Bad Advice

The New Williamsburg

Yesterday morning I was picking up a few things at the newly refurbished bodega at North 8th & Bedford. When I got to the counter, the cashier was talking to an obviously inebriated customer, asking him what was happening with the laundromat/shoe repair place that's closing across the street.

"Dawk restaurant," he cackled.

She looked at him quizzically. "Dark? Dark restaurant?"

"No!" he laughed. "DOG! Dog restaurant—woof woof!"

She asked me if I spoke Polish so we could get to the bottom of this. I don't. "It's going to be a dog restaurant?" she asked.

The dude was cracking himself up, but threw in a couple more barks as he staggered out of the store. So there you have it—scuttlebutt on the street is that a dog restaurant is opening up on N. 8th and Bedford. I would have found this concept completely ridiculous had I not seen a flyer advertising "reiki for dogs" just a week earlier.

UPDATE: Another—presumably sober—tipster just wrote me, saying he'd heard it was going to be a "doggie spa." Oh. Well, that's much better.

How to Blow a Job Interview

1. Despite having looked at the email outlining the details of your interview, misread the time. Naturally, you want to misread it so you're late, not early.

2. Have only one outfit selected, with no contingency plan because all your other clothing is either dirty, doesn't fit, or is at the dry cleaner. But it's okay, because you have the go-to dress.

3. Do a phone interview with a Croatian travel agent located in London ten minutes before you're supposed to be out the door. Look up at the clock, panic, and hang-up the phone.

4. Put on the aforementioned outfit and realize you need a bit of makeup.

5. Grab tube of tinted moisturizer and proceed to squeeze it so ferociously that it sprays all over your dark blue dress.

6. Attempt to clean off Pollack-esque beige splatters with a wet cloth. Realize that this is only serving to turn spatters into smears.

7. Give up on the idea that there's any way you're going to be able to wear this dress, throw open your closet and try on everything you own. Settle on an ill-fitting brown shirt and a pair of filthy pants. Bonus points if you don't notice that they're filthy until you're actually sitting at the interview.

8. Already really late, thank your lucky stars that the L train is miraculously at the platform the second you get there.

9. Realize that it's sitting there because there's been some kind of incident and it doesn't plan on moving anytime soon. Note that you have one minute to get to 58th and 6th.

10. After the L train finally pulls out and proceeds to move at a snail's pace towards Union Square, tear up to the F train and wave bye-bye as it leaves the station at the exact moment your foot hits the platform.

11. Finally reach your destination sweaty and panting, only to find out that your 11:30 interview (which you are already 15 minutes late for) was actually supposed to take place at 11:00; rendering you 45 minutes late.

Mark Your Calendars!

Please come! There will be merriment! And booze! And contests! And booze!

Oh Happy Day!!!!

John Waters fans, rejoice! He's not only making a new movie—but it's a Christmas movie!!! If you know John Waters, you know he loves Christmas! This is going to be great.

Called Fruitcake, it's sounds gaytastic, but it's actually for children! While I would normally look forward to a kid's movie with the same anticipation I would hemorrhoid surgery, I'm betting this is way more Pee Wee than Care Bear. Can't wait!

Tag, I'm it!

Normally I don't respond when people tag me, but I had this really cool old Polaroid of the Determined Dilettante hanging around, so when she tagged me, I figured I'd go for it—plus, this one doesn't require me to reveal any secrets, because I don't have any left.

Here are the rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

1. Dirty Girls, Erotica for Women.
2. Oooh, it's a story by Tenille Brown
3. Um, okay, found it. 
4. "And Doll rested her head on her pillow and obliged, sending her hands and fingers where they were instructed to go, speaking to Manuel in whispers, reaching her peak in groans until she was spent and Manuel's soft voice sang her to sleep.

She felt the water when it hit her feet, soaked through her shoes, and pooled at her feet. The pitcher shook in her hand until she could no longer hold it stead, and it slipped from her fingers and hit the concrete floor.

5. RKB (for obvious reasons), Michael Gonzales (because he finally updated his damned blog), Audacia (because she's probably reading something filthy), Tracey (just because), and I Am Not Star Jones (because I also get excited when the subway goes outdoors).

