I know I speak in hyperbole a lot, but, seriously, the best subs anywhere on the planet are at Sorrento’s in Freehold, NJ.
It’s a combo of the bread (soft), fresh tomatoes, awesome meats & cheeses, proper ratio of onions, oil, vinegar, hot peppers. Even the paper plates have something special about them.
Look at these photos and weep.
The hippest place to be this weekend was the library off Route 9 in Manalapan - to see Courtney Lin Kaita perform Elgar, Schumann and Bach, but also just to drink in the civic awesomeness. This is the library of my youth, it can so beat up your library, and I was thrilled to show Ann around the place.
When the end of Sunday came I had reached a level of exhaustion I hadn’t felt since….since San Diego Comic-Con.
The highlight has to’ve been the Harold & Kumar interviews, though. When I introduced myself to the two directors, they did a double take. Hey - we know you - THANK YOU for that awesome review. A few moments later, I was quite pleased with my ability to force NPH go off-script by cracking him up. Should you ever interview NPH, just use foreign phrases and he’ll get an uncontrollable case of the giggles (in this case it was “esprit de coeur” and “recicative.”) I know I just said this about Willem Dafoe, but Neil Patrick Harris is one of the coolest celebs I’ve met. Completely easygoing, funny, smart and seemed (at least) to enjoy talking with me.
Above is me, director Louis Letterier and Tim Roth.
I usually have no fear talking with celebrities, but I was nervous that Willem Dafoe would be ultra serious. Turns out he’s very approachable and extremely, extremely friendly. And very quick witted. I like being on camera with stars, but it usually is work. I’m trying to draw an interview out of them that can be edited into a usable piece, they’re trying to be clever and quotable. This time, though, I really felt like I was hanging out with a cool guy who liked talking to me. So it is either that Willem Dafoe thinks I’m cool or he’s just a great act—HEY!
I interviewed many celebrities yesterday and today (and more tomorrow) but these are the only photos that’ve made it from memory stick to JPG.
I can only do Bosnian food in small doses. It is crazy salty, gives me gas, gives me reflux, makes me all around sick. But twice a year I hit it.
The “Sarajevo Fast Food” place not far from the Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria is a fantastic joint. The music is lively, everyone is nice and they have a special of the day. I had those little hamburgers in the shape of a sausage with ajvar and onions and some piping hot fluffy bread. I also had a Sierra Mist. On the way home, I had to stop in a deli to buy some water because it was so salty I thought I was going to die.
Bosnian food is not health food - but once every six months is probably okay.
For years I’ve seen this show advertised on the side of buses, on phone booths, there’s even direct marketing with women in traditional dress handing out flyers in Times Square. This being the first year in a long while where I had some spare pocket change, I figured, why not? What I thought would be an energetic, bright and musical show filled with dragons, drums and excitement turned out to be what I imagine a Carnival Cruise is like if controlled by the Falun Gong.
Yes - this is one big propaganda program put on by those nutcases who stage faux public beatings on our city streets. It starts out subtle, with song lyrics that translate to the “mighty Falun” and the “all wise Dafa” and then gets explicit, you guessed it, some of those torture scenarios. This is for kids, though, so it is done through ballet. Hammer and Sickle-clad men assault helpless women in a prison - until they die and are wisked away to a giant LCD screen paradise. We are then led in song where we are implored to “distrust the crooked Reds” and “await the destruction of this corrupt regime.”
All of this, in its own way, is awesome.
But nothing is as awesome as the two hosts, speaking in alternating Mandarin and English, with their Lawrence Welk-style jokes. From fortune cookie jokes to being scared of the big crashing gong, it is as if these two people have been summoned here from the squarest, pre-ironic corner of the Universe.
“We bring you…LOTUS BLOSSOM!!!” they bellow. And it was as if Ann and I were the only people who thought something strange was going on.
Six hours of slow ballet later (no dragons! no acrobatics! very little drumming!) there was an intermission. And we celebrated the Year of the Cab Ride Home.
Meet James Ensor. They Call Me Dr. Worm. Touch The Puppethead. Etc.
Good to see TMBG again. I’ve seen them many times - but never sitting down. An $8 gig at the Mercury Lounge is a thing of the past, but they still put on a dynamite show. All the nerdy girls were jumping up and down and texting their friends. They did the full Fingertips medly and it was awesome. Also, Spy, one of my favorites. Hats off to these guys.
The thing that kills me about the Oyster Bar is that it is an functional anachronism. Rows of jam packed luncheon counters, a goodly percentage of the patrons not tourists, or lovesick nostalgic New Yorkers - rather EATERS. And eaters of the weird, slobbery peasant food of yesteryear.
