Pianos this Tuesday at 9pm and I hope a lot of people will be there. Practices have been getting really intense.. but at least it shows we care. The guys showed up today with beers and 6 cans of Four Loko, all different flavors, but all with one thing in common, and that is the strong aftertaste of nail polish remover mixed with cheap soda. We recorded our set 3 times onto a tape recorder and realized that the No Joko was not a friendly addition to our rehearsals. This weekend Michael Jordyn & Greg had a show at Showpaper Gallery, and there were cardboard robots and homemade video games, and tootsie rolls for drink tickets. The band after us was a thrash-core duo who wore elaborate paper costumes that looked like chunks of rabbit fur and had black sharpie squiggles drawn on them. But they were nice enough to let us use some of their equipment.

GROUP PHOTOS

here's what fun we managed to have on halloween before the cops broke up our show, our car broke down, someone threw up, and the train was a bust.. mostly using the automatic timer on the camera to capture our costumes was the most successful activity of the night.

Back In The Game

Many apologies for not having written in forever. 101 Lenox and its residents have lately undergone some serious changes. Oliver Michael J is my new neighbor across the hall and it's good to have a close friend so close, literally. He and I travelled to Boston this past weekend to play 3 shows and meet up with some long lost college buddies. Friday, a live set and interview on WTBU, Boston University's radio station, on the show Left of the Dial. You can listen to the entire thing on their soundcloud. Everything went well until later when we were setting up for our next show at our friend's loft apartment and had to endure about 4 hours of his roommate's jam band practice, consisting of the same riff repeated over and over, with the occasional modulation and change in dynamics every half hour. But that show was also a success, and we played with our dear friends Holiday Mountain. Saturday was another basement show with them, Many Mansions, Double Down, and another band I can't remember but they were ALL GREAT and everyone should listen to em.

Last night was another epic journey to explore the city and venture to some new bars. We are both still broke, still trying to pull some strings for cash and better jobs, but our spirits were high and confident, so we went out anyway. We hung local for the first stop, enjoyed $3 PBRs, watching some people playing pool, and attempting to make 50 cents last longer than 5 minutes on an arcade game (but failed). After wandering Flatbush Ave determined to find a spot to hang that wasn't a hair salon, 99 cent store, fried chicken or pizza joint, we gave up the fight and trained to Cheap Shots, our favorite. I can always rely on their $5 for a PBR and shot, free jukebox with awesome classic rock selections, tables with guitar picks glued on, and hot bartenders who remember me, have me take free shots with them and enthusiastically beckon me to dance up on the bar even though I always refuse.

Anyway, though, right as we walked up to the bar these two guys turn around and ask what we're here to celebrate. Without thinking I said "My birthday!!" They freaked and bought us shots to take with them before asking how old I was. Despite getting suspicious glances from the doorman who had just checked my ID, I responded that I was 21, and from then on we didn't have to buy a single drink. We politely refused several times, but those guys got us so many rounds that we lost count and eventually had to pass our unfinished ones on to someone else to drink.

Feeling spinny and bewildered that all this really happened, we stumbled across the street to Crocodile Lounge, our newly discovered haven for super broke and hungry people. For buying a $3 Yuengling, you also receive a free pizza. Just like at LuLu's in Greenpoint. They also have the pool table and arcade game hookup, but we could hardly walk and talk let alone try to play any games. We barely touched the beers as we shared two pizzas ravenously-and they were so delicious!!! I remember there being a dimly lit seating area of couches and pillows that was sectioned off from the bar with a curtain, and I could have fallen asleep there.

Sorry that this was so long, a lot of catching up to do. I have three shows coming up this week, so come to at least one:

Saturday Nov 13 Michael Jordyn and Greg at Showpaper Gallery on 42nd St, NY

Tuesday Nov 16 The Dardys at Pianos, 158 Ludlow St, NY

Wednesday Nov 17 Bits and Pisces at Trash Bar, 256 Grand St, Brooklyn

Halloween

Halloween was a bust. If my costume wasn't so kick ass, I would call it a disaster. Michael Jordyn and Greg had a show at 171 Lombardy, it was a big Halloween party put on by the Pelly Twins. The band schlepped the equipment from our place to Greenpoint, and I met them there by train. Before they could play, the party was busted by the police and we were out on the street wondering what to do next. Some went to another show, but I went to The Wing Bar in Carroll Gardens. It took way too long to get there. The trains were backed up and the platforms full of Halloween party people. We arrived around three, and got some shots and a pitcher. Going home was a mess too, and we ended up taking a cab home. I'm eating a single potato for three meals a day, meanwhile I'm taking a taxi like I'm John D. Rockefeller.

Working as a busser has brought me back to when I was a young lad and had a couple jobs bussing tables. When you're hired as a busboy, you're basically hired as a scapegoat. Everyone needs someone to blame when things go wrong, and the busboy is at the bottom of the food chain. You have the management, who sit perched on their thrones, drinking coffee and shouting at the servers and bussers. The servers, the least empathetic of all, take orders and run food and generally slack off. The bussers are responsible for flipping tables for new patrons and keeping dining room shit stocked. The problem is I make $4/hour from the restaurant, and the rest I get in "tips" from the servers at the end of their shifts. I'm supposed to make 15%, but servers see that as a suggestion rather than a requirement, and they consider my tips to be gratuity rather than an owed percentage. As a busser, I have to make and serve drinks, pre-bus tables, hand out menus, and see people to tables. The servers love to hand me these tasks in an authoritative manner, but they hate to pay me for the work I've done. I would feel fine about these things only if the servers worked as hard as me. But when it comes to the end of the night, they begrudgingly throw me a few bucks and have no consideration for my actual worth.

