Cafe 227

The Return of Borf, the Ghostbusters Endorse Obama, and Other Observations

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 03:50:00 +0000

I think it's safe to call the Cafe 227 blog "defunct." I mean, I don't even live in DC anymore, let alone the actual Cafe 227 (which exists at an undisclosed location off of U Street). I am, however, in between jobs, which means I have a little bit of time on my hands. As such, I thought I'd take this time to document a few random observations of mine here in New York (where I now live).

1. Borf Lives

See, I always thought Borf was entirely a DC phenomenon. I remember nearly driving my car off the Roosevelt bridge one evening when I saw his enormous head on an overhead sign. Anyway, I thought I saw the last of Borf when I moved from the 202. But last night, as I was walking home from the office, I saw this on a fire hydrant near the intersection of 5th Avenue and Central Park South...

2. Gray's Papaya Steals Ghostbusters' Tag Line to Endorse Obama

The biggest things I miss about DC so far (other than my remaining friends) are (1) go go music, (2) Gilbert Arenas, and (3) Ben's Chili Bowl. The lack of an analogue to Ben's famous chili half smoke here in NY has been absolutely disappointing. There is, however, a half decent hot dog joint about 10 blocks from my apartment called Gray's Papaya. They're kind of a New York institution. And they seem to be strangely politically active as far as hot dog joints go. For most of this primary season, they've been trying to convince Michael Bloomberg to run. But now that he's officially out, Gray's has a new horse in the race -- Barack Obama.

The thing is, check out Gray's adaptation of Obama's campaign slogan:

"We are ready to believe again." Doesn't that conjure up memories of another NY institution?

3. Weird Weather Hits NY

So I've been using NetVibes obsessively lately to keep checklists, aggregate blog posts, etc. I recently installed a weather module that alerts me to the current and forecast conditions outside based on universally-understood graphics. For instance, if it's going sunny, NetVibes shows me a picture of a big yellow sun. And so on. Yesterday, I saw a new picture alerting me to some strange weather conditions this coming Sunday:

I think Sunday's picture is supposed to signal either (1) wind or (2) tasty cinnabons flying through the air.

4. iPod "Classic"

I stopped by the fancy Apple store inside the GM building this morning to buy an athletic armband case for my iPod, which will come in handy in some purely theoretical, non-existent universe in which I exercise. I showed the saleskid my 12-month old, 60 gig video iPod so he could find the best product for me.

"Oh, the iPod Classic," he said. "We don't really carry armbands for those anymore."

"Classic?", I replied, flabbergasted. "I just bought this thing 12 months ago. Paid top dollar. Now it's classic?"

"Yeah, you should buy the Nano. It's like your classic iPod, but really small."

I did not end up buying the Nano. But, I did find a nice, reasonably priced athletic armband case for my "classic" iPod on Amazon.com...

Help Fight Depression and Stop Suicide

noreply@blogger.com (Chico's Bail Bonds) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 20:30:00 +0000

Okay, so it's been awhile since I (or anyone for that matter) posted on Cafe 227. Probably because Cafe 227 itself does not have a blogger occupant, but that's debatable.

In any event, I am using this vehicle to shamelessly appeal to the 5 of you left who have RSS feeds of the blog.

After graduation from law school and while studying for the Bar, a very close friend killed himself. It was a huge shock and, for those who have never had someone close to them commit suicide, let me tell you it is unbelievably difficult as, beyond the grieving over losing someone, there is an inescapable, gnawing sense of guilt that you "could've done something" or you missed the signs or a million other things that keep you up and make you wonder how someone you cared about could be suffering so much in front of you and you were too clueless to notice.

My friend Dave was the life of every party and one of the smartest people I've ever met (along with Johnny Shades and Conor). His death was a huge loss to the world and the result of a disease that is more deadly than cancer (as far as number of persons killed), but more treatable.

In any event, Dave's friends and family have started a foundation, The Dave Nee Foundation, and the second annual fundraiser is a Casino Night at Capitale in Manhattan on 11/7. If anyone reading this is in New York and wants to go, information is on the website. If you can't go or are broke, all I ask you to do is simply be alert to signs of depression both in yourself and in those you care about. Depression is treatable in almost all cases, but it takes a ton of persistence and courage.

Settlin' Scores

noreply@blogger.com (Chico's Bail Bonds) — Mon, 02 Jul 2007 19:10:00 +0000

So... my brother-in-law and I like to argue about pretty much everything. When we used to live near each other, we would take different sides on just about any issue and argue the merits until someone either conceded the debate or everyone got so annoyed that they told us to shut up. The most frustrating thing was that we could never get anyone to just flat out say, "He's right," and declare a winner.

