Now while I am playing the part of Scrooge McDuck with my toppins and tenpennies preparing for my journey to the west coast I can hardly keep myself from shooting first and pulling the trigger on this wonder of modern man.. I mean...
Now while the whispers in the sand dunes of Tantooine have been of Han Solo dancing to...
...I have never been so conflicted about anything in my life.
Well maybe that time the devil was like "You won't make in the entertainment industry until your 30s but you will find a great bar called Doyles Corner."
Needless to say I said "Yes" then and I will say "Yes" now. Looks like the the will power is lacking but the mother f*cking force is gonna be wicked strong with this one.
So this happened. Alec Baldwin is to marry and elephant statue. I kid. The 54 year old actor is getting hitched though. And while the headline should be enough...wait there's more. The lucky lady is a 28 year old yoga instructor. While I doubt they share a common yogi I'm sure they plenty to talk about.
Bride to be.
Not bride to be.
Right? Riiight. The last time I saw Alec Baldwain was in the Lincoln Center lobby and the man looked as if he hit a sharp corner he would burst...and no he wasn't carrying a yoga mat in his Jansport.
If my memory serves me correctly wasn't this the guy that was lamenting about not being taken seriously about his career? Which I get, but falling into every old rich dude stereotype post lamentation doesn't help your case for "no, no, these still waters run deep."
Congratulations Alec Baldwin. And Happy Birthday. You've officially won in the life category. You pursed your lips and dipped your chin enough times to rob the cradle blind.
New York City. Many have come and dreamed. More importantly many have come and sung your praises. You offer crazy rent and high cost of living but your streets in turn offer the occasional crazy bum and inspiration...maybe.
Now while I am a self professed LA man. NYC is still the bee's knees.
For our purposes you can keep your Jay Z. He won't be on Prick's list. This list. Sinatra? No way Bro. So now I give you (I see you shiver with....antici...pation.)...
PRICK'S BEST NYC JAM NOTES!
Ah, They Might Be Giants. You guided me through the dangerous waters of high school with your freak flag at my helm. Sentiment and accordions playing you taught me that the bros in the Polo Army were wrong and that Intelligence and Pop Culture knowledge were more important than white hats and khakis. So naturally, your holiday bell laden NYC tribute goes first. And even thought TMBG said they'd "sink manhattan" they also sung "everyone's your friend in NYC". For the birdhouse in all of our souls.
Joey Ramone. I have bent an elbow to your voice at Rudy's more than any other. New York City and the Ramones go together like the Upper West side, double wide strollers and Lululemon. (shudder) Any way, before he joined the rest of the Rock Gods in the great beyond Joey wrote this simple tribute to New York. This is a crap youtube clip sound wise but it does the job.
Andrew W.K. a lot of people give this dude shit. But even if he was a collaborated planned musical creation thrust upon us by a group of music industry evil geniuses I still think he rocks. As Brodie Bruce says, "Judge not lest ye be judged." or was it "touch not lest ye be touched"? Here is a song written by "someone" but performed by Andrew W.K. Party Hard. Party Hard.
Eddie and the Cruisers. (John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band) Holy shit dude. This is a text book for how every dude in the eighties remembers himself. And there is a dude playing saxophone by a mountain brook at the 1:36 mark. Even though you and Tom Berenger took yourselves seriously then; I thank you now Eddie. With all my mulleted heart.
Josh Rouse. Known for his raspy musings on everything from waitresses to Barcelona. I love this guy. You can't blast the Suicide Machines 100% percent of the time. I know. I know. 99% of the time though totally. This song is for the 1% of the sad bastard in us all. I scoured the internet for Josh himself playing this song but all I found was it being sung by this adorable chick in Oxford. It's really nice. That's all I got. Just listen and think about your high school sweetheart...See, told you it was nice.
