Tuesday, November 28, 2006

The City Bakery, In Search Of The BIG Brownie

If you know me, you know how much I love the show "Sex And The City"...and no I'm not gay. I always have to declare my heterosexuality anytime I declare my love for that show. Why? Well because how many straight men do you know that could give you the ins and outs of Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and of course Samantha's lives? Seriously, if Trivia Pursuit made a SATC edition, I would clean house! Some will find that fact pathetic. Others will find it adorable. I'm just going to own it because it is what it is and that is me - pathetic and adorable. If you are a true loyal SATC fan (yeah, real fans abbreviate and speak in code), then you remember The BIG Brownie episode. You know the one where Carrie runs into Adien's new girlfriend Nina Kats, the girl who works for SNL. Nina gives Carrie "the face". Carrie is devastated by "the face" and is reading into the multiple possible meanings behind "the face". Good girl pal Samantha reassures Carrie the best way she knows how, by buying her chocolate, it's consoling. But not just any chocolate. She takes Carrie out to lunch at The City Bakery and talks her into getting The BIG Brownie. Nothing puts a little happy on a girl's face like chocolate and nothing will wipe the image of the Nina Katz face away like chocolate. In the form of what else, The BIG Brownie. That Samantha...slutty AND smart!

Walking thru Manhattan you will find there is no shortage of great places to eat. From fine to casual dining and anything and everything in-between. As I'm walking down the street the other day, one place comes to mind. One food comes to mind. One Nina Katz face burned into my brain. I know what I need to do. I need to go in search of The BIG Brownie. I must stop in to eat at NY's infamous City Bakery. You'll find this little cafe between Fifth and Sixth Aves. 3 W 18th St to be exact. Among the street construction scaffolding, you'll see the big white banner screaming the name "The City Bakery" and quietly whispering my name. It calls out to me..."Psst, David, over here. Come get a brownie. Carrie likes it, so will you." I succumb to the pressure, turn the corner and find myself where Miss Bradshaw once stood. Although it didn't look like The City Bakery featured in the show, I believe it has been renovated since the taping. Still, it's the home of The BIG Brownie!

Sadly, there were no BIG Brownies to be had that day. Instead they had an assortment of other sinfully good sweet treats just waiting to be devoured by sugar hungry New Yorkers. Despite the fact that their Oatmeal Raisin Cookie was highly raved about and recommended to me, I opted to go for a Chocolate Chip Cookie. It's not your standard chocolate chip cookie. This one you could almost hear yourself getting fatter as you ate it! I think I paid $3.50 for that single cookie, but it was money well spent. You could taste the layers of butter and sugar, which would later lay in my stomach aching. The gooey chunks of chocolate in every bite, mmm. I think I tasted a little love baked right into it as well. When I finished eating, it was Nina who? Yeah chocolate will do that to a girl...and apparently a guy too.

The City Bakery may not be the best place to eat in NY, but it has it's pluses. If it's good enough for my SATC girls, then it's good enough for me. Besides, how can a girl (or guy) go wrong with one of the best selection of baked goods? I think NY Magazine summed it up nicely...

"In a city of insipid (if not downright dangerous) salad bars, City Bakery's is a thing apart: gorgeously eclectic, culinary inspired, effortlessly seasonal. When Mother Nature gives us juicy heirloom tomatoes, savory chef Ilene Rosen gives us delicious tomato sandwiches. She also gives us caramelized French toast and a mildly spiced Mexican tortilla soup, among too many other delectable things to mention. And once you've had your tofu-skin-and-edamame salad, you can reward yourself with a cup of Maury Rubin's signature chocolate, hot or cold. Like its pretzel croissant, the City Bakery is a true original."

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Excuse #1365

Thanksgiving thru my eyes. Let me break it down for you...

Food = Good.
Lots of Food = Very Good.
Mom's Home Cooking = Very, Very Good.
Leftovers awarded to this cooking-challenged bachelor = Priceless.
Me not cooking = Something EVERYONE can be thankful for.

