Accents Have to Make Sense

I have a love/hate relationship with the TV show 24. I keep giving it another chance, and it keeps letting me down. But hey, this season's in New York! So I've gotta see what that's all about.

But let me just say a word or two about accents as a dramatic choice.

I'm sure most of you have seen Schindler's List. The Nazis speak English with a German accent; the Poles speak English with a Polish accent. I remember when the movie came out, it took me some time getting used to that. I couldn't help but wonder why all of these people were speaking English with accents. But look, I get it: I mean, Spielberg wanted to get asses in seats too. So it's not like he was going to have all of the actors speaking German or Polish. He was already asking a lot of us by making us sit through a black and white movie.

Anyway, after a while, I slipped into the overall atmosphere of the film, and the accents were all a part of it. I got over my initial hangup and went with it.

In other movies or TV shows, there are characters for whom English isn't a first language. Let's take the current season of 24, a whole two episodes in. The president of an unnamed Islamic republic speaks to the US president in his accented English. But then when the foreign president speaks to his chief of staff, in this case his brother, they still speak English. I would think it might be a lot easier and, dare I say, more realistic if they spoke in their native tongue to each other.

But okay, it's TV. And let's face it: the typical viewer of 24 is lazy and meatheaded. So I get why they have the characters speak in accented English to each other. Fine. I can go with that too.

Then there are times that accents are used dramatically and it flies in the face of any sort of logic. This use of accents by writers or producers or directors or whomever makes this choice is stupid and dishonest.

Remember Die Hard? I think Die Hard is a total blast. Alan Rickman's performance of Hans Gruber as the German baddie is just terrific. Alan speaks the entire movie in a German accent. Except for one pivotal scene in which he comes face to face with Bruce Willis's John McClane. Pretending to be someone else, Hans Gruber puts on a perfect American accent. If this guy can speak English without an accent, why on earth does he have a German accent normally? It doesn't make sense, and it's a ridiculous flaw in an otherwise totally great movie.

They pulled that shit again in the first two episodes of 24. There's a bad guy speaking with a Russian accent throughout most of the first couple of hours. Then he meets up with a friend in Queens. (Queens!) And suddenly he's speaking in an American accent (with a hint of Queens even). But when he reveals himself to his "friends" as the baddie he really is, he goes back to the Russian accent. If he can speak perfectly fine English, why the fuck wouldn't he always speak perfectly fine English? It doesn't make any fucking sense! And it's stupid.

Dear Hollywood Accents Committee,
Stop being stupid.
Love,
Dan

A Peruvian Chicken Party. You Heard Me: A Peruvian Chicken Party

The missus and I had the pleasure of attending a Peruvian Chicken Party this weekend.


It's not a chicken party, of course, without chickens. So the woman hosting this party purchased 100 chickens in Queens (Queens!) for the party. A really good dent was already put into the total number of chicken parts, by the time I snagged this photo of the fridge.


B&E readers, the missus and I live in Queens (Queens!). It's the most diverse borough in the most diverse city in the world. Still, we have a relatively homogeneous life. So when we had the chance to attend a party thrown by Peruvians, we were all for it. Our friend's babysitter is trying to bring her daughter here from Peru, so she was having a fundraiser.

She made a traditional Peruvian chicken dinner and sold that plate of awesomeness for $10. It was, of course, outstanding. As guests arrived, she deep-fried the chicken and served it with potatoes and salad. Yum (or however it is you say "Yum!" in Spanish)!


It was largely but not solely about the food. We had very little cultural frame of reference for this party. We speak no Spanish. We don't often hang out with Peruvians. But the hosts and other guests really did everything they could to make us confused gringos feel welcome. You know, it was a party.

The music was blasting. The dancing was dancetastic. A young Peruvian dude hit on the missus.

Yes. Fun. And I hope the woman raised a boatload of Peruvian chicken money so that she can be reunited with her daughter soon.

Hey! That dude hit on the missus!

There's a Lot of Queens to Love

Kanye, Serena, and Representative Joe Wilson all behaved like Dickheads recently, and I went for a long walk in Queens.

It's a great borough. My buddy and I weaved through Western Queens (Sunnyside, Long Island City, Astoria) for what turned out to be about eight miles. Destinations included Court Square Diner (because we needed some diner brunch), Socrates Sculpture Park, Astoria Park, and back home.

In between and after those destinations we just wandered. We wandered by the Keyspan power plant with its giant smoke stacks; we wandered by a curious block of houses that looked like a cross between big homes in Chicago and those odd houses up small hills from the sidewalk in, say, Santa Cruz, California; we wandered through no man's lands, some of which were poor and shitty and others which looked poor and shitty but featured expensive cars on the street; we wandered by the Queensbridge housing project, birthplace of Nas; we wandered along the East River with its views of Roosevelt Island and the Upper East Side; we wandered through Astoria Furniture Mart; we wandered by community garden plots; we wandered through the hipster part of Astoria and down Steinway Street... Oh, we wandered, B&E readers. You bet your sweet bippy we wandered.

Queens is a fine borough for living. Yes, indeed. So stop overselling me, Brooklynites. I live in Queens.

Oh, and look! Getting beaten by your husband is a pre-existing condition! Yeah, so health care status quo sounds like a pretty fucking good idea! The Republicans are the party of torture and wife-beating! Way to go!

And a very happy fucking Monday to you.

Where'd All the Hotties Come From?

Yesterday, the AC at my office blew out, so today I worked from home. The AC was fixed by 9:30 AM. I didn't see that coming.

But because I was working from home, I did what people who work from home are rumored to do: I worked from Starbucks for a little while.

Yes, Sunnyside has a Starbucks, and for what might be the first time ever, I chose it over the Grind, which continues its relatively hapless ways (under new management). Last time I went into the Grind (maybe two weeks ago), they didn't have AC, and I was hot.

I took no chances today. And Starbucks, that predictably well-run bastard, was cold. But really, that's not my point.

A few short years ago, when I rejoined the throngs of the Sunnyside commuters after a spate of freelancing from my sofa, I noticed a distinct uptick in hipsters on the rush-hour subway platform.

Today's Starbucks experience was something different. Almost everyone who walked in - male and female - was sorta hot.

Sunnyside is along the MTA's famed #7 train. The #7, as we all know, is the ugly train (except during the US Open). People who live in Sunnyside ride the #7 train, i.e. Sunnysiders ride the ugly train, i.e. Sunnysiders are ugly people.

These Sunnysiders were not ugly. They were hot. Many appeared to be on their way to the beach. Or perhaps they were just scantily clad because it's hotter than the opposite of a well digger's ass.

Today is Tuesday. What were these people doing during prime working hours on a Tuesday strolling through Starbucks in Sunnyside looking so damned hot? Do they think this is Manhattan or something? Manhattan is where the leisure classes go to look good while strolling around while the rest of us work.

I tell you what, B&E readers... This experience shook me. It shook me to my core. Time was that I was above average looking in Sunnyside. If these Sunnysiders are any indication, bald schlubbiness doesn't cut it anymore for looking good along the #7 train line.

This isn't change I can believe in.

I Love This Place

A couple of years ago, I got a second-hand story in which a Thai man said that the restaurant SriPraPhai had "the best Thai food outside of Thailand." That, B&E readers, is a freakin' endorsement.

SriPraPhai is truly outstanding, especially if authenticity is what you're looking for in your Thai food experience. It's not so far from where the missus and I live in Queens, and honestly we could stand to go much more often than we do.

I'm meeting some college friends there this weekend, and I needed to give them directions, so I went to the SriPraPhai website to get the exact address. That was when I happened upon the "About Us" portion of the website.

It's a cheap shot (and a little offensive) to mock immigrants for poor English or less-than-stellar writing abilities. So I'm going to (mostly) let that go without comment.

Yes, the grasp on English is tenuous ("Not until a couple of years later when these American companies started their business directly in Thailand bringing the price differentiation closer") and tense usage gets confusing ("It was not until middle of 2003 that she has an opportunity to buy building on both of her sides").

But this biography of Sripraphai Tipmanee does its job well: it makes me want to eat at the restaurant. It's upbeat. It's positive. It constantly discusses its service to Thai people first (authenticity!).

It doesn't even matter that it says "About Us" and discusses only one person. I'd love to know more about the restaurant itself, but I'm just going to need to go back again and again to make my discoveries.

At a Farmer's Market?

