» Astoria

weather this!

Sun, 30 Jan 2011 05:36:14 +0000

It has been snowing and snailing (snow hailing, duh) for like five days straight, I think. Maybe four, but Hell, it feels like two weeks.

When will it ever end?

Trying not to be down about the general lack of sunshine in my life, LOL.

On the plus side, there’s a lot of philosophical sunshine going on?!?!?!

Anyways, feeling sick from eating gluten last night. Dumb, dumb, dumb, but kind of worth it. Junenoire and I went to Mundo, here in Astoria, and I tried the Red Sonja, which clearly had some wheat in it. Delicious, but oh boy, did the vomiting part suck. The falafel I had there last night? SO GOOD. SO GOOD. I can totally see why it’s Junenoire’s favorite place in Astoria.

Anyways, Mundo totally got a little write-up in Boro magazine, so check that out here. And yeah, Astor Bake Shop, you know, that place I squat in and suck up their supply of decaf like I’m a camel basking in a mid-desert oasis, well they are in Boro this month as well. (Win-win for Boro!)

And Boro? It’s the new LIC/Astoria culture rag. I feel like it’s almost a mini Time Out New York, but for Queens. Check them out for sure, especially since Long Island City and Astoria are like two different worlds and trying to meld the two in publication is, to say the least, highly entertaining.

As for my plans this weekend? To stay warm, because my d-bag landlord doesn’t do this thing called turn on the heat. (Moving? YAY!) Just how will I be doing that? By consuming my body weight in cookies and milk and other gluten free products my super-amazing brother Keegan brought home. (Don’t think too highly of him, though. I think he only purchased them because some hot woman at Whole Foods was schooling him on gluten free goods. LOL.)

Back to doing my best cookie monster impression, Pretty Birds.

Keep warm. Preferably in a healthier manner than gorging on unhealthy food.

rogueranters, welcome to the astor bake shop

Fri, 24 Sep 2010 19:00:23 +0000

Pretty Birds, if ever you’ve known me, you know that I like to make distinctions; that I like to split people in to two groups, always.

I’ll say things like, There are two kinds of people: people who jump off the high dive and people who are smart.

Or, The world consists of two groups: folks that like Kalamata olives and morons.

When I walked into Astor Bake Shop and the young woman behind the counter asked me if I knew what I’d like to order, I thought, There are two types of people: those who eat the top of the muffin and those who eat the whole damn thing. (I know, I’m like a walking, talking, breathing caricature of Social Identity Theory.)

I don’t know why, RogueRanters, I order muffins so often when I can only be forced to eat the tops off of them.

Do you remember that glorious episode of Seinfeld where Elaine opens a place called Top of the Muffin to You and only sells muffin tops? (Newman is hired to eat the bottoms, because no charity will take the extra food. “Who wants to eat bottoms?!?!?”)

I digress.

Anyways, while standing at the counter, eyeing muffins, thinking to myself, I don’t even really like muffins, but for some dumb reason I always order them, I spotted what had to be the most disgusting concept of a muffin ever.

Cherry Bran.

Just reading the name on the placard sitting before them gave me chills.

I hate all cherry flavored things, I thought, and what could be worse than adding bran to that?!?!

What better way to test a new bakery, one that’s only been open since late June, than to base my review off of what had to be the grossest thing I’d ever fathomed? (-Besides the infamous mayonnaise covered grapes my youngest sister ate out of a Ziploc baggy all those years ago, you know, back when she was a small child and I was convinced she was mentally handicapped; I tried relentlessly to teach her how to jump and she’d just bend her knees and grunt. FAIL.)

So I ordered a Cherry Bran muffin and a large Astor Brew (caffeinated; not my usual, I know), and began mentally preparing to die a very slow, painful death via intestinal self-sabotage.

I tried over and over again to distract myself from the inevitable by admiring the pretty, squeaky clean glass case holding all things abominable to waistlines everywhere: Muffins, cupcakes, cakes, pastries! Gahhhhhhh!

