This is How We Slum It
April 30th, 2007 . by contemptster
Slumming It. Once a proud phrase describing those radical, rich, and affluent members of our society willing to go against the grain and live amongst the lowly, yet surprisingly hip and trendy commoners. They smoked and drank in Harlem during the jazz age. In the 70s and 80s they blew coke with the artists in SoHo. Finally, they drank Pabst in the Lower East Side of the 90s and early 2000s. But anyone who’s eaten at Schiller’s or fought through the Friday night Ludlow Street crowds, knows that the days of the LES as slum are over. Brooklyn looks to fill this new void, but can you still “slum it” in Manhattan? Being both rich and affluent, last Friday I decided to give it a try.
I started after work by heading to The Blarney Stone, 32nd Street, Herald Square. When you walk into this long dimly lit bar the first thing you notice is the humidity, the next is the smell. It’s not an awful smell but combined with the humid air the odor takes on a third dimension. The smell and the humidity emanate from the same place; steam trays that keep the food at the lunch station (luke) warm. Meats, gravies, sandwiches, mac n’ cheese served on cafeteria style trays that you carry to your table or to the bar. But I didn’t come here to eat, that comes later, I came here to drink and with the size of the bar you always can find a place to sit. Pints of Bud and Bud Light are $4.00 and the top rate bartenders buy back every 4th beer. Yes, this is a bar for drinkers. From a trendy and hip standpoint the bar ranks low, so here’s your chance to get in on the ground floor.
After my free 4th beer I head out to meet my wife. She was walking down form 51st & 8th, so I said I’d get together with her on 8th Ave and go for a drink wherever we happened to meet. This couldn’t have worked out any better. We met at Port Authority (Yes, I walk fast) and went into McAnn’s. McAnn’s is actually a bar that I know well from my time living in Weehawken (a slumming it column of it’s own) and the time I came down for New Year’s in a blizzard and was stranded in POA for a good 4 hours. That particular night lead to a stay at the Plaza, but that too is another story.
When it comes to seediness Port Authority cannot be beat, and McAnn’s holds that torch proudly. This bar also features cheap Bud and Bud Lights as well as bright lighting and no hipsters. It’s more of a bridge and tunnel crowd, or more accurately, a tunnel crowd. Potential hip-ness is an absolute zero, but in this ironic age isn’t a zero really a six; the highest rating any hipster could possibly give something?
It was after another three Bud drafts that I realized I probably should have eaten some mac n’ cheese at the Blarney Stone and we headed out to find some food. We could’ve walked west to Hell’s Kitchen, but if your slumming it from Port Authority you walk due east into the belly of the beast, Times Square.
Where to go to put an exclamation point on this night of slumming? Franchise restaurants of course. Franchise restaurants depress me, and are a perfect way to end the night, but which one? ESPN Zone, no, too classy. Olive Garden, too many bread sticks. TGIFriday’s, too much flair. No, instead we went to TGIFriday’s ugly little step daughter, Applebee’s. Needless to say, my wife was thrilled.
I ordered the Ribblets & French Fries basket for $13.50 and a Pepsi. My wife ordered water. The Ribblets, I’m not afraid to say, were fucking delicious. Plus, Ribblets help to promote good health. The place was jumping, the wait staff were terrific, and it’s a great place to pretend you’re one of the common folk. More importantly I felt like I belonged to a community. I felt like I was sitting in my very own neighborhood restaurant, the Applebee’s on Dekalb and Flatbush. Catch the trend before Applebee’s becomes too popular (we were seated next to Peter Sarsgaard and Maggie Gyllenhaal). Before you know it they’ll be everywhere, maybe even on Ludlow.