Once I moved away, my brother-in-law had more time on his hands since I wasn't around to argue with... so he invented a website (or, more precisely, hired people to design a website) that I think is an answer to my prayers. It's called eSquabb!e, here's the cute logo:

and you can link to it here.

So far I've won some arguments and lost some, but I at least was declared a winner or a loser.

Check it out if you get a chance.

Half-Smoke: Not a Hot Dog

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Wed, 27 Jun 2007 11:29:00 +0000

Here's my beef (pun intended; it's late) with Melissa Frederick's coverage of Ben's Chili Bowl's expansion in the Examiner.

"Ben's Chili Bowl...[is] a pioneer of D.C.'s signature food, the half smoke, a type of hot dog."

The half-smoke is no more a "type of hot dog" than a steak is a type of hamburger. It's clearly a sausage. (In fact, I would go so far as to classify "hot dog" as a type of sausage - "sausage" is the more general term, referring to all types of meats that are minced and stuffed into an outer shell or casing.)

No doubt that this reporter from the Examiner just moved to DC from, say, Indianapolis, and has no idea what a half-smoke is. So she just copied what she found on Wikipedia. And we all know that Wikipedia isn't exactly a paragon of accuracy. (My friend and occasional Cafe 227 co-contributor Conor, a distinguished attorney, was once listed on the Notorious BIG's Wikipedia page as having collaborated with Biggie on a rap song...)

"Thoughts and Prayers"

noreply@blogger.com (Chico's Bail Bonds) — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 14:38:00 +0000

The recent death of Indiana football coach Terry Hoeppner is an absolute tragedy. Unfortunately, it has provoked the familiar litany of press-release mourning:

The Indiana AD Rick Greenspan said, "This is a truly sad day for our community and all of our thoughts and prayers are with the Hoeppner family and to those whose lives he has touched."

So many times we hear this increasingly trite phrase:

-- Upon the death of a Marine ("I extend my deepest thoughts and prayers to his family at this time." -Senator Olympia Snowe)

-- After a burst boiler at a rubber plant ("First and foremost, our thoughts and prayers are with (Evans))

-- In the wake of the drowning of an 11 year old boy ("Accidents can truly happen," he said. "Our thoughts and prayers go out to the family.")

I'm not trying to minimize the impact of these events or their tragic implications, quite the contrary. I am baffled that people, in a time when families are clinging to every word they hear and trying to pick up the pieces after a tragedy, succumb to laziness and use a virtually meaningless phrase.

I remember in the wake of the Virginia Tech shootings, every politician discussed how his/her "thoughts and prayers are with the families." This took 2 seconds.

Why couldn't someone, when asked, try to say something meaningful, like, "I truly cannot imagine what these people are going through. It is unspeakable pain. I wish there was something I could say or do to improve the situation, but I just can't. I'm going to try to make sure the families have the resources they need, both emotionally and financially, and work to try to prevent something like this from happening."

Or even,

"I just don't know what to say."

But "thoughts and prayers"? All it shows is that you have neither thought nor prayed about the grief you're trying to assuage.

Two American Heroes

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 18:20:00 +0000

I took this picture when I was at Pittsburgh International Airport a few weeks ago:

The one on the left is Franco Harris. The one on the right I didn't recognize, but the placard beneath him said that he was responsible for the Whiskey Rebellion. Jerk.

More Evidence that Starbucks is Evil

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Mon, 28 May 2007 03:49:00 +0000

I'm sorry, you can't just call a Rice Krispie treat a "Crispy Marshmallow Bar" and sell it for $2. There's something very un-American about that.

Where Have You Gone, Joe DiMaggio, and What About the Sportswriters Who Wrote About You?

noreply@blogger.com (Chico's Bail Bonds) — Fri, 25 May 2007 18:56:00 +0000

I have been having this discussion with people on this blog, chat rooms, and in person on-and-off for ten years, so many are probably sick of hearing me talk about it, but a few recent articles have forced me to proselytize yet again. I am outraged and concerned at the demise of the talented sportswriter (beat or otherwise). It's past the point of crisis for sports fans. A few examples.

Jayson Stark, a mediocre ESPN columnist, is attempting to make money by writing a book about Overrated and Underrated baseball players. You can read his internet column about it here. His first two lines ("I never set out to be The Ultimate Czar of Overratedness and Underratedness. It just happened.") followed by some yuckster back-tracking and explaining is basically standard ESPN columnist fare these days.

