"THIS IS WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE IN BROOKLYN"

Just after 7:30pm a demonstration made its way up 5th Avenue, just around the corner from my apartment, less than a half-hour before the newly-imposed nightly curfew goes into effect. The understandably incensed vibes of the crowd were palpable and the chanting of "THIS IS WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE IN BROOKLYN" did not fail to resonate. (Though it did seem a tad odd to hear that in tony Park Slope. I can name several communities in Brooklyn where such sentiments are way more justified.) Whatever the case, until the wielding of torches and pitchforks eases up, I will be staying indoors from 8pm through sunrise for the foreseeable future.

Stay safe out there, everyone. And stay sane and civilized. Exhibit more humanity than the oppressors.

T-BONED

The "steak shopping" scene from PINK FLAMINGOS (1972).

I just got back from stepping out to pick up a prescription, and as I exited my building I saw the younger manager of the Associated supermarket around the corner running full-tilt down my block toward 4th Avenue, with a beefy staff member who could not keep pace hot on his heels. I put it pout of my head as I made my way to the chemists shop, and upon picking up my prescription I made my way back here but stopped into the Associated first for some seltzer. When I entered I noticed two NYPD officers, clipboards for taking notes in hand, conferring with the manager who'd hauled ass past my building.

Being a regular anywhere for nearly 24 years allows one a certain amount of access to the behind-the-scenes skinny, so when I hit the checkout counter I asked the cashier, whom I am friendly with, what was up. She described the situation thusly:

"What happened was this big woman in a hat, lookin' like a man — I think she was a dyke — came to me with a stack of steaks and asked about our return policy. I told her that without receipts we don't take back meats, so she looked at me and snarled 'So, I'm stuck with these steaks???' and with that she walked out with the steaks. So basically she chose some of our most expensive steaks, came up to me, and tricked me into thinking she was an actual customer. Alex (the manager) chased her all the way down to the R train, but she got on and he missed her by like a second."

I suppose I should not be surprised that this sort of thing goes on, but is it just me or is that move incredibly selfish? While the managers at the Associated treat the staff very well and understand when this kind of shit happens, that same kindness might not be exhibited at other NYC supermarkets, and losing high-end goods, especially during a time of crisis, could easily get an innocent cashier fired and cut loose into the nightmare that is the current unemployment maelstrom. Douchebaggery.

THE QUEEN IS DEAD: R.I.P. LITTLE RICHARD (1932-2020)

Madness personified, and the 1950's exclaimed "WHAT THE FUCK?!!?"

Richard Penniman, better known and beloved as Little Richard, one of the founding fathers of rock 'n' roll, has shuffled off this mortal coil, and I hope and pray that his last word was his signature "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" 

 

Crazy as a soup sandwich and gayer than a tree full of songbirds, Richard was arguably rock 'n' roll's first badass queer (at least within the mainstream), and you had better believe he did not care what anyone had to say about it. The guy was a showman to the nth degree, possessed of enough energy to power a continent, and his musicianship on the ivories was so far above criticism as to be untouchable. His antics onstage combined the raw energy of early rock 'n' roll with an aura of "I just escaped from a mental institution with my dick in my hands, and I dare y'all to catch me so you can line up to kiss my black ass," which certainly made him a unique presence in his era. (Though, to be fair, Jerry Lee Lewis was arguably the only one of rock's Mount Rushmore who gave Richard a run for his money in the showmanship insanity department.) Simply put, there was much to love about Richard, and one aspect of him that seldom gets brought up is that he taught us straight boys that not only was outright flamboyance fun, it was cool.

So it is with reverence and respect that I bid Little Richard a fond "Requiescat en pace" with not a trace of sadness, because he truly pioneered the uniquely black flavor of American craziness to popular music, and that is a joyous thing indeed.  Thus I close this eulogy  with an anecdote from when I was in my teens, a quote from my mom on Little Richard: 

"Oh, god, Little Richard... When we first saw him on TV in the Fifties, it was like some kind of space-alien had just stepped out of a flying saucer. No one had ever seen anything like that on television, and I distinctly remember saying out loud 'What the hell did I just watch?' when his performance was over. The only thing I can remember that was as crazy around that time was James Brown with that cape, but that's another level of weirdness."