Strange Boys

Last night The Strange Boys played the Knitting Factory with opening act Natural Child. The show was put on by Scion, they're putting on a string of events in NYC and Austin. According to the website, the company is also putting out EP's. It's weird but that's what I gathered from looking over the website. Natural Child seemed to have the crowd mildly entertained. I didn't actually see them play, I watched it through the window connecting the bar to the venue. The setup at the Knit Factory is convenient that way, but it's bad for bands. Strange Boys was great and you should definitely check out their shit. Their R&B and Soul tracks were tight and the frontman's impressive performance was seemingly effortless. When I visit the Knit, I'm sure to have a few 5 dollar beer+shots. I'm not training for a marathon so fuck it. Afterwards, we headed to Savalas nearby on Bedford Ave. The place was a ghost town, but the bartender was cool and cut us two beer+shots for 8 bucks. The bar was empty, but the DJ was still spinning. No iTunes shuffle bullshit for that bad mamajama. He was like the band that kept playing as the Titanic was going down.

Halloween is my one true love, and it has arrived my friends. This year, I'm a 40 oz. of Olde English malt liquor. I'll be popping around town this weekend, getting properly wastey-faced and soaking in all that sweet Halloween goodness. Fuck Christmas and fuck Thanksgiving and the 4th of July. Nothing beats Halloween.

The agenda:

Bathe

Go to work and do monkey slave labor

Party

Free Beer

Last weekend I worked 20 hours in two days at the Fifth Avenue Diner in Park Slope. I made $70 per 10 hour shift ($4 wage + tips). That's $7 an hour, which is actually below minimum wage. However, I was ecstatic to be working all those hours, because poverty is becoming a very real possibility on my horizon. The owners and waitstaff are mostly cool. The waitresses are generally around my age and native to Brooklyn. The manager in the morning is a tiny Russian woman who likes to drink Bloody Mary's and yell at people. She'll look up from her Blackberry from time to time, then complain about the first thing she sees without any idea of the overall operation. She looks a lot like Benjamin Button as a young kid.

I hit O'Hanlon's Bar tuesday night for a comedy open mic. It was a good show because it was really for the comedians, and that's what I want an open mic to be. It wasn't so much a performance but more like a workshop. I knew a guy there, Brad Hagen, he's from the same town as me and he hosted a popular open mic in New Hampshire.

MEC (Media Edge) is an advertising and marketing agency with clients like Paramount and KFC. They gave me an interview yesterday for an entry-level Media Buying position. I would work on a team that talks to networks and gets the clients commercials on the air for the best price possible. I really want to get this job and tell 5th Ave. Diner to suck it. I went in and the receptionist handed me an application to fill out. I knew the company was called Media Edge, but everything was labeled MEC. I asked her, "What does the C stand for?" and she said, "No don't worry about that, you just need to fill out your information." I said "Yeah, I know. But I'm curious, what does the C in MEC stand for? There's Media Edge, and then a C." She said, "Sir! You don't need to worry about that stuff! You start with your last name and then fill out the rest of the application." I said, "I understand how an application works! But I have a simple question! What does the C stand for?" And she stared at me, so I walked away and filled out the application. I still don't know what the C stands for. Probably not Company, but maybe Communications or Content. When I walked in, I had no idea about the job or the company, but the woman I met with gave me a detailed run down. Following that, I met with the managers for 4 seperate assignment-based groups. They all had openings, and I thought the interviews went very well. So we'll see what happens.

That night I went to a party for Relix Magazine's release of a special issue. It was at the Touring Company, a clothing store in SoHo. The store had a bunch of stuff by independent designers, and small placards about the designers next to the items. A friend of mine from college works at the magazine and invited me. There was an open bar (only serving Magic Hat's) and I definitely had my fill. Around nine o'clock they were closing the store and ending the party, so I grabbed another beer and double fisted. Because I'm all class.

Pavement Hitting Episode 5

Today was the 5th time (at least!! I've lost count) I went wandering the streets determinedly handing out my resume to every establishment that I saw. It's hard to tell if I was successful, because New Yorkers are good at everything-that's probably why I'm having so much trouble. But one thing they are good at, particularly employers, is lying-or at least giving you that fake smile that makes you unsure whether you should follow through for the position or not.

I had a quick band practice with The Dardys before we headed for some food at San Loco, a really colorful Mexican joint on Stanton St. I only had chips & salsa, so can't recommend much else but I can't wait to go in and try their Macho Nachos, which looked bomb and are only $7. For those of you in Boston, I have yet to find a replacement for the amazing vegan chili nachos at The Otherside.

The best part of the day was experiencing my first taste of CMJ at Pianos. The Dardys and I stumbled upon it while going in for their $5 burger special. I have to rave about this for a second, because as a vegetarian and unemployed person it's impossible to find something this perfect. Pianos has a menu of burgers that are $5 including fries or salad. And it was a LEGIT veggie burger and salad, too-I mean SO GOOD!!

Tomorrow I'm attending my friend Amanda's CMJ party-check out the flyer above. I think it's open to the public, but costs $5. You can check out her amazing promotional work and bands she supports here.

