Menu Close

Month: July 2011 (page 1 of 3)

Get Drunk Tonight – The Turkey’s Nest

The Turkey’s Nest – Williamsburg, Brooklyn (N 12th St & Bedford Ave)

Have you ever been to North Brooklyn? Do you have a friend there? Have you ever passed through? Have you spent even ten minutes in McCarren Park? Then you’ve probably passed The Turkey’s Nest. You might have even been inside to order a conveniently styrofoam-cupped beer or margarita (get the one with absinth) for quenching your thirst in the nearby park. But have you ever actually hung out there? I mean, like, have you ever actually gone to The Turkey’s Nest to tie one on and remind yourself that while life is fleeting, sometimes it’s best not to remember parts of it for your own longterm psychological well-being? I bet you haven’t.

In stark contrast to newer Williamsburg’s hip bars with their bullshit dim lights and fancy drinks and bartenders who will actually talk to you, The Turkey’s Nest is a grim, unwelcoming reminder of the neighborhood’s past and I love it. I don’t like it at all, but I love it. If you’re looking for a place to sit with the lights on, drinking yourself into oblivion, not talking to anyone, and maybe watching sports, this place is your place. If you want to play pool with an aggressive dude and his weird mute girlfriend on what might be the neighborhood’s shittiest, smallest, most fucked up pool table, this is your place. If you want to get your drink on without the slightest bit of pretense that what you’re doing is anything but slow suicide (come on, we’ve all been there), this is your place.

You’ll never take a date to The Turkey’s Nest. You might go there with a girl—or guy if that’s your thing—and you might have been on a date beforehand, but crossing the threshold into the darkened world that is The Turkey’s Nest is the termination of your date. You might not even talk to each other again. That’s the sort of place The Turkey’s Nest is. It’s a destroyer of dreams, a breaker of homes, a shatterer of lives. You want a Super Big Gulp sized Budweiser? Sure you do. You want 3 shots of Jäger in a plastic cup? You can have that too. You want a fancy drink and a smile? Get the fuck out, asshole. Go to some trendy bitch bar.

I love The Turkey’s Nest and I hate The Turkey’s Nest. It is varsity level drinking at its worst and it serves a valuable role in an increasingly safe and boring neighborhood. When you are looking for a place where you will receive absolutely no bullshit, this is your place. Welcome, but you aren’t my friend. Get a drink and shut the fuck up.

If you are moved by this post to visit The Turkey’s Nest, please call 1-800-273-TALK (8255). Thanks.

Also posted at:

Total Ghost’s “Happy Birthday”

I’ll let you all in on a little secret: I absolutely loathe the happy birthday song. Every time I hear it I cringe and want to crawl into the darkest, dankest hole imaginable and die a million painful deaths only to be reborn each time to live in utter agony again until the next moment I am forced to hear the happy birthday song at which point the cycle repeats and repeats and repeats as if some hellish ouroboros of pain. It is the most embarrassing piece of regularly-mangled music I am ever forced to hear, much less sing, which you will never hear me do. Ever. I will sing everything else, all the time, anywhere, but you will never hear me sing the happy birthday song. Never. And don’t get me started on having to hear some poor group of waiters and waitresses being forced to sing it to someone at their table.

I shudder.

With that in the forefront of your consciousness, I introduce an alternative song for birthday celebrations: Total Ghost’s “Happy Birthday”. Sure, it’s not as easy to remember, and it’s about 800 times as long, but it is so superior that I hereby move to have it utterly replace all instances of the original happy birthday song by Jan 1, 2013. Do you not agree? Are you not enticed by their faux-German superelectropopness? Does the multimedia display turn your stomach? Do you disapprove of smoking? Are you joyless? Then I don’t see why you might protest.

Enjoy and remember the next time you sing the old happy birthday song that you might just be causing someone horrible anguish and that person might be me.

Purity Ring’s “Lofticries”

I love this song. It sounds like your more traditional witch house sound blended with bubblegum pop. It’s witch house for girls who draw unicorns on their textbook covers and I love it. Couple it with footage from the 1974 Swedish revenge film Thriller: A Cruel Picture and you are left with this lovely juxtaposition of murder and sugar. Wonderful.

