Hooray!

Kayne West is bad as hell.

Kanye famously believes that George W. Bush hates black people.

Thusly, in celebration of the end of the political career of the second of GWB's most thuggish cronies, I send you a white guy in a tractor and a bathrobe doin' Kanye's "Stronger".

Unh!

Saturday Brunch

The Nice Jenkins were in town for gigs at Buskwick's Goodbye Blue Monday and The Ocatgon's CD release party tour which consisted entirely of last night's show and no CDs. Sandwiched between was a day of dinsoaurs and a night of bourbon dancing that spat me out on Saturday's sweaty sidewalks in Chelsea, which happen to be packed with brunch offerings. Deathray and I decided on a joint named Fiddlesticks.

Benedict: 3.5

The eggs were overcooked and the hollandaise was simply there. Big bland potatoes that were required a good deal of ketchup. The saving grace was the bread basket we were brought. A heavy, grainy semi-sweet bread that's baked fresh every day, it was the saving grace of the meal.

Bloody: 2

Whatever. Two drinks included with a dish sounded too good to be true these certainly lived down to that notion. Served in 10 oz. glasses with old celery, the mix was weak and thoughtless with a negligible amount of booze to go along with it. The "2" is because they both deserve a "1".

Service: 4.5

This may be the only time I give this score as long as the brunches I eat are served to me anywhere in New York City. Yes, folks - the 5 boroughs are, in my limited experience, home to the worst servers in the universe, whose open disdain for you and their profession is almost worth 18% sheerly for the audacity with which both are displayed.

However, our server Alisa was both attentive and friendly. Granted, we were her only table, but she wrote "Thanks, Darling" on my check and told me that she liked my wallet and sat down and didn't freak out when Deathray exhibited her dance moves, which call to mind an infant chipmunk mid-seizure.

Why no "5"? Gotta have my dogs in the tub for that shit.

Price: 4.5

$10. Awesome.

Why no "5"? See above. And free.

Remember kids, brunch is as much about who you're with and what you remember from the previous 12 hours as the food. So - I found a great place to sit outside and be near-broke at. And while I think Deathray gets her name from what it's like to try and listen to her over a meal, she does girls everywhere a great service by providing that wonderful signpost they can point to and say, "Well at least I'm not that crazy."

Fiddlesticks
56 Greenwich Avenue
New York, NY 10011
212 463-0516

Let The Good Times Roll

This video was taken right in front of my old subway stop right before a huge rainstorm stopped the show on the first day of summer. Everyone there got very wet, but the band played straight through stopping only when the power was pulled on them.

The name of this band is Cheeseburger, and I would like to nominate their debut self-titled album as one of the greatest of all times. Most songs are conveniently played in the same key with, even more conveniently, the exact same three chords!

Cheeseburger. Awesome.

Right, guy?

Mariachi Mania

We here at The 'Mania try to keep it light with the same gusto that we try to keep it real. The last thing America needs to do when fires up the ol' World Wide Interweb is be confronted by a Wookie.

But fuck this bitch.

Sorry. Let's lighten the mood with a little prayer. I'm sure the pictured would oblige. And just to make sure, let's make sure we all pray this to a Protestant god.

"Good god in heaven I pray today that in your humblest of humbilities your almighty sword of righteousness split this woman's heart with a massive coronary. And Lord, hear my prayer to let her soulless body still be warm in the ground when a hard-working, American Dream-worshiping, contributing-to-the-beautiful-quilt-of-our-society family of Honduran immigrants closes on a mortgage to buy her house with.

"May the children of this family go to the same schools the woman in this picture's children went to. May they play on the same suburban streets and sing the songs their parents taught them in Spanish directly over the grassy hillsides under which this shrew will be interned.

"We ask this in your name, Lord. Amen."

Gosh. That's way better than the pledge of allegiance.

For the Washington Post article in which this picture is featured, click here.

Scary Shit

Keep reading. This is not it.
+























Ever seen a blind person smoke a cigarette? It weirds me way out.

What the fuck kind of sense does that make?

They can't see how cool they look. They can't see people instantly respecting them for their danger.

If scientists and my comic books agree, then these renegade blinds (definitely the preferred nomenclature, dude) must think cigarettes smell REALLY great in their clothes and hair.