Myrtle Hits the Big Time

First on the case was Gowanus Lounge. Then Curbed, then AMNY, now 1010 WINS and Channel 2 news at 6:00 is covering the infuriating tale of Myrtle the graffitied turtle. Who will be next? I'm hoping for Al Roker.

With any luck, Myrtle is going to need an agent to handle his or her new-found fame.

(Photo of Deborah Garcia holding the spray can in question, courtesy my phone.)

Kicking Ass

If you haven't been by to check it out, go look at Bob Guskind's new and improved Gowanus Lounge. There you will read the horrifying tale of Myrtle, the graffitied turtle. Myrtle has lived in my building's backyard for years now. She wanders through the adjoining yards, eating bologna and generally keeping an eye on things. But this year she wandered onto the construction site and some jerk decided to fuck with her by covering her in paint. Turtle shells are permeable, so it's not like we can douse her in turpentine. We just have to hope the stuff flakes off naturally.

Also, there's a story that made me want to take up smoking, if only to blow the smoke into the cherubic little faces of this uptight woman's brats.

I Hate Mother's Day

I think probably everyone with a dead mom hates mother's day. And yet from mid-April until May 11, not a day goes by without some idiotic e-mother's day offer clogging up my inbox.

Though Red Envelope is the most persistent (I'll bet free shipping isn't offered to my mom's location), Amazon's offer has to be the oddest. Why on earth is the "CitiKitty Cat Toilet Training Kit" part of their mother's-day sale? I don't have any babies, but if I went to the trouble of squeezing one out, I'd be pretty PO'ed if I unwrapped a cat toilet training kit on my special day.

Also, though I don't have a mommy (feel sorry for me—wah!), I did write a feature on mother's day getaways for ForbesTraveler.com. Though it has nothing to do with moms, my new Seattle Weekly column is also online.

It's Construction Safety Week!

I've chosen to celebrate this blessed week by running between doorways so when my building falls down on my head, maybe I won't be completely crushed. The excavation next door is really kicking into high gear and my building is being tossed around like a refreshing salad, only instead of croutons, we have plaster dust.

Until you've lived through it, you really can't appreciate the feeling of waking up because your bed just lurched and the walls are shaking. It's like living on a fault line.

An Option I'd Never Considered. . . .

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know that I have some serious dental problems. In fact, just this morning I was trying to figure out how I'm going to afford my next $1800.00 bone graft. And that's not even the half of it. Hell, not even the 1/16 of it.

Anyway, my friend Travis knows my situation and sent along a very pertinent article from BB Gun magazine. Apparently Lubricated Goat's Stu Spasm is in a similar boat to mine (and has also suffered at the hands of NYU dental) but has come up with a DIY solution to his dental woes:

Yes, my friends, I make my own teeth, or more precisely I cap my own teeth. If my teeth rot and fall out completely, then I will make my own teeth! Dentists are one of the most over-priced medical services. The second to last time I went (10 years ago), they said I needed a root canal. Before dealing with that, however, they cleaned my teeth in 4 sittings, this cost $2000! I never did get the root canal.

Unlike Stu, I've had root canals. I don't even know how many thousands I've handed over to dentists and periodontists and frankly, I don't want to count. However, I don't think I'll be making my own teeth anytime soon. I'll leave you with this:

From a block of ivory-coloured Sculpey Three (if you are from England you may wish to add a some other colours), pinch off a chunk the size of a tooth. Roll it around booger-style, until it's the shape of a drop of water; oblong and pointy at the top. Hold the clay in one hand and a hand mirror in the other. Place the clay in your mouth, over the top of the fucked up tooth. While checking in the mirror, keep manipulating the clay until the shape is right and it looks like a tooth. You can take it out and make adjustments and put it back in until it's done. Repeat the procedure with some more clay. I, generally, make quite a few at a time, maybe as many as ten or more. Unfortunately, teeth made from Sculpey are very fragile and often break. Pop your teeth in an oven at 275 degrees for about five minutes. When you pull them out carry them in the palm of your hand. If they're so hot, you can't stand it for more than a couple of seconds at a time without switching hands, they're ready. Then you varnish them and they're done.