I'm a big fan of the Sunnyside Farmer's Market. It's easy to mock because it's all of about a half-dozen stalls along a sidewalk outside one of our beautiful, caged, paved parks.

But I tell you what: the produce is terrific ("These sprouts take like green!"), the fish is fresh ("You caught this yesterday?"), and the offerings are growing ("Long Island has good wines?").

Last year, there was a sometimes meat vendor, who had organic goodness from local animals who were treated nicely until the moment they were slaughtered for the benefit of my belly. When he was there, we'd stock up on the ground beef, and once he had summer sausage, a treat I hadn't had since I was a kid munching on the cheese and sausage gift baskets my dad received from parishioners at Christmas time. (I much preferred those baskets to the hams.) The meat vendor hasn't been in attendance yet this year, and I hope he's not giving the Sunnyside Farmer's Market a miss. That'd really be too bad.

Last week, though, I was pleased to see a dairy vendor - mostly cheeses, cured meats, and some baked goods. The smoked cheddar is delicious. I also sampled and purchased some hot meat sticks (which aren't nearly as dirty as they sound). They're delicious. Think Slim Jim, only better.

When I got home and finally bothered to look at the ingredients as I gnawed away on my hot meat stick, I discovered that it had corn syrup, mono-sodium glutamate (that's MSG, by the way), and a couple of nitrites.

Now, I know there's no law forbidding local farmers (even the ones who participate in farmer's markets) from using crappy ingredients, but it sure does seem to go against the spirit of a farmer's market. Yes, yes, I know that the point is to support local farmers more than it is to eat organically, but still, I'm especially disappointed that the hot meat sticks have corn syrup and MSG. (I hear it's good to avoid nitrites, but hell if I know why.)

Oh, Farmer, you looked so innocent and Amish with your no-mustachioed-bearded face and brimmed hat.

Don't get me wrong: I'll finish the package. They're delicious hot meat sticks, after all. But I won't buy them again. I can get food that kills me at any old market. I think I'll stick to the unprocessed foods at the Farmer's Market from now on.

And I'll stop trusting people who look Amish.

What Part of "Queens" Don't You Understand, Senator?

Gay Marriage Week continues here on B&E!

I was one of many who contacted his state senator to drum up support for the same sex marriage bill the New York Senate will be voting on soon. My state senator is Senator George Onorato, and this was his reply:

Thank you for your recent email expressing your support for same sex marriage. As you may be aware, although I have met with a number of marriage equality advocates in Albany as well as the district, I am not in support of the same sex marriage bill that has been proposed. Throughout my career in the Senate, I have supported many initiatives of importance to the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender community, including the Sexual Orientation Non-Discrimination Act (SONDA) and New York's hate crimes law. I am also in favor of the Dignity for All Students Act and the Gender Expression Non-Discrimination Act (GENDA). In addition, I have secured fudning for groups in my district serving the LGBT community and providing assistance for people with HIV and AIDS. I sincerely respect your views, and I appreciate the time you took to express your opinion on this issue. Thank you agian for contacting me.

Not good enough, Senator Onorato.

You understand this is Queens, right? You're going to deny equality to the queens of Queens? Shame on you, Senator.

Those other things are fine, but they're off topic. I contacted you about same sex marriage, Senator, not SONDA or GENDA or any of your other activities that are friendly to the LGBT, etc. community.

And you never even say why it is you don't support the bill. Explain your position, for crying out loud, if it's your goddamned position. Don't change the subject as if to say, "But don't hate me; some of my best friends are gay!"

Let's say for a minute that will "agree to disagree" on this issue, Senator Onorato. What's with the typos in your reply? They're completely unacceptable. Since the missus got the same exact email from you, it's obviously an auto-reply. Proofread your correspondence, for crying out loud. Really? "Fudning"? "Agian"? Get it together, Senator!

Look, maybe some intern is taking care of this piddly shit for you. I really hope this isn't indicative of our borough's public education efforts.

You're on the wrong side of history, Senator. You're on the wrong side of equality. You're on the wrong side of spelling.

I expect better from a Democrat who represents a district, which leans so far to the left, we sometimes don't even have a Republican candidate on the ballot.

Maybe Queens needs a queen in the State Senate.

That Hump is a Burger

It's Wednesday, or Hump Day as the kids like to call it, which can only mean one thing, B&E readers! It's Burger Day!

(That's right, it's the only thing Wednesday can mean.)

My Wednesday is thus far meatless, but my media is carnivorous as ever. I'm not talking about the "red meat" of attacking one's political opponents, although that's surely happening somewhere, too. No, indeed, I'm talking about actual red meat in the media.

First of all, this fine feature in the New York Times, which some of you may have heard of. Click on a burger to see a bit of info about it and hear a little audio review. Donovan's Pub (home of the #2 ranked burger on this list) is just up the road from my apartment in Queens, and I can vouch for that particular burger's tastiness. The missus calls it greasy; I call it juicy. Tomato, tomato. Hm... That comparison doesn't work at all in writing.

Looks like our President also appreciates a burger, and when he and Vice President Biden had a hankering, they headed over to the strip mall home of Ray's Hell Burger in DC.

If you watch the video, you may catch that President Obama orders his burger medium-well. What the hell is that all about? I grew up in the red meat belt, and you just don't order a burger medium-well. Medium is OK; medium-rare is better. If the beef's really good, take it rare. It's gotta be at least a little pink. This is one time when pink doesn't equal gay.

(Speaking of gay, shout-out to Maine!)

Anyway, medium-well... That's not beef I can believe in, Mr. President.

With my share of complaints (of course), I'm much more in sync with the views and positions of this President over the last one, certainly. But this really takes the cake. Medium-well? Oh, Mr. President, how could you?

You might as well order a hockey puck on a roll and call yourself Canadian.

Things Ain't So Bad at Bailout Ballpark

First of all, I was very relieved to discover that yes, one can walk up to the new, smaller stadium on a beautiful day and get a ticket for that day's game. And we got tickets for only $15 a pop. Granted, it was just a game against the Washington Nationals, which is really more a team in AA ball, so it's a series in the lower pricing tier. But still, I find the day-of walk-up to a stadium very satisfying.

Because we didn't know what to expect from the crowds and all, we got out there a little before 11:00 am for a 1:10 pm game time. The 7 train in Queens used to let out at Shea Stadium-Willets Point. Well, the MTA got a little bit pissed off that some of that Citigroup bailout money didn't trickle its way down to them, so they refused to name the stop after the corporate sponsor. I'm as critical of the MTA as anyone, but they have my full support on this one.


If you haven't yet made your first trip to Bailout Ballpark, I recommend getting there early to see the place with limited crowds.

The Jackie Robinson Rotunda is quite nice, and people line up to have their photos taken with the giant 42. (For you non-baseball fans, that's Jackie Robinson's number, which is now retired in all of Major League Baseball. Oh, and by the way, for you non-Civil Rights fans, Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in baseball.) I don't know who these guys are, but they really stood there awkwardly for a while.


There's a giant Mets shop in the rotunda. Alyssa Milano's Touch collection gets a lot of attention from the ladies who've been dragged to the game by their men. The missus resisted the velour Mets sweatpants, nearly snagged a sheen reversible Mets jacket, and instead went for a standard-but-cute orange t-shirt of a non-Alyssa design. She's got good taste, the missus.

Speaking of good taste, the food. Oh, good lord, yes, the food... Our first destination passed the Rotunda was the Taste of New York food court. We immediately shared a pulled pork barbecue sandwich from the Blue Smoke stand.


I also took a couple of pictures of us enjoying the sandwich, but I have an unwritten policy against putting up photos of me and the missus. Oh. I just wrote it. It's now a written policy. It was delicious. The sandwich, not the policy. Swine flu be damned. The missus also got a black & white shake from Shake Shack, and I broke my sugar fast to drink the last third of it. I think perhaps it was made by the loving hand of Jesus Christ himself.

We then made our way to the seats. I'd heard of course that all the seats at Bailout are good seats, and yet for $15 my expectations were pretty low. Still, they weren't bad at all. Except that any fly ball to deep-ish left field floated out of view, we could see the whole field. And even from the upper deck in fair territory out in deep left, I have to say, I didn't feel that far from the action.


OK, so maybe it looks really far in the photo. It's deceptive. I have an old camera.

And in case you don't know which corporate sponsor you should support, the Mets have given you plenty of options!