Maybe there's a scent contained in cigarettes that your average sighty can't wrap his olfactory around and it's the most blissful thing in the universe.

Perhaps it's a million praying mantises all doing tai chi while humming a three-part harmony of "American Tune" around the bed you awake in next to this girl on top of the Sound of Music mountain still pretty drunk on a Sunday as she whispers, "Do you like brunch?" in your ear:

















Yes, yes. That must be it.

Brunch-ish

So.

About this whole "brunch" thing. As stated, I love me some brunch. I feel there is no finer repast than that which brunch provides. And while lack of flexibility has long been one of my defining characteristics, consistency is not, and one must recognize the difference.

No brunch Saturday. Woke up late, had to run errands.

That led The Kid and me to ride over the bridge (which reopens its dedicated bike lane today) Saturday afternoon which turned into The Kid and me drinking giant beers and meeting these girls and going to dinner and going out dancing and not making it home that evening.

I knew a Sunday brunch was going to be tough all week because I had very concrete plans at 1:00PM.

But I did have a brunch of sorts, so let's let the 'Mania begin:

The 86th St. 4-5-6 Stop
86th st. and Lexington Ave.
New York, NY

The place was pretty crowded when I arrived, but luckily I was alone, so it was pretty easy to find room for myself. The hostess must have been having a smoke or seating someone else as I never saw her. Let me tell you - this place was dirty. It looked like the floors hadn't had a good scrubbing in at least a couple of days!!!

To be honest, the joint seemed a little touristy, too with many obvious ones holding shopping bags and the like. What's funny is that no one really seemed to be eating. Like, no one. Then I think I found the reason why: A saw a rat!!! I saw it scurrying and almost lost my lunch, until I realized that I still hadn't seen the waiter!!!

That was enough for me, so I took the next subway train to a place in The Bronx that I've heard really good things about.

Benedict (0 of 5)

What the fuck is this? This place doesn't serve eggs? It's a good thing I had those two big-sized Sapporros at the last place.

Bloody (0 of 5)

What the fuck is this? This place only serves beer? Didn't I have to deal with this a couple weeks ago? For christ and all the angels, am I going to have to drink a light fucking beer for brunch?!?!? Alcoholics drink beer at this time of day! Brunch is the only meal that allows you to booze and eat midday without worrying those around you that you're alone in your apartment sopping up mouthwash and cooking sherry.

I decided to try one, just this once, telling myself it was a native custom and I remember not to look down upon the indigenous.

Apparently it is also their custom to have not one but several beers for this ritual. When in Bronx, right?

Service (3 of 5)

The host was pretty cool and got me to my seat quickly. It's really weird how they serve the food here. You don't have one waiter. There are a whole bunch of them (and not a single cute waitress) that serve each menu item individually. That is, if there is a menu. Nobody brought me one.

Price (1 of 5)

Am I the only one who finds it odd that I paid a cover to get in to this place? And $9.00 for a "big" beer? Lunacy.

I can't score the place well based on any of the 'Mania's very inflexible criteria, but I can reliably say that, for some reason, I felt drawn to the place and will probably end up going back.

Yankee Stadium
161st Street & River Avenue
Bronx, NY 10451
Open 82 days a year - Hours Vary
gsteinbrenner@hotmail.com

All Better

And all it took was entering my favorite line from my favorite TV program into Google Image Search:

"Rochelle"


What could be better than that, you ask?

These lovelies, that's what.

The Redskins Make Me Want to Hurt Myself, Doctor

ESPN.com's list of the 50 current players likely to be headed to the Hall of Fame includes no Redskins.

It's a great read, even when it gets a little speculative in the late 30's. It's lack of 'Skins-clusion is a bummer, but it doesn't warrant any outrage from this furball.

........Whoa...Just went looking for a good picture of LaVar, who could have been our guy had his knee held, and I stumbled upon this article. It's Sports Illustrated's take on the 2000 draft. The words "Superbowl Contender" and "Norv Turner" will never appear that close together ever again.

Then I really vomited: "...owner Dan Snyder celebrated his first NFL draft by lighting a cigar, crossing his legs and propping his feet on the desk."

