Claret?

Claret, that's the name of the new wine bar on my corner. You may recall, a few months ago I tried to come up with a name for it (see, here). I had lots of good options, for example: The Bloody Virgin, Stems, The Cellar Door, The Crimson, etc. Apparently, none were good enough because Claret it is. Sure, they don't have a sign, but the menus all say Claret, the AM New York blog says Claret, so, that's that, it's Claret.

It's a cool spot. Brand new touches all around. When you step in, you'll never believe that it used to be a run-down pharmacy. Frosted glass tiles in the bathroom, smooth metal bar top, fold-in, retractable windows, deep, dark wood floors, similarly dark wood furniture shipped from Indonesia, 70+ bottles of wine at your disposal, roughly 30 by the glass, beer on tap, beer in bottles, classic sodas in miniature glasses, artwork by local artists adorning the walls, lots of dark places for doing dark deeds, and the part-owner is a personal friend. He's also my barber. He's been cutting my hair for over 4 years, and when I found out he was opening a wine bar in the neighborhood, I thought, great, I finally know a bar owner. I always wanted to own a bar so I could drink there for free. This is almost as good. I can drink there. Just not for free.

As far as I know, it's the first wine bar in Sunnyside. In other words, Sunnyside, is officially on the map. Astoria has its beer garden. We have a wine bar. Astoria has tons of wine bars. We have a wine bar. Astoria has lots of great ethnic food. Did I mention that we have a wine bar? From now on, whenever someone asks me where I live, and I say, Sunnyside, I fully expect them to know that Sunnyside is in between Long Island City and Woodside on the 7 line. I fully expect them to know that Sunnyside is immediately southeast of Astoria. I fully expect them to be jealous and wish they were me. I fully expect them to know that we have a super-duper retro art-deco arch, a 24-hour White Castle, and a wine bar. It feels good to get in on the ground floor of these suburban, outer-borough bubble explosions. It's like being the first guy to move to Bushwick and a week later everyone started calling it East Williamsburg.

So get on the train, come to Sunnyside, and go to Claret. Who knows, maybe you'll want to stay.

Jared

P.S. To get to Claret, take the 7 train towards Flushing-Main St., get off at 46th-Bliss St., walk north from Queens Boulevard two avenues to Skillman Ave. Claret is on the southeast corner of 46th and Skillman.

P.P.S. Maybe I'll stop by and take some pictures and upload them so you can all see what I attempted to describe.

P.P.P.S. Thanks Bogdan.

Sucked Back In

Life sometimes gets in the way of blogging about life. For instance, I went to Boston with Girl a couple weeks ago. We walked the Freedom Trail in freezing weather, ate a lot of food, and slept on an air mattress. We had fun. When we returned, I was set to blog all about it. I even had the perfect title (read: the first, semi-creative title that popped into my mind) for that post:

One if by land, two if by sea, three and a half hours by train.

Sadly, said post was never written. But if you re-read the third sentence, then you have a pretty good idea of what I would've spent at least 5 paragraphs elaborating on. In fact, I was all set to just abandon Sunnyside Lowdown. Please, don't cry for me, Sunnyside Lowdown reader. The truth is, if you wait long enough, you lose the desire to do anything. This post proves, however, that if you wait even longer than that, then you will regain that desire. In essence, what goes around comes around and this just took some more going around. Also, I received a comment on my Jonathan Ames post ("Mr. Ames, I Presume") saying, if I may paraphrase, that I'm awesome. Getting a positive comment certainly helps to push things along. It makes you feel wanted, needed, and who doesn't get off on that? So thanks to Lola, whoever you are, and as Randy Quaid said in Independence Day, "Hello, boys!!! I'mmm Baaaaaaack!!!!"

Back with what? Wouldn't we all like to know. I could tell you about how I'm watching Outbreak right now. I DVRed it. In fact, I own it on VHS and have seen it at least 8 times, but I don't have a VCR so I'm playing it back on TV. It's a good movie. Underrated, even. Great cast: Dustin Hoffman, Rene Russo, Morgan Freeman, Cuba Gooding, Jr., Kevin Spacey, Donald Sutherland, and Patrick Dempsey pre-being relevant again. Now that's a cast. In fact, I just finished watching The Day After Tomorrow on DVR. I must really get a kick out of doomsday films, although in Outbreak the entire Northern Hemisphere wasn't completely covered in ice. But I doubt you want to know more about that. I suppose I could inform you that Four Christmases with Vince Vaughn and Reese Witherspoon is a big stinking turd of a holiday movie. I'll even waste ten minutes of my life coming up with a Haiku Review:

Reese Witherspoon looks
like a gremlin in a dress.
Don't see this movie.

My aim is not impress you, but that Haiku took less than four minutes. Please allow yourself to be impressed.

Uh oh. Patrick Dempsey just released the smuggled monkey, which is carrying the deadly Motaba virus, into the wilds of California. Sounds like trouble to me. Patrick Dempsey isn't looking too good. He looks ill. Umm, he's dead. Okay, back to the post.

Well, I think I know what you all want, and, by you, I mean Lola my favorite commenter ever, and that's more poems. Sure, no problem, I happen to have a few more just laying around. Without further ado, I give you:

The Rain-

Walking home from Junior High
it was raining.
I was about to pull out my umbrella,
but I saw this girl walking ahead
with no umbrella.
She was singing.
I kept my umbrella in my backpack
and
listened.

Fly-
There's a fly flying around my apartment.
I've seen it
for four days straight.
When it gets too
close
I shoo
it away, sometimes clapping my hands to flatten it,
but I always miss.
I like to think that my heart is just not in it.

Weightlifting-
Went to the gym
tried to lift
100 lbs. with
one arm
Couldn't do it.

That's it for now, back to Outbreak.

Jared.

It's Been a Long Time

You know you haven't been blogging, when people actually ask, "Why haven't you been blogging?" Sure, it takes about 2-3 weeks before anyone notices, but it's nice to know that they do. Well, it's been 2-3 weeks of nothing. In August and September I blogged non-stop, almost a post every other day. Then October came. I got put on a new work assignment and it's been no more blogging ever since, or rather a post every 10 days. Piss-poor production if you ask me. I couldn't even start a legitimate blog war to keep me motivated to maintain my blogging presence during this excessive work spell. Oh Blog War, why fore hath thou beseeched me? Would that even make sense in Shakespeare's time? Doubtful.

Sure, I've been busy, a lot of us have been, but that's not the only reason for the scaled back productivity. I found another outlet. No, it doesn't involve glow sticks or animal sacrifices. I've been writing...wait for it...poetry.