We still had some time before first pitch, so we decided to explore further and, hey, who knows? If we just happened upon the Taste of New York food court again, maybe, just maybe, we'd get ourselves some Belgian fries. Yes. Delicious.

We also came out to a walkway with this view of the Queens chop shops.


The chop shops were largely hidden from view at Shea, and it's the part of the city that Mayor Bloomberg is really hoping to develop like crazy. What Bailout Ballpark needs is a mall next door! He may even use eminent domain to do it. Hell, I'm sure it'll include some green space, too, but this is Queens, bitches. Junkyards and mechanics keep our economy going, too.

Around halfway through the game, we were ready for another foray into foodville. This time I wandered just beyond the Taste of New York over to the Catch of the Day stand and got us a fried flounder sandwich to split. Good goddamn it was delicious.


This would be my top recommendation for food at Bailout thus far, but having tried only four items in a ballpark full of what seem to be amazing options hardly makes for a well-informed rec.

And there are definitely still some kinks to work out with the service at the Catch of the Day stand. I had exact change in my hand, and yet I stood in front of the cashier, along with my sandwich, for at least five minutes while I waited for a manager to void the mistake the guy at the register made. During that time, I had a chance to watch the manager, who seemed to be fixing mistakes all over the place, which explains why it took her so long to get to my poor bastard. And no one back there seemed to know where they kept any napkins. It was finally another customer who told me that the napkins are at the "toppings stations" throughout the stadium.

It's early in the season yet. Those things are bound to get figured out. Or not. Who the hell knows. It's a good sandwich, though.

Overall, I have to say, it really was an exceptional first visit to Bailout Ballpark.

Oh, shit! I forgot! The Mets won!

Trouble During the Sabbath

A curious thing happened on the way home from another delicious meal at the missus and my favorite local haunt...

A hefty fellow wearing a yarmulke was seated seemingly comfortably in the middle of a crosswalk on a small residential intersection. It had rained a little, so his ass must've been getting wet.

Nearby, a younger fellow, also in a yarmulke, stood between the man and the random turning vehicle.

Also, a group of about a half dozen concerned women wearing hijabs (and a few children) stood around the man, making casual conversation.

Concerned Woman in Hijab 1: You should get up.

Man on Ass: It's the Sabbath, and I can't make a call, so I guess I'll just hope that a policeman comes along.

Woman in Hijab 2: But you can't just sit here.

The situation was clearly under control, so the missus and I kept walking.

I love New York.

The Secret's Out

Yesterday, NY1 did a little story about how the happiest borough is Queens.

I hope this doesn't mean all those miserable bastards in Manhattan and Brooklyn don't start moving here.

So why are we so happy? Cultural diversity, ethnic food, friendly neighbors, safety, and quality of life.

Or, as we like to say around these parts... Because it's Queens, bitches.

The Grind II: Return of the Grind

That's right, B&E fans! It's a Brand New Grind. It's not dead, after all.

Thanks to "The Family..." (if that is indeed their name), I got word that the Grind had reopened across the street and a few doors off of Queens Boulevard. So I sent out my local spies (thanks to die Feldmaus und die Stadtmaus for recon and photos) to scope out the situation. I followed that up with a visit.

From the outside, it's a little less welcoming, in that there are no windows and just a narrow door on the street. If you didn't know it was there, you might miss it. You can't see the space from the street because you have to enter a small corridor to get to the coffee. But they've painted their name above the door and have added a lighted "open" sign.


It's now in the back of the Casa Romana, one of the local restaurants I've never been interested in trying, although I did hear odd rumors about opera singers and puppets being a central part of the dinner service. And even still I've hesitated to check it out. There are enough oddities in Sunnyside that venturing in just anywhere can be a bit traumatic (remind me to tell you about my experience at Transylvania some time).

While the previous Grind location had very high ceilings and lots of light, the New Grind is dark and cozy. As a place for writing it's actually preferable. Because it's smaller, once people realize it's here, it will be more difficult to find a comfortable place to sit on a weekend day. The ceiling can best be described as upside down meringue peaks with steel beams cutting across them, which is curious.

The music is still too loud, and when I went I forgot to bring my own. The computer stations are still there, too, taking up valuable real estate. There's a flashing, variable colored light above a small bar in the corner that actually changes color to the rhythm of the music, which is Eurotrashtacular.

It tastes like the same coffee, and it's all the same furniture. Although they weren't wireless yet, the barista said that they would have it soon, and it would be free to customers (a distinct improvement to Old Grind, which made you pay for it).

Based on the marshal's sign on the outside of the Old Grind, I'm guessing the ownership has changed hands.


The barista also seemed very much in charge of the joint. He spoke to a solicitor who came in to sell him something. He used "we" language that implied ownership, distinctly different in tone from waiters who use the first person to tell you what's on the menu as means of speaking for the whole restaurant as a team.

He also told me that a buddy of his did the sign above the front door in the middle of the night with spray paint, really hoping to avoid the cops, which is about as awesome as can be.

I'd like to see the Grind succeed, more so now if the barista's the owner, because he's pretty young and seems eager. I even heard him say that he was a teacher for a couple of years. And an older woman who hadn't served me at all thanked me for coming as I was leaving, and I couldn't help but wonder if she was the barista's mom.

It would be really nice if a neighborhood family picked up where the old coffee joint left off and made a real success out of it.

Perhaps a better name for this whole thing would be The Grind - Episode IV: A New Hope.

The Grind - Rest In Peace?

I've been documenting my feelings about The Grind since it opened in March, 2006.

First I hated the name and worried that it would help overly gentrify my neighborhood.

Within months, I was concerned that there were many things they didn't do well, and that they were reaching out to God for help.

And because they didn't do so many things at all well, I feared that the Starbucks opening would put them out of business.

I finally walked into the Starbucks nine months after it opened and offered a comparison to the Grind.

And over the past year-and-a-half or so, I've made a few trips to The Grind, and I wrote about another frustrating visit last September.

What it really came down to, though, was that the Grind had settled into mediocrity. When I'd go on a weekend day to write for a while, as long as I was listening to my own music, it was fine. The coffee was rarely bad and never great, but it was good enough. Service was spotty and sometimes shitty, and some employees were friendlier than others. The sports on the TV were more about the pleasing the owner than the customers. I stopped ordering food there long ago.

One of those previous links got a much-after-the-fact comment from an anonymous reader asking if anyone knew anything about The Grind's closing. Grates were down and it looked cleaned out. Honestly, I still haven't actually wandered by myself yet, although I may do so today. But I've heard a couple of other reports since, some saying it looked closed but not closed closed. Others saying it looked closed closed.

It's possible the owner is taking a much-needed vacation. After all, the place has been running - as far as I know - without a break since it opened in early 2006. And apparently running a coffee shop is one of those things that always sounds like a good idea until you actually do it.

But I certainly can't say that I'd be surprised if the Grind has met its ultimate demise.

As for the "there goes the neighborhood" aspect of the local coffee shop... Well, Sunnyside hasn't gentrified by any sort of leaps and bounds. But there are a couple of somewhat new, nicer restaurants, and there really has been a noticeable influx of non-immigrant white people.

Here's the most telling part, though. I moved to Sunnyside because it was a great neighborhood where I could afford to live on my own. Now, of course, I live with the missus. But if for any reason the missus and I had to give up our rent-stabilized apartment, I don't think we would be able to afford to move to a new apartment in Sunnyside.

Is that the Grind's fault? Of course not. But the Grind's opening was indicative of the part of gentrification that worried me most. Perhaps now that it's closed (you know, if it's closed closed), the cost of living in Sunnyside will go back to its early aughts prices.

Suuuuuuure...

Voting Day in Queens

So the missus and I got up, and before we did anything else (yes, even you, coffee), we went to vote. We live across the street from our polling place, and we got there a couple of minutes before 6:00am.

There was a line! A long line! Around-the-block long! It was like Best Buy on Black Friday! A ticket booth for a Van Halen concert! Toilet paper handouts in the Soviet Union!

Usually when I vote in my precinct, the old ladies (always old and always ladies) complain about the small turnout. Today, my favorite poll worker was clearly getting panicked by the long lines and kept peeking into the curtain to make sure everyone was getting along OK in the machines. Well, Old Lady, that's probably not protocol.