It's August and I'm not even that pumped. Don't know who's on the schedule this year. I don't know if these fancy Brooklyn brunch places will even have TVs, let alone ones they can/will turn to 'Skins games.

Boo-hoo for Chew. E.

No Brunch This Week

Weak sauce, for sure.


In my defense I would like to produce the telephone number I Gmail'd myself.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Deke Shipp
Date: Jul 29, 2007 2:44 AM
Subject:
To: kingofallwookies@gmail.com


9r7 34001704

Keep in mind, members of the jury, the giver was Russian, had just moved to Brooklyn, and told me she was very something that sounded a lot like "lonely".

Stifled by my inability to crack my own brilliant code and the solid 5 hour drizzle drill conducted from 11:00-5:00PM, I missed my favorite repast of the week.

Thanks, not, to Iceman and Cousin Charlie for putting me there.

Nobody Ever Asks If I Want Bag

I work in a building on Canal St. in the fake bag district of New York City's Chinatown.

Here, thousand of unattractive middle-aged whites moo their way up and down the streets they pack looking over I (Heart) NY shirts and fake Dior sunglasses.

What they are really in my neighborhood to do is buy fake designer handbags. Every time I emerge from the subway or finish crossing an intersection I hear it:

Baeg? Baeg? You wan baeg? Chanel. Fendi. Coach? Baeg?

Right in front of my very eyes one of the most sacred American laws is being broken by the people who claim divine right to the freedoms we hold. Never mind that intellectual property is the driving force behind competition in our economy. Where do these people think the bags are made?

Ohio?

Depending on who you ask, the bags are made in China or sweatshops in bellies of the giant industrial spaces that make up a great deal of the neighborhood's charcter. I prefer the latter, as it lends itself rather unromantic indentured servant vibe:

Wang's mother had been dead for little over a year, and the beatings from her father were becoming more frequent and brutal. The local pimp was a friend to her brothers and even in a town of 2.5 million poor Chinese, word travels fast. Then, one night a handsome stranger asked Wang if she knew of "Amelica". A week later she was loaded into a shipping container from which she would not emerge for 8 horrifying days.

Right?

Basically the whole thing is like a giant wook parking lot, which some people claim is really this thing called a bazaar. I say fuck that. Have you ever huffed nitrous at a Bazaar? You think the people at Harper's are listening to Air, giving each other backrubs in the break room? Fuck that.
What? Good god fucking damn it, I'm hung.

Next week, kids.

About The Author

Ready to waste the rest of your day? Just type in "Muppets" on YouTube and click away.

Thanks to Chief Imus Killer for the link (he's the guy in the pictures).

Brunch Is Back, Son!

I'm bringin' this sh*t directly back to its roots.

Brunch.

New York City brunch to be exact. That's right, kids - The 'Mania has up and moved itself to Brooklyn and seeing as the editor-in-chief is currently employed, there will be brunch.

For those unfamiliar with the glory days of The 'Mania's brunch-stravaganza, the criteria are as follows: I eat eggs benedict, I drink a bloody mary and I observe. Simple. Used to be just on Sundays, but up here they gots brunch on Saturday, too!

Next, I relay my opinion on the benny, the bloody, the price, and the service on a .05-5.00 scale with no standard increment between. I may reference the experience of other diners, but since this is about the science of brunch, I maintain a control, me, allowing you, the reader, to expertly and accurately interpret posted results.

Shall we?

SATURDAY
Les Enfants Terribles

I will readily admit that I can be a pain in the colon to brunch with, for I hold certain truths to be self evident. For example - "Brunch is not brunch without bloody marys," is a good one. One day I may not order one. But until then, and even then, I demand the option. Thus, I had to strike down poor Mollywood's intitial spot for to do the brunching.

"Couldn't you just have a mimosa?"

So, around the corner we strolled to Les Enfants Terrible, a small Bistro bordering Chinatown on the LES that posts which type of mussels they will be serving in the evening. Bonus, right? The place was near dead, with one two tables inside and a couple folks at the bar.

BLOODY: (1.5 of 5)

Not based on the fact that we had to order it at the same time as our meal (service)
there was no love here. Spicy to overshadow the fact that the cocktail had no taste. Also, I believe it was made with Aristocrat vodka, which is akin to offering your uncle a drink and then karate chopping him in the throat. My companion took a hearty sip of hers and was done.