CoCo66

Last night my band Michael Jordyn & Greg opened for Little Teeth, Amy Rossi, and Miracles of Modern Science at Coco66. It was my first MJ&G show as an official resident in NYC. The sound guy and stage equipment were legit and everyone sounded alright, but not whoever thought that people would be willing to pay $10 to see some random bands they had never heard of at a dive bar in northern Greenpoint. They kinda screwed up by making the venue space separate from the bar, so the 20+ people there were unaware that there was some crazy indie rock happening behind the curtains, and couldn't partake in the fun.

Little Teeth were on tour from San Francisco, but could easily have been mistaken for a huge advertisement campaign for the holiday known as Christmas. All of their equipment (such as keyboards stacked upon keyboards and a drum set with tons of drums, toys, pots, pans, etc.) was covered with decorative lights and all of their merchandise was Santa Claus and snowmen themed. Besides that, if you like pretty vocal harmonies, droning, shoegazey, tribal-sounding grooves and danceable bass lines with sweet keyboard parts, you should check Little Teeth. They were also super nice, earnestly supportive of the other bands and inspiringly enthusiastic about life.

Also, if you haven't yet, you should download a copy of Michael Jordyn & Greg's first EP here.

Kaiju

As you know, I started training at Napoli Pizza e Vino. They said they'd call me that week for another shift, but failed to do so. I called them, and they decided not to keep me on. So, that job actually cost me money because I had to buy black pants to work there. But there's good news. Today I got a job bussing tables for a restaurant in Park Slope. It's minimum wage plus shared tips with the waitstaff, so I don't expect to make much, but it's income nonetheless.

I had a "job interview" with a "legitimate business" called W G Management. I answered a craigslist ad and they called me in. From the looks of the office I thought they published a magazine for pedophiles. It was on the third floor above a dentist, and I was afraid for my life. The interview itself was more like a sales pitch, and I felt as if he interviewed a thousand people that day and said the exact same thing to each. I was interviewing for a non-descript customer service job. I say non-descript because I asked him to explain what the job entailed, and he didn't have an answer. He just continued spewing bullshit, and it was clear that I had become wrapped up in a scam of some sort. I thought I'd be selling sunglasses over the phone or something shitty like that, and I would have totally done that if they paid me. He called me the day after to attend a group interview, and I told him to munch my butt.

A recruiter for CNN called for a phone interview, I had submitted my resume to a shit load of jobs at Time Warner. He didn't have any openings for me, but he passed my information to NY1 and other local stations. I also got a call to interview for a Stock Broker Training job. It was some British guy with the phone number 212-000-0000 and he was not happy with his life. I have no recollection of applying for a such a job, but I pretended that it was my life long dream, and he set me up for an interview. He said he'd email me the address, but I never received anything.

Last night was the Kaiju Big Battel at the Warsaw in Brooklyn. It's a comical wrestling match between costumed heroes, monsters, and normally inanimate objects. It was totally entertaining, and the wrestling was often impressive.

That night, on the train ride home, I walk on the train to find none other than MICHAEL SHOWALTER sitting directly across from me. If you're unfamiliar with him (which I'm guessing you are because I know everyone who reads this intimately) he's famous for comedy troupes The State and Stella, as well as the film Wet Hot American Summer and his web show The Michael Showalter Showalter. This dude actually got off at Parkside Ave. where I live, and my research today informed me that he lives in Brooklyn. Could it be that he lives in my neighborhood, or was he just looking to schtupp the young lady who accompanied him?

In other news, that rat bastard Greenbean is moving out. He got ghetto housing in Kill Whitey, NY and he's leaving us to save a few bucks. It's too bad he'll probably end up spending it on internet porn when his lady moves away this winter. It's gonna be a blue christmas, Greenbean. I'm referring to your testicles of course. Also I'm just joking around, you'll be missed.

Macaulay Culkin

The Bose store in SoHo decided not to hire me because they can't take on any new employees. When I walked in that one day to give them my resume, they said they were most definitely hiring. I thought it was a sure thing. Fuck. And I'm still waiting on the NBC job.

Thursday was full of drunken debauchery, per usual. Late night, Moe and I ventured to 14th and 1st to attend a free comedy show at Luca Lounge. Overall, the show was totally enjoyable. One woman performed and was very funny, and apparently she'll be taping a Comedy Central special in the coming weeks. We drank Pork Slaps, which were two for the price of one. Afterwards, we hit a dive nearby and enjoyed a PBR and whiskey for $5. It's a trendy drink special. After that we hit a bar on the same block, and this was the second time I've been asked to leave a bar since I moved here a month ago. The details are not important, it's just another dumb asshole denying me service for a dumb reason. Why he felt the need to make less money that night is beyond me. After that we were hanging on a stoop nearby and I needed to piss. I jumped the fence to an entrance-way across the street, and totally fucked up my foot on the pointed edge of the gate. This incident made my Friday a lot more difficult.

Friday I started work at 57 Napoli Pizza e Vino on 57th and Lexington. It's a little place where business people go for lunch. It's got a full menu and wine list, but there's only a brick oven upstairs where the actual seating is located. The chef makes pizza and stuff upstairs, but for everything else (pasta, salads, steaks) you have to order it from the upscale deli downstairs and bring it up. I guess it's the same business because someone can order any beverage they want, like Yoohoo for example, and I just go downstairs, grab it off the shelf and serve it. It's a really loose operation. There's only an acting manager, she's one of the servers. She gave me the interview which lasted 5 minutes, where she basically asked if I know the difference between red and white wine. I do know the difference, but I still have to train a couple shifts before I see any money. When I got up that morning, my foot hurt like I couldn't believe, and I continued to hobble around all day.