Today also featured the Oldest Lady I've Ever Seen in Person. She was the Republican representative. There just aren't many Republicans in Queens, so she's probably the youngest volunteer they could find to offer balance at the polls. But man, the Oldest Lady I've Ever Seen in Person was very old. Her penmanship, however (she was the one writing voter names on official voting cards), was stellar. Not like the $2 check I once got from my Great Aunt Ruth, with her very cute, very shaky handwriting.

Even with the long lines, voters looked happy. Everyone seemed pleased to see the turnout, and voters in line smiled at me because I was probably smiling without even realizing it.

Why was I smiling? I just voted for a black dude for president! A black dude! President!

September in Queens Can Mean Only One Thing...

Cows!

And just one day shy of the anniversary of the last cow spotted on the loose in Queens.

Apparently, Queens is even more rural than those of us who live there realize.

It Actually Got Off to a Good Start

I’ve complained on numerous occasions about our local Sunnyside coffee haunt, The Grind. It had been a while since I gave it a chance to redeem itself, so when I needed to clear out of our apartment for a few hours over the weekend, I parked myself.

And it didn’t give me much to kvetch about. At first. The coffee was good (not great), and I got served with efficiency and a smile. These two things have been a problem in the past.

The floor disaster from last year, with the scuffed up polyurethane, has been covered by tile that actually doesn’t look so bad, other than a few cracks here and there.

It was also a pleasure to see that the flat-screen TV wasn’t playing sports (although I guess I wouldn’t have objected to the Mets game, truth be told), and shockingly and pleasantly, there wasn’t any music playing. A number of people were clacking away on their laptops, but other than that and the occasional milk frothing, it was quiet.

Then someone must’ve noticed just how pleasant it was in there because a dude speaking very loudly on his cell phone came over to the mixing board and cranked up the moody electronica. And with it, came the much louder discussions at the various tables.

This sums up my continued experiences of The Grind. They just can’t let well enough alone. They can’t just sell coffee well. They have to try fondue. It can’t just be a neighborhood hangout. It’s gotta have live Christian music or Thursday night open-mic comedy.

One other thing that I don’t think I can blame on The Grind... Where’d all these skinny white people with laptops come from?

Remember the Mets? Remember Shea!

I've become obsessed with this election with day-to-day feelings ranging from "it's all going to work out for the best" to "I'm never overestimating my fellow citizens again; hell, I won't even estimate them." My addiction to polls, political coverage, and left-leaning websites is not good for my blood pressure.

So what better respite from the non-stop, unhealthy, and tabloidy election season than the New York Metropolitan Baseball Club?

Thanks to the election I've been writing about my Mets a lot less often lately, but I've still been following along, watching games when they appear on my limited TV channels and heading out to Shea when I don't forget that I've got a ticket.

I've just returned from what could turn out to be my final game at Shea Stadium, since it's being torn down at the end of the season. (There's a slight possibility, if the Mets make the playoffs, that I'll win the opportunity to purchase post-season tickets.) The Mets won a wild one, 13-10.

Shea is an industrial dump of a stadium, which is part of why I've always liked it. It's a terrible place to watch baseball. The Plebeian seats are particularly far from the action, because Shea wasn't created for baseball specifically. The New York Jets played there, as did the Beatles. So in terms of watching the game, the new stadium should be an improvement.

Still, I've got a warm spot in my heart for Shea. I've seen some great games there over the years, and it's been a big part of my life in New York, especially since 2000, when I moved to Queens.

And it's the Queens charm of Shea that I'll miss. The Home Run Apple popping out of that magic hat is dented, cheap-looking, and cheesy as hell. It's also a highlight for its lameness. I'd have been exceptionally disappointed if the Mets hadn't hit a home run at last night's game, and thank goodness David Wright delivered the goods.

I'm not alone in my fondness for the Home Run Apple. The Save The Apple campaign failed and, as announced by the Daily News, there will be a newfangled, fancypants Home Run Apple as part of our newfangled, fancypants stadium.

It's too bad, really. A touch of the old to go with the new would've really added some non-corporate, non-Citibank, genuine Queens mojo to the new stadium.

I'm going to miss that Shea Stadium.

A Tennis Interlude

We interrupt the politically-dominated B&E coverage for a report on Preppies in Queens, or as some like to call it, the U.S. Open Tennis Championship.

Early in the week, I knew the tournament had started, for I came face-to-face with that elusive pairing one just doesn't see on the #7 train at any other time of year: the rich WASP.

This couple stereotypified everything about tennis-loving prepsters. The man was head-to-toe in Polo (except maybe his top-siders), and to hide his clear discomfort among the Plebeians, the kept his face buried in The Wall Street Journal. The woman wore perfectly-pressed white pants and a white sweater-set. But her real kicker was the pink-with-white-stripes sweater that she had tied around her neck. Really, I thought that was such a stereotype that the preppies stopped doing it years ago. She plugged away on her Blackberry, looking up nervously at every stop along the way. Once she was finished with her Blackberrying, she flipped through a high-end catalog.

If my balls were only a little bigger, I'd have whipped out my camera and taken a photo of this couple. It was difficult to believe they were real.

Still, as I've explained before, the missus and I do enjoy good tennis. So as we did last year, we sacrificed our sleep on one weekend morning and got in line for day-of grounds admission passes. The missus knows just where to go and isn't afraid to run, so I took her stuff and let her go into the short "no bags" line to save us seats.

This year, a twelve-year-old boy out-ran her and we had to settle for second-row seats in the grandstand. Still. A perfectly swell place to see tennis. Too bad about the family around us.

They were polite enough, I guess, but at no point did they actually need all six seats they were saving. And they were talking about the financial markets and their second homes in Greenwich (with tennis courts, of course) and "family budgets" (which I suspect has a different meaning than the missus and my "family budget"). The matriarch spent almost no time watching tennis, but spent a great deal of time eating food from Citarella. I also caught a glimpse of a Spence sweatshirt. Apparently, the biggest argument in the family is whether they'll keep living full-time in NYC once their Greenwich home is finished. Matriarch says yes; Patriarch says no. Gee, I hope their marriage survives.

But the U.S. Open is occasionally about tennis, and our first match of the day was a doozy: Qualifier Gilles Muller squeaked out a victory against 18th-seeded Nicolas Almagro in five sets. Here's Gilles Muller serving...

And here's Almagro serving...

They were both excellent servers.

One boy in this family was vocally rooting for Almagro. He is, after all, the 18th seed in the world and had a two-set lead early on. So in the fifth set, when Muller had a chance to break Almagro to win the match (which he did) and the boy said, "Come on, Muller!" his father said, "I thought you were rooting for Almagro." The boy answered quite honestly, "But now Muller is winning."

That made a lot of sense. And no, I'm not being sarcastic. It helped gel a few things in my mind because that sort of clarity is what we judgmental pricks really look for when we're judging.

You see, it's because we make so much more money than the rest of our fellow citizens that we deserve those tax breaks.

So where was I? Right. Tennis. It was a long day in the heat. We didn't stay for the completion of the next match. There was less fire and less passion in the players. But we got our money's worth with Almagro and Muller.

And the U.S. Open really does make for great people-watching, especially when you want to feel morally superior.

Oil, That Is... Black Gold... Texas Tea

A funny little story has been unfolding over at Talking Points Memo today...

First TPM reported that the day after John McCain reversed his position on offshore drilling, ten executives (and/or family members) at Hess Oil gave $28,500 each to the RNC/John McCain fundraising committee (a.k.a. McCain Victory 2008).

Then, later, TPM reported that the donations are trickling in from down the Hess employee line a bit. A Hess "office manager" and her husband (an Amtrak "track foreman") were on the list of those who gave $28,500 each to the McCain Victory 2008. When reached by phone, the employee insisted that the donation was hers and hers alone (and her husband's), that she loves McCain, and that no one can guess what their "real income" is.

A little while later, TPM found out that the couple rents their home in Flushing (i.e. they don't own their own home).

And then, just because it's awesome, TPM put the median household income for Flushing on view: $58,069. (That last link takes you to a statistics page, not further reporting from TPM.)

Because TPM is tenacious, they then reported that an Amtrak "track foreman" will make a maximum of $119,000, but that the employee in question likely makes between $50,000 and $90,000.

Finally, TPM added this:

Late Update: In fairness, the Rocchios may be better off than initial appearances would suggest. Real estate records show they purchased a North Carolina property in 2006, and in 2007 took out a loan to buy another property in Scottsdale, Arizona.

But for a while there I was enjoying imagining this couple with $1,069 for the rest of their year's expenses.