Then I tried to focus on the clean, simple decor and the nautical stars displayed intermittently around the coffee shop. I looked at the wooden rooster, sitting on a display shelf behind the counter, and even went so far as to have a conversation with myself about how much my crazy grandma, who collects rooster and chicken figurines, would absolutely love that thing . . .

All for the sake of delaying the inevitable.

Nothing worked.

By the time the woman working behind the counter brought over my coffee and muffin, I was prepared for the worst.

But then, I’m not kidding, Pretty Birds, a magical thing happened.

I ATE THE WHOLE DAMN MUFFIN.

(I just knew you wouldn’t believe me, so here’s some photographic evidence!)

Going . . .

Gone . . .

Holy Mother of Sweet Baby Jesus, that Cherry Bran muffin was delicious! The cherry wasn’t overpowering to the bran, and the muffin was far from dry (which is why I usually abhor Bran anything; dryer than the Sahara, and then awkwardly, too moist in random areas). I’m big on texture, with everything I eat, and the muffin wasn’t too grainy or too cake-y.

Even better, the chunks of cherry (you can see one in the second photo above) were very un-medicinal tasting. Every other cherry flavored thing I’ve ever eaten, including the cherry-scented scratch-n-sniff sticker I consumed as a kindergartner, has tasted like foul cough syrup.

Even chocolate covered cherries and those saccharine-sweet maraschino cherries diners stick on top of your milk shakes repulse me. Like, I am a full on, card-carrying sweet Cherry-hater suffering from a severe overload of haterade. Not kidding. If some boyscout knocked on my apartment door right now and tried to sell me cherry-flavored anything- gold nuggets, tylenol, bison burgers- I would spit on him! (And that’s coming from me, someone who is, if anything, down for a culinary adventure and finds spitting utterly repuslive. Pig tongue? Sure. Beating fish hearts? Ugh, but sure. Chocolate covered bugs? Yummm. Cherries? HELL TO THE NO!)

So imagine my surprise that the muffin was not only edible, but delicious.

Like if I went back to Astor Bake Shop tomorrow (and I might), I would order another. Don’t worry, I won’t write a follow-up about the same muffin; I’m too curious about the other offerings, including an egg sandwich on a Portuguese roll. (You all know I love me some Portuguese rolls. You could fill it with dirt, and I’d probably try it at least once. LOL.)

On to the beverage . . . the coffee was coffee. While it was delicious coffee, at that, I am NOT a coffee connoisseur and therefore cannot give you a realistic breakdown of the blend. You’re gonna have to stop by this little gem and try it out for yourself. (Read about their partnership with Stone Street Coffee here.)

After eating my muffin and drinking my coffee, I stuck around for a couple of hours to get some writing done, sketch a Boozy Willow or two, and see what the place was like as the morning wore on. (I got there right as it opened, at 7 AM, and it’s never quite fair to judge a place that’s three months old by showing up as the doors promptly open, and yes, they did open promptly. In fact, I waltzed in at 7:05 to be exact, and they were already serving someone some morning deliciousness.)

And duh!

Of course I took photos of the sparkling clean bathroom for you.

Because if I’m going to pay $5 and change for a muffin and a large coffee, I’m going to require a clean place to at least wash my hands.

Now let’s talk specifics.

Astor Bake Shop isn’t in the nicest part of Astoria. The 5 points area of Astoria is kind of industrial, and yeah, a little ghetto. However, the place is close enough to Astoria Park that, after swimming, biking, or just hanging out in the grass for a little while, you can comfortably walk and get some sweets or a chef-inspired “sloppy sandwich.” Maybe down a gingerade. (It’s on the menu, and eventually, I’ll have tried it.)

Wifi: Yes

Bathrooms: Sparkling

Service: More than nice, more than helpful, more than willing to clear the dishes from your table-

even though it’s not a sit down joint. I give them an A+ for service.

Cost: a bit pricey for this part of Astoria, but worth the ingredients that go into your goods.

You don’t feel like you’re at a Dunkin Donuts buying a muffin that’s may have been bought in bulk at Costco and full of weird chemicals, but some actual quality $hit. Got it?