That night Jake had a birthday party at Jake's Dilemma. The dilemma is should we as a society allow a semi-retarded jackass to walk our streets for 23 years? I blame the parents. The bar had beirut and pitchers, but it was fairly expensive. Plenty of people showed up for the birthday boy. I left after an hour to avoid spending my rent money on booze.

Saturday would have been John Lennon's 70th birthday, so I visited Strawberry Fields in Central Park. It's a patch of land near the 72nd st. entrance and there's a tile design on the ground that says IMAGINE. People sported John Lennon gear and sang songs, and crunchy hippies sold stuff. More importantly, right before we entered the park, we passed Seth Green and Macaulay Culkin. But more importantly, I saw Macaulay Culkin. In person. Later that night, after mulling around Central Park and Midtown, I went to see a friend from NH who's sister lives in Brooklyn. The sister is getting married and my friend is in New York planning the wedding. I met them at Washington Commons. It was a relaxed joint with some tasty and highly alcoholic brews. Mojo Risin' Double IPA, $6.

19th Century Pub Crawl

Well, dear readers, we've entered the month of October and there are serious matters that I must attend to.

1. I have a serious lack of money and need to work ASAP. Sallie Mae won't be too pleased with me this month. But she can go ahead and blow me. The job hunt continues as usual, but my situation is not improving as much as it should. On the positive side, I had an interview at the Bose store in SoHo. I don't know what they'd pay, or exactly how many hours I'd get, but it is employment.

2. Halloween is coming up, and I need to start thinking about a costume. I could go topical (Oil covered goose, gay military man, full body airport security scan) or perhaps make an obscure pop culture reference (Cousin Mose, Sandflea, Crazy Joe Davola). Maybe I'll be a slutty something, like a slutty MTA employee or a slutty slut-slut. The choices are endless, and I'm obligated to give it some real thought.

Last Friday we hit the Franklin Park Bar to celebrate the birth of some guy I don't know. For beers on the cheap, you've got Modela or Pork Slap, both priced at $4. The bar includes a spacious interior with a dancefloor and lots of seating. Near the bathrooms you've got Skeeball and a couple arcade games. Obviously that means Big Buck Hunter. Within the birthday group was a guy I partied with a couple times when I lived in Boston. People fed me tequila and cigarettes, and it was pretty solid.

When I got up the next morning, I had a thought that I so often have on weekend mornings: I am never drinking again. Or at least today. But alas, I had plans that night to attend a 19th Century pub crawl. I met up with an old friend with whom I went to theater camp as a young kid, and we followed the crawl to New York City's oldest drinking establishments. We made 5 stops:

1. Bridge Cafe. This was the meeting spot at the beginning. Some people were clad in 19th Century garb, but I wore jeans and chose not to be a dweeb. There were free hors d'oeuvres and I snagged a BK lager for $5.

2. Swift, East Village. Named after the writer Jonathan Swift. We walk in, and they have a back room reserved for the pub crawl. Before I could get back there, they asked for $10 to pay for a special scotch whiskey and a lecture. We said fuck that and sat at the bar. Yuengling, $6.

3. Rye House. This place kicked ass. It was crowded as hell, but the beers were great and they passed around tons of food. I snacked like a mother fucker on lobster and bread. I had never heard of the beers being offered, they were speciality brews and rarely contained less than 8% alcohol. I made a decision, but the bartender was out of what I wanted. He acknowledged the fact that I wanted a high gravity drink, and set me up with 4 small glasses of different beer to taste. I was so happy. I drank the beer and then placed an order. The Rye House definitely beat out the other bars.  Delicious unknown beer, $7.

4. Old Town Bar. This place was built in 1892 and at once did not allow women, which is why you have to go upstairs to use the women's room. The men's room is conveniently placed downstairs, and APPARENTLY houses the oldest urinal in New York City. I used it. It's one of those wide urinals you see at football stadiums, except classier because it's old. This older English guy sat with us and talked up my lady companions. He was ultra creepy, and I sat smugly and enjoyed every moment of his failure. BK Lager and mouth-destroying nachos, $12.

5. Pete's Tavern. These guys were douches. It sucks because they claim that O. Henry sat at one of their booths and wrote Gift of the Magi. I was looking forward to this bar. We get there before the rest of the crawl, and the manager has no idea about any pub crawl. I ask a bartender for the wine list, and he hands it to me. A moment later he taps my shoulder and I turn to him. He demanded my ID, and I said I'd give it up when I make an order. There was an old couple next to me and they gave me a look, so I gave one back at them. I turned around, but the bartender took the list from me and told me to leave. I argued with him, but he said that I had an attitude and that I'd get drunk and cause trouble. I argued more and told him to fuck off, and eventually I was kicked out. No beers, $0.

MichaelJordyn and Greg EP

FREE SWIM: MichaelJordyn and Greg EP

Download here

Let's Go Drinking!

This week I finally joined the masses and bought an unlimited metro card. The feeling of freedom alone is worth the $89. When I swipe the card and it says GO, I feel like it's saying GO FOR IT or GO FOR THE GOLD or GO OUT THERE AND BE SOMEBODY! But it's more like GO MAKE ME A SANDWICH because our prices just fucked you in the ass. Nevertheless, I enjoy hopping on the train right when I enter the station. I feel like a VIP.