Lou Reed. You got it. Song about transvestites coming to New York for prostitution? Here you go. Thanks, Lou. We miss your New York Man. You can still find in dark corners downtown, but Times Square's lights are shining bigger than ever baby. Thanks for reminding us...
LCD Soundsystem fucking nailed it here. This is a gorgeous swan song to my existence here in NYC. This song is the basis and period to every booze fueled inarticulate cigarette stoop conversation I have had about why I am leaving. It's a sad thing to know that the Taxi Driver NYC, hell even the Andrew Lloyd Weber driven Broadway, is gone. Every lyric in this song is specific and spot on. But these...
"In the neighborhood bars I'd once dreamt I would drink New York, I Love You But you're freaking me out There's a ton of the twist But we're fresh out of shout Like a death in the hall That you hear through your wall"
...nail it. Here is Kermit. Keeping it real.
I love you New York. And your songs. But I think it's time we start to see other cities.
...I have a special place in my heart for Boozehounds. I just do. Where as most people will shy away from the maniac at the end of the bar with the "let's blackout together" twinkle in his eye, I introduce myself and bend an elbow with the fella.
Most of my influences in comedy, acting and writing are total Boozers and have olympic caliber livers. Bukowski & Belushi are easy examples. Peter O'Toole, Richard Burton, and Richard Harris have a combined 17 Oscar nominations and ALMOST drank Britain dry. One of my secret theories is that drugs were invented so people could drink longer. And I am pretty sure that the coolest fashion item of all time, the fez had to be invented while a little tipsy...
Gimme shots. Me first.
So in celebration of Alcohol and my soon to be departure from NYC I give you.... PRICK'S BEST NYC BARS. (in no specific order)
Dude. Bro. Rudy's Bro. 7 dollar pitchers. Free Hotdogs. Duct tape covered booths and seats. Need I say more? I will. In the day of the Times Square Theme Park expansion plan it is hard to walk on even 8th avenue these days. As Mickey Mouse and TKTS flex their muscles they are pushing the tourist North, South, East, and West specifically. AND YET...Rudy's remain's true to the dive bar mantra. "Get drunk lest ye be to drunk to drink...then the next one is on us." Sure it's packed on the weekends and evenings but if you want a great cheap bar that smells like hot dog water and whiskey then Rudy's is your place. May you know the joy of high five-ing a pig statue at 4pm on a Tuesday.
Doyle's Corner- (Astoria Queens)
4202 Broadway, Astoria, NY
My favorite bar of all time, ever. No frills but nice. "How did they get this perfect replica of an Irish Bar in Astoria?" Leprechaun magic, duh. During the daytime you had better be a local or a hard ass. At night Brendan and Paul will be your guides down the rivers of Powers and Jameson that run through this place and straight to full on face plant town... They'll remember your name. They'll shake your hand and direct you to the girl at the end of the bar singing Meatloaf without abandon. Doyle's Corner doesn't even have a web site. But when you are this bad ass, you really don't need one.
You a beer nerd? Like almost annoying? Can you name more than 3 times of hops? Well then come Sir or Madam, come on down to the 'Swick. Somewhere along the way Astoria grew a hipster culture. I blame some guy in a basement with Deerhunter blasting over flannel clad test tubes but I digress... 25 awesome beers on tap. A bad ass bartending crew. And a menu that is the perfect match of pretense and bar food. Go. Lose a Sunday in Queens. I dare you.
From the booze soaked minds that opened Lansdowne Road comes this great American Craft Beer Bar. All of their beers are 5 dollars and unless you are trying to kill yourself with a beer that has an ABV of 8% or above (roughly) they come in 16oz pours. The kind of bar where they remember your face but don't bother you with the chit chat. The food is crazy good with hardly a misstep on the entire menu. Their griddle sausages are the food that hungarian dudes from Cleveland dream of. As if they needed it -their happy hour runs from 4:20 to 5:20 everyday. It gets a bit crowded but fuck it, the place is great. And if you are into celeb siting, well let all your gossipy sketch comedian spotting stories begin with "SO I WAS ALL LAAHKE at PONEEE BAHR..."