This is the moment when you laugh at me, if you haven't already, but hear me out. I'm not just writing any ol' poetry. This isn't some Longfellow (see above) or Walt Whitman junk. This is hard-boiled, matter of fact, Charles Bukowski meets a nihilist with a conscience meets Jonathan Ames meets Shane Black (screenwriter of Lethal Weapon, The Long Kiss Goodnight, The Last Boyscout, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, etc.) meets Marcus Aurelius (not really) meets Jeff Goldblum ("No one could have predicted Dr. Grant would suddenly jump out of a moving vehicle....See? Here I am now, by myself, talking to myself--that's Chaos Theory!" and yes I just Googled: screenplay Jurassic Park and found the entire script in less then the time it takes me to say "Say hi to your mutha for me!") meets...you get the point. This isn't your grandmother's poetry. This isn't your United States Congressman's poetry. This is your poetry. The poetry of the streets.

If life had a soundtrack and that soundtrack had a favorite book of poetry, then this might be that favorite book, or top 25.

I figured, why not post some, since I've been working on it so diligently this past month. If you like it, cool. If you don't, cool. It's like Jeff Goldblum said in Jurassic Park: "I'm simply saying that life--finds a way."

I call this first one, Laundromat:

Dropoff Service: 50 cents/lb.
That's what the sign
says at
my laundromat
I dropped off a couple bags
about 18 lbs.
The chart behind the counter said,
18 lbs. = $13.20
Umm.
That's not
50 cents/lb.

I call this one, Guy on the Subway:

It's packed in here
riders squished from hoof to handlebar
the more people get off
the more get on.
I'm pushed up against someone
trying to keep my book
open
with one hand. Not succeeding.
The douchebag in the brownish-gray pinstripe
suit with matching light
blue shirt with brown stripes is
wearing sunglasses
as if he's
not
riding
underground. He leans against the doors.
Not reading a thing.

And this one I call, IHOP:

The guy at the table next to me was
apparently
punched
in the face.
The purple-red, broken, blood vessel ring
skimming his right eye like a half moon
could be
from nothing else.
He's eating an omelette filled
with steak, covered in cheese served with a side
of corned beef hash.
The whole time I'm wondering,
who hit him? over what? should I
hit him?
The girl he's with is also eating
an omelette.
I'm having pancakes.

That's it for now. Welcome to Sunnyside Lowdown, where poetry happens!

Jared

How 'bout Dem Apples?

I wrote a post about picking apples. You may have read it. Or you may read it immediately after reading this post. Either way, it's there. Indelible. However, I just came to the inevitable conclusion that the title of that post, "Peter Piper Picked an Apple," is completely ridiculous and awful. I mean, wow, did I really come up with that (a), and I thought that was clever (b)? It's laughable. Reading it aloud today immediately made me realize my mistake. What was I thinking? My only explanation, to myself, is that maybe it was the first thought that popped into my head like that first popped kernel when you're microwaving popcorn. Solitary and alone, surrounded by hundreds of its unpopped brethren, only to be pushed and shoved while the rest of the kernels mature. Maybe my idea just needed hundreds of other ideas to "pop" and then I could have picked the best popped one. I didn't do that. At the first pop, I stopped. Now, it's too late. Too late to change the title without sacrificing the original effort. Too late to change it without other people calling me out and telling me that my title was dumb and not funny, which I already know.

Since I couldn't allow myself to change the title, I went with the next best thing. Posting another post derailing my poor judgment. Obviously, the apple picking post should have been titled, "How 'bout Dem Apples?" It's 100% logical. Next time, I'll wait for the best title and I won't just take the first one that comes along. I promise.

Jared

Peter Piper Picked an Apple

Girl and I went apple picking last weekend. It sounded like a fun thing to do. A chance to spend some time outdoors taking in the weather and admiring the pretty colored leaves. Not to mention the chance to pick farm fresh apples (only minimally sprayed with pesticides, I hope) straight from the branch. A chance to do as our forefathers did:

Pick apples from trees.

It's in the Constitution, which you would know, if you bothered to read it, but you didn't because (a) you hate freedom and (b) you dropped out of high school in the 3rd grade. Trust me, it's there, right next to the one about the religion and stuff.

We planned to go on Sunday, but the day began inauspiciously. First, we woke up late. Second, I made bacon and eggs. Third, I sat around not getting ready. Fourth, in order to borrow my dad's car I needed to get to his place by 12:30. Fifth, by the time I got showered and dressed it was 11:45. Sixth, we cabbed it to the city, met up with my dad, got his car, started driving, and ended up at a place with no apples. Well, that's not true. They had apples, just not apples for the public to pick, which is lame. Who wants to buy "non-picked" apples. We might as well have stayed in the city and chilled out at Whole Foods. They did, however, have pumpkins for picking. Pumpkins are fun. I like pumpkins.

After scrutinizing pumpkin after pumpkin, rejecting one if it was too lopsided, critiquing others for having warts or other deformities, we finally picked four suitable pumpkins. I may not like dressing up, but Halloween isn't Halloween without pumpkins and/or apples with razor blades hidden inside them. That reminds me of when I was young and used to go trick or treating and would get pennies. Pennies! You can't eat a penny. Or at least you shouldn't. On the bright side, you can't hide a razor blade in a penny.

Then we set out for another apple orchard. This one was guaranteed to have apples. We drove, from New Jersey, back into New York, over hills, around mountains draped on all sides with the beautiful colors of changed leaves. Then we were stuck in traffic. Bumper to bumper, no end in sight traffic. A mile took 20 minutes. Finally, we came across a sign for the orchard. It was five miles away.

We came upon a side street, Pumpkin Hill Rd., and I ventured that the street would eventually meet up again with the main road. The road was empty. I asked Girl if she wanted to go on an adventure. She said sure, so I turned and away we went. No cars impeded us. We blazed for a mile or two and reconnected with the road, just as planned, bypassing roughly 100 cars in the process.

Back in traffic, but ahead of the pack. Making the slightest progress, but every inch counted. After another 20 minutes and maybe half a mile farther, there was another side street, Ketchum Rd. Girl, how about it? Why not, she said. We gave it another go. This time, however, we saw a man walking his dog. Surely, he would know how to snake around this traffic. We stopped and asked. He had no better route for us to follow, but he told us to go to a different orchard. He seemed to know his apples, so we decided to go along with his suggestion.

