Andrew Andrew, Stuff I Had To Eat, And Other Topics

It has been an action-packed past couple of days despite my continued state of being almost dead. On Tuesday, I walked all the way over to First Avenue and First Street where I joined the futuristic Andrew Andrew for their (Andrew Andrew are two guys in total) radio show on the popular Eastvillageradio.com. It was good times. It is exciting to talk into a microphone and know that someone, anyone somewhere is listening and maybe liking it enough so as not to find you and stab you. I am hoping I accomplished that on my visit to their show. Decide for yourself by downloading the show by clicking here here. Don’t worry- it is not a virus, just an mp3. I show up at about the 46 minute point and, well, then things really start to heat up like a motherfucker.

After I was totally on Andrew Andrew’s radio show, the three of us walked south to a bar I had never been to called Marshall Stack, which was far less annoying than its name implies. At Marshall Stack, we ate a delightful cheese plate and Cuban sandwiches and drank a couple beers, of which there was a nice variety. Somewhere during our time there though my allergies kicked in like a motherfucker and I was all sneezing and sniffling and stuff. Andrew Andrew said they thought there might have been a cat lurking nearby, which would pretty much do it for me in the sneezing department if it were the right kind of cat (the kind that causes me to need a tracheotomy despite being adorable). We finished most of our big sandwiches and headed for the train, which was great for us.

Yesterday, I kept the mayhem coming by shooting something for the soon-to-exist Barry Diller/Arianna Huffington juggernaut 236.com, which was good times despite my continued deathlike symptoms. Then last night, my friend Matt totally called me up out of the blue and was all like “Let’s get some dinner!” and- since I hadn’t eaten yet or anything even though it was totally getting late and stuff- I was like “Fuck yeah, let’s get some dinner!” I met him on the street near my apartment and we walked over to a restaurant right by my house called Fatty Crab, a delightful place I had never been before for some reason still unknown to me. When we got there, I totally ran into my friend Doug from Cleveland who was sitting out front. I was like “Hey, Doug- what are you doing here? Your house is in Cleveland!” and he was all like “I was gonna eat some food! Oh yeah, and I am visiting town for a couple days!” and then Doug, Matt, and I all ended up eating some food together and that shit was fucking crazy. We ate a bunch of pork and duck-like products and it was seriously good. I will totally go to that place again sometime like a motherfucker.

Now it’s Thursday and I am trying to sort out how much ass to kick today by sitting here in a coffee shop and typing a bit. There is a band on the stereo (is that what it’s called these days? I don’t even know anymore) that sounds totally like the Strokes but it totally not the Strokes. The singer sings so much like the singer from the Strokes that he should be hunted down and kicked in the nuts so it won’t happen anymore. I can’t believe no one else in this band doesn’t just say to the singer “Dude, why don’t you just go blow the singer from the Strokes dude? You, like, totally love him or something.” And then he’d, like, throw his bass down and just totally walk out of their practice room. It’s not even like I like the Strokes all that much, but I’d much rather hear them than some other band in tight jackets trying to sound just like them. Geez.

Dave Hill