Overall: the place seems like it hasn’t quite found it’s rhythm yet, like they’re equipped to be serving more people than they are, at this point, but hopefully- now that they’ve built it, they (the customers) will come. Astoria needs a place like this.

So . . .

Dear Astoria,

Don’t eff this up.

(Rant: When you talk, Astoria, I listen, and let me tell you, you’re always bitching about things like Subway and Starbucks and Costco and other mass chains opening up in the neighborhood, but you don’t do much to support newer, smaller- or even older- businesses. Don’t be a hypocrite. If you don’t like the commercialism going on, put your money where your mouth is and shop elsewhere.

AND FYI: If Astoria loses it’s charm- the charm that’s inherent in small businesses, like cafes and restaurants- you can kiss your freshly rising property value goodbye.

The nouveau riche and artsy hipsters don’t want to live next door to McDonald’s. They want local business and organic grocery stores, silly . . . Rant finished.)

The Verdict:

If you haven’t tried this place yet, I urge you to get out and try it.

It’s more than solid and it’s just the kind of place Astoria needs; the kind of place Astorians claim they want.

So dig in already.

Who knows what kind of expectations you’ll harbor after reading this, but you might wind up like me, very pleasantly surprised and desiring a certain kind of something (another muffin, pervert!) the morning after.

Astor Bake Shop

12-23 Astoria Blvd
Astoria, NY 11102
(718) 606-8439

it’s been a long day . . . plus, wolfpack reunion

Thu, 29 Jul 2010 03:42:24 +0000

I know, I know, RogueRanters. I’ve been seriously neglecting this blog, right?

It’s just that well, I’ve been writing a lot- just not blog-ish stuff.

Also, I’m still trying to figure out how to work this new vid editing software so that I can share some new artists with you. (I’m such a MASSIVE FAILURE at stuff like this these days. Why is that? Must work on this. Pronto.)

But overall, just dreaming about loads of things, like owning a hot chocolate maker and crisp autumn weather and chunky knit sweaters in rustic colors and pulled pork sandwiches . . . Don’t ask me about that last one, because even I couldn’t tell you, but I’m actually kind of excited for fall. (Not winter, NEVER winter, FUCK winter.)

(Usher’s “Love In This Club” for Nohea)

Here’s a list of things I wish I could be doing right now (if I weren’t writing this to you, because we all know writing to you obviously tops the list):

- I’d be wine tasting in Napa.

- At Sweet Afton’s in Astoria, indulging in some fried pickles.

- Be back at Hapuna Beach on the Big Island (Hawaii), swimming under the impending dusk and then getting ready to eat, drink, and head out for another night swim with friends.

-I’d be in Phi Phi, Thaliand, having a shroom burger

- A bubble bath sounds kind of nice, actually.

- I’d be perfecting my bagel recipe

- OR actually, above all these things, I really, really wish I was hanging out with my best friend- yeah, the one who crapped her pants all those years ago- in San Clemente, California, having a bit of a wino night, dancing around a fire pit somewhere, maybe with some strangers . . . or her grandparents. Maybe she could even get stoned or something and ride circles on her beach cruiser around the fire pit, giggling. Seems like something she’d do, right? I’m sure we’d get good and sauced up, try to eventually head to sleep, spend all night laughing about her haunted room, and eventually freak each other out enough about ghosts to make us want to hold a seance.

But since I’m not in California, I’ll try to resume regular posting tomorrow. I mean, I’m not making any promises, but you know, I can at least promise you I won’t post another fuddy-duddy list like this. It will be actual content. LOL. Not videos about vermin in New York City.

xo,

Bubble Girl

PS. Here’s a little sound bite from my other best friend. You see, she drunk dialed me and left this little gem in my voicemail box last night:

“Jaqqqqqqqq, me and Joy are trassssssssshed. I don’t know what the fuck she’s doing, but I’m eattttttang! (Joy in the background: “JAQQQQQ!”) She’s throwing foooooood at my facccccce. Oh my God, you would laugh so hard. I love you.”

Wolfpack reunion going down in Oahu; t-minus 4 days. If you’re not already, you SHOULD drink to that, because duh, you should always drink to good company and family.