We made it back to the main road, passing roughly 200 cars this time. Driving slowly, but moving steadily we came to the bottleneck. A line of cars were attempting to make a left hand turn. They were all heading to the first orchard. Apparently, they didn't get a chance to stop a dog-walker and find out about the better orchard just a few turns away.

Once we were able to traverse the line of left-turning cars, we were smooth sailing, cruising down Route 17A until we reached the 2nd traffic light, made a left, drove straight until we came to a shopping center, Pennings Apple Farm was on the left.

The orchard was closing in ten minutes. We just made it. Once parked, we were given a red nylon bag and grabbed a 13 year old boy to show us to the best picking spots. His name was Matt, while working he eats about 8-10 apples a day, he climbs trees real well, and he got a girl's phone number, once. Matt was our guide, and Matt was good. He guided us through the orchard at an efficient pace, sliding us past other tourists with the same idea.

In no time we had the bag full of red apples, green apples, yellow apples. Although it was weird to see the ground littered with thousands of fallen apples, which Matt told us we couldn't/shouldn't pick because they could harbor disease, etc. It seemed like a huge waste. I mean, I was tripping over apples. It was like walking in a ball pit. If I was homeless I would move to the countryside in Autumn and go nuts on apples. The rest of the time, I'd probably starve.

Our bag full, we paid for our apples and drove back. It was good, but slightly saddening to get back to the city where the leaves hadn't changed colors yet.

Jared

No Clue Velvet

Wow, I've been busy. Busy busy busy. Work is ramping up, leaving me with less time for trivial blog posts. When you think about it, however, it's trivia that keeps us going, that fills our days, that swells up inside us with false fulfillment, so allow me to add some more color to your day and that color is Blue.

Blue Velvet. It's a movie. By David Lynch. In case you aren't fully acquainted with Mr. Lynch, he makes weird, confusing, avant-garde-esque films such as Mulholland Drive, Lost Highway, Eraserhead, Dune, and Blue Velvet. He also was the creative force behind TV's Twin Peaks, which I think I was too young to become knowledgeable about. He's a film industry maverick, writing, producing, and directing films with unique flair and idiosyncrasy. In other words, I never became a fan. Lost Highway is a wreck. I think this excerpt from a chat with my friend Dre sufficiently explains:

Andre: for the record, blue velvet = really good

mulholland drive = really good

me: i just saw it [Blue Velvet]...and i didn't get it

it was annoying

Andre: everything else by lynch = not very good

i have to see blue velvet again

but i remember really really digging it

me: you would

1:06 AM

Andre: i actually saw it after mulholland drive

i hated lost highway

but blue velvet is coherent

its A to B

(in terms of story)

lost highway is A B F J D 9 4 Z

I think that sums it up. I agree with Dre, except that Blue Velvet, isn't that good. And, further, it's really really not good on cable TV with all of the curse words dubbed. Lots of freaks and don't mess with me freak and I'll freak you up. Very jarring and took me out of the film, which already had its issues.

There just wasn't enough of a point to it. I sat their watching and feeling that I was going to come away with nothing. Nothing that would empower, inspire, educate, entertain, impress. I was left thinking: so that happened, upset that I wasted two and a half hours. So be it. On the bright side, I was able to fast-forward through commercials. Thanks DVR.

So in closing:

Dennis Hopper likes
to curse, suck gas, and hit folks
Suburbia? Nope.

Jared

The Weakest Link

Sunnyside Lowdown is going global!

Or rather, Sunnyside Lowdown is going to other blogs that talk about Sunnyside, but considering all of the unique cultures in Sunnyside that's like going global. In my last post, I stumbled upon a fellow Sunnyside Blogger. She writes about food. I had a chance to look at her blog and she, apparently, has been to almost every restaurant in Sunnyside. In a pinch, I even ordered delivery from a Mexican restaurant, De Mole, which she highly recommended, and the food was great. I was enjoying the Sunnyside kinship so much that I reached out to her via email with an offer:
----------

Jared Goodman to shaunaeatssunn.

show details Sep 25 (4 days ago)

Reply

From: Jared Goodman
To: shaunaeatssunnyside@gmail.com
Date: Thu, Sep 25, 2008 at 5:02 PM
Subject: Hey

Shauna,

Hi, I came across your blog when my buddy sent me a link to an article of yours on about.com about cheap eats in Sunnyside. You had some good calls. Then we both scrolled through your blog. I really enjoyed the insider info and volume of pictures. I recently moved to Sunnyside and I have a Sunnyside/daily observation-type blog and I wanted to link to yours and maybe you could link to mine. Please check it out and let me know if that's cool.

http://sunnysidelowdown.blogspot.com

Also, I know I sort of teased you in my post, but it was all in good humor! Take care.

Jared
----------
That was on the 25th as you can see. And guess what? She never responded. I must have been a bit too casual with my quips.

Yesterday, Alex Bogdan (quickly becoming my biggest fan) sent me the following message at work:

You made the big time: http://shaunaeatssunnyside.tumblr.com/

I was busy and didn't get a chance to see what the link was about until later, but then I did. At the end of Shauna's latest post she writes this concluding remark, linking to my post:

This dude was feeling snarky and critiqued my entire write-up. Um, word?

Hook, line, and sinker. I was caught. I (a dude) expressed snarkiness and critiqued her write-up. It's true, I did. The question is (a) was that effectively a link to my blog and should I link her blog on the right hand column titled "links" on my blog, or (b) did I get punked? Let me know.

If (b), I probably deserved it.

Jared

Sunnyside Eating Low(cost)down

Honestly, that title is atrocious. Well, whatever. My colleague and Sunnyside Lowdown repeat offender, Alex Bogdan, emailed me this morning with a link to an article titled "Sunnyside Eats on a Budget." Recognizing that I am due to bring the discussion back to the neighborhood I'd like to share this article with you. I suppose I could just provide the link and let you read it at your leisure, but that eliminates my role as blogger and Sunnyside ambassador and could probably be considered cheating.

Who am I kidding? I'm going to link the article, here, it's not like I'm going to retype everything it says. To make this more my own, however, I will comment on the article in a section I'm going to call "Comments."

Comments

1. This is an article from Shauna of Shauna Eats Sunnyside. Please evacuate your apartment and take all of your belongings before Shauna completely eats the neighborhood. Rumor has it she's also in the mood for dessert. Astoria and Long Island City you've been warned. I'm glad Shauna is writing this piece because I would feel slightly short-changed if it was written by Nancy of Shauna Eats Sunnyside. If you're like me, you're probably assuming that the only person contributing to the media conglomerate of Shauna Eats Sunnyside is, most likely, Shauna. I guess she didn't want any confusion.