"WHERE NOBODY'S DREAMS COME TRUE..."

One upside to the barrenness wrought by the pandemic: Being able to wander around a practically-deserted Key food at 7:30am in what amounts to a gas mask while loudly singing along with "Pico & Sepulveda" and grooving my way to the self-checkout aisle. The staffer assigned to watch the line and enforce social distancing could not take his eyes off of the large, strange black man singing and dancing like a loon. The few others present at checkout didn't bat an eye. Quite freeing, really.

A WOULD-BE PANDEMIC PROFITEER STRIKES OUT

Enterprise! You've got to enterprise!

Enterprise! 

You've got to enterprise!

And God bless the blackout when it comes!

— "Enterprise" from RUNAWAYS (1978)

After completing errands before 9am today, I had planned to stay indoors for the next few days at least, but I ventured out just after 2pm once alerted of a prescription being available for pickup.

After the rainy weather of the past couple of days, spring arrived in all of its (quarantined) glory, so by the afternoon the previously deserted streets of Park Slope were once again bustling with life. Most of the people that I saw were merrily wandering about, glad to be out of their homes, hugging too-long-unseen friends and loved ones, but few sported masks or any form of mouth coverings or gloves, save for those entering the supermarket right around the corner. (No mask, no admittance.)

As I walked north along 5th Avenue toward the Chemists Shop (my preferred pharmacy by a landslide), I noted a guy across the street who was decked out from head to toe in a well-worn hasmat suit of the kind you can snag via eBay for around thirteen bucks (excluding shipping and handling). His face was obscured by a mask and he even sported those plastic baggie boots, along with, for some unknown reason, a blue superhero-style cape, rendering his whole look into a sorry cosplay variant of Moon Knight. He ducked into the 24/7 convenience store on one of the corners, but came out again almost immediately, after which he quickly crossed the avenue and ended up on the sidewalk a few lengths ahead of me. 

He too headed into the Chemists Shop. 

When I entered, I saw him brandishing a sealed box of ventilator masks, and he was attempting to sell them, "cheap," to the too-savvy-for him counter girl and the weekend manager, who is also always on the ball. The mystery wandering medical supply entrepreneur gave it his all, but the staff simply were not having it, outlining to him how they were only stocking and selling 3M brand N95 masks, and noting that what he was attempting to push on them were cheap paper knockoff that were functionally "useless." Realizing he was not dealing with the gullible, he beat a hasty retreat.

When I approached the counter, I engaged the staff in our usual session of friendly "regular" chatter, and allowed them to vent about what had just transpired. Apparently, the guy had been hitting all of the local convenience stores, supermarkets, bodegas, and supermarkets, and word of his scheme had gotten around.

Never underestimate the grapevine of small Brooklyn businesses.

SERIOUS SAUSAGE, RUNNY OVER-EASY EGG and CHEESE CROISSANT

I say that as a reward for making it through the week during the pandemic/quarantine, we all treat ourselves to an obscene weekend breakfast. Today's for me was a sausage, runny over-easy egg, and cheese croissant, with a lashing of cayenne pepper. Utterly delicious and way better than one you'd get at a diner or a Dunkin' Donuts.

The secret is obtaining a large croissant (as you are making a proper sandwich and not a dainty snack) and flattening your sausage patty meat between two sheets of parchment paper, making sure it's flatter and wider than a pancake. Meat shrinks on a griddle, so making the patty super-wide and super-flat compensates for for that and allows the patty to be at a respectable size upon completion of cooking. The area of the sausage surface space also allows for carefully placing your egg and allowing the runny bits room to move but still stay on the sausage (more or less) while the croissant sops up some of the runoff.

Whatever the case, this is a 10 out of a possible 10 on the quality breakfast scale if done properly, and it goes swimmingly with tea.

SEASON OF THE WITCH

Waiting for the bus home on the deserted 5th Avenue in Park Slope after picking up a prescription during a quarantine is already weird enough, but doing so while listening to Vanilla Fudge's cover of the Donovan classic "Season of the Witch" adds a whole other eerie layer to the experience.

JAY AND SILENT BOB REBOOT (2019)

Our heroes return.