SERVICE: (1 of 5)

I will try and stretch this rant out over the course of many posts, but I have yet to get good service in New York. As mentioned before, the place was dead and the waitress didn't get our drink order first; she waited until we were all the way ready. Thanks.

She was cute, saving her the one point. Really cute actually.

Our drinks took a while, for which the bartender, I'm sure, shares the blame. He was a classic LES drink slinger - tall, skinny, clever (read: expensive) t-shirt, some form of mullet/rat tail, and general ennui for the whole "doing his job" thing.

Actually, you know what? The waitress was really cute. I'll give her another .5 for that.

The hummus we ordered as an appetizer came out at the same time as our bennys and steak and eggs.

BENNY: (4 of 5)

Pretty effing good. My companion likes her muffins toasted, which they weren't, but I'm pretty nonchalant about that. One egg was poached perfectly, while the other one was overdone. CAbacon was nice and thin. But the kicker were the taters and the greens. A whole mess o' full on Belgian-style frites, golden crispy, and a well dressed mesclun salad rounded out the sizable plate. The hummus stuff was ish - babbaganoosh (sp?), tapenade, hummus and salsa, and is not included in the score.

PRICE: (2.5 of 5)

Around $65 (with tax, no tip) for 2 bennys, steak frite, hummus plate, OJ, and 2 bloodys. No real sticker shock upon delivery, but then I remembered that poured my bloody using a $7.99/L bottle of Molotov cocktail and was unimpressed.

In summation, if I lived on the block and it was my super-different pal working behind the bar, I might go back for a lazy afternoon (I think they had TV), but it's not worth crossing the river for.

Les Enfants Terribles
37 Canal St. NY, NY 10002
212.777.7518
Cash or AmEx only


SATURDAY
The Lodge

This was not my first brunch at The Lodge. In fact, I've eaten brunch there, in the same seat served by the same waitress several times now.

It's a pretty great place for brunch. Essentially open air, the joint has a nice bar / waiting / couch area and plenty oold chairs to sit in and old tables to lean on. Some brunches lucky diners get to listen to PM Dawn-era early nineties slow jams, and mostly that all my emotions take take on a Sunday afternoon.

BLOODY: (5 of 5)

2 for 1.

Seriously.

Served in mason jars with a lemon (correct!) and a long toothpick of olives, the perfectly spicy, and on this occasion extra-Worcestershirey, bloodys have horseradish you can bite.

Did I mention that they're 2 for 1?

SERVICE: (2 of 5)

Did I mention I've had the same waitress a couple of times?

This bitch is lazy. Straight up. That or rude and stupid.

Two bloodys, two bennys. They came pretty quick via a runner. Asked him for a side of bacon. The waitress, busy blowing the cook for a fix? deciding what new clever tattoos look best of pale skin? never got the message. No effing bacon.

The hostess, who is lovely, saw that we had stacked our plates and brought the check. I feel bad about the 2, because the support staff is very good and very friendly.

BENNY: (4 of 5)

In between our waitress leaving us to take a shit and never coming back, the eggs were delightful. Both perfectly poached on a lightly toasted English muffin, with a nice slice of CAbacon in between. The potatoes were rosemary hashbrowns which probably come from a bag, but if so, the bag was dusted with happy memories and teddy bear hugs.

PRICE: (5 of 5)

2 bennys: $16
4 bloodys: $14

I'm always happy to pick up the check at Lodge brunch.

Overall a great experience, perfect for slungover people-watching, and it's only a bike ride from my place. A friend of a friend just started to wait there and he's a lifer, so maybe things are looking up. Heard dinner's pretty excellent, too.

The Lodge
318 Grand @ Havemeyer
Brooklyn, NY G-MAP
718.486.9400

A couple than Mr. De Le Sac forgot:

**Thou shalt only 'av a bird in yo' band if it's tha bass playa

**"Monkees -- Just a band"

Condolences

To all of those who lost someone on the Virginia Tech campus today.

It's been almost eight years to the day since the Columbine murders, but the horror and outrage that event brought on seem to be missing from people today. Why?

Columbine had a standoff, something happening live for TV. Tech holds only a report of events and press conferences for the 24-hour channels.