2. In her intro to listing the best cheap places to eat, Shauna, exclaims: "Behold, mama's favorite cheap eats in our glorious Queens 'hood." Thanks mama. Me love you long time.

3. First up, was Hanami Japanese and Nepalese Restaurant, which I've actually been to and enjoyed. Mama informs us: "Bold sushi spreads and a bounty of under-$10 Nepalese dishes entice: Try the $7.50 beef momo in a bamboo steam basket with homemade red chili sauce, or a $4 Samurai roll with fresh, hearty mackerel and shards of pickled ginger." So far, so good.

4. Next up is El Vagabundo Taco Truck. I'm beginning to love my mama. Anyone who knows me, and, by anyone who knows me, I mean anyone who knows me and knows that I love taco trucks, knows that I love taco trucks [The picture on the right is of the taco truck on 14th St. and 8th Ave. that I've been to quite a few times]. I just love Mexican food: tacos, burritos, quesadillas, sopa de polla, salsa, guacamole, tortilla chips, etc. "At dusk each night, this Mexican-fare mobile rears into its mainstay Boulevard parking space near 41st Street and gets to grilling. Late-night revelers, after-hours laborers, and local faithfuls line up to Vagabundo's stainless steel counter for masterfully assembled $2.50 tacos, $6 quesadillas, and $7 stuffed burritos with extra pickled jalapeños." I'm not an expert on tacos, but I like to consider myself a connoseiur and, frankly, $2.50 is a bit steep for a taco. I can get grade-A tacos in the city for $2.00. Now, that's in Manhattan. When you step across the river and enter Queens, you expect at least a .50 price drop. I guess the cost of gas, a necessary item for a taco truck, is spilling over into the price of tacos. Not to mention that $7 burritos is entering Chipotle prices. $5. That's where you want to be, extra pickled jalapeños or not. I'm not even going to complain about the lack of a proper schedule, dusk being way too ambiguous for my tastes. Oh, wait, I just complained.

5. There's a Korean restaurant that may or may not double as a bookstore (Book Chang Dong Natural Tofu Restaurant) or at least prove that I'm completely ignorant and not funny, a Lebanese market for schwarma and falafel (I like schwarma and falafel), and a place for Peruvian rotisserie chicken ("A tray of corn nuts with spicy green sauce comes first, always on the house. The tip's included in your bill, and the kitchen's open late."). Who eats corn nuts anymore? I chipped a tooth on a corn nut back in the day and vowed never again.

I'm glad there are people like Shauna doing the heavy lifting, finding out about my neighborhood, and sharing their experiences. Now, if only I could get Shauna to talk to those taco truck people about their prices. If I told them what I think, I'm sure they would curse me out in Spanish and spit in my carnitas taco, but who wouldn't listen to mama?

Jared

New Yorkers (Apparently) Love Alec Baldwin

Yesterday was Tuesday. A lot of people think that only the weekend is for going out. But people still ache to do "something" during the work week. I never want to just go home and sit on my couch and see what's on TBS. This is a phenomenon that sweeps across the country, even in an effervescent, cultural, bustling metropolis such as New York.

Let me set the stage:

Day: Tuesday
Time: 5:37 p.m.
Location: At my desk
Task: Doing nothing
Plans for the evening: None

I was ready to leave after a light day at work, but what to do what to do. I had Gmail open and Girl sent me a message, asking me what was I up to. I said, about to leave. She was also about to leave too. Did I want to meet up with her. Yes. To do what? She didn't know. Neither did I.

I went to Time Out NY and began looking for all events in New York for Tuesday. On the front page, I scrolled down a little, and found my plans for the night. I called Girl and said, guess what is going on at the Barnes & Noble at Lincoln Center, blocks from your apartment? She didn't know. And why would she? Surely, I had no idea and if not for the internet and this magazine dedicated to informing New Yorkers about every musical, comedic, artistic, athletic, dramatic, alcoholic event going on in this great city, then I would've remained in the dark too. This is why New York is great. Not only is there stuff going on, but there are people whose sole function is to tell people about this stuff because if left to your own devices the only suggestions you would come up with are let's see a movie, let's get dinner, or let's do nothing because those are our only options. Last night, I found something to do.

Day: Tuesday
Time: 7:30 p.m.
Location: Barnes & Noble, 1972 Broadway (At 66th St.)
Event: Alec Baldwin Book Reading
Book: A Promise to Ourselves: A Journey Through Fatherhood and Divorce
Cost: Free

I like free and I like Alec Baldwin. I've been a Baldwin fan ever since Beetlejuice and The Hunt for Red October. His Hall of Fame quote-fests from Malice and Glengarry Glen Ross put him over the top. Then he pulled an Eddie Murphy with The Getaway (when will actors learn not to work with their spouses? See, Swept Away with Madonna, directed by Guy Ritchie), The Shadow (which I actually enjoy in parts), The Juror, and Heaven's Prisoners. He came back with the wilderness adventure film The Edge with Anthony Hopkins, written by David Mamet (who also wrote Glengarry, so you can expect good dialogue). Then he jumped back on the Mamet bandwagon once more with State and Main, which I own on DVD and consider one of the more underrated ensemble comedies of the past decade. Now, he's only doing solid movies, like The Departed, and being funny on 30 Rock.

New Yorkers apparently love him. When we got to the Barnes and Noble at 6:35, almost an hour before showtime, we were directed to stand in line for the reading. Those who purchased his book were given preferential seating. We were not prepared or interested in purchasing his book, so we went to the end of the line, which wrapped around the stack of books like a unspooled ball of yarn. Every time I expected the line to come to its end, another turn existed, past which more people lined up. When I asked the in-house security guard, Ronald, whether he thought I would get in to the reading, he told me it was the longest line he'd ever seen for a reading and I should probably just leave, but if I wanted to stay, it was up to me.

Baldwin's appeal spread across demographics. There were young women, old women, black women, black men, white people, fat guys wearing Yankee sweatshirts, couples, old, liberal, hippie chicks, latinos, homeless people, etc.

The length of the line frustrated me. This is what I hate about trying to do anything unique in New York. Everyone else (out of 8 million people) is trying to do something fun and unique too. And you can guarantee that enough of the 8 million people will find out about those unique and cool opportunities much farther in advance than 1 hour and 53 minutes and they will go to the location and sit down and wait in line much earlier than I will and they will get in and have a fun Tuesday night, listening to Alec Baldwin read excerpts about why Kim Basinger is crazy and why he left a berating voice mail on his daughter's cell phone. And maybe they'll get to ask him thought provoking questions like, At any point today, were you worried that no one would show up?