Earlier this year, I worked as a tech support specialist at Bose. If you're not familiar with the brand, they manufacture overpriced and overrated consumer audio equipment, then sell it to people who don't know how to spend their money. Since I know a great deal about their products, I decided to apply at one of the Bose stores in Manhattan. The shop is in SoHo and it's about the size of my bedroom. I expected something more grandiose to suit such an expensive label, but the employees inside were very hospitable. I filled out an application, and it just so happened that they're currently looking to fill a position. The manager said I can expect a call, so hopefully that'll work out.

Moe and I attended the Knitting Factory's Monday night TV party where they were showing Arrested Development for the month of September. I'm a big fan of the show, but the environment in the bar wasn't quite suitable. The people talked during the episodes, which is totally expected, but in effect they had to blast the sound of the TV which caused everyone to yell at each other all night. You got a PBR and a shot for $5, and they had a frozen banana stand. They literally built a large yellow banana stand to resemble the one in the show. Kudos. We caught the tail end of the episodes and drank too much for our own good. We trudged home dehydrated, disoriented, and just all around grungy.

There's a Russian vagrant sleeping on our couch. He got dropped off because Moe's friend was letting him sleep at his place, but couldn't host him anymore for some reason. He doesn't talk a lot, or do much of anything at all. For the first day of staying with us, he sat in the living room, spending most of his time in a chair looking out the window. I approached him and suggested that he visit Manhattan or prospect park. He wasn't really into it, and continued to sit in silence. He's a real barrel of laughs. I spoke to him a couple times before I left that day, this basically sums it up:

Me: So Sergi, what's Russia like?

Him: Iz cold all the time.

Me: Why don't you take the train into the city?

Him: No, I don't want.

I'll miss him when he's gone. I'll miss his smile, and all the fun times we had. But most of all, I'll miss how he made me feel: really uncomfortable.

That night I saw Deerhunter at the SoHo Apple Store. Free show! It was sweet, and the sound was exceptional. I went to the bathroom afterwards and ran into the drummer. I told him how the set was great, and he was very polite. But he washed his hands and then went for a hand shake. Now, any dude knows that physical contact in the bathroom is a big no-no. A simple pat on the back will get you chastised by even the most unscrupulous of men. I didn't hesitate, I shook his hand. And it was wonderful, but a little moist.

Directly after the show, we headed to Lulu's in Greenpoint. This place was the tits. If you ask kindly, they'll give you free pizza when you order a drink. We got High Lifes, and expected to get a stale slice of whatever pie. But, there was a pizza oven and legit ingredients in sight. We presented our tickets and we each got a delicious personal pizza. Delizioso! They had the Office playing, and I'm pretty sure the place was filled with lesbians. We played pool and arcade games, and overall it was kick ass. Good job Lulu's, and as a reward for your excellence, please accept this Ryan Clark Stamp of Approval.

After the bar, we decided to walk home. Greenpoint to Flatbush, basically a straight shot south on Bedford Ave. That's almost 6 miles dude! Tonight, I'm on my way to NH to play a show tomorrow night. Duty calls.

Atlantic Antic

Saturday night I visited a friend that I knew from New Hampshire. It was his birthday, and he had a party at his place near Union Square. There were mutual friends in attendance, including my good buddy Jake whom I've known since grade school. On the way to the party, I searched for a corner store to buy a 40, but every store I hit didn't have any. I found a bodega that had what I needed, but it cost about double what I pay in Brooklyn. The party was standard, but the apartment had a balcony that overlooked the city from 15 floors up, and that was sweet. Things get hazy from this point on. I was well on my way from drunk to disorderly, when the crew decided to move to a karaoke bar. I love karaoke. But I stayed cool and concealed my giddiness. The karaoke bar reminded me of that scene in Lost In Translation. We had a private room, it was lined with booth seating and a conference table, with TV's on the walls. We sang and passed pitchers around. I got an entire glass spilt on me. It was at this point that my downward spiral began, as I went downstairs to the main bar to see the action there. I ordered a drink and talked to someone at the bar. I was inebriated in a very serious way, and I decided to leave without saying anything. I later heard that people were texting Jake to see where I went. Maybe they were concerned that I passed out in a gutter somewhere. The next hour or two was spent looking for the 6 train, which would have been really simple if I wasn't completely befuddled. I was like a young deer that had emerged from the womb moments ago, clambering down the street like I'm using my brain and legs for the first time. Two cheeseburgers and an unknown amount of time later, I reached the 6 and made my way to Flatbush. The Q was under maintenance, and I had to take the shuttle to Parkside Ave. The shuttle stopped at nearly every block and confused the hell out of me, so I decided to get off. I had no clue where I was, but eventually found Ocean Ave, and from there I found Bedford Ave. Fast forward to a half hour later, I realized I had been traveling the wrong way on Bedford and turned around, but I made it home.

Sunday was the Atlantic Antic street fair hosted by Brooklyn Brewery. A sizable portion of Atlantic Ave (4th Ave to Hicks St.) was blocked off and became foot traffic only.