Nope, John McCain isn't beholden to the oil industry. And nope, there's nothing at all dirty about these donations. Nope. Not at all. Nothing to see here, folks.

You're Making It Even Harder for White People

There's a fantastic Thai restaurant in nearby Woodside that the missus and I like to frequent from time to time. It's called Sripraiphai, and although I may have that spelling just a little bit off, it is seriously good. In fact, a friend says a Thai man in our neighborhood called it the best Thai food outside of Thailand. It's good enough that I'm prepared to believe him.

So when the missus, the big sis, and I had leftovers from our meal at Sripraiphai the other night, you better believe I was psyched as all hell to take that shit for lunch.

When I opened the to-go bag, I noticed one of those foil bags housing one of our leftover items. It said, "Good Chinese Food" on the front.

It's no secret that we white people have a hell of a time distinguishing amongst our Asian brothers and sisters. I feel like I've gotten pretty good at it, having lived in a city with a vibrant and diverse Asian population for quite a few years now, but I'm also not so confident in my abilities that I use a term more specific than "Asian" if ethnicity is relevant to my character description.

The Asian foods, on the other hand, are quite easy to distinguish, at least how they're presented in their American forms. But this "Good Chinese Food" bag really threw me for a loop.

What if my favorite Thai restaurant is actually Chinese? Now that would be inscrutable.

Which Borough is Gayest?

Happy Pride Week to my many LGBTQ readers! OK, are any of you actually lesbian, gay, bi, transgendered, or queer? Don't feel like you have to come out on B&E, dear readers, but know that this is a LGBTQ-friendly zone.

To honor Pride Week, NY1 is doing a series of gay features on gay subjects throughout the gay week. This morning, they did a little ditty (dare I say a musical number) on the lesbian enclave of Park Slope. I appreciate living in a city in which the local news channel doesn't fear the gay features.

Turns out, Brooklyn has officially become the gayest borough in New York City. In fact, Brooklyn is home to the fourth largest gay community in the United States, behind San Francisco, the bulk of Massachusetts, and Topeka, Kansas. (I totally just made that list up, in case you couldn't tell.)

Anyway, Brooklyn's the gay borough. But I take issue with that a little. I mean, maybe there are more gay people in Brooklyn, but it's Queens that's actually named after gay people.

Is It a Perfect Day? It Might Be.

Yesterday, I went to Shea with some colleagues and watched the Mets win yet again. I tell you, it's uncanny. I can no longer remember the Mets losing when I've been at the game. That's how long it's been. My streak has to be something like 16 games dating back three seasons or so.

A few years ago, during the Art Howe Black Hole Years, I had a Sunday ticket plan. All Sunday home games. That August, the Mets didn't win at home. So certainly I saw them lose. But it's been a long time now.

Carlos Delgado smacked two dingers and the Mets won 6-3 over the Braves.

Afterwards, we all went to Sripraphai, "the best Thai food outside of Thailand."* It's conveniently located right along the 7 train, and just a little ways from home. If you're a New York resident, go to this restaurant immediately. It'll knock your socks off. Anything on the menu. Just go and get food.

I guess this is mostly about baseball, so here's a pander to one specific reader who thinks that rubber ducks are really tasty.



*Quote comes via Virgil, who picked up the gem talking to a local Thai immigrant.

Yeah, It's a Problem

We've got this terrific coffeeshop (a.k.a. greasy spoon, diner, etc.) here in Sunnyside called the New Post. There was a murder inside a couple years ago, but other than that minor hiccup, the New Post has reliably (and safely) served me omelets, French toast, tuna melts, and fries for the past eight years.

These coffeeshops, like old school dive bars, are becoming rarer and rarer across New York City as development rips down the old and puts up the new. Plus, a breakfast that costs $3.50 struggles to cover rising rent costs as readily as a brunch that costs $15.00.

Fortunately, it appears that the New Post is still going strong, even with the new Pete's Grill down the block. Pete's has a classic Greek diner feel to it, which probably only means something to people who frequent diners in NYC. The New Post is a counter-and-booth affair. Pete's is fine (and a couple bucks more expensive), but my heart belongs to the New Post.

Except for one thing: the New Post currently employs the Worst Waitress Ever. I know a couple that will actually say they're not ready yet when she comes to take their order and wait for the other waitress. The Worst Waitress Ever is a little dirty (I've seen her wiping her nose with her hand), and she always - ALWAYS - gets something wrong. When ordering you can tell she's not paying attention. She asks you to repeat things, and she still gets it wrong. It's seriously troubling.

This weekend, the New Post had a third waitress in there. She seemed to be in training, or maybe she was just standing around. Two waitresses would really be plenty if not for the Worst Waitress Ever.

The missus whispered to me, "I think it's her daughter!" Sure enough. When the New Girl came to fill up our coffee, I could see a distinct physical resemblance. When she filled up our cups too high to add milk, it was clear: The New Girl's a chip off the old block.

The New Post is a well-oiled machine. The short order cook might be a genius, and everything happening behind the counter and in the kitchen is a picture of efficiency. In fact, the Worst Waitress Ever forgot to bring us our food, and one of the guys behind the counter brought it out for us. Those guys (I think a lot of them are brothers) work their asses off and make the whole experience very pleasant.

Then there's the Worst Waitress Ever. And now her daughter. They scare me.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Some B&E best wishes for a happy St. Patrick's Day, the only holiday for which the entire point seems to be living up to stereotypes.

So get out there and eat some corned beef, potatoes, and cabbage; drink as much Guinness and/or Jamesons as humanly possible; get in a fight; and have lots and lots of children.

My Irish (and Latino and Korean and Romanian and Armenian and and...) neighborhood will be boisterous this evening. I'm going to catch up on some sleep that went curiously missing during my Kansas visit this weekend.

Sunnyside Drugstore Update

Long-time readers will need to tolerate some exposition.

Sunnyside was once home to Bloom's, the finest pub around. It (and much of the block) burned to the ground. For years, the Bloom's half-block was a hole in the ground. Demolition/construction workers cracked the foundation of a neighboring building. Rumors of a cursed block wafted through the neighborhood (or at least on B&E).

The cursed block became a mostly unattractive apartment building with retail on the ground floor. Because we need our drugs here in Sunnyside, the retail space became a CVS.

That CVS has quickly become the shittiest drugstore in the neighborhood, and we've got one Rite Aid that redefined shitty.

I went into CVS today because the missus and I needed some new hair clippers. With two head-shavers in the family, we can burn through the $20 clippers. Anyway, the hair clippers were locked up (fair enough). There were more employees in that store than customers, and it still took a good ten minutes before someone could help me. There was a line clogging up the entire front of the store, and every time someone left, the alarm system went off. They had one employee standing by her register waving people through. And it just sort of feels dirty in there. Dirt-dirty and a little sleazy-dirty both.

In other words, dear B&E readers, that block remains cursed.

And I also really like linking to myself. (Those are just a couple of random selections.)

Look, We Need Our Drugs.

In New York City you're never more than a couple of blocks from a Duane Reade, Rite Aid, Walgreens, Eckerd, CVS, or one of the hundreds (used to be thousands) of locally-owned pharmacies. I guess when you build a city in which everyone lives on top of each other, you get a lot of teethbrushers-per-block. And a lot of chlamydia.

My neighborhood in sunny Sunnyside, Queens has a downright obscene number of drug stores. A new CVS has opened to put two local pharmacies down the block out of business. I like the support the local guy, but to be honest, these pharmacies sort of suck. One is filthy with a rude staff, and one seems to solely carry lottery tickets.

Still, a former Sunnysider brought this Daily News article to my attention. A Rite Aid has opened up directly next door to a Rite Aid on Greenpoint Avenue. No, it's not a continuation of a Rite Aid that outgrew itself. It's a second, complete Rite Aid. Thankfully, there's a third Rite Aid three blocks away.

The newer Rite Aid on the corner was once an Eckerd, which Rite Aid just gobbled up, perhaps to celebrate Thanksgiving, and a spokesperson for Rite Aid said that they performed its "market research," and the Rite-Aid-next-door-to-a-Rite-Aid model "makes sense" for our neighborhood.

The Daily News closes its article with this gem:

John Vogt, president of the Sunnyside Chamber of Commerce, wants to help make Sunnyside a destination for tourists by bringing in retail stores like the Gap as well as eateries to help promote the neighborhood.

