gremmie.net

I met Kevin Shenoy through Off Wall St Jam via a classified ad seeking musicians interested in developing a Pearl Jam cover band. A few weeks later, with the addition of solo guitarist and Hedge Fund guru Steve, Green $ Disease was formed. This past Friday evening Kevin and his pal Joe Donato were having a get together at yuppie magnet bar T.G. Whitney’s on 53rd and 3rd. Honestly, the place look like a watered down version of a J. Crew add. You know, with all those white people? Backing up a moment. when I first met Kevin he had informed me after a brief exchange about occupations that he knew one of my co-workers, Rahul. Kevin, and Joe Donato are praksters. If this was mideval times, they would both be court jesters, goofy slippers and all. The two of them devised a ridiculous plot about how through a chance occurence Kevin had spilled beer on me the weekend before I was to initially meet him at Off Wall St Jam, and that as a result a barfight ensued and I knocked him out. The finer details, location, crew, were worked out. The idea was that the following week when I met him for the first time at Off Wallt St Jam, it turned out to be the guy I punched in the face only a week before. My boss Sam even got in on it since he was acquainted with most of the parties involved. When the day came came to get the joke ball rolling, Rahul fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I sold the entire story with my eyes. Skeptical at first, he called Joe, then Kevin. They both backed it up. Aghast, Rahul could scarcely believe his ears. Me mused what the odds were. This went on for 4 weeks before the novelty has worn off. His face sank when I finally fessed up the backstory. The word “punked” comes to mind, but that’s because I can’t think of anything more original.

So, this past Friday night, Joe was bartending, Kevin was hanging around, myself and Jillian were drinking, my boss Sam was working the room, and Rahul was fending off the stale “you’re a sucker” jokes from the lot of us. There was Karaoke later in the night that included Pearl Jam (duh), Dave Matthews, and Alanis Morisette. Plums and I met Kevin’s girlfriend who’s akin to a radiant jolt of electricty. Ebullience in an endearing manner.

Saturday was a perfect day; the tale goes like this. Slept till 2pm. Fast asleep with plums. Went to SoHo looking for American Apparel. Found it - eventually. Fell in love with the place. Great, non-branded clothes and great prices. I bought Jillian some short shorts. Dinner. Movie. Back to sleep.

Sunday I met Captain Marvel and I didn’t even take pictures. Jillian’s uncle is the once and former CEO of Marvel Entertainment. Yes, THAT Marvel Entertainment. After rolling out of bed at an otherwise normal 10am, we traipsed towards the village to hook up with Jillian’s cousin Gavin and his wife Lauren for a ride to Redding, Connecticut where Jillian’s Aunt and Uncle reside. By the way, the Uptown 2 and 3 DO NOT go to Christopher Street. Anyway. turns out Gavin and Lauren live nearly above The Other Room. A cool West Village haunt we frequented only the week before. The ride up to Redding was brisk; Gavin’s even tempered dog made my lap his seat of eternity. Gavin is a great guy and I suspect the kind of gent you have a ball with when you go out drinking.

As we strode through Redding and into the Estate, or as I call it, The Danger Room, I couldn’t help but notice - well - everything. The nervous grip of meeting extended family overwhelmed me. I was sweating thick bullets, something that the 500 security cameras and Baskerville hounds guarding the place undoubtedly picked up on. I’m only kidding. I wasn’t nervous, and there were no Baskerville hounds or security cameras to speak of. We were greeted by 2 large black dogs upon entering the kitchen. I shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with Jillian’s Aunt and Uncle. Immediately hospitable, they pointed out the spread of food and wine and insisted I help myself. Who was I to argue? Jillian’s Uncle and I retreated to the pool area and spoke privately. He mused on how much he thought of his neice. I made the insight that had he not felt compelled to say something of that caliber, he would probably have said nothing at all. He agreed. In turn, I agreed with his initial sentiment. Then arrived the Chinese tour. A loyal fan of Chinese artistry, Jillian’s Uncle has peices dating back to the Ming Dynasty (pre-1725) and the Ching Dynasty (post 1725). Impressive yes, but moreover, the myriad of comments coming from Jillian’s Uncle on his distinct appreciation for details such as the use of certain colors at a time in China where such colors had not yet been used showed everyone in tow that he didn’t just buy a bunch of junk to put on the walls. The horse stables, the guest house, the ginney hens, a wine cellar with bottles that pre-date the Civil War, the pool and garden - all of it wrapped by the polite remarks of a gentleman just happy to be a success. We ate copious amounts of food and drank wines and cognacs 30 years old. Jillian’s parents were there and as per usual, a pleasure with her Dad making a few attempts at a Greg Luganis impression on the diving board. Scrambled Eggs and Ham. We slept there that night. A strange voice on the intercom woke us up the next morning and I was reminded of the prank in Real Genius that Val Kilmer played on the weasley ass-kissing lab assistant Larry. “God?”