It was close to what I expected: food, drink, things to buy. First, I went for an empanada and BK lager totalling 5 bucks, which is cool. We walked around for a few hours, there was tons of food that I badly wanted to munch on, but I gotta save that paper. Lots of soul food, chinese, barbecue, desserts, grilled meats and skewers, seafood, Mozzarepas, grilled corn, pizza, and lots of beer stands. There were bands playing at different spots as we moved down the street, and the variety was impressive. A small swing band played a set, and some couples danced. It made me want to be apart of that scene. Some other rock bands played, a few more combos. One group was fairly impressive but I couldn't guess a genre, it included a rhythm section and was fronted by a steal drum player and vocalist. We purchased a sixer of beer at a shop and strolled with styrofoam cups in hand, just to keep it classy. Many vendors sold t-shirts and other clothing, which was worth a look but I couldn't afford to buy anything. We spoke to a woman trying to sell her own collection of books. She was interesting, and I gave her son a few skateboarding tips. A few hours later, the fair was closing down and the authorities were attempting to restore order. We got some eats and beers at the Trader Joes, where we purchased the brand's Name Tag beer. Why they would call a beer Name Tag, I don't know.

Tonight I'm off to the Knitting Factory for their Monday night TV Party. This month their showing episodes of Arrested Development and serving frozen bananas à la The Bluth Company.

Stamford

It seems that bed bugs have become a serious epidemic here in the Big Apple. The big Nike store closed, along with an Abercrombie & Fitch and Hollister. Now where am I going to shop!? Even Former President Bill Clinton reports an infestation in his Harlem office. My biggest problem is that they're the size of apple seeds. If they were nearly invisible, I'd be more at ease. I just don't want to wake up and see the facial expression on a bug while it eats my flesh.

Our bathroom is arranged in such a way where tenants entering the building can see directly inside, exposing us while we shower. The other day, I was washing my hair and I literally met eyes with a person outside. I considered saying something like, "Hey there neighbor! Nice day huh? How does my junk look from your end?" Our incomprehensible super Rafael can often be found standing outside where we're exposed. And if I had to choose one person to watch me shower, it'd be the super.

I had my interview with NBC in Stamford, CT. It turns out the job is part-time, where I can expect 20 hours a week, yet I'll be paid for my commute time. My day would start at Penn Station, where a shuttle service brings audience members to and from Stamford. I would help that whole thing happen, acting as a concierge, then go to the studio and assist the production. It's an interesting gig, but it depends on how much they'll pay me. I should know about the job within the next two weeks.

Greenbean and Moe played at the New York Film Academy cafe. They played for tips only, but a student film crew was using them for a project, and the barrier created by the crew and equipment made it nearly impossible to collect any tips. Tonight I'll be attending a soiree, and tomorrow I'll hit the Atlantic Antic street fair in Brooklyn. I don't know what to expect, but I'll be reporting on it afterwards.

Art

We have bars on our windows now. But actually they're window guards, so it's not impossible to rob us, it'd just be really difficult. I expected to wake up one night and find a dude in my room ready to walk out with my shit. I'd probably barter with him and offer less valuable things in greater quantities in exchange for stuff like my computer. But I'd let him check his facebook before he left.

I had an interview with NBC planned for this past Monday, but there was a fire around 135th St. and consequently the Metro North line was shut down. When I called the office, they were aware of it and I've been rescheduled for tomorrow. I got all dolled up for nothing.

Moe and I visited SoHo yesterday to see a gallery opening at Artist's Space. The gallery was closed to the public at that time, but the woman at the desk reluctantly let us look around. We felt about as welcome as if we came to her apartment and asked to walk around. Another store/gallery, Dada, had the same feel. It was built like an apartment and everything inside was really swanky, but there was no indication that anything was for sale. Maybe it's like "if you need to ask, you can't afford it."

She and I made our way to a park to enjoy some greenery and fresh air, but spotted a bar that allowed smoking. So we had no choice but to go in and have multiple beverages. Lastly, we hit Bushwick where Moe has a sister who works as a gallery curator. We ate and rejoiced.

The Bender

I have an interview tomorrow with NBC to be their newest production assistant. The interview is in Stamford, CT. I'm looking at about a 2 hour commute. So far, they've made it unclear whether or not I'll be commuting there every day. I have to find out tomorrow. The problem is I would take the job if it was offered to me, but going to another state and back every day would completely blow.

The Kent Theatre in Brooklyn has showings for $7.75. I saw The Switch. It's about a woman who plans an artificial insemination with a donor, and her male friend who would rather be her lover. He switches the donor's specimen with his own. And there's a cute kid and Jeff Goldblum and I basically went to a chick flick by myself.

I hit some bars in Park Slope on 5th ave. and found good deals. High Lifes and shots for a few bucks. We spent some time in Patio where there was a birthday party going on. The birthday boy was passed out. I had a PBR and ate from his birthday buffet. We made our way to south of the park for more drinks as the sun came up. From there, we biked to Williamsburg for breakfast. Terry's on Broadway between Havemeyer and Marcy. Good food, good prices, and the winner of today's Ryan Clark Stamp of Approval.

On the subject of consumables, I advise you to stay away from Country Club Malt Liquor. You'll be attracted to the XXX on the bottle, but it basically tastes like store brand ginger ale mixed with Keystone. I had that to start my Saturday night. We made a second visit to La Poisson Rouge on Bleecker St. for a no-cover dance party. All was good except for the $7 beers. How am I supposed to get funky with those prices? La Poisson Rouge, vous etes insuffisant!

Our last stop was the Whiskey Brooklyn in Billysburg. I recommend the whiskey and pickle juice. It was offered to me, and even though it sounded disgusting, a friend was buying and I can't turn down free drinks. It's un-American. The whiskey went down as expected. Then came the pickle juice, and it swooped in and wiped the whiskey clean from my mouth's memory, leaving me with a salty and satisfying after taste. Bonne nuit!