What pains me the most is not that I missed out on Alec Baldwin, but that this would have happened even if it was Billy Baldwin. New Yorkers love anything that's free and hints at the slightest bit of culture. For instance, I'm going to try to go to Jonathan Ames' reading tonight in Brooklyn, and I expect the same disastrous result, i.e., leaving after standing on line for five minutes and realizing that I'm not going to get in and then ending up getting pizza for dinner with Girl, although tonight I'm bringing my dad and we'll probably get something other than pizza.

Or maybe, New Yorkers just love Alec Baldwin.

Jared

See Spot Not [insert verb]

Spot is not running or walking, barking or biting, licking or doing anything else because I don't have a dog and I'm not actively searching for a dog. Spot is a figment. Girl, however, thinks I should get a dog. Who can blame her? Dogs are fun, loyal, friendly extensions of yourself. I think this notion was first documented in Disney's 101 Dalmatians, which noted that people end up with dogs that remind them of themselves. Yes, I would like a dog, but there are a few reasons why getting a dog is not in my foreseeable future:

1. My lease doesn't allow pets. I'm sure I could finagle a deal with my landlord to get around this boilerplate clause, but still it's an impediment.
2. I hate waking up early. Someone will need to walk Spot in the morning and it will be tough to walk Spot while I'm in bed sleeping, dreaming about dancing with sea turtles and smoking a corncob pipe.
3. I'm usually not home for the majority of the day. I'm a lawyer and no matter how much I try to I try to increase my home-time, I'm still away from my apartment for 10-12 hours a day. As a result, Spot will be alone for most of the day with nothing else to do, but crap in my sneakers and rip up my new, upholstered couch. No one will be around to walk Spot during the day either, unless I hire a dog-walker and that's not my idea of spending money wisely. Ergo, I'll never see Spot. Poor little Spot.
4. Pets are expensive. First, there's pet food, then there's veterinary care, then there are toys and grooming. I can barely pay for my own toys and grooming. Basically, I should probably stop buying limited edition Lego sets and paying for handlers to bath me every week.
5. My apartment is not big enough. Neither is my non-existent yard. Dogs need yards, places to roam, dig, and chase away squirrels. In my apartment, Spot would only be able to watch bad TV shows on cable and drink water out of my toilet. If he/she wanted, Spot could also fold my laundry and hang my pictures.

Regardless, it's fun to think about getting a dog, just as it's fun to think about winning the lottery. It's fun to look at different breeds and come up with names. Speaking of names, we've been "Name-Gaming" a little bit here at Sunnyside Lowdown, but the other day I came up with an even better word to describe the process. Instead of Name Game, I suggest "Namestorm." Brainstorming/Namestorming. It fits. I hope no one else ever came up with that in the history of the world [Ed. note: I guess not, see here]. Tangent finished.

So, if I were to get a dog, what dog would I get?

Girl suggested the following:

I just don't see that happening. It looks like a beached furry flabby baby whale.

I'm thinking this dog:

Actually, I've just been told that's a baby Polar Bear. So, not a dog. How about this dog:

Okay, supposedly, that's a Mountain Gorilla, and also not a "dog" per se. Let's try this one more time:

Isn't she cute? She likes to play fetch with the Frisbee. Oh, wait, that's not a dog at all, but a Humpback Whale playing in the ocean, and without a Frisbee present. I thought I hit it on the head. Last chance, please be a dog.


Awww. He's adorable. Just like me. The maxim is true.

You can actually adopt the dog above. His name's Bogie, and he needs a great home. Just click his name to find out more. And please remember, if you're looking for a dog, make sure you come home with a dog, and not a Mountain Gorilla.

Jared

The Name Game: Part Deux

We played the Name Game a few weeks ago to help my friend Alex come up with names for his unborn, unknown-sexed child. Of course, this "help" was unsolicited. Now, I haven't heard from him, but I'm pretty sure he is not going with any of the selections. Actually, he called me and said Abby was in the mix. So, I was one out of fifty. And that is fine. When you're brainstorming, if you toss out 100 ideas and one is good, then it was worth it. If you toss out a 1000 ideas and only one is viable, that's fine too. All it takes is one idea. One idea can change the world. One idea can change the course of history. One idea can do it all.

I need one. One name for my friend's [Also, my barber] soon-to-be-opening, Sunnyside wine bar. The wine bar, which should be opening in November, will be on my block's corner, literally four doors from my apartment. It will be the one and only place of its kind in my neighborhood. I even got a glimpse inside today when I saw him walk by while I was doing laundry. The place is large for a wine bar and will have a raised back section with a fireplace and leather couches. Classy. The current corner walls are getting demolished to make way for full length, folding windows that will open out to sidewalk seating on both side streets (46th Street and Skillman Ave.). The bar plans to feature about 60 wines and 10 beers (3 on tap, 7 in bottles). The place will also serve a tapas-style menu, including a variety of cheeses. Needless to say, I plan on going a lot and bringing my friends and family as well. Hell, if worst comes to worst, I might even start working there.

With less than two months to go, however, it still lacks a name. Names like Vintage and Grand Cru are now blase and used in large amounts throughout the city. Names like Unwined are too tongue in cheek and would make a mockery of the minimal, upscale decor. My friend mentioned that he was considering the name, Bleu, highlighting the Bleu cheese and the French roots of the various wines to be served. It's simple, but is it too bland? It's time to brainstorm. It's time to help my friend. It's time to Name Game!

List of possible names for my friend's Sunnyside, Queens wine bar:

1. Red, White, and Bleu - It's patriotic and includes the "bleu" he was leaning towards, but doesn't lend itself to easy reiteration.
2. Dionysus - The Greed god of wine and the son of Zeus, not bad pedigree.
3. Bacchus - Dionysus' Roman appellation.
4. Bacchanalia - Sticking with this whole Greek subplot. My friend, on the other hand, is Irish.
5. Sunshine Wine - It rhymes.
6. Skin - As in, a Grape's skin. Sounds sexy.
7. Sangre - As in the root of Sangria, a Spanish wine with fruits, which translates as "blood." Cool, in an "I think vampires are cool" way.
8. Wine Bar - For those who don't get subtlety.
9. Varietal - Wines that are specifically born of one grape.
10. Glass in Hand - The name tells you what to do.
11. Come In, Buy a Glass of Wine, and Drink It - So does this.
12. Glass and Bottle - By the glass or by the bottle.
13. Flight - Is this a wine bar or an airport bar?
14. Tasting - I don't like it. Maybe you will.
15. The Cellar Door - Wine cellar. Door to the wine cellar. Donnie Darko reference. Exactly.