Have fun ladies! I’m sorry my pants-less self won’t be there to help you get trassssssshed, but add some Aussie notches to your bedpost for me. (“Bag ‘em like some groceries”)

playgrounds

Wed, 21 Jul 2010 12:19:50 +0000

Are for adults, didn’t you know?

I have a strange fixation with playgrounds. They’re always so colorful, and I do love to take a ride on the swings.

You know, at amusement parks and fairs, how they always have rides that spin you around crazy-like? Those are my favorite.

When I was younger, some of my fondest memories were my father spinning my brothers and me on the playground equipment that looked like this:

Apparently, these types of playground equipment aren’t in use anymore. “Too dangerous” they say.

Kids these days are pussies.

You know, when I was back in LA for most of last year, I would take my little sisters (yeah, they’re geeks, too) on bike rides to the park, and they had a “ride”- if you will- that was extremely similar to this, but only for one of two people and bars on the side to make sure you stayed inside. Hard to describe, wish I had a picture.

SO MUCH FUN.

Miss those little geeks. Can’t believe they’re going into the 8th grade and high school.

I feel so old.

I honor of all that is fun, fancy, and free about playgrounds, here are some completely arbitrary shots of playgrounds from around the world that I’ve collected. (BTW, Anyone else ever noticed that there’s always at least one shady person at the playgrounds?)

LES, Manhattan

Shady Man and Police Officer at Playground near Chinatown, Honolulu, Hawaii

My favorite of the bunch: playground in Ermoupolis, Syros, Greece

Playground in Astoria Park, Queens.

Basketball near playground in Parikia, Paros, Greece.

BTW, here in New York, they have playgrounds with little holes in the ground that skirt water for the kids to play in!

I don’t think they have ‘em back in LA, do they?

They’re epic! And the kids always look like they’re having so much fun!

viva astoria!

Tue, 13 Jul 2010 03:43:58 +0000

People like this, who do the little things to make people’s lives easier, make me smile.

That’s what’s so nice about Astoria: the people.

Watch the video to learn about the Scum River Bridge in Astoria.

Astoria Scum River Bridge from Jason Eppink on Vimeo.

Thank you Jason and friend!

scenes on my streets of new york city

Fri, 09 Jul 2010 05:13:31 +0000

Charm Attack(ed)

Sat, 22 May 2010 18:48:56 +0000

Dear RogueRanters, my, my, my, it has been awhile. I mean, really, it has been awhile, and no, I haven’t been off gallivanting around the globe while you keep refreshing your browser in an attempt for an update . . .

I went to see my new therapist last week, because I’ve been dealing with a lot of crazy, seemingly-insane stuff, and that’s what you do when you just can’t take it anymore, right? You hug it out, talk it out, do-something-and-tack-on-”out”-to-the-end-of-it, because you’ve got to get whatever it is that has seeped into/under your skin “out “of your system. For a long time, a very, very long time (read: almost half a year), things have been far more than awry, and I’d like to think my pores are just a little tighter than everyone elses’; that stuff never gets into/under my skin, but heck, who am I kidding, I have giant pores. Like massive, gigantic pores that, if you squint just a little, you can see them beckoning to you from across the street. I don’t speak the language of pores, or therapists, for that matter, but I imagine that my pores have a knack for charming bad luck into my epidermis (fancy speak for skin, duh). Right at this very moment, considering I have a few “spots” on my face (a much friendlier term than zits, I think), my pores are probably screaming, being the little whore-pores that they are, “Bad luck? Dirt? Grime? Bacteria? We’ve got vacancies, and yes, gentlemen, we take credit cards!”