Hope your holiday was equally swell.

I had a similar drawing that said "Eat Me" on it,
but felt it probably wasn't the most appropriate art piece
to decorate one's cube with.

I'm too full to blog. So there will be no new posts until I digest some of this turkey and/or sweat out the gravy.

Side Note: (Are there still starving people in Africa? If so, someone send a turkey leg. I'm too selfish to share my bird remains. Sorry.)

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

If I Did It, This Is How I Would Of Done It, But I Didn't Do It

If there was a "Sick F*ck Of The Year Award", OJ Simpson would win it hands down, with black leather gloves on. Finally, sanity reigns. Decency gets CPR. Integrity staggers to its feet. And the power of the people is reasserted. Today, News Corp announced it would cancel its television interview and book with OJ Simpson. "If I Did It" was replaced with "It Isn't Worth It."

That only happened, of course, after an insurrection took place. A popular uprising in which angry citizens not only voiced their displeasure, but flexed their economic muscles. Viewers reportedly were organizing boycotts of the sponsors of the scheduled television interview, in which Simpson would discuss how he WOULD HAVE committed the murders of his ex-wife Nicole and her friend Ron Goldman IF he had done it. Granted, just about everyone involved believes he did it, so this was simply going to be an interview with someone who got away with murder and was gloating about it for profit. It was about as disgusting a spectacle as had ever been prepared for the public airwaves.

The TV interview was all set for November sweeps. After all, if you're going to try and capitalize on the brutal murders of two innocent people, what better time to do it than sweeps? Here's an idea for sweeps week...how about I field dress OJ and make a nice butterfly filet out of him? People would want to see that, right? It's just good wholesome family entertainment around the old boob-tube. Remember, a family that eats together, stays together. Anyone for steak? Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to actually filet him. But this is how I would do it, but I'm not going to do it. Yeah, we live in a sick world.

Friday, November 17, 2006

If You Want PS3, Then You Better Be Packin' Heat!

Be afraid of a nerd, be very afraid! Unlike normal people, you know the "cool kids", nerds don't fight if their girlfriend is in danger. Nerds don't fight for their girlfriend because nerds don't have girlfriends. Nerds don't date. Nerds are busy at home masterbaiting to Lara Craft. Nerds are camping out at their local Best Buy for 3 days straight to get their boney hands on the highly anticipated new PlayStation 3 gaming consol. By nature, nerds aren't fighters. The majority of nerds aren't hostile creatures. When shoved into a gym locker, they have the tendency not to come out swinging. They will stand there with a sweaty jockstrap on their face in silence. However, say the magic word...PS3...and the maylay begins! Nerd on nerd violence breaks out. Robberies. Shootings. Stabbings. Beatings. You name it. It's all done in the name of the PS3.

In Hartford, Connecticut two armed thugs tried to rob a line of people waiting for a new PS3 to go on sale early this morning - one man was shot when he refused to give up his money. In Sullivan, Indiana a man is in critical condition after being stabbed when he and a friend tried to rob gamers of consoles they waited 36 hours in line to buy. In Fresno, California gamers were arrested after a riot ensued when Wal-Mart opened their doors to PS3 customers. The huge crowd of people trying to rush into the store led to many being trampled in a parking lot. If you actually made it into a store and bought a PS3, you would hear stories like this...

A shopper was surrounded by 5 men and beaten for his new PS3 just minutes after he bought it. And if you made it to your car with your new PS3 in hand, teens would approach you carrying chains and tire irons, demanding your console as you were unloading the box in your trunk. Other incidents around the nation included people getting stabbed over the PS3, store employees being held hostage at gunpoint and drive-by shootings.

Nationwide, short supplies of the PS3 and strong demand led to long lines of buyers, some waiting for days outside stores. Only 100,000 units were available in Japan when the PS3 went on sale there about a week ago. In the States, just 400,000 units. Once the doors opened Friday, they pushed and shoved their way to the shelves to get at the limited supply. The new PS3 is such a hot item that many people bought one just to turn around and make a profit from it, selling it on eBay. The retail price of a PS3 is $600 and the going price for one on eBay is, get this...$9,000! Yes, the price of a Kia car.