16. The Purple Foot - Stomping grapes is fun for the whole family.
17. Stems - Grape stems, glass stems. Stems.
18. The Steel Stem - The bar will have a lot of steel accents, and probably a steel bar top. Plus, you can't discount the cache of alliteration.
19. Ferment - These one word names are du jour.
20. Cork - See.
21. Corkscrew - See again.
22. Vine Gardens - We're in Sunnyside Gardens. Or so my Realtor told me.
22. Appellation - As in how wines are labeled.
23. The Hot Chick - Makes me want to go.
24. Crimson - One word names are en vogue.
25. The Crimson - Sounds more regal, no?
26. The Corkscrew - "The" strikes again.
27. A Turn of the Screw - A bit lewd, no?
28. The Bloody Cloud - There has got to be a better name that incorporates "red" and "white."
29. The Bloody Casper - That's not it.
30. The Bloody Virgin - Er, nope.
31. Betty or Daphne or Claudia or Vanessa or Audrey or Eve or Martha or ? - Sometimes a name just works. Eve was in the Garden of Eden. Martha has her vineyards. Audrey Hepburn was an icon. Archie had Betty. Daphne, Claudia, and Vanessa just sound like women who drink wine.

Let me know which ones you like best. The next time I see my friend, I'll make my pitch and, who knows, we might just name a wine bar, and every time you go there you can tell your friends, "I named this place," and you'll drink your wine or your beer and you'll eat some cheese or some flat bread and no one will care.

Jared

Dough-nations! Dough-nations!

"I thought it was the trash."

No, this isn't a quote-fest from Coming to America, the real, last, great Eddie Murphy movie. Holy Man, The Haunted Mansion, Daddy Day Care, The Adventures of Pluto Nash, Meet Dave, Showtime, Metro, Harlem Nights, Another 48 Hours, The Nutty Professor, The Nutty Professor 2: The Klumps, Norbit, Life, Doctor Dolittle, Doctor Dolittle 2, Vampire in Brooklyn, and Beverly Hills Cop III included. I actually liked The Distinguished Gentleman, but no one would ever go on record to say that it's one of Eddie Murphy's best and/or funniest films. His performance in Dreamgirls also won him an Academy Award nomination, but the release of Norbit during voting season didn't help him win any votes. 1988, that was his pinnacle.

This also is not a post about why Eddie Murphy went from hilarious to forcing yourself to find him funny as a donkey in Shrek. This is about dough-nations. Key prefix: Dough. Money. Cash. Dollars. Ducats. Deutschmarks.

I'm raising money for the 5th straight year for The National Multiple Sclerosis Society. Each year, I join my sister's company and ride 60+ miles on a bike; after not riding on a bike for the prior 364 days. This year is no different, except I might punk out at 45 miles. The last 15 are through New Jersey's Palisades Park where the hills are alive with the sound of bikers' exaggerated breaths. After conquering those hills for the past 3 years, I'm ready for flatter pastures.

I know I've already emailed a bunch of you to donate, but now I'm broadening my search to include random people who may read or happen to come across this blog and want to get some good karma for the weekend. It's a great cause and helps people in need.

Here's the link to my donation page.

Get on board and "pay it forward" [Not from an Eddie Murphy movie, but apropos].

Jared

Finding Strays in Sunnyside

The title of this blog is Sunnyside Lowdown. I think, as a result, I owe it to anyone reading this to actually talk about living in Sunnyside. In my introductory post, I think I even said that Sunnyside would constitute a large portion of the blog. After 20-something posts, perhaps 3 or 4 are Sunnyside-related. Twenty percent seems solid, but maybe it's not enough. Maybe I'm alienating the hardcore Queens readers. Sorry. And, to think, I haven't even written about the Mets, or as we say in the barrio, Los Mets, who beat one of the worst teams in baseball for the second night in a row [The Nationals]. World Series here we come!

In fact, I was going to write about how underrated the film, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou is. It is an underrated film. It's colorful, quirky, funny, tender, awkward, creative, and has a great soundtrack. It's not as funny as Rushmore or as affecting as The Darjeeling Limited, but if you haven't seen it or haven't seen it in a few years, I recommend popping it in your DVD player. There's something about Wes Anderson's movies that make you smile even when they plod along.

However, I believe you've been aching for news from the outer boroughs. I finally have had some time to spend in my borough now that my emergency work project has finished. I've been walking around and I've turned up some things. First, I came across the United Artists Kaufman Stadium 14 [You've got to love it when the review says that the popcorn is "rarely stale"]. Technically, it's in Astoria, but I'm officially declaring any place that's within a 15-20 minute walk from my apartment to be in Sunnyside. I went there with Girl to see Righteous Kill last weekend. The theater was huge, with more dead space than a cemetery. It was designed with unnecessarily wide expanses and concession areas, considering that there were maybe twenty people in total walking around. Then again, it was a Sunday night. That's Queens for you. Inside the theater, it was surprisingly full. Unfortunately, it was congested with weird people including women sitting in back to back rows threatening to fight each other and, my personal favorite, parents who bring their crying baby to an R-rated movie with the word "kill" in the title. I assumed it was a fluffy cartoon piece with fluffy animals playing pick-up sticks. I'm sure they did too.

The theater is catty-corner to an Uno Chicago Grill (formerly, Pizzeria Uno), Applebees, and a Panera Bread. Welcome to middle-American suburbia! I mean, really, an Applebees next door to an Uno and a Panera Bread? Who among us can make that choice? It's a tough decision, to say the least.

We also have a cool, eclectic, vintage-ish, antique-esque, semi-new/semi-used goods store called Stray. I stopped by today. It's a block and a half from my apartment and it has some sweet stuff. Reclaimed windows with mirror and stained-glass, LP record players, picture frames, antique glasses, some vintage clothing, and other knick knacks, like the VHS version of Chasing Amy. A good spot to find a cool looking mirror or an ashtray. Something to spruce up your lame, sterile, mass-produced apartment that revels in conformity. I like character. I like living among things that have a certain charm or nostalgia to them. It reminds you of how things have been inhabiting this planet before you were born. Those metal cabinet stands are much older and have more cache than you. You are boring. They are cute, rusted, and useful. You need a shave, a haircut, and a toothbrush.