There are many great bars in NYC. Tons actually but these are the big four for me. Stumble away my friends. May the drunk be with you...
Tonight is the night. And instead of boring you with predictions I present to you OTHER famous Oscars.
"The Artist can suck it."
"Lying is the most fun a girl can have with her clothes on. And by girl I mean boy. I mean girl."
"Just wait you little shits. When you're 30, I'll be your hero."
"And the Perfect Storm Trophy goes to..."
I always have a hard time watching award shows. Mainly because if I want a circus I want tigers and elephants and shit. Not fierce dresses and crappy interviews.
But I will say this. Making movies is no joke. And unfortunately anyone with the money to see a movie feels like they are entitled to an opinion of the movie. But from being the nugget of an idea to actually playing on the big screen is a GIGUNDO feat.
The amount of people 's hands that are on the film before it gets to our eager eyes is incredible. Really talented folks as well. But if the director doesn't feel the script and doesn't get the right shots the editor doesn't have enough to cut together to tell the story (if there is a story from the script in the first place.). Then you have the placement of production friends in the cast and on the crew side( The most infamous: Sophia Coppola inGodfather 3. But I will say I just watched Somewhere. Holy shit that gal can direct her way around a movie...) And ALL THIS can flow beautifully but if the actor on any given day doesn't log a good performance or is pissed because there was tomato on his tuna sandwich then the whole thing is fucked. Now add the meat and potatoes of sound and lighting and locations...
I guess I'm saying that perhaps this is the "magic" of film that gives us goosebumps when it really works. When all of these things work in tandem and support each other...well, we get Elliot flying across the moon. Or Redford hitting it deep and running in the sparks of the stadium lights.
Enjoy your Oscars my friends. I will be backstage supporting the uber talented cast of THE LADY OF DUBUQUE.
...No really you do.
In the fast finger moving "my humorous musings are a cell phone "send" away from being all up in your tweet and social network of choice" we have no filter.
We have no one to hold us accountable for our own bullshit logic.
And I am no different. Out of boredom today I tweeted "Help me Obi Uno Kenobi you are my only hope..." Not bad buuuut in any coffee or natural light driven conversation of my past that awful joke would have been jeered at, totally ridiculed and either dropped or continually beat upon them with such vengeance that they would have had to relent and laugh. We can't do this over the internet.
And here's where you say:
"Great job Prick. Way to point out how 1999 was BETTER yet AGAIN...What's your solution?"
I'm glad you asked.
The next time you decide to tweet your dinner offering( Unless you are my brilliant Friend in the Desert JULES. Read her. Love her. http://whitelightsonwednesday.blogspot.com/
then you ALWAYS get a food pass. Duh. P.S. love you Jules.) or your musings on ANYTHING run your big idea through the filter of : ENDEARING PRICK'S THIS AND THAT
Yes Children, before shit was "fierce" stuff was "cool". My Yves Saint Laurent was a man named Chuck Taylor. My faux hawk was an actual mohawk.
Take a guess.
pick it up.
I wasn't listening to a remix of a song that originally sucked in the first place...I had a copy of a copy of a copy of the demo that was recorded in some dudes basement. I would argue that our brains have been Zombified into not seeking "Braaaains" but "Thaaaangs". The only label that used to matter was Fat Wreck Chords and Def Jam.
Before Selena there was SKA. While there was IMUS we were given PRIMUS.
And now you say:
"But I don't get it Prick? What's it all mean. Sure in your mind your one opinion is "better" than the other but WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?"
I'm glad you asked.
What it means is that culturally we are creating "this" and not "that".
By watching Whitney Houston's funeral or the SuperBowl instead of something that we are ACTUALLY interested in. (Nonpluss your feathers and think about it now. How bad did you need to post that Whitney Houston Facebook post? Or cheer the Giants or Pats on when you could have given two shits about them five weeks earlier... Think of a band or book that you read just FIVE years ago that you were bananas about and THAT was what you could have been "sharing".)