For those of you who feel overwhelmed and have never actually gone inside: don’t let the prices on the posted menu stickershock you away. Go in and order the chowder or the oyster stew or the oyster pan roast (which is basically the oyster stew over whitebread - it is fantastic.) That plus the free rolls is more than enough for lunch. Maybe get one or two oysters a la carte for kicks. Just pick ‘em at random - I always do. I usually go with places I’ve actually been to. Though I’ve heard that the further north up the east coast you go the “brinier” they are. Similarly, west coast oysters are supposed to be “creamier” the further up you go. Whatever - they are just a) snotty, slimy vessels for horseradish and vinegar and b) awesome forkfulls of New York history (and the only thing it is socially acceptable to eat while it is still living!)
I thought I knew everything about cookies. I mean - just take a look at me!
But who knew there was a whole type (a whole religion!) of cookie out there. Straight outta Winston-Salem, NC - Moravian cookies.
The 1766 recipe still lives. Learn more about the history of the Moravian Church (the Protestant’s Protestant!) here.
We’ve wanted to hit Sabry’s for over a year. On Steinway, just below Astoria Blvd (right across the street from the Mosque) is an orange restaurant with a big case of fish on ice in the center of the room. Hardly the best use of space, but the hardcore can go in there and select the fish they want to have it grilled or broiled or fried or what-have-you in an Egyptian style. Ann & I went with the Tagines that were pretty frickin’ terrific, as was the shrimp bisque and baba ganouj. Fluffy, buttery pita bread came straight from the oven, the waitstaff was nice, the tea came with fresh mint and cloves and the music was awesome Arab-pop that almost led me to get up and dance. I would recommend not going here when it is crowded - I get the vibe they get easily disorganized; but when mostly empty it is a good bet.
There are a bunch of dead goats and bottles of pills cluttering up the Lever House gallery right now. It is called “School: The Archeology of Lost Desires, Comprehending Infinity, and the Search For Knowledge” care of Mr. Damien Hirst and it is just gross enough to not even be funny.
From now on, when I travel to New Jersey, I travel by SeaStreak. Whereas it’ll take you 90 minutes to get to Long Branch by train (and God knows how long by that cruel, inhuman method of transport - the bus) the SeaStreak will get you there in half-an-hour. And that’s a half hour of visually stunning luxury. Plus - beer! Yes, there is a significant price increase over train or bus, but time is money. Only a fool passes up the Streak!
I’ve never been enough of a fan that I felt the need to genuflect, but I did feel something seeing the original On The Road scroll laid out like a giant Beat Torah at the New York Public Library. Their Kerouac show manages not to beat the dead horse of hero worship - it present Kerouac not as saint or divinator or anything else other than a writer. That was my biggest takeaway: yes, the first full draft of On The Road was written on a huge roll of taped-up typewriter paper in a compressed amount of inspired time — but prior to that, Kerouac did his homework. He took notes, sketched out characters, figured out plot points. Dude was not receiving radio signals from Shiva, he worked at his craft.
On The Road, if I dare say it, is one of those texts that is far cooler as a milestone in culture than the thing itself. Like Duchamp’s urinal, like Easy Rider, like, God help us, Slap Shot (yes, I’m being serious.) But seeing it laid out there — pretty frickin’ cool, I gotta say.
The giant gongs are back! After a three and a half year restoration, the Oceanic wing is back and larger and moved around a little and filled with more stuff and more little information cards and more maps.
For whatever reason, the arts of Oceania (everything from New Zealand to Borneo to Hawaii) have always struck a chord with me. I’ve thought long and hard about why this is and I actually came up with an answer - when I was very young my parents took me to stay at the “Polynesian Resort” at Walt Disney World and, somehow, that aesthetic imprinted on me.
Anyway, this remains my favorite room at the Met. I’m not a scholar so I won’t go into what exactly you’ll see (I’ll leave that to yesterday’s Times) - you should just go see it yourself. In the mean time, I am going to dig up a DVD of La Valee.
I won’t lie - the best thing about this restuarant is the location. It’s fun to be in the West Village as it reminds me of my youth (poor Ann, who must hear me tell the same stories as we walk the same blocks) but a very, very close second place reason to visit Do Hwa is the food. This is high quality Korean served up slightly fancier than the perhaps more authentic Flushing competitors. The dumpling soup and fried oysters were out of sight. The pork ribs were a little greasy, as was the beef tenderloin but, hey, sometimes that’s okay. I noticed that we got a few less of those little plates of appitizers than we do in Flushing, but what we did get was fantastic. We left completely full and didn’t have dessert. Around 4 AM I got up for a shot of Maalox, but I knew that was bound to happen. In all, a place I recommend.
My day gig took me out to LA to meet with the online marketing strategists, publicists and overall media-folk at all the Hollywood studios. When there was time, we took some photos.
Yes, I’m a real cut-up in a business meeting:
From my favorite Flushing Meadows - Corona Park film.
And here’s that guy from ANOTHER movie set in Queens!
ZOMG! Here is the very sound stage where they shot Planet of the Apes. And Star!
Me sizing up with Kurt Russell’s hand.
Me molesting Minnie Mouse. This other dude was just a street performer in bronze paint taking a lunch break.
