And when there was no fowl, we ate crawdad and when there was no crawdad to be found, we ate sand.

Last night in NYC was a blast. Venard, who I ain't seen in a long-ass time, picked me up at JFK and I got to meet his kids and his ex-girlfriend. She's apparently a lot like The Fucking Ex-Wife: mean, loud, bitter, and mad at the world. They broke up  and now he's dealing with life and working nights and taking care of the kids during the day. As always he's still upbeat but damn, it's rough out here! We drove in, stashed the gear at Crille's hotel, had a beer and some buffalo mozzarella with Crille and then we were off to Crif Dog.

Crif Dog is the best hot dog joint in NYC. I don't care what anyone else says, this place has it all. Crazy combos (The Spicy Redneck: dog wrapped in bacon, covered with chili, jalapenos, and coleslaw), great prices, and PBR and Jager. Whoops, they got busted since last I was in New York and now no booze. Not a problem as Martina and Becky met up with us and away we went. First stop, crazy tequila bar complete with a staff that didn't speak Spanish or pronounce anything correctly. Everyone got stupid mixed drinks (Micheladas and Sneakers and who the fuck cares) while V and I went with top shelf anejos and beers. Good but not great. Next up, Mars Bar. Total shithole. One bathroom busted, the other stunk to high heaven. Super narrow and cramped and slightly gross smelling. Covered in really cool/rambling/psychotic graff and possessed of an absolutely fantastic jukebox. From Frank Sinatra to the Cramps with several odd stops in between. Our friend Helene had shown up by this point with her boyfriend and she and I proceeded to kill the jukebox. Beers for all my friends.

I also at this point had a long heart to heart with cousin regarding girl and I think all is well now. Go cousin!

Are we done yet? Nope. One more bar who's name I now forget and the next thing you know people start dropping like flies. It's 3am and time to call it a day. Jet lag not yet setting in so I knew the next morning would suck.

It did. I prepped. I ate a pastrami on rye. I took a cab to Brooklyn. I sat on set waiting for the camera to show up. I moved two cameras worth of stuff by myself and set up cameras. I sat. I left. 

We ate snails at fan-fucking-tastic Chinese place in the newly remodeled Bowery. Congee Bowery Restaurant has real Chinese food. No chicken kung pao here, nope no way nevah. This place is as real as it gets and while the service staff can all suck my sweaty balls the food killed. Snails in black bean sauce, shrimp spiced rice noodles, "juicy buns," snow pea leaves, beef chow mein from heaven, and spicy fried tofu. Add a few rounds of Tsingtao and away we go.

TSA stole/lost two t-shirts, a pair of swim trunks, and one sock. I shall smell for the rest of this trip unless I can get at least one shirt. I hate TSA.

OK, up early tomorrow for work and then sleep and then work and then drinks and then up and on the plane. Work next week!

Peace out, bitches!