And Now For Something At Least, Well, A Little Different

I’m tired of talking about girls.

Can’t we talk about something else?

I had some drama this past week and was down in the dumps at a passover seder, including a return to good-form vomiting and trolling the Magnet Improv Theater to see if there was anyone there who was down for some sad-sack friend-time (there wasn’t) and eventually after a late-stage Andrew Parrish bail (who wudov guessed?), I ended up with a 4/5th’s smashed Jonny-Jon-Jon Fostar who insisted both that I link to his Tumblr and that I mention that ” [he] hates white people.”

“What about Asians?” I asked as we waited for some whiskey-sopping sliders to come out from Pop Burger, while JJJ looked around disgustedly at the hipster “probably European” club-going crowd.

“Nah, they earned it.” He said, throwing his hand in something between a slap and a “come-on”. “Plus they own everything.”

I nodded at that one as we got our burgers and got out.

Walking down 14th, I took a look at his Tumblr, which I hadn’t seen before, which represented mostly a series of Webcam-taped rants juxtaposed against a series of animated gifs from late 90s TV shows.

“I get a lot of girls under 16 messaging me asking if I can make out. And then I say yes and don’t reply ever again.” JJJ said, half-tripping over an errant sidewalk tile on Sixth Avenue.

It was nice to know that somethings are different and some stay the same and in Jonny-Jon-Jon’s world all this seemed both plausible and a reminder that his strange rants about hipster-loathing sexuality seemed to make me feel better about my own relative sad-and-confusion.

Or maybe it was just nice to walk and talk with someone for a bit, on such a long day.

Either way, that’s that.

Now, I’ve lost my voice from four-rounds of stomach-acid coating my throat and while it stinks not to be heard, it’s nice at least to know for once that I sound a little more manly and gravelly, down from my usual octave of slight lisping and self-satisfaction.

In fact, I’ve been using the time to try to figure out how to write some sketches for the intro to sketch class I’m taking, which I felt like I was above and which I feel bad right now for not writing for.

It’s a good excuse to watch Frank Stallone (pictured above) on Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! to try to absorb some of their talent or at least some of their form through ocular osmosis in the morning procrastinating getting out of bed.

The structure I’ve learned is to derive sketches out of stories from real life, or things you care about, but I guess it still doesn’t compute in my head how to make the things that happen to me funny, other than just to tell them and see what people think. Maybe I’m so used to telling my stories one kind of way it seems inviolate to use them for another.

Or maybe all of this is just distraction from writing sketches. Or maybe both.

What I know is that I’m back towards feeling that whatever I’m doing must be adding up to something somewhere, that even if I go into a class with some crap, or aren’t funny in a scene or do some stupid stuff with ladies, I’m learning something, getting somewhere, I’m mostly not  just sitting on my ass playing video games.

And in the end, that counts for something.

Or at least it’s a pretty good excuse for watching more Frank Stallone.

Just a sec.

***

Since it seems like somehow this has become the place (since last week) that I talk about my strange interactions with famous people, I thought I might as well post this picture, not taken by me, of my interaction with Christine Teigen.

Ms. Teigen, as mentioned before on this blog, is a “supermodel”, which as far as my limited exposure to them merits understanding, means a “very, very attractive person who is so attractive and cool and stuff that people pay them not just some, but lots of money to be in things like ads.”

And while the whole experience seems somewhat bizarre, as connoted by the picture (especially with the thankfully not so visible stains on my shirt from where I tried to stem my tongue bleeding after cutting it on the inner rim of a can of Diet Coke), I really don’t have anything bad or strange to say about it.

Ms. Teigen wanted to take me out for drinks, with her cool Ozu-referencing friend Sybill. They bought me a bunch of drinks and I told them stories about my life while they said nice things about me.

It lasted about an hour, I was very flattered, she gave me a nice hug and I went back to a party where my life was vaguely the same: girls not noticing me, wandering towards the subway at somewhere between 1-2 in the morning and wishing that I knew which way my life went.

