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.