"You can never have enough restaurants. We need more boutiques in the area or more bookstores," said Vogt.

Eateries, boutiques, and bookstores sound alright. But the Gap? The Gap will make Sunnyside a destination for tourists? Maybe a Gap would keep Sunnyside shoppers from going to the mall in Elmhurst, but a destination for tourists?

"Hey, honey, let's to go to Paris! They've just opened a Gap!"

Queenie the Cow

Apparently, there was a cow loose in Queens last night.

Look, I know I grew up in Kansas and all, but she's not mine, so stop asking.

Tennis Time

Yes, dear B&E readers, Queens says hello to the world's finest tennis players. In the words of Martin Luther, "What does this mean?"

It means the transformation of our local number 7 train. That's right. It's the Ugly Train (if you're a local), the International Express (if you admire multiculturalism from the outside), the Green-Haired Faggots Who Can't Speak a Word of English (if you're John Rocker).

But if yesterday's first day of the US Open is any indication, it means that the 7 train is 60% more attractive, 180% less international, 90% less green-haired, 10% more faggy, and 230% more English-speaking.

Thankfully, our 7 train is overrun by white preppies for just a few short weeks every year.

Naturally, though, the missus and I likes us some tennis. We're hoping to see the Great Scottish Hope, Andy Murray, win the sucker.

A New York Tornado?

Apparently, a tornado warning has been issued for eastern Brooklyn and southern Queens. Look, National Weather Service, I grew up in Kansas, where tornadoes wipe out entire towns. So you'll forgive me, NY1, if I don't get all scared and panicky. I'm gonna make some coffee.

UPDATE (4:15 P.M.): Apparently a tornado actually touched down in Brooklyn for the first time in 100 years. I'm an asshole. My coffee was good, though.

The Grind vs. Starbucks

As I've mentioned before, my neighborhood coffee joint, the Grind, struggles to be a quality coffee joint. And I've also mentioned that my neighborhood finally got its inevitable Starbucks.

The Starbucks has been open for nine months or so, and I finally went there for the first time a couple weekends ago.

But it's OK, I have an excuse!

For reasons too complicated to explain, I had to be out of my apartment for a couple of hours, and I was running errands right near the Starbucks when it started to rain.

Jesus, they were good. It was almost like I had an "I hate Starbucks" sign on my forehead, and they were determined to change my mind. Three different people made friendly, unforced chit-chat. I got my iced coffee in less than a minute, and when she handed it to me, the cute barista called me "darlin'." The music was just low enough to keep me from being distracted. I'm telling you, even in Sunnyside, Starbucks does it right.

Which is such a disappointment.

Meanwhile, I haven't had much occasion to visit the Grind of late. I have my coffee and breakfast at home before leaving for work, and by the time I get back to the neighborhood, it's too late for coffee.

Some of my friends haven't given up on the Grind, but they report back numerous failings in the service department.

But I noticed some guerrilla marketing in the form of colored chalk scribblings on the sidewalk promoting Thursday night stand-up comedy at the Grind.

From what I can tell, the only thing that's funny is that it still takes the Grind a half hour to get you a coffee and a bagel! Zang! ZzP-POW! Wocka-wocka-wocka!

Actually, that's just sort of sad.

Who in the Hell Represents Me?

I'm sure B&E readers will be surprised to hear that I vote in every election, including off-years and primaries. I can tell you who represents me at every level of government, even though I may not be terribly happy with some of them:

President - George W. Bush
Vice President - Dick Cheney
U.S. Senate - Charles Schumer
U.S. Senate - Hillary Clinton
U.S. House of Representatives - Joseph Crowley
Governor - Eliot Spitzer
State Senate - George Onorato
State Assembly - Catherine Nolan
Mayor - Mike Bloomberg
City Council - Eric Gioia

I have voted either for or against all of these people.

I have never voted for (or against) U.S. Representative Carolyn Maloney. She simply has never been on the ballot at my polling station.

Please allow me to back up one more minute and explain something else...

I'm sure you'll all be surprised to learn that I'm on many political action committee (PAC) email lists. I feel like I may have signed up for one, and the rest have followed.

My zip code here in Queens is divided between two U.S. congressional districts. Most PAC's feel that I live in Representative Maloney's district. A few believe I'm in Representative Crowley's district. I've always assumed that my divided zip code is just too complicated for automatic petition generators to figure out.

Representative Maloney got that one? Whatever. It's not like she's reading it.

Meanwhile, I get occasional mail (like, real mail in the mailbox) from Rep. Crowley, and he keeps in semi-regular email contact as well. And I've voted for him. I've mentioned him at B&E before. He looks like this...


Yesterday I got an email message directly from the office of Carolyn Maloney. That was a first. I received an unrelated email from Joe Crowley. Because I was feeling rather insistent that I'm represented by Joe Crowley, I went to house.gov to confirm it.

Naturally, I didn't know my zip+4 (because who does?), so I then went to the U.S. postal service zip code finder. And I plugged that number into house.gov, and got my answer.

Ready for this? My representative in Congress is Carolyn Maloney. EVEN THOUGH I'VE NEVER VOTED FOR (or against) HER!

So please, dear B&E readers... Allow me to introduce you to my (new?) representative to the United States Congress. Congresswoman Carolyn Maloney!


I don't know how she voted on the flag-burning amendment (see link to Joe Crowley above).

An Artful Response

I was giving MoMA some time to respond to my email before naming them Dickhead of the Week (which I may have to change to Dickhead of the Bi-Month). After all, I sent my note to their general email address, and I figured it would take some time before it got into the appropriate hands.

Still, I was probably two days away from giving them the DotW honor for their lack of response when, of course, they responded.

Dear Mr. [Bald & Effective],

Thank you for your e-mail of May 19, 2007. We appreciate the time you took to share your thoughts with us and thank you for advising and reminding us about the sign atop the MoMA QNS building. Your e-mail has been forwarded to MoMA's Director of Operations as well as other critical senior staff members who are currently making arrangements to have the sign fully dismantled.

The Museum was proud to be open to the public in Long Island City for 2 1/2 years, and truly grateful for the wonderful community support during that time. Although the Museum's exhibition programs have moved back to Manhattan, the MoMA QNS building is still an active study, research, and storage facility. Therefore we remain connected to Long Island City and Sunnyside--indeed all of Queens, and truly want to keep the respect of our Queens neighbors.

We apologize for not taking down the sign sooner, and ask you to please accept our apologies. We always welcome comments from our museum neighbors and visitors so that we may continue to improve service and enhance the quality of the MoMA experience--in BOTH boroughs.

Please feel free to contact me should you have any questions in the future.

Sincerely,
Diana Simpson
Director of Visitor Services
Director of Government and Community Relations
The Museum of Modern Art
11 West 53rd Street
New York, NY 10019

Their return email ended up in my junk mail folder. Since I like art (and they were responding to me) I opted to inform my email accounts that MoMA isn't a bunch of spamming bastards.

And while I'm not so sure I buy their need to be "reminded" about the sign atop their Queens building, Diana Simpson, Director of Visitor Services and Director of Government and Community Relations, crafted (or perhaps her assistant crafted and she sent) a thoughtful response that was appropriately conciliatory in tone. I feel like my needs were addressed, and my anger is somewhat diffused.

Of course, if her response isn't followed-up with action on the sign, I might have to get so angry that I'll... write another email!

Now if they could just do something about their damned $20 ticket prices...

Silence

In response to my correspondence to MoMA and Councilman Eric Gioia, I've received nothing. From MoMA, not even an acknowledgment of receipt. From Councilman Gioia, I got an automated response informing me that it was taking more than four hours to deliver my message but that I needed to take no further action.

Meanwhile, there's still a blight on my neighborhood, about which I'm reminded every time the 7 train makes its turn into Sunnyside.

Gosh, it pisses me off.

An Open Letter to MoMA

As some of you probably know, I've been rather pissed off at the Museum of Modern Art since they so unceremoniously came and went from my Queens neighborhood. Then they raised their ticket price to $20 because art should only be enjoyed by those who can afford to enjoy it.

Anyway, their leftover sign has been in its current state (pictured) for many months, and I'm tired of it. (That's part of the A of MoMA on the right. There are better angles than this one, but this will have to serve for the time being.) I wrote this email to MoMA this morning...

Dear MoMA,

Please show some respect for our neighborhood.

