Category Archives: NYC

The Awnings of Queens: Village Deli and Grocery

borkbork.jpgCorner of Fresh Pond Road and Elliott Avenue, Ridgewood.

“Okay, I’ve got your lighted sign order: 17 feet long, your logo, picture of breakfast platter, large sandwich, Swedish Chef, NY Lottery logo…”

“Wait, what was that last bit?”

“NY Lottery logo?”

“No, before that.”

“Swedish Chef?”

“Yeah, I didn’t order that.”

“You sure? I got it on the work order.”

“No, I don’t want the Swedish Chef on my lighted sign.”

“Okay, but how about we throw it on there anyway? It’ll look real classy.”

“How will the Swedish Chef look classy?”

“He’s from Sweden. It’s European. Exotic!”

“He’s not actually from Sweden. He’s a Muppet!”

“Look, our in-house artist, he does a really good Swedish Chef. He loves to throw it in his work. It’s like Hirschfeld and Nina. Except in this case, you don’t have to hunt for Nina, because it’s really huge.”

“No, I’m paying a lot of money for this thing and I don’t want a Muppet in it.”

“What if we knock $300 off the price?”

“…fine.”

“You will never regret this!”

Give ‘Til it Hurts So Good!

goodguys.jpgThe Freeform Station of the Nation, WFMU has begun their annual marathon. So give ’em some money. Then, give ’em some more, because they’re pretty much the only radio station worth listening to in Ye Olde Tri-State.

I know I pimp The Best Show on this site all the time, but they have many, many fine programs worth your ear-time: Cherry Blossom Clinic with Terre T, Fool’s Paradise with Rex, Music to Spazz By, and much much much much more.

Last year, The Best Show had in-studio guests like Ted Leo, Ben Gibbard, and Patton Oswalt as “The Famous Flamer”. This year promises to be just as good, and the 2009 edition of The Fun Pack is face-meltingly awesome. So send ’em some change, folks. It all goes to making this area’s airwaves slightly more tolerable.

Ruining My Mise en Scene

This morning at the corner of Flushing and Throop (right by lovely Woodhull Hospital), I saw a strangely compelling/moving scene.

A tallish man stood on the corner, waiting for the light to change. He wore sunglasses, a black overcoat, black pants, and spotless black wing tips. Next to him stood a shorter woman with an mod-type haircut, also arrayed in all black. They stood as close to one another as you can without touching, as if they wanted to be closer but couldn’t afford to be seen doing so.

The man bent slightly and offered a drag on his cigarette to the woman. She obliged. The light changed, and they crossed the street, swiftly but not in a hurry.

I thought I was watching a scene from a French New Wave movie. The two lovers have just dispatched of the woman’s husband. Now they’re on their way to the bank, to nervously empty her joint bank account before anyone knows the hated husband is dead. Next, they will embark on a hopeless road trip, where they will commit more meaningless crimes before being gunned down by police in the middle of nowhere. In the end, their love meant everything, and nothing…

Except that standing to the left of these two characters was an enormous man in a vintage NBA-Jam-era Phoenix Suns Starter jacket, faded into navy blue from washing. And he jammed an Egg McMuffin in his huge maw, spraying crumbs to and fro, like he was afraid the thing would squirm away from him if he didn’t finish it fast enough.

Stupid reality, intruding on the movie in my head.