Thursday, August 12, 2004
- Pizza: That's right, I'm moving home for pizza. When you're born and raised on New York pizza and then move to a place that consistently ranks Domino's among the city's best pizza, it's only a matter of time before you go through pizza withdrawal complete with violent mood swings, the shakes and drooling. This actually applies to Italian food in general down here. There are a few decent places, mostly of the upscale pricey variety, but for the most part it's like what Ray Liota said in Goodfellas when he went into the witness protection program: "all I get around here is egg noodles and ketchup."
- "Ya'll": This isn't a word damn it! Don't people south of the Mason-Dixon line know that the proper plural of the word "you" is "youz." Or, alternatively, "youz guyz."
- Breakfast Sandwiches. When I first moved down to D.C. I walked into a bagel shop and asked for two eggs on a poppy seed bagel. The clerk proceeded to pull what looked like a milk carton out of a refrigerator and pour what could only be described as a fluorescent yellow vomit-like fluid into a bagel shaped dish. He then put the dish into the microwave. I was stunned. I said, "hey, I don't know what the hell that just was but I asked for an egg sandwich." Puzzled, the clerk said, "I heard you, that's what I'm making." After about 30 seconds in the microwave I heard "beep." My "eggs" were done. The yellow stuff had solidified in the bowl into a perfectly shaped ring. The clerk turned the dish upside down and the ring o' space eggs plopped onto my "bagel" (see bagels below). I shook my head in disgust and walked out. You don't pour eggs out of a carton nor do you microwave them.
- Bagels: Why is it that the only good bagels are found in and around New York? Some say that the water in New York is the reason for the good bagels and pizza too. Whatever the reason, seven years is long enough to be force fed brick frizbees masquerading as bagels.
- Nice People: Yes, I know, what kind of lunatic gets tired of nice people. Me, that's who. First of all, a) when strangers try to engage me in conversation I'm immediately freaked out. "What the hell does this nut want" I think to myself. Also, b) it's a little known fact that "nice" equals "slow." And I don't mean "slow" to mean lacking intelligence, I mean slow to mean physically slow. When I go into a coffee shop I don't want to engage in a 10 minute conversation about the weather. I want my damn coffee and I want it now. Don't you see the crust in the corner of my eyes - I need my coffee! I don't give a crap about the weather or your stinking rug rats dance recital! Lastly c), people outside of New York are too sensitive. I can't bust anyone's balls around here without making people cry. Seriously, the more I like you the more I make fun of you. Back home it was almost a pasttime to sit around with friends and make fun of each other for hours on end. This is what I thought "conversation" meant. Here, I'm afraid I'll be sued for intentional infliction of emotional distress if I say the wrong thing.
- Last Call: What kind of city has bars with last call at 2:00 a.m. Don't these people know that the Jack Daniel's only starts going down smoothly at around 2:15 a.m.? Then, to make matters worse, the subway, oh, sorry, it's called the "Metro" down here, stops running at 2:00 a.m. So, unless your driving drunk (which of course I don't recommend), last call is really about 1:30 a.m. Some say nothing good happens between 2 and 4 a.m. To that I counter with countless personal, um, "achievements," in my pre-marital days of course, that were only made possible due to the two extra hours of drinking.
- Hoodlum Friends: I miss my friends from the old neighborhood. Yes, they are punks and have not grown up much since high school, but where else except for New York do your friends make the local rag's gossip pages for getting into a broo-ha-ha with Mo Vaughn at a Manhatten strip club.
- Shea Stadium: Yes, I know, she's a dump, but she's our dump. I'm tired of watching the Mets lose on TV. I need to go home so that I can spend $30 on a ticket, $7 for a beer and $5 for a hot dog to watch my team lose in person.
D.C. has actually been a fun place to live and I have made some great friends here so I'm just kidding with a lot of that list (see 5.c above). But from my experience there are two types of people who grow up in and around New York then move away: they hate it and never want to go back or become home sick and find their way home. I'm in the latter category. See you at Shea!