Yesterday we painted what the color wheel says is Baked Terra Cotta onto my walls. We started at 2pm and were done by 10pm. In retrospect it shouldn’t haven taken 8 hours. It’s also damn near impossible to paint without sunlight.

It’s unfortunate that Albany is growing on me. I say it’s unfortunate because this affable feeling has come 4 years after the time I last attended it’s eponymous University. I now understand why Goof has a fondness for this upstate hitch between New York City and Canada. The greater lesson, I suppose, is that you’re able to romaticize what you’re more familiar with; this as seen from Goof’s perspective.

I was in Albany this past weekend with Plums for 24 hours to fill my etageres of more gremmemories. Now I am tapped out for at least 2 weeks. We procured my mother’s care for the weekend and headed out of Battery Park City at 9:30am. I needed to be in Albany by 1:30pm on Saturday to get fitted for a suit for the first gWedding. The gas tank read 1/8th full. We crossed the Tappan Zee at 10:30am and began to sputter at 10:35. In the left lane on a decidedly hasty Interstate 87, my mother’s 2004 Chrysler 300M gastank was empty. The meter still read 1/8 full. I tap the hazard lights for fear of honking retribution and coast over to the right but not before nearly being sideswiped by a blind mohao in a beat up SUV. Plums and I ended up dead on the right shoulder dialing AAA and the State Police to bring us a few gallons of gas to get to at least the next gas station. There was no traffic yet, but by the time we got off the shoulder, there was.

At 11:30am after a frustratingly lax police dispatch and 2 different servicemen whose parents thought it a good idea to name them Bubba, we began rolling. Much to my chagrin, we didn’t make it for the suit fitting at 1:30pm. We did however make the tattoo appointment at 3pm.

Lark Tattoo is in downtown Albany on - duh - Lark St., upstate’s equivalent to New York’s own SoHo. We met Goof and his wonder, Sarah by nearly making them a fender stain on Lark Street; then parked and rolled up to the storefront. On a side note, I threw my wallet against the car’s gastank lid once I exited the car in a mock-rage exhibition of how frustrated I was having arrived late as a result of an embarrassingly dry gas tank. The parlor itself has a good reputation for consistenly producing aesthetically pleasing, clean looking tattoos. It took close to 2 months for Goof and I to pick the font and ended up with one from the Adobe Font Folio I snagged from once and former friend H. We signed our lives away and our attending artist Kara starting inking. Goof was up first.

Goof didn’t flinch while the black needle was pressing into his pasty, fleshy skin. Goof already has 2 tattoos. One on his back above where the gremmie tattoo now rests which looks like a skin drum and has something to do with werewolves and full moons. The other is sanscrit or some other meaningless drab that symbolizes the 5 elements, which in this case are gay, homo, dumb, retarded, and what the fuck. I was sweating bullets; which makes me those 5 elements plus wimpy. Kara dug in and Goof snapped digitals.

The tattoo ended up being precisely what I wished with the location I sought and sharp font I chose. Goof was equally pleased with the results. The three of us headed back to Goof’s place in Watervliet, some 15 minutes outside of Albany. Goof and I kicked around with the Demolition Derby homage, Flatout while Jillian and Sarah waxed girly in the living room. I’m told they get along swimmingly.

Later on, between rubbing Hannaford’s version of Neosporin on our backs and X, our bunch headed to the politely cattle-themed restaurant Barnsider. I ordered a still bleeding prime sirloin whose cool center was as tough to cut through as the Yellow Pages. I also devoured some of Jillian’s shrimp, the whole thing, shell-tail and all. Sarah looked like she was ready to vomit.

Goof, myself, Plums, and Smiley headed over to what I can only describe to the gremmie readership as a ghost mall to watch Steve Carrell’s The 40 Year Old Virgin. You’ve heard of Ghost Towns right? The Latham Mall in - duh - Latham, NY has a movie theater and maybe 2 or 3 stores. The only problem with this is that there are also some 30 vacant stores. The modern day equivalent of the lonely consumer’s paradise. The movie itself gave me hope that not all comedies need to aim for the lowest common denominator to be successful. The night ended at 2am with a directionary gift fromm goof to myself over the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had.

The next day we all ate at Bomber’s for lunch. We gorged ourselves mercilessly. Big fat gremmies. Plums and I left at 2pm to a Highway full, but mostly unclogged. We took digital stills of goofiness along the way.

If you’ve been reading gremmie.blog for the past year, which you probably have, you may have read last year’s entry about tomato weekend. Well this year I had a camera. Now the madness that is, will seem much more in focus and the pictures will illustrate as such. Below is a picture of the famed Utah, the embodiment of Burst. If you don’t know what burst is, check out the greminomicon. Peter, my younger brother and gremmie protoge, has been here for a few weeks on “vacation” from school in New Mexico.

We showed up at 7am. Tomato’s begin their journey to the delicious out in the garage where they’ve been delivered by a guy in a truck from a grocer my Great Uncle Emil’s been using since right after the second World War. This year we only obtained 30 cases due to reserves created by lack of cooking within the past year. Sad.