Bill Simmons, who is entertaining once every fifth column, continues to tarnish the sports journalism world by lacing his very solid analysis with bathroom humor.

Arash Markazi still has a job.

Mitch "I plagiarize but people love me because I make them feel good about their dead relatives" Albom still has a job!

Jeff Schultz (of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution) who writes. In Fragments (example here.) All the time. And no one. Likes him. Still has a job.

Heck, even Deadspin seems tired lately.

Somewhere along the way, sports journalism has died. Now, I think there are a few noble souls who still genuinely try to practice the lost art of solid analysis, non-hyperbolous yet soaring description, and piercing insight. I would say Tim Kurkjian, Peter Gammons, Wilbon, David O'Brien (Atlanta Journal-Constitution) Rick Reilly (sometimes), Dr. Z, and Peter King (again, sometimes), are fighting the good fight. Beyond that, we are condemned to having to endure the same in-your-face, over-the-top, let-me-try-to-keep-up-with-the-times hack journalism in every market on a daily basis.

Sports remain as popular as ever and there is no shortage of people interested in them. What, pray tell, is keeping the talented writers who love sports away from devoting their lives to writing about them?

One of the arguments I've heard is that ESPN, like CNN did to regular news, has created an "instant gratification" culture where writers are expected to turn around stories immediately and, thus, quality suffers. I've also heard sportswriters accused of the type of Woodward & Bernstein "Gotcha" journalism that has made athletes limit their access.

These arguments simply don't hold up. Every sports fan knows that if you want the score and the brief synopsis, you can go online or watch SportsCenter. What I (and many others) crave is a return to that thoughtful, well-crafted piece on our beloved team that informs us about the mundane and lifts our spirits with stories of hope for the future (that next hot prospect, that possible trade) in soaring prose that demonstrated a passion for the game that the writer was covering.

Does anyone else feel this way? Am I imagining this decline or do you see it, too?

America's Finest City....(cough cough)

noreply@blogger.com (Big Worm) — Fri, 18 May 2007 23:44:00 +0000

Guess who's back in the motherf$#@ing house??? I am sure everyone was sad to see Big Worm's posting disappear like scoring in the NBA playoffs. I only have about 15 minutes before my weekend furlough begins. Some recent thoughts and events in my life:

1) 3 weeks ago I went back to D.C. for my bachelor party. It was hosted by the incomparable Alex "From Miami but my Spanish is questionable" Grau. Had a great time. Got seriously drunk for the first time and promptly threw up. I don't know how everyone did that 2-3 times a week in college. I'm folding my drinking cards and cashing in whatever I have left. If you want pics, ask Grau.

2) When I found out about Shawn Bradley's broken wrist, I was initially saddened. When I then found out the circumstances surrounding the broken wrist (trying to block a girl's shot but falling because she pump-faked the shit out of him), I couldn't stop laughing. Shades, you are a special person. At least you can still reach a "happy ending" with your strong hand. Bama.

3) Being out here is not that much fun. Autumn hates the weather, her new job, and being so far from her family. Other than that, she's having a blast. And we are poorer than two cockroaches on East Capitol Street. I have been eating the same sandwiches for lunch for the past 4 months. Work for me is slow. No one really talks to me, it's difficult to start working on my own case, and I don't have anybody assigned to me as a Field Training Officer (the norm for most offices). Plus, when I see new graduates going to closer field offices, it makes me even more upset. We might be back there sooner rather than later.

Enough for now. Be safe out there.

The Most Romantic City, Brought to You by Cialis

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Tue, 24 Apr 2007 02:46:00 +0000

On the same day my neighborhood was ranked the second bloggiest 'hood in the U.S., I also learned that my hometown of Pittsburgh was named the country's most romantic city for baby boomers in a survey sponsored by Cialis (thus giving new meaning to the "Steel City" moniker).

This is horrible news for the city of Pittsburgh - the last thing the aging city needs is an influx of 45- to 60-year olds in search of love and companionship. So to all you baby boomers out there, listen up - Cialis' methodology was deeply flawed. In developing their rankings, Cialis looked to floral sales among major U.S. cities. Pittsburgh, of course, was ranked quite high in this category - but not because it's some mecca of romance. Rather, it's because everyone's dying, which has obviously led to a sharp increase in floral sales. If you're truly looking for romance, I'd start at the bottom of Cialis' list and work your way up. Miami was ranked next-to-last - you'll fit right in down there...

(The USX Tower, brought to you by Cialis.)