If you didn't get a PS3, then congratulations because you are probably free of bodily harm this weekend. Sony says they will have another shipment out before Christmas. This Monday, Nintendo will release their new gaming console, the Wii. It's expected to retail for $250 and hopefully people won't be getting killed over it. Just to be safe, I suggest you strap on your 50 Cent bulletproof vest and slip your glock in your sock. Nerds - go hard or go home.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

An Unhappy Home

Home isn't where my heart is. I hate being home. Not in my parent's house where I grew up, but in my house. My parent's house is what will always be known as "home" to me. No matter how far I go or how long passes before I visit, that is home to me, where I'm always welcomed. The house I bought a few years back as the "fixer-upper", that is my second home. It's where I reside as I write this. The house where I remodeled the kitchen, starting with the ceiling. The house where I remodeled the foyer, starting on my knees. Stripping hardwood floors and making them new again. Sanding, sealing, waxing and buffing. I was bringing the once vacant house back to life. The long days turned into nights and the muscles in my arms and shoulders eventually caved. Although I was growing weary and sore, I refused to cave. My reward - I could see my reflection beginning to appear between the knots in the wood. The knot in the wood led to a lump in my throat. I let out a heavy, happy, heartfelt sigh. Running my hand over each imperfection felt nothing short of exquisite to me. Gazing into that lustrous mirror-like shine was my first taste of the fruits of my labor. A sweet reward. The floors may of been finished, but I was not. Progression. I was truly seeing it. In my house. In my life. The days would turn into weeks and the weeks into months. An entire season had come and gone.

I was taught to measure twice and cut once. But at age 23, this first time home owner learned the hard way, thru trial and error. From one room to the next, I would tear down and build up. Even when I painted, each passing wall brought me a sense of accomplishment and a fresh outlook on my new budding life. It's remarkable what a coat of the right color paint will do for your attitude. It was hard work, but I wasn't going to stop. It had become my mission to own the perfect house. Correction, the perfect home. Warm and inviting. Modern and unique. It had it's own special charm and the hardwood floors would not only show the reflection of those that would walked upon them, but also show the reflection of the man who labored to create them. It would be the house that David built. Well maybe not "built", but redefined. It was a reflection of me. Who I was and where I wanted to be. If home is where the heart is, then my heart was radiating beyond every wall.

A mixture of paint, saw dust and sweat permutated the room when she entered. I had been working for nearly 12 hours that rainy Saturday when she stopped by. Lacquer on my hands, drywall bits scattered on my t-shirt, I didn't look my best. I hadn't shaved and was in need of a shower. It was second nature for me to great her at the door with a hug and kiss. But I was stinky and dirty. She was "prettied up", as always. She didn't have to try. She just was. Pretty. Naturally, by nature. It was one of the many things I loved about her. Before I could explain why I didn't want to give her a proper greeting, as if my pigpen appearance wasn't obvious, she dismissed the grit and grime by wrapping her arms tightly around me with an enthusiastic..."This looks amazing! I love you for doing all of this." She was pleased. And I was happy.

"My boots aren't going to nick or scuff the new floor, are they?" she nervously asked.

"No, you're fine. These floors are made for walking. (a dumb joke, the song - These Boots Are Made For Walking) Here, check this out..."