Tornado

Biggie ran away. Or it's dead in the apartment somewhere. I also feel like I'm more sensitive to the smell of cat urine than the average person. Walking down the street, I often catch a whiff of that unmistakable stench. He touched my life in a big way, in so little time. Good luck Biggie Smalls, I hope you're not giving kitty blow jobs to make rent.

The Brooklyn Public Library is quite satisfactory. I found everything I wanted, except they wouldn't give me a library card unless I had some evidence that I live in the area. The bike ride to the library is fairly short, but Bedford Ave. just north of me becomes a nightmare, as it's undergoing road work. Eastern Pkwy has a bike lane on the median between the main and access road, so the bikes and pedestrians share the space. Packs of women with their strollers congest bikes-only lane, and they look at you like you're only there to hurt their children.

Moe and I went to Williamsburg to see a show, but didn't end up going. We had beers in the park and more drinks at a bar. Beer and a shot for $5. I wish that place was next door to me. That night we stole a bench in Flatbush and put it in the apartment. It seemed like a great idea at the time, but now we have a giant, yellow, metal bench in our  living room. And there couldn't possibly be a more uncomfortable object to sit on. The next day we went to FAO Shwarz. It wasn't as impressive as I remember from my visit as a kid, but apparently they downsized the store. Also, I'm sort of like an adult, and it's a toy store made for kids. I played the big piano as an homage to the cinematic classic. That day, we were caught in a rain storm in Manhattan, leaving us drenched within two minutes. But apparently there was a tornado in Brooklyn at that time. You can check out this video where grown men giggle and scream for 3 minutes:

Job Interview

My first job interview as a resident of New York. Temp work. I got up early, got pretty, got to staples to print out resumes. Heavy stock, obviously. The office is located around Times Square, near the public library. I got to the office and sat there with ten other people while we filled out paperwork. I never remember to bring reference information, so I named a few past supervisors but made up their phone numbers. It'll all work itself out. I took the computer aptitude tests: 80% on Excel, 93% on Word, and typed 50 words a minute WITH ZERO ERRORS. I fucked that test over the kitchen counter. Then to the interview, which seemed promising. No word on a job yet.

After hanging at the New York Public Library, I made my way to Times Square. It's basically just a lot of shit to buy. Pop Tart World is exactly what you'd expect. I got a hot dog from a street vendor. I asked him how much, he said $2.50. I walked away and he called after me, "Ok! Two Dollars!" So I bought it. I didn't know I could haggle with the hot dog vendors, and discovering that was extremely satisfying.

On the train ride home, a trio of break dancers busked in the subway car. The car was filled with people. And even with all the dancer's acrobatics, they didn't touch anyone. I bought beer at the supermarket closest to home. I was surprised at their high prices. Usually I'd buy 40's, but I need smaller quantities to fit all my different drinking moods. I saw 6-packs for 3.99. I got 4 of them. Walking out of the store, I realized they were 10 oz. cans. I'm not really upset about the can lacking 2 ounces, I'm more upset with myself for allowing that to happen.

An old friend from high school came to hang out. I spotted her on the train last week. I would never have expected to see her after high school. Also, I suspect that Biggie is pregnant. We never found out the sex for sure, but we thought it was a dude. These are some symptoms of pregnancy that Biggie demonstrates:

Vomiting

Pissing on everything

Eating everything is sight

Meowing like a son of a bitch

Vomiting

Big nipples

Having a vagina

We're still unclear about the vagina. I checked under the hood, but I don't know anything about cat genitalia.

Cat Piss

Biggie pissed on my bed last night. I took off the sheets and scrubbed the mattress. Since my bed had been pissed on, I had to sleep on the couch in the living room. I brought my mattress into the living room because the windows would be kept open and I could let it air dry. I woke up around 6 am because that little orange asshole was meowing, apparently his fat ass had to eat and he needed to alert everyone in the neighborhood. I look at the mattress, and yes, he pissed on it again. Thanks a heap you little fucker.

We need window guards pronto. The super, Rafael, told me that the management said no. At least that's what I could decipher after listening to him for ten minutes. I'm pretty sure he speaks one of those dead languages you only hear from tribal witch doctors.

I drove to New Hampshire today in order to play a gig in Maine tomorrow night. I left Brooklyn at 2 pm, and arrived at home close to 9pm. That's seven hours. It usually takes four hours. I started off by going through Flatbush by order of my GPS. Big mistake. Close to an hour later, I'm on the BQE, and that had been turned into one lane as you approach the Whitestone bridge. This is around the time rush hour begins. I'd like to meet the mastermind who thought that up, so I could buy some of that awesome crack he's smoking. It took me 3 hours to travel 60 miles. I should have walked to NH.

To Do:

Get a job

Clean mattress

Be productive

40 oz. to Freedom

It turns out there's a Grand St. in Manhattan AND Brooklyn. Myself, Moe and Cassette made our way to Manhattan to attend an Afro-Cuban show in some small club on Grand St. We assumed Grand in Manhattan, but it was actually in Brooklyn. We basically missed the entire show because we traveled back and forth. But, we enjoyed late night diner food in Williamsburg. Not too shabby.

The residents of Castlevania (that's what I'll be calling the apartment) jammed for a few hours today. Moe has the setup in her room: drums, amps, etc. We played for most of the day. Before moving to the apartment, I assumed the drums would result in complaints from our neighbors. But so far, we've yet to hear anything.