Columbine was high school. Compulsory. Tech, a state school that only recently shifted its focus from agriculture, is a college. Not mandatory, and somewhat exclusive.

Columbine had Dylan and Eric. We still don't know the Tech shooter's name.

I'm sure that in the coming days, police camera work will somehow surface, revealing the gory details of today's slaughter, and at least one or two eyewitness accounts will serve as tomorrow's headlines, but in the age of video-on-demand-I-wanna-see-it-as-it-happens, today's events are ringing somewhat hollow in the national conscience.

Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious and kind. May her touch be soft like that of wool, or a young woman, and may she protect thee from the depths of destruction. Rise above him, O Earth, do not press painfully on him, give him good things, give him consolation, as a mother covers her child with her cloth, cover thou him. - Vedic Funeral Rite

No So Original, Mr. Richard

I know.

I'm a day late and everyone is now well aware of Keith Richard's assertion that he snorted his father's ashes.

When I heard this, I was amazed. F*cking shocked.

It was one thing when The Stones stopped making original music. The next was when the live show became little more than a cabaret version of their greatest hits record. But Keef was always an original. Until now. I offer the jury an excerpt from the staggering brilliance of Mr. Leary's "No Cure For Cancer":

I was reading an interview with Keith Richards in a magazine and in the interview Keith Richards intimated that kids should not do drugs. Keith Richards! Says that kids should not do drugs! Keith, we can't do any more drugs because you already fucking did them all, alright! There's none left! We have to wait 'till you die and smoke your ashes! Jesus Christ! Talk about the pot and the fuckin' kettle.

So, I mean, the bit was about Keef, and it did use another form of ingestion, and it was him that we were supposed to be doing. I guess this keeps the level of "Keith Richard won't shock us until..." at "he marrys a cow, and during the 'height' of the honeymoon blow it's brains out when a .22, then have a dead- wifecow 'Champagne and Brains!' hot tub party with Ryan Seacrest, Katie Couric, Presidential Defense advisor Brent Scowcroft and the every on-air personality at Telemundo and convert to Lutheranism in the morning."

Phew.

Special thanks to assistant proto-editor-in-chief C Pat for his contributions to this and many other wonderful ways to waste your day.

Original Gangsta

In fact, this motherf*cker right here was the FIRST!

Hat tip to the beautiful McKay.

UPDATE: Link Fixed.

F*cking Peyton

Dude won the Superbowl this year, so I can't say he never "won the big one" or that he didn't "have the ugliest head I've ever seen". Now I can't even say, "He's not really f*cking funny."

Enjoy.


Thanks to Tyler Durden for a great blog that I read with the regularity of a 45 year-old vegetarian.

God Bless The Russians

Stalin, Chernobyl, Stolichnya, and years of famine, plague, and inhuman cold only killed the weak ones. The survivors had kids like this little tiger.

Wow.

Budweiser

Budweiser rules. The people who sell it rule. That f*cking eagle rules, too, which is pretty great because as a general rule I hate eagles.

For example, it got me so 2002 drunk the other night that my friends were all "Whoa, duder. You never get like this," as I partied on. Bud pitchers at the bowling alley are only $7 bucks, and with $1 games, you can party all night on just a couple bucks!!!

I know that the logo over there isn't just for Budweiser, and that it represents a lot of beers that are not Budweiser. It even stands for stuff like Bacardi Silver coolers and stuff, which are OK if you're a 14 year old who wants to get drunk or the older dude who wants to make that happen never OK in any situation.

So this weekend, if you decide to be cool and come party with The Nice Jenkins, who party like this guy , drink Budweiser. If you don't - drink Bud anyway and thank Jesus your parents went to college.

Something for Friday

Good lord on a pickup bed full of watermelons. These are the cutest f*cking babies in the world.

Never mind what their names are (Henrietta & Skillet) or who they belong (people who owe me lots of money) or why I'm using this space to post pictures of them (ransom). How f*cking cute are these two?

The only thing that could make these two any cuter would be dressing them in matching Redskins cheerleader outfits. Or watching them drive a car. As a team.

Happy St. Patrick's day from Dr. Chewbakka, Henrietta, Skillet, and that guy behind you with the nail gun.