As for my new therapist, I was pretty positive that I liked her. I mean, I’m not judgmental or anything, but her casual attire of skinny, boot cut jeans (medium rinse), runners, and a black 3/4 length sleeve cotton tee, made me feel very much like I was not being “therap-ized.” Her curly hair looked moussed, or gelled, but not overly so in a crunchy, Jersey Shore way. I mean, non-threatening, informal attire in a space that the general public thinks of as staid and filled with the scent of dusty books and over-stuffed couches and leather armchairs, well, it’s kind of genius. And so, immediately, I had respect for her for not playing according to the general rules of all things therapist-y, you know?. Plus, she listened, which was nice, and also, my entire purpose for seeing her. So yeah, like I said, I was pretty positive that I liked her, but the clincher: as I stood up to walk out of the room and shake hands with her (is it weird that you shake hands with someone you just spilled your guts “out” to?), she took a look at my handbag, and said something along the lines of “that is an awesome bag.” Now, I don’t know why, but “awesome” is kind of one of the words that instantly takes me back to the nineties, which was, like, so perfect, because I found out later that Leona Naess finally had a video up on YouTube for her old song, a very late-90′s gem, “Charm Attack.” And for some reason, all things 90′s, including bad pop-rock songs by the Goo-Goo Dolls, bring me to a happy place.

When she made the comment about my awesome bag, which is like a pseudo-briefcase of sorts, it was like a bulb went off in my head, and I knew that I’d be back to see her next week.

I know I don’t generally write about hyper-personal stuff, and there’s a pretty solid chance that you’ll never hear about what my therapist and I talk(ed) about after this post, but I’m writing about it now, because, as cliche as it seems, people should never feel weird about going to therapy.

I’ve never been a huge believer in it. The thought of paying someone to listen to your troubles makes it seem like people probably just need to find better friends, but sometimes there’s stuff that you can’t tell your friends. Sometimes there’s stuff you want to keep all to yourself and not have your friends judge you by. Sometimes you just need a credible person to look you in the eye and tell you that you are not going crazy, it’s just that extremely crazy things are happening to you. So, even if I don’t really think therapy is all that good, desperate measures call for desperate times, and I’m now going to it. Not only am I going to it, but I’m happy to be going to it.

Therapy is one of those things that, if it works for you, or you go, even if it doesn’t, don’t ever feel ashamed about it, OK RogueRanters.

You should never, ever feel ashamed about handling your business and taking care of yourself. Got it?

Now, I sincerely hope you’re enjoying the Leona Naess video (posted above), and that you’ll sincerely enjoy my new haircut. Cuz, guess what, RogueRanters? I’m bald these days. Like not bicked, but just bald. See Exhibit A, below.

Remember that ol’ mohawk of mine? It’s gone.

After I got it, a couple weeks went by, and then, BAM! everyone, mostly dudes, started to get mohawks. Having such short hair, at least, when you’re a woman, is a little awkward, because you get hit on by a lot of men who love it, which is always nice- and a lot of women, which, it’s flattering, but at the same time, kind of awkard, right? I’ve been told that men dig it, because it’s edgy and I dress girl-y enough to not look dike-y, but women probably can’t tell. LOL. Kinda makes for an odd afternoon when you’re sitting outside at the cafe, and three men walk by and tell you your bald-headed-ness look fabulous, and then two very butch women walk by and look you up and down like a piece of lunch meat. Almost made me want to toss of my lunch. Anyways, when I started seeing an abundance of mohawks, I was like damn, the whole point is to stay ahead of the game, which means I need a new hairstyle. Hence, the baldness. It’s a black and white photo, because the blood red lipstain that I usually love, well, I wasn’t feeling it in this particular photo. It’s not so bad for a bald lass, right? And my doctor prescribed me some stuff to rub on my scalp and some medicated shampoo (the whole point of getting rid of it), which means no more cracking, bleeding scalp, and no more awkward chunks of skin falling off. (Which seriously equated to some of the most awkward moments of my life, like the time someone was like, “Uhm, you’ve got food in your hair,” and then they realized it was my skin coming off.) No more awkward flesh moments: win, win, and win, right?

And finally, RogueRanters, I have moved to ASTORIA! ASTORIA! ASTORIA!

My, my, isn’t it nice, to have a little sunshine? Eventually, when my room is fully set up, I’ll share some more snapshots with you. That is all for now RogueRanters, but trust that there’ll be more soon. I’m going to tell you all about the day someone thought I kidnapped a kid. Random? Yes, but it would happen to me.

Cheers!