The first stage is washing the tomatoes. They arrive in great shape, but like any produce, are as dirty as a pig in a mudpit. The tomato washers are usually the youngest of the bunch, or Peter since all it requires is a good eye for grime. And who has a better eye for dirt than kids?

The cutting table is center stage on the patio where all the dirty work happens. As the washers wash, they transport clean tomatoes to the cutting table where 6 of the slickest knife weilding Italians cutup the tomatoes into quads which are jettied into boxes which are prepped to be boiled into a GIANT steel pot.

While this is all going on, phase 2 begins inside the kitchen where the “old folks” prep the cooking wares for where the final product is produced. A leaf is basil is placed inside all of the mason jars after they’ve been throughly cleaned. And the stove is set aflame.

Amidst all this tomato sauce production, my family always finds time to lounge around, nap, throw the football around, hold babies, and generally pick one another apart. It’s great fun.

Day one, Saturday, went off without a hitch. The searing heat made cutting and boiling tomatoes like running an uphill marathon from the seventh to the sixth level of hell. Joy.

That night Pete and I went to the Bokie to meet up with Jillian and her sister, Sue. We went to a bar and watched a cover band whose setlist stretched from Jay-Z to Def Leppard. The lead singer looked like the guy from Fishbone and sounded like Corky from Life Goes On.

On Sunday morning, Pete, myself, and Jillian begrudgingly headed out to Larchmont for day two of Tomato weekend. Since we hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, all of us were beat tired. Between naps and games of Risk, we managed to get a lot of work done. We finished up at 6pm and left at around 8pm. We left the same way we came in, happy and worn out.

These are the faces of Doom. All your bases are belong to us. Gremmie.

This past weekend Goof, my brother in the archetypal sense of the word, came into New York City for 24 hours of kick, joy, and Gremmie; a sort of Bachelor party for the remarkably gremmie. For those have been living under a rock for the past 10 years, Goof is one-half of Gremmie, the foundation upon which this website stands. He’s amiable and forgiving, something I desperately sought during Gremmie: The College Years. The 24 hours was chock full of fun events that began with Goof calling and telling me he was going to be 3 hours late. I passed out. He was joking. Funny. When he arrived, we hit up Caruso’s Pizzaria on Broadway for a quick lunch then headed over to J&R Music world to check out the Macminis on display. Those things - god damn - small. We agreed to go Mac when we buy our next computers. I made reservations at Spark’s for that night at 8:30pm. Spark’s is the best steakhouse in Manhattan. Smith & Wolensky’s? Bobby Van’s? Mark Joseph’s? Bullshit. Spark’s is the best. Where else do you have history rich with front door Mafia hits? Only at Spark’s baby. Matt brought attire I didn’t find suitable for the decor at Spark’s so we trekked over to the Abercrombie & Fitch (surprise, surprise) at South Street Seaport. I picked out a handful of shirts, tried them on, then bought a couple. Sharp man. Just sharp. Check out Goof. Yes, it’s striped, but tastefully so.

I rented out a reheasral studio at off Wall Street Jam for 2 hours beginning at 4pm. After the Seaport we hoofed it back to my place and picked up Goof’s guitar and lugged it to Murray Street to jam. Gremmie is back. In the studio we traversed our usual shenanigans. Playing songs like ‘the Opposite of Blue’, ‘Sad J’, ‘Sure Thing’, and ‘Shark’, Goof was tearing it up. I mean that literally. His fingers, having not practiced for what must be close to an eon at this point, were shredded like he had just battled Oroku Saki with his bare hands (props to those who got the reference).

“‘A borrower nor a lender be.’ Shakespeare.” “‘Fuck you.’ David Mamet”

Goof attacks!

Gremmie OWNS you

goof teaching you how to play “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”

We ate dinner at Spark’s at around 9pm. Their steaks were delectable. You haven’t eaten Prime Sirloin until you’ve eaten at Spark’s.

We met plums on the corner of Prince and Broadway. Instead of going to Red Rocks like we initially had planned, we joined plums and her friends at a snooty trendy joint called Ludo where the bouncers spoke to each other in thick German accents. If you have the opportunity, don’t go there. We stayed 15 minutes and left. It was busllhit.

Blue light is trendy these days? Fuck that.

“Once in a lullaby…”

Plums, Goof, and myself took a cab back to the BPC (Battery Park City you non-gremmie), it was midnight. In my fridge, I had a half full bottle of white, a full bottle of red leftover from cold stone, and a case of Sam Adams. We slept at 5am and drank every 5 minutes in between. Frenetic games of Mario Kart, webcam pictures of free behinds, goggles and harris tweed hats, and impromptu versions of Gremmie songs made for an exciting evening.

Gotard Goggles

Gooftastic

“Yes Dudes and Dudettes, Major League butt-kicking is back in town!”

gSilhouette