I was glad my coffee cart guy hadn't been bumped off. I missed him yesterday. There are two coffee carts on either side of Park Avenue. I prefer the one closer to Lex. Well, yesterday he wasn't there. In his spot was fucking "Rafiqi's Favourites". Cooking up lamb & mint roti at 8:30 in the morning under a red tarp. Can you imagine the stench of that steam? Good. Lord.
Sometimes the smell of cheaply spiced meats in the ghetto really makes me sick. The other day I took the train to 45th Street and as I ascended to street level I was greeted by that familiar headache-inducing waft. I used to do the door for this bar on Rivington and when the store on the corner would start cooking chicken with all those cheap spices I wanted to retch. I mean if it ain't fresh cut cilantro or anise...
So anyway, turns out my coffee cart guy hadn't been rubbed out by Rafiqi but in fact took a much deserved day off. That motherfucker went fishing in Montauk! Who's better than this fucking guy? Veteran's Day, I'm at work and my coffee cart guy is pulling bluefish out of Gardiner's Bay! Good for him. Fuck it.>
Some names just work together; like Belle and Sebastian, Dean & DeLuca, Crate & Barrel, Iron and Wine, Simon and Garfunkel, etc. But there's a place over here, its one of these Cafe Metro / Pax type jernts called Blake and Todd. Blake and fucking Todd. It doesn't work. It sounds like a wacky morning zoo radio show from Ohio or maybe the punchline of a bad George Carlin joke. Blake and Todd. You can't just take two mildly unordinary names and pair them together; its not that easy, friends. It sounds so fake and contrived: Blake and Todd?! No, thanks.
This reminds me I need to do an entry about the suspicious absence of Heckyl and Jekyll cartoon images on the net someday. It's très bizarre.
Yo, the NY Philharmonic is mad annoying. They call my cell phone at least twice a day looking for money or asking me to join some club thing. Chill out, bro's! When I'm in the mood for some woodwind Sibelius, trust me, I'll be in touch.