Because babies: what you Love I may not have heard of. (Believe it or not I'll admit that. The Elitist Prick that I am I admit that there may be...ah, it hurts...actual great stuff culturally that I don't know about...But what we are fed everyday by our "impartial" media we all share whether we like it or not...or do we?
If Facebook and Twitter and Tumbler are the three networks that rule us all let's use them to a better good...don't rehash tag some bullshit in your own words. Dig down and share a personal taste. Not a take on something we are all seeing anyway. I'll leave you with this...
I love you Darlings. Don't feed the Man. Tell him to listen to NOFX and take notes.
So as I have lamented in previous blogs I am a full time hammer swinging, heavy load moving (out of the gutters boys...and gals), lift operating, scenic carpenter. This job makes you sleepy. Makes you want to fall into the arms of a Bukowski type binge as well...but we digress...
Last night I was trying to sleep and ZODIAC came on. First off David Fincher could poo on a reel of film and I would go see it and sing it's praises. Regardless, Zodiac is good. It is one of his more under the radar films and also, a kind of slow burn that kept my blood shot scenic carpentry eyes riveted.
This motivated me to bring you:
MOVIES THAT F*CK YOUR SHIT UP BECAUSE YOU FIND THEM ON WHEN YOU SHOULD BE SLEEPING BUT THEN YOU HAVE TO WATCH...MOVIES.
I already said it so it is an easy #1. We get post meltdown pre-Iron Man Downey Jr. We also get Jake Gyllenhaal before he hit and quick Taylor Swift (Dear Jake, you have to stick around an train a young lady dude... you can't just break up with her. Not America's sweeheart...jerk hole. She sings about "Love" man. Capital "L". I mean you expect her to be a cat in the sack right away...Sorry, not gonna happen...thanks for reading Jake. ) which is good because he is good. We also get Elias Koteas, one of the most underrated and inconspicuous character actors around...all wrapped in the over exposed goodness of a Fincher Murder Story. It kept me up...in a good way.
Nothing more will be said about this. That is all. Except: "I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her." Oh, shit. Alright...
Holy shit and hallelujah. The Grand Daddy of them all. Logging in at 142 minutes this baby turns a midnight channel flip into a 2am Pink Dot delivery reeeeeal quick. (disregard this last statement if you live in New York. We can simply walk across our streets and get anything we want. Cheers.) Andy Dufresne, you my only friend...Well, you and Ellis Boy "Red" Redding.
Now I know. By this point you're all like "Wrah Wrah you only like slow movies, Wrah Wrah...". Dude, It's f*cking Godfather 2. "I knew it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart. You broke my heart!" Eveything you need to know bout being a European immigrant (or three generations removed from one) you can learn from Marlon Brado & Al Pacino. Move to New York. Capitalism sucks. Kill the family members you hate that betray you. Your Dad had a cat...doesn't mean you have to have one. Avoid toll booths.
5.The Royal Tenenbaums
This movie either evokes sighs of love or judgement. I LOVE this goddamn movie. Wes Anderson's balanced shots are about the only balance in my life. Gwyneth Paltrow in this movie is only ever bested in cinematic cuteness by a Wedding Singer Drew Barrymore. Wilson Bros incorporated...but more importantly, Gene Hackman. Let me just type that again. Gene Hackman. I can quote most every line and do often. Me: Please consolidate these Subway cards Maam... MTA Worker: (grumble) Me: Please stop belittling me...you never gave me the time of day until I started getting good reviews. MTA Worker: You got $7.50 left.
Now, there are movies as an actor/filmmaker that you watch and get frustrated by because YOU could have made them that good. Then there are those that are the perfect storm of talent and personal taste....that you can't turn off. I have given you 5.