I’ve never seen the film, and I am truly disappointed about it. It is neither available on Netflix nor on Hulu which means that I will have to resort to less lawful ways of acquiring it later at home. Really, I need to see this movie. Read the synopsis from Wikipedia.

The story is about a quiet girl, Frigga/Madeleine (Christina Lindberg), who is sexually assaulted during her childhood and the trauma makes her mute. When she becomes older, she accepts a ride from a man, Tony (Heinz Kopf), who makes her a heroin addict, and then becomes her pimp. At one point, she is stabbed in the eye (a scene for which the director, to much controversy, used an actual cadaver) for refusing a client. She starts saving up money to buy weapons and take classes in driving, shooting, and martial arts to finally take revenge.

Doesn’t that sound like something James O. Incandenza would have produced? Particularly Blood Sister: One Tough Nun, which might be the fictitious film I’d most like to see in meatspace.

Listen to more Purity Ring at their tumblr site.

Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now”

Just because I’m feeling it. Enjoy.

BACK TO THE GRIND.

Bligg’s “Manhattan”

Apparently, there’s this Swiss rapper of sorts that has a hit in his native country right now. If you were paying attention and had watched the video above already, then you’d have done the logical math and recognized that I was talking about the dude in the video. He’s some dude named Bligg which is a play on his last name, Bliggensdorfer. Bliggensdorfer is a pretty metal surname and it is of The Black Laser’s enlightened opinion that he ought to have kept that.

And just what the hell is going on in this video? There’s dude—Bligg—and a miniature child version of himself that has a beard and they are dancing together and that’s pretty weird. Even stranger is that they seems to be dancing in a warehouse full of salt mounds. Having lived in New York for a decade, I must say that there are few images that evoke a sense of this place as profoundly as mounds of salt in nondescript warehouses. Add to that the 1920s newsie styling and the random chick in the flapper dress and I get an idea of where they’re coming from, I guess. Of course, there’s not a single shot of Manhattan in the video, but we’ll forgive that conceptual oversight.

What have we learned from this video? Well, for one, singing in Swiss German sounds right weird. Two, sometimes spending a little money on a music video helps. Three, this song is as competent as any current American pop music, and just as insipid. Four, Beastie Boys samples (oh the irony!) can make pretty much anything better for a moment. Five, Bligg blows. Six, it reminded me of one of my favorite Swiss bands ever, not because they sound similar at all, but because they are both Swiss. And now, I know, you’re all curious about what my favorite Swiss band is, aren’t you? Admit it. YOU ARE CURIOUS!

Ok, it’s Celtic Frost. Enjoy!!!

Cults’ “Go Outside”

This video is dark as hell and of questionable taste which makes it absolutely perfect material for The Black Laser. I’m not going to even bother explaining what’s going on in it. If you don’t get it immediately, you probably have no business here so just move along.

The Guy Code – DON’T DO HIS EX!!!!

You know yesterday I was all, “Oh man, Jayherrod1 is sooo great” and whatever? Well, I was totally right about that, but I’ve also found some new hot business on Youtube that I just absolutely must share with you. He goes by the handle slipoka. I don’t know what the hell it means, nor do I care.

I have never before taken advice from disheveled shirtless men, and though I am not going to starts now, slipoka is trying to change my mind. He’s failed, but he’s trying. I think my favorite thing about this video is the obvious care that went into its production. First we have the sleeping dog on the love seat in the back. Then we have laundry strewn about the same love seat. And don’t let’s forget that he hasn’t combed his hair. Or put on a shirt, which we can only assume is in the pile of laundry on the love seat. I also get a kick out of the fact that he cares so much that he couldn’t do a second take in which he does not receive a text message. Production values THROUGH THE ROOF.

When you’re done with Jayherrod1, pop on over to the old Yotubes and check out the remaining 102 videos posted by slipoka.

And because I’d be remiss in my duties you, my loyal readers and consumers of my brain’s mania, here is his cover of Journey’s “Open Arms”.

Yes.

I know.

Do you think Rebecca was mad after hearing that?

Mickey Mantle, your new life coach

Mickey Mantle, god.

I bet you didn’t know that Mickey Mantle is your new hero. If there’s any doubt, please read the above letter and accept this news as part of your life. You know what’s even better than your new life direction? That this is real.

I cannot express to you how much I love this and do the depth of my feeling any justice. Read. Believe. Awe.