Just sat through JAY AND SILENT BOB REBOOT (2019) and found it to be better than expected, though it's hands down the second-weakest entry in the series (after MALLRATS). As is repeatedly pointed out over the course of the movie it's basically a remake, er, "reboot" of JAY AND SILENT BOB STRIKE BACK (2001), along with elements and characters from the other films in the run, and once more our hapless heroes set off on a cross-country odyssey to prevent the making of a film about them, this time a reboot. 

Jay (Jason Mewes) pays tribute to Buffalo Bill.

It starts out rather rote and I almost turned it off, but things pick up considerably once we are introduced to Millennium "Milly" Faulken (Harley Quinn Smith in what is easily her best role) and her trio of girlfriends, and she is revealed to be the daughter that Jay (Jason Mewes) never knew he had fathered. Sadly, Jay and Silent Bob (Kevin Smith) are sworn to secrecy regarding Jay being Millys dad, after which the girls hijack the stoners' road trip and force them to take them along to Hollywood. Wacky adventures ensue and Jay, who himself never met his dad must come to terms with his sudden unexpected parenthood of a belligerent and dangerous 18-year-old girl. That's over-simplifying a plot that's already about as far from Dostoyevsky as one can get, so I suggest smoking a fat blunt and just going with it. 

Millennium "Milly" Faulken (Harley Quinn Smith). When casting your own daughter is a good idea.

The movie overall is just okay, and instead of simply rehashing JAY AND SILENT BOB STRIKE BACK, I would have preferred for writer/director/star Kevin Smith to have focused the narrative on the sub-plot of Jay and Milly. Along with his familiar shenanigans as the motor-mouthed and not-necessarily-bright Jay, Mewes solidly delivers in the heartfelt scenes between Jay and Milly. It's in no uncertain terms a surprising effort from him and is a crowning emotional through point in what would otherwise just be a silly and disposable movie. We also feel for Milly's half of the equation, as it's made clear that much of her attitude and aggression comes from always having longed to meet the father that she never knew, which Jay eventually twigs to, and it truly rips one's heart out as we see him struggle to keep his word about not revealing to Milly exactly who he is. There are a number of moments of verbal exchange between Jay and Milly that struck too close to home for me and I freely admit that I openly wept in certain spots. (Those who know me well in the world out side of facebook will understand why.)

BOTTOM LINE: The emotional arc for Jay is what makes this film worth sitting through, and I sincerely hope that Mewes goes forward to stretch his wings in parts that allow him more to do than resort to his signature and admittedly funny stoner antics. Not a full-on return to form for Kevin Smith, but parts of this are razor-sharp. C+ for the film as a whole entity, but an A+ for the realization of the Jay and Milly sub-plot.

Poster from the theatrical release.

MY SPRING LOOK

Considering my Type 2 diabetes and kidney issues, plus the fact that a number of my friends/family have been stricken with Covid-19, I decided to stop fucking around with the standard 3M mask and go for a SERIOUS upgrade. 

This bad mutha is a hell of a lot easier to breathe through, it fits snugly and comfortably thanks to straps around the back of my head and at the top, and it comes with modular organic vapor cartridges for filtration. As more and more reports come in concerning the virus as possibly becoming an annual event, this purchase was for something made to last, and I assure you this meet that criteria. 

Plus, in this bizarre climate, it's also something of a fashion statement. I can't wait to rock it with my bowler and Russian winter hat!

ENTER THE...???

Today's moment of Brooklyn weirdness:

While walking back from picking up a pizza at La Villa — Park Slope's finest Italian restaurant/pizzeria, which was kind enough to be open for takeout during the quarantine — I passed some random guy who was sitting near the Garfield Place bus stop on 5th Avenue. When I passed he suddenly looked up, stared at me and, unprompted, yelled out "CHUCK NORRIS!" I initially ignored him but he again shouted out "CHUCK NORRIS!" so I kept walking but loudly responded with "BRUCE!" Confused, he asked "BRUCE???" I shot back with "BRUCE!!!" and kept walking.

I was wearing no martial arts attire and was carrying the pizza in one hand, and a bag of bottled seltzer in the other, so I have no fucking clue why that exchange took place.