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.