I made my first NYC craiglist purchase. Nintendo 64 system, cables, 4 controllers, 3 games: $35. I am definitely proud of my first purchase in my new city. I was all over craigslist while living in Boston. I sold, I bought, I conquered. And now, I absolutely have faith in the Big Apple's internet bargains.

We planned on visiting the neighborhood karaoke bar tonight, but it did not pan out. Beers were enjoyed in the home. Next time, I'm going Freddy Mercury on everyone's ass.

Take the Q Train

Last night I ventured to the Upper West Side to visit a friend. I take the Q train from Parkside Ave. to 42nd St, and the A from there to 168th st. The trip totals an hour minimum, not including wait and walking time. This New Hampshirite isn't used to traveling an hour to see a friend on a weeknight. The trip on the Q train is fairly short and travels over the East River, giving you a solid view of the skyline and Statue of Liberty.

On the train ride back that night, me and Greenbean ran into a friend from high school. She makes legit pot food for a means of income. More on that later.

I spent the majority of that day looking for work. Slaving over craigslist, sorting through postings, sending out an endless number of emails which will likely yield no response. Craigslist is for old couches and weird sex, not for planning a career. I skim right by the majority of job posts because things like "dishwasher" and "call center" seem beneath me. And yet, here I am looking for work on a filthy internet garage sale.

Moe and I biked through Prospect Park. It was enjoyable. Trees, breeze, steez.

We've added a member to our crew: a fat orange cat, Biggie. Moe found it on craigslist, apparently the cat was met with hostility from the owner's dog. He's pretty chill. A completely new environment didn't seem to faze him.

Getting Acquainted

Today was my first full day as a resident of Brooklyn. It was nuts. Not only was today Labor Day, it was also the West Indian Day Carnival and parade. It's a big deal in Brooklyn, and the streets were flooded with people. Some were dressed in elaborate costumes which resembled the outfits of Vegas show girls. Sequined bikinis, outlandish head dresses. Mostly, the people out in the streets wore colors and flags to represent the Afro-Caribbean culture. I spent most of the day in search of fried chicken. Call it a race thing, but I thought there would be fried chicken available at every corner. Not true. It seems that the most popular stop for chicken is Popeye's. I basically moved to New York so I wouldn't have to eat at chains. So I stopped at a grungy little take-out place and got fried chicken. There weren't many people in there, so I need to do some more research and find the fried chicken that will truly satisfy me.

I've visited the liquor store twice in the last day and a half. You walk in and find yourself in a 8x6 ft. area completely surrounded by bullet proof glass. There's a team of Asian men behind the glass, and behind them are the shelves filled with all your favorite alcohol. You shout at them through a small window, and they get your beverage.

Parking is a son of a bitch. I have a car for the week, then I return it to the folks at home in New Hampshire. It's a Jeep Liberty, and it feels like I'm driving an ocean liner. After an extensive search for a parking spot on the correct side of the road, I parked the tank 1.2 miles away.

To do:

Make house a home
Get a job
Don't get murdered

More Moving

The tenants, who will be named Moe, Cassette, and Greenbean, have moved all their shit into the apartment. I have only moved my bed and a small couch I got at IKEA. In NH, I loaded up a truck to the tippy top, but only managed to fit a couch and bed. My rear view and passenger side view were completely blocked for the trip into NY. I got a sunburn on one side of my face.

We live on the first floor, and there are windows in every room. The landlord will not put bars on the windows unless we pay for them. I thought it was the law for landlords to use bars on the windows. But it turns out the landlord is only responsible for window guards (short metal gates that keep toddlers in, not burglars out).

The agenda:
Find work
Wallow in self doubt
Move belongings to NY

I am already experiencing the wonderful and exotic food. Today, I had White Castle for the first time. It really is tiny hamburgers.

Moving

Yesterday I signed a lease for an apartment in New York City. The process leading to this was a complete pain in the ass, and I can only see more frustration in my future. However, moving to another state means I am moving out of my parents house. This is a good thing.

Some background info:

I went to college in Boston, MA where I majored in Drinking. After four forgettable years, I left Boston and went back home. I spent 12 months in Manchester, NH with Bob and Susan Clark. I had good times, I had bad. More importantly, I had the chance to think about my life choices. Perspective is key. Over the year, I worked in a few warehouses as an unskilled laborer. Unloading trucks, reloading trucks, standing next to trucks, and generally putting my college learning to good use. Most of these places are filled with middle aged guys working paycheck to paycheck. They often have no life plans, nor any professional or romantic prospects. I am not better than these people, I've just learned that life is short and you need to get out there and do shit.

The apartment:

New cabinets, plumbing, floors. I feel like a goddamn Rockefeller. But apparently the super, Rafael, installed all the plumbing and wiring while in a wild drunken stupor. For example, the hot water comes out of the faucet when you turn the cold knob, and vice-versa. Honest mistake. Unfortunately he did it to both sinks in the apartment. Either he doesn't know the difference between C and H, or he has a great sense of humor. I'll probably never find out, because I can't understand a fucking thing he says. There's an overall sloppiness to the handy work, but the apartment is clean and without any real damage. Kudos Rafael.

The neighborhood:

Flatbush in Brooklyn. Mostly Black and Hispanic. Ten minute walk to Prospect Park. Lots of greenery. Bedford Avenue, which runs alongside my bedroom, includes a bike lane where I can go to risk my life whenever I please.

The mission:
Get a job.