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Conversation Overheard at the Barber Shop, 5/16/13

“Short shorts. Been a long time since I saw those.”

“Bullshit. We had some 70-, 75-degree days. A lot of girls, the first thing they do is disrobe […] How are the girls in Texas?”

“Eh. The girls are good-looking, but the food sucks.”

“A lot of barbecues?”

“Yeah, but the restaurants, the pizzerias…”

“You can’t have good pizzerias outside of New York. It’s the water.”

***

“I made meatballs and sauce over at Carmela’s the other day. I went back there, asked the kid, ‘Where are those meatballs?’ He says, ‘They’re gone. I ate 13 of them.’ It pissed me off. Took me four hours to make them, and he’s popping them in his mouth like gumdrops.”

***

“I’ll tell you one thing, though. I’ve got to get on the computer. There’s a lot of information on that computer.”

“You could get an ipad. You could google anything you want right here. And you could do Facebook.”

“I can’t believe people put all their shit on that. Are they fucking nuts? And the phones. It ticks me off. I see the kids taking pictures outside the shop. I don’t know what they’re taking pictures of. And the women in the morning bump into you and act like it’s your fault. What could they be talking about continuously all day?”

“No one writes anymore. I bet if you told these kids with the phones to write a letter, they couldn’t even spell.”

“It would be good for me, then!”

“That’s the difference between us and other countries: Europe, Asia, Japan. Their schools are much more educated.”

***

“I was in Boston with my daughter. We drove up to one of the cemeteries, saw a tombstone from the French and Indian Wars. It was an amazing thing to see.”

“We got good tombstones here, too, though.”

“Not like this.”

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The wait is over! A Dinner Party is back with a new post!

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Groovin’ at the ‘Bux

New job means a change in my daily coffee ritual. And since I now work in the mass market bedlam that is Penn Plaza, it specifically means an afternoon trip to Starbucks.

I’d like to believe I’m too cool for Starbucks. I doubt I’m alone in this. The coffee’s mediocre (but, to my taste, improving). The terminology is silly (I’m still too embarrassed to say “tall” instead of “small”). And the music! The music is…well, actually, the music is pretty damn good.

I’ve had some snarky things to say about this recent shameless play for my demographic, but let’s be honest: it works. I never mind hearing any of these songs.

Now there’s a new Starbucks compilation, Self Portraits, getting heavy airplay. It purports to honor the “‘70s singer-songwriter movement.” Imagine what a schlocky mess, what a golden opportunity for snark, this could be: “Cat’s in the Cradle”; “Wild World”—you get the idea.

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I Was a Finalist for the National Book Award, and All I Got Was…

Just saw this Uniqlo ad on the subway:

It’s what you always hear about being a professional writer: the base pay isn’t much, but the endorsements!

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Time Out (The Griffin Paradox)

I recently expressed my admiration for Blake Griffin’s Kia commercials. Now that it’s play-off time (Go Knicks!), I’ve been seeing a lot more of them, and while they’re still good for a laugh (especially this one), I think I’ve discovered a serious logical flaw:

Present-day Blake instructs his Kia to take him back in time so he can dispense advice to himself at various stages of childhood and adolescence. Over the course of this series of spots, kiddie Blake, tween Blake, and teen Blake all get multiple visits from the future.  Then how come he/they react the same way every time, looking all bemused and asking the ginger grown-up in the jumpsuit who he is? Doesn’t the puberty case in Exhibit A…

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…remember the incident in Exhibit B?

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Doesn’t watching your future self brick a free throw leave a lasting impression?

Does the Kia’s voice-activated UVO infotainment system have the power not only to breach the space-time continuum but to erase memories, as well?

Do I watch too much TV?

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Conversation Overheard at the Barber Shop, 4/12/13

“Google ‘oldest barber shop in New York.’”

“It says here, ‘Paul Mole, Upper East Side.’”

“It’s Molé.”

“What’re you talking about, ‘Mole-ay’? It says ‘Mole.’”

“That’s not the oldest barber shop. He may be the oldest barber. He was around in the ’50s, started giving people blow cuts.”

“Whoa. I’m glad you said ‘cuts.’ Scared me there for a second.”

“Blow cuts. With a blow torch. You know how bad burnt hair smells?”

“Google us now.”

“Some lady gave you four stars. Said you gave her the Dick Cheney, but all the guys liked it.”

“What’s the Dick Cheney?”

“No hair!”

“Four stars, though.”

“Remember In Living Color? They’d give you four stars and a thumb’s up!”

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"He sings R&B-inflected rock and roll as well as he ever has, which is as well as anyone ever has."

The New Yorker’s Ben Greenman on Graham Parker. Greenman has long been a champion of old man rock—my favorite genre—and no one is more deserving of a little dap than Parker. The question is, am I too old to drag myself to the concert on a Sunday night?

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Sparkle Soup and Gummi Flax

Only a single story about a Wall Street trader turned oyster purveyor? Just one fig farm run by preschoolers out of a Victorian house in Ditmas Park? That’s not the Edible Brooklyn I know.

Oh well. I guess I’ll have to settle for this.

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