Kitschy Beer Fun That Makes Coors Light Taste Good

noreply@blogger.com (Chico's Bail Bonds) — Fri, 20 Apr 2007 21:29:00 +0000

While visiting the in-laws in the Garden State recently, my brother-in-law and I traipsed down to the local watering hole. Poor Herbie's of Madison, New Jersey, is an absolutely delightful bar whose clientele is a mixture of students from the neighboring schools of Drew University and Fairleigh Dickinson and slightly older guys like us. It has cheap pitchers and great food. We got a table and ordered a pitcher of Coors Light. The bartender (Dennis) asked us if we'd like to try the new "beer lantern" his distributor gave him. We responded immediately that yes, we would so enjoy the "beer lantern." He proceeded to place ice in the middle of the lantern, fill it from the tap, and then flip on the light. The display was absolutely magical. A photo of a similar product is below.

Needless to say, every other table envied our beer lantern and quickly ordered one as well. Bartenders, heed the call: contact your distributors and order many, many of these devices so that we may all enjoy tasty beverages as coldly as possible and have them light up, magically, before our eyes.

Grandmaster Flash at the 930 Club - Maybe Nas is Right...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Fri, 13 Apr 2007 02:58:00 +0000

It was a night of contradictions for me. It was the beginning of April, yet it was snowing. I was at Ben's Chili Bowl at 4am, yet I wasn't eating anything.

Grandmaster Flash was spinning a Lil Jon track.

An 11-year old white kid was the best B-boy in the house.

I went to see Grandmaster Flash spin at the 930 club last weekend. As you know, Grandmaster Flash is a hip-hop legend. He was recently inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame along with the Furious Five, making them the first hip hop group to receive that honor. He was also the first DJ to use a turntable as an instrument, which I was perpetually reminded of throughout the night by a large sign on stage that said "Grandmaster Flash: The First DJ to Use a Turntable as an Instrument."

And for the first hour or so, he lived up to his legend. Despite coming on (much) later than expected, he wasted no time, masterfully scratching over tracks varying from Afrika Bambaataa to Nirvana. I was right up front, so close that I could make out the gender of the kangaroo on his beret. (It was female.)

To say that I was elated would be an understatement.

Then, he cleared a circle in the middle of the club to let the B-boys do their thing. That's when I first realized that something was awry. All the B-boys were skinny white teenagers, presumably from suburban Maryland. Well, all except for this kid, who won't be a teenager for a few more years...

He went by the name of "Shamrock," and he was actually pretty good. Nonetheless, his presence didn't exactly replicate the ambiance of the Bronx in the early '80s when Grandmaster Flash would lay beats down for Kurtis Blow, Melle Mel, etc.

After the Bethesda Breakers were done doing their thing, Grandmaster Flash apparently decided to mail it in. He set up his MacBook Pro on stage, put on an extended playlist that was heavy on contemporary southern hip-hop (which I'm absolutely convinced is destroying the genre), and occasionally shouted something incomprehensible over the mic.

No more scratching, no more using the "turntable as an instrument" - just intermittent barking as Lil Jon implored us to snap our fingers. It was like going to El Bulli and having Ferran Adria serve you a Whopper.

Of course, the crowd loved it.

I can't explain it. Maybe Grandmaster Flash is just too old these days. Or maybe I am...

The George Washington University Hospital Emergency Room: A Running Diary

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Wed, 14 Mar 2007 17:14:00 +0000

Two nights ago, after injuring my wrist playing basketball, I made the conscious decision to visit the Emergency Room. Normally, I avoid the ER (and doctors in general) as much as possible, but I became concerned when my hand turned blue and I lost feeling in my fingers. I've been to the ER before; I know what a long, frustrating shit-show it can be. So I decided to keep a running diary of my ER experience to pass the time and document the fun. (And yes, I stole this gimmick from the Sports Guy. But only because I wanted to extend him the highest form of flattery, not because I was being creatively lazy. Those are two completely different things.)

11:57pm - I pull up to the Emergency Room at the George Washington University Hospital at 900 23rd Street NW. (Sorry Georgetown. GW treats high-ranking government officials. You guys inject saline solution into patients using contaminated needles. I had to put my loyalties aside here.) Unlike most of the time, I was able to navigate Washington Circle without nearly causing a 4-car pileup, and I found a parking space within minutes. The West End is quite pleasant on Mondays at midnight.

11:59pm - I walk through the front door. There is a woman at the receptionist's desk who is irate. She is violently waving a clipboard. Eventually, she shouts an obscenity and tries to leave the building, but a security guard stops her and informs her that she can't vacate the premises with the hospital's clipboard. So she decides to stay.