These are just a couple of places in my neighborhood. I guarantee to keep exploring and reporting back, but only 20% of the time.

The next time you're in Sunnyside, and feel like maybe you need antique furniture or a wall accent, walk east on Queens Boulevard, make a left on 48th St. and walk two avenues to Skillman Ave. It's on the north-east corner across from a Mexican bodega, of which there are about 40 in Sunnyside.

The next time you want to see a movie, stay in Manhattan.

Jared

The Present (and Future) State of Poetry

Poetry is dead. The hip-hop artist, Nas, declared on his unambiguously, identically-titled album, that Hip Hop is Dead. First, hip-hop, now poetry. Actually, poetry has been dead for a long time. It was dead as early as May 5, 2003. That's too recent. Surely, poetry has been dead for at least one score [Gettysburg Address reference, for those paying attention]. Why is poetry dead? Bruce Wexler states:

From the Me Generation of the '70s to the get-rich-quick '80s, our culture became intensely prosaic. Ambiguity, complexity and paradox fell out of favor. We embraced easily defined goals and crystal-clear communication (Ronald Reagan was president, presiding over the literalization of America). Fewer politicians seemed to quote contemporary poets in speeches, and the relatively small number of name-brand, living American poets died or faded from view.

His explanation is plausible, and, most likely, accurate. I would like to proffer a different reason. Poetry never adapted. It never became modern or experimental or tantalizing. At least not enough. I, as I have stated at least two other times, am a fan of Charles Bukowski. He was a prolific poet, in addition to his novels. Most of his poems deal with the same themes as his longer works: alcoholism, womanizing, gambling, depravity, mundaneness, etc. The difference is, in his longer works, there's more of a payoff. You become invested in the characters, their travails. In his poetry, which predominantly, if not completely, fails to rhyme, he tells a story. Quick blurbs. His words carefully chosen, selected for their inherent value and stacked up one after the other until he built a substantial enough enclosure to gaze at and admire. But it is not enough, it only provides an evanescent feeling of comprehension. Further, without rhyming, Bukowski's poetry fails to induce the sonic pleasure spawned from like-sounding words. His poems are direct and cold and rough like bricks sitting in your freezer.

For example, Trashcan Lives by Charles Bukowski:

the wind blows hard tonight
and it's a cold wind
and I think about
the boys on the row.
I hope some of them have a bottle of
red.
it's when you're on the row
that you notice that
everything
is owned
and that there are locks on
everything.
this is the way a democracy
works:
you get what you can,
try to keep that
and add to it
if possible.
this is the way a dictatorship
works too
only they either enslave or
destroy their
derelicts.
we just forgot ours.
in either case
it's a hard
cold
wind.

Disjointed, straggling, short on punctuation. Experimental. When I read it, I know I'm supposed to feel moved. I should feel affected, but I don't.

My colleague, Fara, knows a lot about poetry. I know this because she can recite stanzas upon stanzas of poetry from memory. Sometimes, when we're having tea in my office she'll write out these poems on my note paper, which annoys me because (a) no one should know a poem by heart, let alone the number of poems that she does and (b) she wastes all of my note paper on poems that I never want to read. In fact, the last time she did this, I took the paper from her hands and ripped it up in her face and threw the pieces in the air hoping to teach her a lesson. I'm not sure whether that lesson was learned because that was my last piece of paper, so, regardless, there have been no more poems.

For example, here is an excerpt (or perhaps the whole) from one of those poems by some poet I believe she wrote was named, Vachel Lindsay, but that name seems like make-believe; as for the title, beats me:

Let not young souls be smothered out
Before they do great deeds and
fully flaunt their pride;
The world's one crime its babes
grow dull,
Its poor are oxlike, limp, and
leaden-eyed.

Not that they starve,
but starve so dreamlessly;
Not that they sow,
but that they seldom reap;
Not that they serve,
but have no gods to serve;
Not that they die,
but that they die like sheep.

At least it rhymes. Pride, leaden-eyed. Reap, sheep. If a poem doesn't rhyme, I usually don't want to read it. Still, no matter how enchanting this poem is, and many others like it are, I'm not satiated with a poem. It's fleeting, a parakeet that perches on my finger, then flies off swiftly before I've had a chance to feel it's feathers. When I read, I want to sink my teeth into the story, language, moral, characters, dialogue, meaning. I want a chicken dinner.

I want to make poetry relevant again. I want to revolutionize the genre. I want to create a new form. I've ventured into Haiku territory for movies, which I really enjoy, but to resurrect poetry, we need more. We need...wait for it...wait for it...wait for it...damn, I've got nothing. Fine, I want more rhyming and I want it to make some sense and I want it to be either very funny or something to seduce women (that actually works) and I want clever style, be it a lot of alliteration or interesting use of syllables, I want it to be well-written (unless your goal is to write poorly as a form of social commentary), I want more people to write poetry after they graduate high school where they spent countless hours brooding over their Mead spiral notebook wearing black jeans or plaid shirts or vintage clothing, sketching doodles or writing sonnets and poems and telling themselves that they were the next Walt Whitman or Henry Wadsworth Longfellow or Sylvia Plath and generally annoyed everyone else because of their pretentiousness and sense of monopoly on pain and cynicism. Now they have jobs, and their Mead notebooks lie dusty in boxes in closets where their poetry continues to decline at an accelerated rate in readability. It's time to go to the stationery store, walk past the protractors, skip over the crayons, thumb over the oak tag, and find a college-ruled notebook. Go to a Starbucks or a Panera Bread, sit down, and start writing poems. Now that you've lived a few years, you should finally have endured enough misery to actually write something worth reading. Poetry needs you, now more than ever.

And if that doesn't work, then I suggest we just change the name. "Poetry" and "poems" sounds lame. Rhymeys and rhymes. Now that's catchy.

Jared

Unrighteous Film

Righteous Kill. It's a movie. It stars Robert De Niro and Al Pacino. The second pairing of their careers. Technically, the third if you count Godfather II, which you shouldn't. The first one, Heat, however, only included one scene where they really faced off, and even that is subject to rumors. Allegedly, the "diner" scene in Heat was filmed separately and only edited together later. With Righteous Kill they finally have a vehicle for both of them. Should you see this movie? No. Should you rent it? Sure. There are a few things to take from this movie:

1. Pacino looks so old it's astonishing. He looks like a walking advertisement for euthanasia. His face looks like a mule that's been beaten with a rod continuously for 60 years. It's like tan-colored beef jerky.
2. De Niro looks like an old, beaten-down, scar-tissue around the eyes boxer. He's made so many bad movies, he hasn't remembered what a good movie is supposed to look like.
3. The script and story are disjointed, lacking humor, suspense, and intelligence.
4. Still it's worth renting because, well, it's De Niro and Pacino, so why not?

