There ain't shit on TV

Tonight a friend pointed me to a We Jam Econo DVD release party at The Delancey. I was...how you say...conflicted. Just as I was two years ago. I hate me some Delancey, and I swore the next time I entered its pseudohip doors it would be with Semtex strapped to my chest. So, I didn't go. Anyhow.

Speaking of pseudohipsterism, there's this (via), which is...troubling. Apparently he is the celebrity in residence in Williamsburg. He down to earth, he take a car service.

AAAAAND...Speaking of resident celebrities, here's a weird instance of synchronicity. (Though the story works better if you pretend that Sophie's is the Cherry Tavern, which it basically is.) Anyhow, it was a year and five days ago that I had drinks with Krucoff at the Cherry Tavern. So, as is my gift*, I managed to spot an erstwhile child celebrity passing by the bar. Anyhow, last night I was at Sophie's, another East Village underage drinking establishment, and who should walk in but the very same child celeb. Is it a sign?

Anyhow: Tomorrow, I swear, a rundown of all the food I et in Italia.

*This is my only gift, spotting small-time (no ::cough:: offense) celebs. I live in fear that I'll be on a game show and the host will select me and ask me what special talents I have and, rather than being able to demonstrate how I can dislocate both my shoulder blades or play "On the Trail of the Lonesome Pines" using my hand and my armpit, I'll have to say, Well, I'm good at spotting the first Becky from Roseanne.