12:03am - I decide that it is now safe to approach the receptionist. I smile at her; she smiles back. I've developed a rapport! Time to apply the charm - maybe it'll get me out of here faster.

12:04am - She asks for my insurance card. I feign surprise. "Insurance? I need insurance?" She does not see any humor in this. Apparently, my assessment of the situation was premature.

12:12am - I return the paperwork to the receptionist. Before returning to my seat, I ask her how long it's going to take. "One hour, two hours?" I naively ask. "Much longer than that," she replies. She throws in a sinister laugh at the end for dramatic effect.

12:25am - Sitting down. Watching Jimmy Kimmel. Getting hungry. Need... food...

12:27am - Jackpot! I find the vending machine. I purchase a bottled water, a bag of Ranch Doritos, and two Strawberry Pop Tarts, and quickly scarf everything down. Apparently, sitting in the waiting room of the ER is kind of like getting high.

12:40am - The receptionist is walking towards me. It must be my turn, after only 40 minutes! See, I knew that I had developed a special rapport... oh wait, she's just coming to give me a hospital bracelet. Nevermind.

12:44am - The triage nurse calls me to his cubicle for some preliminary information. He looks just like Dolph Lundgren, if Dolph were a 5' 6", 145-pound male figure skater.

12:45am - Bizarro-Dolph asks me to describe the pain. "Painful," I reply.

12:46am - Bizarro-Dolph gives me a second bracelet - a bright orange one to reward me for being allergic to aspirin.

12:54am - Back in the waiting room. Two security guards are stealthily approaching a sleeping woman. Then, like pumas on the hunt, they pounce. "Who did you check in with, ma'am? Where's your bracelet? What do you mean YOU DON'T HAVE A BRACELET?!?" Oh snap, they just busted a homeless person! That's probably the first time that has ever happened here.

12:57am - My turn, at last! They lead me to a second waiting room behind a curtain.

1:07am - Waiting...

1:15am - Waiting...

1:22am - Hey, there's a supply drawer in here. "Q-Tips," "Xmas Trees," "Airways"... Xmas Trees? This seems like an odd place to store holiday decorations.

1:27am - I'm staring at one of those doohickeys that they hang IV bags and other fluids on. It kind of resembles those toys for babies that you hang above their cribs so they can stare at the pretty planets or flying unicorns as they lay there drooling, barely sentient. Isn't it poetic symmetry that many of us enter and depart the world laying on our backs, drooling and barely sentient, staring up at a hanging doohickey? Oh my god, I am high.

1:30am - Gosh this is taking long. Maybe I'll read that New Yorker on the table.

1:32am - Well I'll be damned. Chuck Brown, the Godfather of Go Go, is playing at Joe's Pub in New York's East Village on April 19! I just saw Chuck play (he opened for the Roots at Constitution Hall last week), and my friend and I were discussing whether or not Chuck tours outside of DC. We decided that he doesn't, since Go-Go doesn't carry much appeal beyond the DC metro area. I guess we were wrong.

1:40am - I'm reading a fascinating book review about the history of dueling. Did you know that the Queen of England he Queen still retains an official dueling champion who stands ready to challenge anyone who disputes her sovereignty?

1:43am - Finally, the doctor-in-residence arrives. She's about 22 years old and looks like she's been up for 4 straight days. She says she has to listen to my lungs first. Whatever. She asks if I smoke. "Of course not," I reply. Then, for no apparent reason, I start coughing uncontrollably. The doctor looks at me disdainfully.

1:55am - Time for my x-ray. They take me to a different waiting room.

2:02am - Waiting...

2:06am - Waiting...

2:08am - Dammit, I wish that incessant "beeping" sound would stop. It's giving me a headache.

2:10am - I complain about the "beeping" noise to a nurse I see in the hall. "So, what you're saying is you want that patient in there to flatline?" she asks, pointing to a room from whence the sound is coming. I decide that the beeping sound is ok.

2:18am - Well, at least they're keeping up the pretense that they intend to x-ray me tonight. I mean, I see the x-ray machine through a window in the room right next to me. There's just no one around to operate it.

2:20am - I decide that I'm not angry about waiting here for this long, because at least I'm going to get some quality care tonight. Had I gone to the ER at the Georgetown University Hospital, they would have given me a swift kick in the shin, injected me with saline to numb the pain, and sent me on my merry way.

2:22am - Finally, the x-ray technician! He looks like a Rastafarian. Maybe he can tell me how I mysteriously got high.

2:27am - Buju Banton leads me back to the room but doesn't close the curtains. He must be worried that I'm going to steal the Xmas trees.