I went to the far end of room, kicked off my shoes and slid in my socks across the freshly polished floor. To her, my simple often child-like heart was one of my most endearing qualities. Although at 23, I knew what I wanted and I was achieving it. My goals were not just marks to shoot for, marks scribbled on some random piece of paper. My goals were plans set forth into action. I was living my dream and inviting her along for the journey. I had become a grown-up, but yet this little kid would pop out of me to play. To slide across the floor in his socks. Like a modern day "Risky Business" movie reenactment. After the 3rd time whooshing past her, she grabbed the front of my t-shirt. A firm handful. She held onto it tightly and pulled me in. "I love you." She said it serious. Like I didn't know. Like I was hearing it for the first time. She emphasized the "you". She wanted me to know that who I am is enough. Over the course of dating her, I had struggled in my head trying to figure out how I could maintain the lifestyle she was accustom to living. I wasn't able to give her all the fancy things she grewup on. She wanted to reinforce the fact that even though she loved the house, it was me she loved most. Just then my dog ran into the room, wiping out on the floor, of course. She quickly scooped up my little buddy and cuddled the furball. Her compassion, that was one of her most endearing qualities.

Today I could provide those fancy things, but it doesn't matter. It's just material possessions. I've learned real value can not be measured in dollars and cents. Real value you have a hard time replacing. Real value is sometimes invaluable and can't be replaced. My dog has since passed. My almost fiancée has since left. They are irreplaceable, but I keep trying. I miss the sound of 4 pattering paws and the click clock of her heals on my hardwood floors. I come home to a quiet house. Not even the hardwood floors squeak. The silence is deafening. It fucking sucks. I'm not bitter. Just awfully sad. I'm starting to despise these floors. I hate being home. And hate is a strong word. I hate being home.

(In case you were wondering, the hardwood floors will soon be for sale...they are going along with the house.)

Wednesday, November 8, 2006

Steeping Up On The Soapbox

Posting about Election Day a day late is like talking about what you are planning to do Saturday night on a Sunday afternoon. It would make you a day late and a dollar short...whatever that's suppose to mean. I just reused the phrase, I didn't write it. Actually I know what it means - it's too little too late. Of course if you are only carrying around a buck in your wallet on a Saturday night, then you have far bigger problems that I can help you tackle at the moment. Anyway, before I get caught up rambling, let me try and make a point here. They say every vote counts and even though the ballots continue to trickle in, I can give you the current standings. The results? A whopping 18 of you think I'm the shiznit! Or rather voted "What isn't to love? I love him!" So for that, I thank you. I feel the love. As I type this, I'm virtually shaking your hand and kissing your baby.

The "I Voted" sticker is free to all voters.
However, I'm sorry to say that reverse jazz hands
are not included with absentee ballots.

I know it's not politically correct to ask someone who they voted for. However, I'm going to offer this info out. Yesterday, I voted for Pedro. My Grandma's best friend Bess (God rest her soul) shouldn't of been allowed to vote. Don't get me wrong, I'm not racist towards old ladies with canes. Nor do I discriminate against anyone who can pull off the Easy Spirits orthopedic shoe look and can eat for half price with a senior discount, because frankly, I'm jealous of that. I say this based on the fact that in the 90s, she casted a vote for Clinton because she thought he was "good looking" and no other reason. I don't know, perhaps I'm a little hard on politicians, but I think they should possess other things besides good looks. Clinton = good looking? Seriously Bess, I know your glasses were thick, but good lord woman.

I also feel those who have no clue who is even running, should not be allowed to vote. If you don't know what a canadate stands for, then how can you stand behind him/her with your vote? Think about it. It's like the blind leading the blind and even a blind, deaf and dumb man can tell you that's no way to run a country. Of course if you want to cast a vote for a canadate because his puffy nose and pasty cheeks turn you on, then who am I to stand in the way of an old woman who carries a big stick?

The point is (and yes believe it or not I have one) that you shouldn't vote just for the sake of voting. Don't do it for the free "I Voted" sticker. Although highly coveted, trying to re-stick your badge of honor after removing it from your fall fleece pullover isn't suggested. Just trust me on that. You are far better off just slapping that puppy on your forehead. And what is with the "I Voted" sticker? Do you want a cookie? Big deal, you voted, so did a billion other people. In the words of Napoleon - "gosh!"

I'm just happy I won't have to see anymore smear campaign ads on TV. No more phone calls from Rudolph Giuliani, Hillary Clinton and Rick Santorum just to name a few. And most importantly, no more obscene text and e-mail messages from Mark Foley! Now if I would of saved my "I Voted" sticker, I would stick it over Foley's mouth so he stops licking his lips at me. Politics are dirty and now I must conclude my soapbox speech because I have that not so fresh feeling.