In the movie, there's a serial killer and he leaves poems [which weren't that good]. How fitting then, that, after seeing it, I will summon my poetic powers to bless it with a Haiku Review? Very fitting.

De Niro is old
Pacino is old times twelve
It's no Step Brothers

Jared

The Book In My Bathroom

My mom bought me a book. It's called "1001 Smartest Things Ever Said." It's a compilation of 1001 quotes by luminaries such as Satchel Paige, Susan B. Anthony, Abraham Lincoln, Aeschylus, Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, and, my favorite, Charles Bukowski on topics such as Life and Death, Love and Friendship, Success, The Life of the Mind, and Proverbial Wisdom. Naturally, I placed it in my bathroom. It's a good read.

One day, I came across this quote by Bill Cosby, which got me thinking:

I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody.

Ain't that the truth, Bill.

From time to time, I think I'll be reciting other quotes that strike my fancy or seem appropriate to the story at hand depending on whether I have nothing else to write about or if I've been in my bathroom a lot. So, far from your typical "lead-in" today's quote actually relates to the present story. Kind of.

The other day at work, my colleagues and I were talking about movies, when Snakes on a Plane came up. Not sure why, but it did. If you've seen it, you know that (a) it's awful, (b) you should love that it's awful, and (c) as a result, it's a classic. The movie has no discernible plot and makes no attempts at creating a logical basis for why a plane would end up with hundreds of poisonous, violent snakes to try to kill just one guy. It does, however, have Samuel L. Jackson shooting snakes in the head at 35,000 ft.

Discussing Snakes on a Plane lead to our discussing other movies that take place on planes, which lead to me texting my friend, and occasional, online movie critic, Dre, suggesting that he write an article on the 10 Best Movies Involving Planes. I suggested at least 7. Then after more deliberation, I figured why not have the 10 Best Movies Involving Trains and the 10 Best Movies Involving Automobiles because it's probably the 30th Anniversary of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. After checking, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles was released 21 years ago. Still, it makes for an interesting article. This is where my Bill Cosby quote comes in. I'm going to pick the 10 (give or take 6) Best (more or less) Movies that Involve Planes, Trains, and Automobiles and I'm going to do it whether it pleases you or not.

Best Movies Involving Planes:

1. Snakes on a Plane - Obviously.
2. Soul Plane - It has the word "plane" in it.
3. Passenger 57 - "Always bet on black?" Especially if it involves tax evasion.
4. Air Force One - "Get off my plane!"
5. Airplane - It's a classic. Although, I have to admit, I've never seen the full movie, and, at this point, I probably never will.
6. Top Gun - Exactly.
7. Terminal Velocity - Kind of.
8. Drop Zone - Sort of.
9. Executive Decision - Wow, movies on planes are not that good.
10. Flightplan - Ditto.
11. Fly Boys - I should probably also toss in Pearl Harbor. By Pearl Harbor, I mean every war movie ever.
12. Stealth - The villain in the movie is an actual plane. Obviously, it makes the cut.
13. Broken Arrow - It's like Stealth, except the villain is John Travolta and it's actually a decent movie.
14. Pushing Tin - Starring a pre-adopted kids Angelina Jolie.
15. Die Hard 2: Die Harder - Not as good as one or three, but pretty entertaining on a rainy day.

Best Movies Involving Trains:

1. Money Train - It has the word "train" in it.
2. The Great Train Robbery - Ditto.
3. Throw Momma From the Train - Train movies like to inform you that they involve trains.
4. Under Siege 2: Dark Territory - Now that's what I'm talking about.
5. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - They used to live in a subway car.
6. Carlito's Way - It ends in a train station (The Untouchables, too).
7. Die Hard With a Vengeance - "If you have to shoot me, then go ahead and shoot me. But I have to answer this phone!" It has a train scene.
8. Matrix Revolutions - Ditto.
9. Species - Not enough train movies have scenes involving alien gestation. Species is a true pioneer, in that respect.
10. Midnight Meant Train - I'm sure at least one person saw it. Maybe the director?
11. Speed - "Pop quiz, hotshot."
12. The Warriors - Nothing like running through the New York subway tunnels trying to make your way back to Coney Island while every gangbanger in the city is out to kill you, bash your brains in, and bang some bottles, "Warriors...come out...to play."
13. Mission Impossible - It ends on a train and there's a hi-speed crash with a helicopter in a train tunnel.
14. The Darjeeling Limited - Highly underrated.
15. Strangers on a Train - Classic Hitchcock.
16. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade - There's that big train scene in the beginning.

Best Movies Involving Cars:

1. Days of Thunder - There's, like, this rule that any list of the best movies involving planes, trains, and automobiles requires that you pick at least one Tom Cruise movie for each. It was either Days of Thunder or Far and Away.
2. Taxi Driver - Car? Check.
3. Cars - Cartoons count.
4. Ronin - Arguably the best car chase in movie history.
5. Bullitt - Ditto.
6. The Bourne Identity - Ditto.
7. Talladega Nights - It's like Days of Thunder, if Days of Thunder starred Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly and Sacha Baron Cohen and Amy Adams instead of a bunch of other people.
8. Driven - Just kidding.
9. Speed Racer - Ditto.
10. Action Jackson - There's a scene where Action Jackson (Carl Weathers) jumps on a car and he drives around a bit and he almost crashes into a wall. Basically, I just like Action Jackson and wanted it to be recognized. Also, I'm watching it right now on cable while I'm typing.
11. Used Cars - "Cars" is in the title.
12. Riding in Cars with Boys - Ditto. I can't believe I just referenced this movie. I might as well have said, Crossroads starring Britney Spears. I've sunk to a new low.
13. Who Killed the Electric Car? - Our first documentary on the list; cause to celebrate.
14. Death Proof - Booyah!
15. The Fast and the Furious - The first one was watchable.
16. The Lovebug - The star is a Volkswagen, so you know you're getting a better performance than if it was Dane Cook.
17. Etc. [There are just too many car movies.]

Please join me as we celebrate and commemorate the 21st Anniversary of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, and as Samuel L. Jackson always says, "Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherf*#@ing snakes on this motherf*#@ing plane!"

Seems to me, it should have been 1002 Smartest Things Ever Said.

Jared