2:35am - I overhear two doctors talking about some patient whom they refer to as "bronchitis girl." It seems that "bronchitis girl" is getting cranky, so they're going to release her. Even in my exhausted state, this strikes me as an exceedingly bad idea.

2:44am - Still no x-ray results. I guess they just don't pop out of the machine like Polaroids.

2:48am - The doctor-in-residence is approaching me. She has the x-rays in her hand. Oh god, please don't be broken, please, please...

2:49am - "It's broken dude." Hey, thanks dude.

2:49am - "But the good news is it's a clean break." Yes, that makes me feel much better.

Postscript - So there you have it. I actually didn't leave the ER until around 4am, but because they were putting me in a splint, I wasn't able to jot down any notes. Also, I was completely catatonic by that point, so I'm not sure I could've written anything coherent. I'll be in this cast for 4-6 weeks, but worse things have happened to better people, so who am I to complain?

To Catch THE Predator

noreply@blogger.com (Chico's Bail Bonds) — Mon, 05 Mar 2007 15:27:00 +0000

Child molestation is not funny. But this is.

The International Mixtape Project, and Session Americana

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Sun, 25 Feb 2007 23:51:00 +0000

I have two music-related plugs for you. I hope you will indulge me.

A friend of mine finally finished the web page for his "International Mixtape Project," or "IMP" for short. (Get it? "'IMP' for short?" I'm hilarious.) According to the website,"[t]he International Mixtape Project is a growing community of music lovers who exchange homemade compilation tapes and CDs with likeminded folks around the globe. Every month, each active IMP member is assigned the name and address of another member somewhere else in the world. The rest is simple: Send an awesome mix...Receive an awesome mix!" This is a great project, and I hope you'll take the time to check it out.

My junior-year college roommate, Kimon Kirk, is blowing up (musically speaking), so it's time to give him some props. (I've been plugging my other junior-year roommate, the Big Injun, for way too long. It's time for some new blood.) If you live in or around Boston, be sure to check out his band, Session Americana, at the Lizard Lounge in Cambridge, MA on March 8th and 9th. And for a sneak preview, check out YouTube.

The Reincarnation of Kenny Brunner, and Other Random Links

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Sun, 25 Feb 2007 23:19:00 +0000

I'm sure everyone saw this story last week, but it's too funny not to pass along. Make sure you watch the accompanying video for gems such as this: "I would be happy if someone tried to save me..." Oh, and take note of how they flippantly threw in at the end that our protagonist still lives with his mother. That's just gratuitous.

"N.Y.U. Student Republicans Mount Jaunty (Racist?) 'Immigrant' Hunt." How clever.

According to Conor, "though I am sure no one needs to be told this, technically speaking Williamsburg probably ceased to be cool years back sometime before this Washington Post article was published. And though I have no actual knowledge of such an article, it is a virtual certainty that there was one. My guess on a date for that article is circa October 2002." Another friend of Johnny Shades (who cannot be named because he is a high-ranking government official) puts the date at around August 2002, when he "ordered a cafe au lait to go and the guy told me they were out of soy milk."

Speaking of milk, check out this new beer-milk hybrid, called bilk. It does a body good.

And speaking of beer, check out what these guys found out about the bacteria levels involved in a typical game of beer pong. (Unless you play beer-pong regularly - in which case, ignorance is bliss.)

Finally, the Japanese Self-Defense Forces have enlisted an outside helper to aid them in their effort to stem the tide of Iraqi insurgency - Prince Pickles, a "perky cartoon character." I feel much safer now.

I Ain't Saying She's a Gold Digger...

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Wed, 21 Feb 2007 21:33:00 +0000

Actually, that's precisely what I'm saying -- if she participates in "natural selection" speed dating.

According to the group's web site:

"Pocket Change is honoring the age old union of wealthy men and hot girls. Society has taught us to not publicly acknowledge the obvious - no longer dear friends. Women want money in a man, men want beauty in a woman – this is a factual force of nature. Women don’t ask 'So, what does he do for a living?' because they’re interested in his personality and guys don’t ask 'is she hot?' because they’re concerned with character. Guys know that money buys them the car, the house and the trophy wife. This genetic cleansing is how the wealthy stay beautiful."

So, how long will it be before the LateNightShots crew adopts this type of event for the DC set? Judging by the paltry numbers being thrown around in LNS's "Consultant Salary Comparison" forum thread, the guys around here don't make nearly enough for this to work...

VW Makes Strong Cars, Offensive Commercials

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Wed, 21 Feb 2007 02:53:00 +0000

I'm not sure who greenlighted this particular project. Joel Surnow, perhaps?