Sunday, November 5, 2006

Voidance

I'm an avoider. I avoid. It's what I do. I avoid what I can't stomach. What I can't face. Who I don't want to stand face to face with. Somehow the vacancy and emptiness fills me up...or so I try to convince myself that it makes me whole and not weird. I'm not a coward, but I don't care for confrontation. I don't look to fight, but I'll stand to fight if need be. Conflict is not a friend of mine, but it's a part of life that I'm aware I must deal with. I deal with emotional voidance when it comes to my family. If I ignore it, it will go away, eventually. It's that mentality. If I pretend it doesn't exist, it will cease to exist. If I will it not to be, my will will be stronger than it's being. The ugly will disappear if I close my eyes and count to 10. In the dark it will die and in the light, I shall escape.

It's a terrible trait. Perhaps it's the worst part of me. I know I'm made-up of many pieces, but this is one piece of me I loathe. It's my demeanor. It's cold and bare. I'm not welcoming. It's much like the black suit. This is not me. I'm not that guy. But to my Mother, she fails to see anything but this right now. And it's not her fault, it's mine. I won't allow her to see more of me. And for that, I blame myself. Things of me I openly could share with a girlfriend or even a perfect stranger, but with my Mom, I clam up. Why is that? My emotions go into lockdown. I brush it all off. I'm brave and unscathed from anything thrown at me. Or so my hard outer shell likes to proclaim. It's strong and resilient to pain. It's that mask. The protective shield. And I wear it well.

I'm usually cuddly and warm. Open and honest. In touch with my softer side and willing to share. Open to listening. Desiring the closeness and the connection. I'm the guy who goes in for the hug. Not the guy who's spine stiffened and who's body became ridged when she laid her hand on my shoulder. I feel awkward and uncomfortable. Disconnected and distant. Even nauseas and angry. The space is becoming greater and I fear one day I'll be in that dark room where I'll count to 10, wishing things will fade away, and that my wish will actually come true. I'll be alone and it will be too late. This is what I'll be granted. I need to open my eyes now.

Wednesday, November 1, 2006

RunForRuby.wordpress.com

On November 19th, Jessica from SassySuspect.com will running the Philadelphia Marathon. Completing a full 26.2 mile marathon is a goal in itself, but it's not just about crossing the finish line. The goal here is raising money for a little girl nicknamed "Ruby" (Jessica's niece) thru the MAGIC Foundation. Ruby was born with a chronic, life-threatening disorder called panhypopituitarism. If you've never heard of panhypopituitarism, then you aren't alone. Since panhypopituitarism is rare, it is often a struggle to find information about it...and especially to find adequate, informed medical care. That is where the MAGIC Foundation steps in. The MAGIC Foundation has had a dramatic and life-saving impact on Ruby's life. Now, Jessica is asking for your help to continue the ongoing support and care for Ruby and other kids like her from the MAGIC Foundation. To learn more about Ruby, the RunForRuby, panhypopituitarism and of course the MAGIC Foundation, check out www.runforruby.wordpress.com And while you're there, be a love and donate to the cause. If I still haven't convinced you, then take this into consideration...

If a heart warming tale doesn't move you emotionally, then perhaps I can move you visually. Yes, Jess is easy on the eyes. So you can donate a lil cash to help a good cause and in the process watch a cute girl run a marathon! It's a win-win situation all the way around. So you can't lose and neither will Ruby, even if Jess doesn't win the marathon.

Best of luck to you in Philly Jess. May your kind heart fuel your ruby red slippers/running shoes and carry you thru the 26.2 miles. You're a better man than me. I say that because I've never run a marathon and I should be running with you or at least running in this weeks NYC marathon. One of these days I'll do it. Like I told my sister when she ran the LA marathon...just remember, pain is only temporary and there's nothing you can't overcome.