As a resident of Sunnyside, I was thrilled that MoMA came for a temporary stay during renovations to its midtown location. As the 7 train approached, the sign on top of the building (you know the one -- with the cubes spelling out MoMA) added some excitement to the arts scene in our fair borough.

But ever since you left Queens to move into your new space in September of 2004, I've been waiting for you to do something about that sign. For a while it was promoting nothing but your leftover storage and office space.

Then it appeared you were finally taking it down. And for what seems like the past year (maybe longer, maybe shorter), the sign has been half-removed.

Do you think we don't care how our neighborhood looks? It's one of the first and most noticeable things you see as the 7 train crosses over the rail yards into Sunnyside. Your lack of respect for our neighborhood, after we welcomed you so warmly for your temporary stay, is truly astounding.

Even if you really don't care about Sunnyside, Long Island City, or Queens in general, I would think that the issues surrounding the sign would be handled by your communications department. Surely someone at MoMA is aware that the half-sign is exceptionally poor use of the MoMA brand. A proud, aesthetic, arts organization is being associated with -- and indeed causing -- urban blight.

Please do something about your sign. We're not art snobs obsessed with beautification but, for crying out loud, we don't need you making our neighborhood uglier.

I've copied this email to my City Councilman Eric Gioia in the hopes that the City of New York will encourage you to do something about the mess you left behind in Queens.

My mother taught me to clean up after myself. It's not too much to expect the same from (to quote your mission statement) "the foremost museum of modern art in the world."

Thank you,
Dan
Sunnyside, Queens

Don't Forget to Vote

vote
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Look, I know it's just a stinkin' primary election today, but voting is a good time. And during a primary voting day, you don't even have to wait in any lines.

I love voting in Queens. There are fun language barriers and some of the oldest people I've ever seen. It's not efficient, but it is great. I got back an hour ago and I was the 21st person in my district to vote. How's that for making my vote count?

Primaries are fun, too, because you can actually vote for candidates who share a majority of your values. In the general election, I'll vote for Hillary over whomever the Republican candidate is. But today, I was able to vote for Tasini, who attempted to pull a Ned Lamont here in New York, but couldn't quite get momentum going for his campaign. Still, Tasini's an anti-war candidate hitting Hillary from the left. I love hitting the Democratic Party from the left.

In the Attorney General race, I went with Sean Patrick Maloney. Mark Green is fine, and Andrew Cuomo probably is, too, and Maloney has no real chance of winning. He's just a bit too unknown. But it's a primary! And Maloney has fire, chutzpah, cohones. Progressive, well-spoken, and passionate. I like Maloney. He gets my primary vote.

For governor, I went with the predictable choice: Eliot Spitzer. Apologies to my friend's boyfriend for not voting for his life-long buddy, Tom Suozzi. I don't dislike Suozzi. But finally, I went with Spitzer for a reason that's very important here at B&E...

He's got less hair. And anyone who can prosecute the shit out of Wall Street the way Spitzer has is clearly effective.

There Goes the Neighborhood For Real This Time?

starbucks
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Rumor has it that Sunnyside is getting a Starbucks. We held out for more than a decade longer than the rest of New York, but 2006 marks the end of the silent battle. I think that Starbucks waits until a local non-chain coffee place opens in a neighborhood and then figures that their time has come. The local place has, after all, already taken the risky first step of testing the waters.

That place in our divine neighborhood is, of course, The Grind, which I simultaneously support and bad-mouth. I really do want it to succeed. The Starbucks will be opening about eight blocks from The Grind, so I suspect it won't have too much direct effect on its business.

But there's still that matter of the hole in the ground. You know, the cursed block that was once the finest pub around, then a giant fire, then the cause of cracked foundations, and now a hole that's slowly filling up. I fully expect whatever retail space is being created to become a Starbucks. And that's the Starbucks that will kill The Grind.

The Grind makes good coffee, but most of the other problems persist. I don't understand why some things take so damned long. The music is still too loud. The food just isn't terribly good. Why (oh, why) do they insist on serving fondue? I fear the newfound competition in the neighborhood will cause The Grind's infinite crappiness to be temporary. Yet, in theory, I would rather support a locally-owned and operated coffee place than a Seattle-based chain.

But Starbucks, in its cookie-cutter franchising, has mastered the formula of coffee service. The food items are good. The lighting is pleasant. The music is in the background. Most importantly, you order and the coffee/brownie/etc. is in your hand almost immediately. Even when a half-dozen people are waiting for complicated half-caf-half-decaf-soy-chai-lattes, they're not waiting long. At least not as long as I've waited for a simple damned iced coffee at The Grind.

The Grind better work out its kinks fast. If Starbucks is moving in they don't have much time. I'll still go to The Grind over Starbucks. But I will be alone.

Unless, of course, this is all part of a nefarious plan. Virgil thinks, perhaps, that Starbucks opened The Grind. Open a crappy coffee place, you see, so that when the efficient chain moves in, people are already fed up and primed. No one complains about homogeny in an otherwise diverse neighborhood. They just go in and get their frappuccino like the good American consumers that they are.

Hey, what's good for General Bullmoose is good for the U.S.A.

Shame On... The 99-Cent Store

99-cent store
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Anyone who lives in New York knows that the City, during times of crisis, really comes together in a big, bad way. The outpouring of goodwill after 9/11, for example, was so great that Rudolph Giuliani received cheers at Shea Stadium, even though he's a vocal Yankees fan. Now that's goodwill.

So it was, too, during the blackout of 2003. Restaurants were giving away free water and doing outdoor barbecues to feed the neighbors (the food would just go bad anyway). There was a real sense of camaraderie.

As I wrote yesterday (before the cable modem died), we had ourselves a spotty blackout yesterday in Queens, one that continues to a lesser degree today. To supplement our two outlets, the missus and I went to the 99-Cent Store to get some candles.

The 99-Cent Store was prepared. Candles and water were both located right next to the entry. Candles were $1.65 a pop. $1.65. In a 99-cent store. Everything in the store, by name and definition, should cost 99-cents or less. During the blackout, candles were $1.65.

Shame on you, 99-Cent Store. Shame on you for preying upon desperate people. Shame on you for shunning the neighborhood spirit. Shame on you for bilking your loyal consumers.

Shame on... The 99-Cent Store.

Report From Queens

blackout
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

A few days of brutal heat, followed by a powerful storm, and a baffled Sunnyside wakes to the spottiest blackout ever. The corners of 42nd and 44th Streets at Queens Boulevard have no working stop lights, adding to the death potential of Death's Own Boulevard. Respite can be found, however, at 41st and 43rd Streets and the Boulevard, where lights guide cars and pedestrians in perfect harmony. The fluorescents are on at the Worst Post Office Ever, but the automated stamp machines are down. The 99-Cent store features three windows of 99-Cent neon signage, but only the middle window burns bright. Some retail establishments are open and have the AC on full blast. Others are closed completely and attempting to rent generators. In this intrepid reporter's own apartment, two conveniently-placed outlets provide the only power, in spite of the fact that they are on different circuits: the refrigerator continues to provide protection to perishables, and an overworked surge protector by the bed keeps the cable modem, wireless router, fan, and computer functioning. So random is the power structure in our fair borough that Queens residents everywhere scratch their heads and mutter, "Mmmmrrr?"

Awesome Music in Praise of God!

grindint
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I want so badly for my local coffee joint to be good. And it's coming up just a bit short.

I've complained about the name before -- The Grind. It's a dumb name. Even dumber with the tagline, We Put the Bump and Grind in Your Coffee. You see, for an extra fifty cents, they'll put a "bump" (i.e. a shot of espresso) in your drink. Even if you like that idea, the name is dumb.

There were other red flags from the beginning. Before they opened, their sign read, "Expresso and Ambiance." Upon opening, I worried that they were trying to do too much too soon -- coffee, fondue, and some kind of pseudo fancy martini thing in the evenings.

While I've had bad luck with the sandwiches, it's hard to screw up a New York bagel. The service for anything other than coffee tends to be slow. New York establishments are particularly good at speedy service, so when you hit a slow one locally, man, you notice.

The vibe needs some work, too. The music is way too loud and crappy -- sometimes classic rock, but mostly Z-100, which is really about as bad as it comes here in NYC. There are a couple of big screen TV's. The first few times I was in there, they were playing classic comedies with the sound down -- "I Love Lucy," the Marx Brothers, the Three Stooges. Now it's all sports. I love my sports (particularly baseball and the World Cup -- oh, Zidane!), but ESPN makes the Grind feel like a bar.