VW Suicide Bomber

Watch Video
Fortunately, it looks like someone at VW had the good sense to pull the plug on this project before it ever aired.

Best Book Ever!!

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Tue, 20 Feb 2007 23:08:00 +0000

Actually, I have no idea if it's the best book ever, or even if the darned thing is any good at all. See, a friend of a friend knows a woman whose husband wrote a book, and my friend asked me to promote it. What I wanted to do was read the book first, and then write a pithy book review in this space. Instead, I went to Miami this past weekend and spent the entire time in South Beach eating Cuban sandwiches and drinking Coronas. So I didn't get much reading done.

What I'm going to do is pass along the e-mail I received for now, and read the book at a later date. It looks pretty good though, and it's gotten exceedingly positive reviews - so I'm excited to pick it up, and you should be too. Because it's the BEST BOOK EVER!

___________________

I am thrilled to announce that my husband's first novel, which so many of you are already so sick of hearing about, is going to be available in bookstores tomorrow. The brilliant author is Joshua Ferris, the title is Then We Came to the End, and the publisher is Little, Brown. According to one reviewer (who shall remain nameless), the book is, basically, a work of astonishing genius that is likely to change the face of literature as we know it. It has also been praised by Nick Hornby as a "terrific first novel" and is, according to Kirkus Reviews, "both a wickedly incisive satire of office groupthink and a surprisingly moving meditation on mortality and the ties that bind." Another reviewer, author Geoff Dyer, has written, "It almost makes me wish I had a job."

If all this does not convince you that you MUST read this book, here's a link to a blog that excerpts the first chapter:

http://marksarvas.blogs.com/elegvar/2006/12/then_we_came_to.html

Josh will be doing a number of readings, including in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles--those who are interested can let me know and I will keep you posted on the dates.

My posts have all been perverted, sorry.

noreply@blogger.com (mzp108) — Thu, 15 Feb 2007 18:45:00 +0000

I don't know how to begin writing about a subject like this so I'll just jump right in. My roommate's cat is in heat. I don't know if anyone gone through this with a pet but it is one of the most disturbing events I've ever witnessed.

It started late Tuesday night when the cat, Kali, began moaning. I kept snapping at her to shut up until I noticed her rubbing her you know what all over the carpet. At this point I was pretty sure this was a cat in heat but I logged onto the internet just to be sure. Kitty websites everywhere confirmed my fears, this cat was a giant hornball. At only six months old, my precious kitty was moaning, sticking her butt out, and begging for sex. How inappropriate.

The fun continued through the night when Kali began to pee on tall, thin objects to mark her territory for possible suitors. Just another example of a cat's supreme intelligence...makes no difference that there has NEVER been another animal in the house, maybe if she pissed on every piece of furniture one would miraculously turn up and do her.

The truth is I feel bad for the little cat. She probably doesn't understand why this happening and it is also somewhat painful for them to go through. The moral of this blog is what good ol' Bob Barker has been telling us for years, SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR ANIMALS. If not for their sanity, then for yours.

Ivan Drago: Best Game Ever

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Thu, 15 Feb 2007 18:28:00 +0000

I just wasted the last 27 minutes playing Ivan Drago: Justice Enforcer. I suggest you do the same.

The New York Rangers at the Sports Club/LA

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 17:53:00 +0000

I joined the Sports Club/LA several years ago, mostly for the basketball courts. (Indeed, Johnny Shades fancies himself to be quite the basketball player.) About a year ago, the club was acquired, and the new management team has been changing things around ever since. Some changes are welcome - for instance, the new carpet, with its relaxing neutral tones, brings me a sense of inner purpose as I trudge that extra mile on the elliptical machine. Other changes are unforgiveable - namely, the conversion of the basketball court into a cardio room, which has served to undermine the only justifiable excuse I had for paying such exorbitant membership fees in the first place.

So, why don't I just quit and join, say, the much cheaper Vida Fitness Center? Because of the random celebrity run-ins.

I've had several notable random celebrity run-ins as the Sports Club/LA. Sure, everyone's heard the story about George Clooney playing basketball there while he was in town filming "K Street." But how many people can say they've been inappropriately ogled by a half-naked John Travolta (in town for a premier of "Ladder 49") in the locker room? How many people can say that they've inappropriately ogled Eva Longoria (in town filming "The Sentinal") as she did the butterfly press machine? How many people can say that former Dolphins runningback Karim-Abdul Jabbar is a personal trainer at their gym? I can answer affirmatively to all three.

This past weekend, though, I had my most bizarre random celebrity run-in ever.