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Happy weekend everybody. Be sure to take pictures of all those nightlife assholes you encounter this weekend and 
Right now, last night’s dinner of PBR and cheese steak sandwich is wreaking havoc on my body (it’s also how I stay in such peak physical condition), so this will be a short post. For those of you anxiously awaiting 
2. The sink faucet has some design problems. It must be held down in
The guy in the office who brings his own toilet paper. He uses the roll, leaves it in the stall, and then expects anyone else that uses it to pitch in to his TP fund!
my top contempsters: sorority chicks, the chicks from the hills & laguna on mtv who think they’re celebs, LINDSAY LOHAN. slow drivers, especially in the left lane. fake deer on people’s lawns- unnecessary. george w bush.
Far be it from me to call cronyism, but nature seems to have a certain unhealthy affection toward giant pandas.
The coup de grace came during a recent viewing of the xenophobic series Planet Earth on the the Discovery Channel. Their cameras caught up with some wild giant pandas and Sigourney Weaver explains their giant predicament.
Put those camera phones to work and take shots of the woman who talks on her cell phone while blocking the stairs. Or take a snap shot of the people who refuse to walk up or down escalators, stand in your way, and force you to wait for the droning machine to take you one flight of stairs you could have easily walked in half the time. This is especially bad when it’s the pointless single-file escalator. If you’re able-bodied, walk the damn things. It’s not a ride. Escalators stopped being a novel form of entertainment when I was four years-old. If you need the escalator for health reasons, I’m more than happy to wait.
Wow, that was quite a little rant and tangent. But you know what? I feel better, and you will too. 
This is a conversation I had last summer: 
You’re sitting down in your great seats, the lights dim, and the movie starts. There’s a lot of important information and you’re trying to absorb it in order to understand and enjoy the film when all of a sudden light from the lobby brightens up part of the room. They walk through the doors and already you hear them arguing about why they’re late and whose fault it is. You say to yourself, “Just find a seat in the back” but you hear them walking closer until…they take the seats behind you. This is just a miserable feeling. You should have just set fire to your 11 dollars.
Our trip to Arby’s was founded on lies and crackpot theories about interstate accessible fast food spots. One friend posited we could make it in and out and have time to pick up our other friend who was due to arrive at the train station around 2. We were packed in a car and very hungry. Unless the food exchange was very fast and smooth, our side trip would probably be rushed and full of sauce stains and words better left unsaid. We were definitely feelin’ Arby’s. But we were feelin’ leisure Arby’s—the kind with napkins, plastic cutlery, paper sauce ramekins, and bladder busting soda refills. My other friend hypothesized that we could never do it. 
Listen here, I’m not gonna be alive forever. In fact, I may not be alive in ten minutes. If I want to pull into traffic without looking so your car T-bones me at 50 mph, then that’s what I’m a-gonna do. I can’t see over the steering wheel anyway so what’s it to you? 
Hey, me and a bunch of friends are going out to dinner, you should totally come along. I know you already ate, but it’ll be fun. We’ll all gorge ourselves on appetizers, lobster, steak and expensive wine and you can just order a small soup. Then the bill will come and one of us will suggest splitting it rather than everyone paying their share. It’ll come to $87 a piece. Now you have a couple options here: you can either pay the $87 or look like a cheap asshole in front of everyone. What’ll it be? 
I’m a people person. I can’t be constrained by society’s unwritten rules telling me how or how not to interact with others in public. Sure I could clip my nails in the privacy of my own home, but I prefer to do it on subways and park benches instead. I’m not a victim of these self-imposed social barriers that you sheep live behind. That said, try not to pay any attention to the shrapnel hitting you in the face.
Uh oh… here I come. That’s me approaching you from down the hall. Quick, duck into the bathroom or something before you get stuck in a “stop and chat” with me. 
All right, self, it’s almost 6 o’clock. Don’t panic. Just act natural… 
Yeah, I’ll answer my cell phone while I’m in a movie theater. Come on, man, that’s clichéd. Talking on the phone is the standard sign that you’re a movie theater dick. I’ve done it and I’m proud of that. I’m special and no one’s going to tell me to be quiet. 