On Monday she sent me some very nice text messages and I sent her some back.

In our meeting, what most impressed me was just that she read the blog and liked it. That someone on that level of stardom actually cared and related.

I wish I had something interesting to say, but she just seemed like a nice person and I was happy to meet her.

But here, for all of you starved for a crazed celebrity, is a picture of Robin Williams who I saw do improv on Sunday night.

(You guys who I invite to come to ASSSSSCAT with me, really should come more often.)

Also, he didn’t seem crazy, he said hi to everyone who waited for him after the show and took pictures and stuff. Really a stand up guy.

Sorry.

***

When I haven’t eaten in the morning, few can escape my wrath.

Take my parents for instance.

They thought they were coming out to get lunch with me, but I told ’em right.

See, I have hypo-glycemia, as I have explained on these pages before, a condition that causes me to get irrational and irritable whenI haven’t eaten for 7+ hours. I go through rapid moodswings.

So when my parents showed up a half-an-hour late for our lunch date at Thelewala with one of my best friends (Langston Kahn) unexpectedly in tow, I didn’t say “Hi Langston” or “So nice to see you guys, thank you in advance for paying for my meal!” but rather “Why aren’t you sitting yet, I bet you haven’t even looked at the menu.”

That said, once we sat down with the food, we all calmed down.

That’s because Thelewala, which just opened at a cursed MacDougal street location by my house, is one of the best things to have happened to the nabe food-wise in a while.

Proffered forth by the owners of Dhaba and Chola, two of my more beloved places, Thelewala actually advertises itself as “Indian Cart Food”, which I feel like 5 years ago anyone advertising themselves as “cart food” in a store would seem crazy.

Such is the effect of the chowhound and the cool food trucks on New York City.

As a family and whatever crazy-type of super-pagan friend Langston is (“My chi-healer told me he wanted to make a contract for me to work with the goddess of the moon, to unravel some of my intestinal chakras.” Langston told me recently. “Sounds hot.” I replied), we all got a smorgasboard of items.

Clear winners included the Tawa Chicken Fry (pictured above) one of their few curries, spiced with onion and coriander seed and served dry, along with their Thelewala Roll, which was a spicy and slightly more filling spin on the sort of Kati Rolls one might find across MacDougal at the ever-popular KR Company. Everything was easily under 10 bucks an item, and the only thing that was kind of a drag were the “Phucka” (try pronouncing that one and not sounding like an asshole), which were small mini-pooris which you could stuff with spiced potato and “tamarind water”, but which would have used some thicker-than-water tamarind as they’d just drip right through the shells.

Langston and my mom both plugged the Bhel Puri too, though I’ve had that good lots of places.

Even Dan Pleck came with me out on a return trip there, though he opted for a piece of Artichoke instead.

“Dude, let me get a piece of that chicken.” Dan intoned in a jealous dead-pan.

“You’ve made your bed now sleep in it.” I told him, settling down with some hot parathas.

“Well let’s just bite for bite”. And we did, an interesting combination.

Dan just biked away after, but we’d both be back and knew as much.

***

THELEWALA INDIAN CART FOOD (not a cart)

Tawa Chicken Fry w/2 Parathas- $8.00

MacDougal St bet. Minetta Lane and Bleecker St.

ACEBDFM to West 4th St

***

Also, for those of you interested, I’ll be on TV again next Monday, I think. I haven’t seen the episode yet, but if I recall, it’s a pretty emotional one.

Just sayin.

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8 Responses to And Now For Something At Least, Well, A Little Different

  1. clome says:

    heard you bailed on A. Parrish by tellin him you already had your pants off.

  2. clome says:

    looking forward to the next episode

  3. Marsha says:

    I love the food on here! Great posts!

  4. Jennifer says:

    can’t wait to see the BEA episode you’re in. was hoping it would be lastnight! you’re awesome!

  5. Jojo says:

    Could have sworn that was a picture of Trent Reznor. Frank Stallone, really?
    Ugh… I’m getting old.

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