It was Saturday morning, around 11am. I swung by the gym for a quick run before heading to the office for a fun-filled day of work. But it was really hard to find a free machine, mostly because the New York Rangers were working out.

Now I assume they were in town to play the Caps, and were staying at the Ritz Carlton (in which the Sports Club/LA is located). No surprise there - professional athletic teams stay at the Ritz all the time. What was surprising was the following:

Here you have a team of professional athletes working out at what is essentially a gym for (1) World Bank/IMF development nerds and (2) the trophy wives of lawyers and lobbyists. It just didn't seem to be the best venue for them to have a productive pre-game workout.

Have you ever seen a professional athlete in person and thought to yourself, "Wow, he's a lot bigger/stronger/faster-looking in real life than I imagined?" This has happened to me serveral times. For instance, when I saw Tom Brady and Donavan McNabb at the White House Correspondent's Dinner two years ago, I couldn't believe how tall they were. And when I ran into Popeye Jones at Dream nightclub a few years ago, I was astounded by how ugly he was in real life. But the Rangers - none of them struck me as larger-than-life. With the exception of Marek Malik, who resembles a Carpathian tree-ogre, they all kind of just looked like fairly athletic, normal people. In fact, I mistook them for a collegiate rugby team traveling in the United States at first.

How did I eventually figure out they were the New York Rangers, you ask? Well, they were all wearing the same grey ringer T-shirt that said "Be a Ranger," with the NHL logo emblazoned on the top. But with an exceedingly clever twist - "Be a Ranger" was written in different languages, depending on the nationality of the player. (i.e., Martin Straka's T-shirt was written in Czech, Jaromir Jagr's was written in incomprehensible pidgeon English, etc.) I found this whole thing odd - don't professional athletes generally try to remain inconspicuous in public so as not to attract the attention of the adoring masses?

Not that it mattered - not one person at the gym seemed to pay them any mind at all, despite their apparent attention-seeking behavior. As if we needed more proof that the NHL is no longer culturally relevant. I mean, 12 years ago, Jaromir Jagr couldn't grab a drink at Chauncy's in Pittsburgh without being mobbed by dozens of doe-eyed, mulleted, yinzer-chicks looking to jump his bones. But as he walked through the gym on Saturday morning, no one batted an eye. I was seriously considering asking for his autograph out of pity.

The 'burgh will always love you, Jaromir...

Celebrate Valentine's Day, Harold and Kumar-Style

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Sat, 10 Feb 2007 21:28:00 +0000

With Valentine's Day coming up, a lot of you guys and gals out there are probably racking your brains trying to figure out something romantic to do with your significant other. Flowers? Lame. Dinner and a movie? Trite!

How about sharing a plate of, say, two dozen sliders and a sack of french fries in a candle-lit public dining room? I am not making this up...

"Make your Valentine's day STEAMY! Take your Valentine to White Castle on Wednesday, February 14 between 5 and 8 p.m. and enjoy hostess seating, candlelit dining and your own server. Reservations are required, so check the list below for participating Castles near you!

Special this year, you can also treat your honey to a romantic White Castle dinner in your home! Cupid's Crave Kits include eight cheeseburgers, one sack of fries, two regular soft drinks, coupons and keepsake items to heat up your homespun romance. Now, ain't that sweet?"

No. No, it ain't.

Jack Bauer Takes on the Aqua Teen Hunger Force

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Sat, 10 Feb 2007 21:21:00 +0000

It was only a matter of time.

"A Dream in Doubt" Screens in New York and San Francisco

noreply@blogger.com (Johnny Shades) — Wed, 07 Feb 2007 14:10:00 +0000

Preet Singh, a dear friend of Cafe 227, has been working for over three years to produce a one-hour documentary chronicling the aftermath of the first post-9/11 hate fatality of Balbir Singh Sodhi. The film, "A Dream in Doubt," recently premiered at one of the largest independent film festivals in the world, Slamdance, in Park City, UT. The film was recognized for a Jury prize and is currently being considered for a national PBS airing later this year.

In addition, "A Dream in Doubt" has been selected by the Film Society at Lincoln Center and IFP to screen at the famed Lincoln Center in New York City. Preet, along with the Sodhi family, will be in New York City for the screening and a Q&A afterwards.

Details: Thursday, Feb. 22, 6:30 pm, Walter Reade Theater; $10 tickets at www.filmlinc.com.

The film will also screen at the San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival on Tuesday, March 20 at 7:15 pm. Tickets will be available beginning Feb. 13 at www.asianamericanfilfestival.org.

If you live in either of those cities, I encourage you to attend. It'll be worth your time.