Prime window seating is taken up by a row of computers, giving that section the feel of an internet cafe, complete with teenagers gaming. Meanwhile, there's no wireless for those of us in need of a change of location from our regular workplaces. (And, naturally, if I've forgotten my headphones, I'm not going to be getting any work done, anyway.)

I'm hopeful that they've finally gotten the temperature issues under control (a new AC unit!), but it's always a bit hot in there. I don't think they factored in the direct sunlight, the kitchen activity, and the plethora of hot plates keeping the coffee warm.

And speaking of hot plates, occasionally, you get a cup of coffee that's been sitting on the hot plate too long. I don't know why they didn't go for the vacuum-storage solution most coffee places have as standard these days. Between burning the coffee from the base and the oxygen going in the pour spout, you can, from time-to-time, get a cup of coffee that's a little assy.

Mostly, though, the coffee's good, and the space is comfortable. The staff and owners are nice. Because they're trying so hard, I'm having a hard time figuring out the best way to register my complaints without insulting anyone.

They've also done a little experimenting with live music. Mostly jazz in the evenings. Because they've been talking up the gross-sounding martinis, I don't have the inclination to check out the scene in the evenings.

This Friday, the Grind reaches to a new high: the Almighty. Several self-printed signs are up promoting a Christian rock band. "Awesome music in Praise of God!"

So how good will my coffee taste if it's been blessed by the zealots?

"We've put a big bump in your grind this morning -- the bump of Jesus Christ, who died on the cross at Golgotha, the place of the skull, so that you may enjoy your cup of joe with the peace that passeth understanding with the assurance of eternal life!"

Now that's a good fucking cup of coffee...

Sunnyside's Ragiest

Fellow 'hoodies already know that Sunnyside's post office is the worst place on earth. On top of being a picture of inefficiency, the anger emanating from employees and customers alike bubbles near explosiveness. Whenever there's a "gone postal" incident in the US, people on the news express their shock at how events have unfolded. Well, I'm shocked that there hasn't yet been some type of postal bloodbath at our local branch.

A typical three hours in line at Sunnyside's post office might result in the following exchange, which actually happened:

WOMAN IN LINE: Give me the fucking package back. I'll tape it myself. Fuck!
POSTAL WORKER: Fuck you!
WOMAN IN LINE: Fuck you!
POSTAL WORKER: Fuck you FUCK YOU FUCKYOUFUCKYOU!
WOMAN IN LINE (overlapping): FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU!!

In the context of our current national immigration debate, perhaps I should point out that the postal worker was a Korean immigrant, and the Woman in Line was a Latino immigrant, so the exchange happened in thick accents, which made it all the more compelling. Or felonious, depending on your feelings about immigration.

When (not if) the shooting happens at the Sunnyside post office, I want NY1 to interview me, so that there's someone to say, "Yeah, this has been brewing for years. Frankly, I'm surprised the body count wasn't higher. Or sooner."

And yes, I'm writing this because I'm trying to put off a necessary visit. Goddammit.

The Hipster Grind

grindext
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

On Friday evening, I met a friend in laughably-hip Williamsburg, Brooklyn. (Before I continue my assault on Williamsburg and Williamsburgers, let me add a caveat for those who've lived there for years. They are, obviously, the exceptions or, dare I say as the marketers do, the "key influencers." As for the followers...) Almost everyone in Billyburg looks like an independent filmmaker, and yet I think perhaps they're all too concerned with cultivating their image to spend time writing, directing, and/or producing films.

On my way to Williamsburg, where I feel like telling the inhabitants that they don't really live in Brooklyn, I noticed balloons swinging in the breeze, marking the opening of The Grind, Sunnyside's first coffee-based cafe. I'm not much of a drinker, which can pose a problem in an Irish neighborhood, so I embrace a place I can linger with my caffeinated drug of choice, even though I think The Grind is a dumb name (not as dumb a name, however, as their specialty drink - The Bump and Grind - a cup of coffee with an added shot of espresso; it sounds good, but I will never utter the words "bump and grind" in a coffee context).

grindint
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Since moving to the neighborhood six years ago, I've lamented Sunnyside's lack of "the finer things." But it's a trade-off I've been willing to live with to keep our 'hood under the radar. I'll travel for French food, the annual massage, and attractive companions. We've always had good coffee beans in the neighborhood (the organic java at the Middle Eastern Baruir's is spectacular), but haven't had a place to linger and enjoy that coffee, beyond the confines of my sofa. So while I welcome The Grind and its fairly dumb name, I hold onto hope that Sunnyside won't become Williamsburg.

I was pleased to see a schlubby old dude eating a waffle at The Grind on Saturday morning. I don't want to drink coffee where a schlubby old dude doesn't feel comfortable. One thing I've always loved about Sunnyside is its diversity and the cheap cuisine that comes with it. It was a relief seeing the place peppered with our local Koreans, Latinos, and Irish, and not just the non-immigrant whiteys.

grindview
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

But really, Sunnyside's transition to Hipsterville will continue to crawl at its current pace, I suspect, because of Queens Boulevard. You can put as many cute boutiques and art galleries as you want on the Boulevard of Death, and it will still be the same enormous thoroughfare that it is today. The elevated 7-train will dominate our landscape, preventing the street from turning into Bedford Avenue. Someday, I suppose, the masses could consider the wasteland of Queens Boulevard part of Sunnyside's charm. I sure do. Without Queens Boulevard, after all, we wouldn't have greasy spoons like the New Post (not to mention the murders that happen inside) or the late-night taco cart, two of Queens' finest institutions.

But I wait to see what happens on our cursed block. My prediction: Now that someone in the neighborhood has determined that we are hip enough to support a sit-and-linger coffee shop, when that new retail space opens up in its prime mid-neighborhood location, a Starbuck's will appear. Hopefully, the curse will doom the mighty Seattle chain and allow The Grind to thrive.

So I Never Did Find That Damned Cable for My Camera

bookshelves
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

The missus and I have been considering moving into a larger apartment, as we've got far too much crap for our current one. The only trouble is that a recent influx of hipsters has made our previously under-the-radar neighborhood desirable to outsiders, causing local rents to jump a tad out of our reach. Our current place, on the other hand, is rent stabilized. So we're doing what we can to make the current place inhabitable.

Sunday and Monday were spent putting together a giant book case. It's not the one pictured, as that one is outside and useless to us, but it's huge and holds a lot of books. Almost floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall.

It also was holding a lot of books when half of it collapsed Sunday night. Good times.

Monday I woke with a migraine in my bald head, which made me ineffective all day, while the missus put books on the repaired bookshelves. We're now certain they will have no problems. (A quick shout-out of thanks to Virgil and Ian for their help in designing and doing the labor outside the skill set of me and the missus.)

This evening, the missus will return home from her job to a new bed frame and drawers, which I put together today.

Our apartment, like life, is a process. And isn't that a fucking deep thought. Shut up.

I'm Just a Country Girl...

On the subway yesterday, I was standing next to a woman who had the look that all people unfamiliar with the New York City subway system have. It's an expression at the intersection of determination, fear, and anger. She was wearing a shitload of makeup, and even more jewelry. Rich suburbanite, I'd guess. She didn't look like a subway rider. I have one of "those faces," so she ended up asking me for directions, beginning with what train she was on.

"W."
"Oh, FUCK! It's not an N?"
"Well, the W goes along the N line through Manhattan, but runs local."
"OK, but will it take me to 34th Street?"
"Yes."
"OK, thank you."

I go back to reading The Nation.

"So this will get me to Penn Station?"
"Well, you'll need to walk one long block to 7th Avenue, but yes."
"I was given, like, twelve different routes to Penn Station. Why don't you New Yorkers just give the best way?"
"Because the best way depends on many factors."

I go back to reading The Nation. A thing about lobbyists.

"And how do I know which way is 7th Avenue when I get out of the subway?"
"You'll see the Empire State Building. Keep it at your back as you walk."
"That's funny. Somebody else told me that."
"That person also gave you sound directions."

I go back to The Nation.

"My company just moved to Long Island City from Downtown because the rent's cheaper. I hate Queens."
"I live in Queens."
"It's just that it takes me an hour and forty minutes to get to work now."
"Oh, well, that sucks."
"This is the first time I've made the trip. I'm just a country girl from New Jersey."