caleb:: WHAT: St. Patrick wasn't even Irish. He was Roman.
A bunch of pirates from Norway or wherever kidnapped him and made him
work the donkey-pit in the hills of Wales until he turned sweet 16 and
had a dream about a man with a curly mustache driving a yacht around the
Bay of Biscay. That was enough for him. He escaped slavery by hiding himself
in the piglet hutch of a butcher ship on its way to unload savory filets
and such for the bistros of gay old France. Where he later became a chef.
Then a monk. Then a traveling road-show man with a voice like a trumpet
and a huge utility belt. He went back to the British Isles later to face
his demons and make his Catholic peace with slavery. That sounds fun.
And leprechauns are real.
WHEN: In like two days it's going to be SATURDAY and you're going to have
lots of stuff to do like wash your sticky clothes and look at a 2-bedroom
apartment in Greenpoint that no one else wants because it smells like
mustard-dipped athletic socks on a bacon sandwich. So you should probably
forget about all that home-maker crap and come over to our house and drink
liquors until Soren drops a beer-bottle in your lap but you don't notice
because someone took their shirts off and the couch is all wet. So come
over around 9. If you want some corned-beef and cabbage that mawn's been
stewing for six days. And REAL Irish champ. You can ask Rob Bannerman
WHERE: In an old Italian Knights of Columbus social club and eatery. Which
shouldn't repel you even if you're an American Indian. Because Oh the
times are a' changin' and isn't it just fancy and cool to live in a "loft-like
apartment" in Williamsburg and drive a scooter to work? So COME ON
OVER to 608 Lorimer Street and check out our place before we get kicked
out next month and move in with Bill Cosby in Ft. Greene. Who was it that
told me he lived in Brooklyn Heights? That's just a lie. A lie!
HOW: Take the BRAND NEW robot-driven L train to Lorimer Street. Climb
out of the station and walk two lousy blocks to our house. If you can't
find it, hang out with Omar at Hana Food instead. He makes a mean Ruben
sandwich. And, come to think of it, the L train's probably not running
or something (robots have lots of problems) in which case you should take
a CAR or a CAB depending on your taste. From Manhattan where Osama's hot
half-cousin lives, drive over the Williamsburg bridge and tell the driver
to get off at the South 5 exit. Then take the first left at the first
light. Then drive straight past a bunch of votive candle stores and a
hipster Apple G4 cafe. Then take a right on Metropolitan and drive 4 or
5 blocks until you hit Lorimer. And guess what? If you're coming from
Astoria Queens or the Cosby House, you know how to get here.
WHY: What? Go back and re-read the What section.
RECAP: St. Paddy was a slave. Leprechauns are real. Saturday. 9pm. Drunk.
608 Lorimer, Hipsterburg Brooklyn. Robots have problems. Or take a car.
caleb:: hello all my friends.
after six years on Lorimer street (and after stuffing piles of $$$ up
the hole that is Williamsburg) we are joining the ranks of Mustard Factory
hippies and all those painters from DUMBO and are being evicted. [our
landlord "needs" the premises vacant so that he can sell it
to Allstate Realty Associates for $950,000 or tear it down to build a
six-story cinder-block box full of "loft-like" apartments for
professionals.] we have to turn in our keys by May 15.
any ideas anybody?
anyone have an apartment they want to sell me for $100,000? anyone have
some strange two-story raw space in an old pierogi factory they want to
rent for $1600? i've done some of you favors before. i've probably tried
to stick my hands up all of your shirts. which wasn't that bad, was it?
how about it? can anyone lend me like 10 grand? mawn would really appreciate
i love you all.
alex:: Hello. . . Ready, set, go. . .
Renouncing Your Citizenship
Here's the procedure:
(1) Leave the country. There is no procedure for renouncing your citizenship
while still physically present in the U.S. The government has the idea
that if you're mad enough to renounce your citizenship you probably don't
want to keep living here (although most militia types seem to want to
stick around, presumably to keep their disgust fresh). Also, frankly,
most of the 800 or so people who renounce their U.S. citizenship each
year aren't protesters but rather are cases of "dual citizenship"
who haven't lived in the U.S. for a long time. What typically happens
is that someone is born in the U.S. to non-U.S. parents, who later return
to their native land. Such a person is automatically a U.S. citizen but
has a claim to his parents' nationality also. While dual citizenship is
usually not illegal--the U.S. "tolerates" it--it can complicate
your life, notably in connection with taxes. So many people choose one
or the other on reaching adulthood.
(2) Apply for citizenship somewhere else. Strictly speaking this is optional,
in the sense that it's optional to put on the parachute before you jump
out of the plane. But if you're a stateless person living abroad and you
get in a jam with the local authorities, or you want to get a passport
to travel to yet another country (or back to this one), you're up fecal
(3) Go to a U.S. embassy or consulate and tell them you want to renounce
your citizenship. Often they'll try to talk you out of it, tell you to
come back after you've slept it off, etc. Persist. Eventually they'll
have you sign an oath of renunciation, an affidavit affirming the oath,
and a "statement of understanding," which basically asks you
if you're sure you know what you're doing. You also have to supply certain
tax-related info and turn in your passport. The consular officer overseeing
the proceedings must sign an attestation saying that in his opinion you're
not off your nut. The papers will then be forwarded to the U.S. state
department, which in the fullness of time will issue you a Certificate
of Loss of Nationality. You're officially un-American. See you in hell!
all:: we got mail!!
From: Sco <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Date: Wed Oct 15, 2003 10:00:14 PM
Subject: Re: movies, beer, and dirty pictures
unsubscribe me commie fucking fucks.
Find somewhere else to suck cock Kike bitch Homo1
To ashes wit' ya.
Burn in fucking hell slimedog!
someone's mobile home fell in a ditch and gravy fell out.
alex:: en route to grand central intending to catch the 12:53 metro north
to beacon, ny. have in mind seeing the dia art foundation's
new museum. warm cubano sandwiches possessed, drinks acquired, and companions
arranged. enter the L train through a wide open, unobstructed, and ambiguous
subway gate and end up in handcuffs within four minutes. after six holding
cells, two sets of mug shots (they would not give me copies), full laser-guided
fingerprints, the entire cast of HBO's the wire, one
open toilet, and twenty three hours, i learned three things.
in jail seems to be to sleep with your clothes turned inside out. i never
saw anyone switch them in the evening from right side in and turn them
inside out, but i did see the reverse happen in the morning when prisoners
snuck into the interrogation rooms before seeing the state appointed
it may be a bedtime fashion code similar to the colored handkerchief
system circulating san francisco when i left. there may be a far grander
i hope to never fully understand. or it may simply be a method to keep
the outside of your clothes clean of the processed cheese, skunk weed,
and abandoned rotting shoelaces coating the floor. either way, if you
end up arrested in brooklyn, consider it before going to bed.
hours of watching cops watch baseball players on the police issue widescreen
television, one understands that cops are genetically identical to baseball
players. both begin their careers with lofty intentions nailing high
flyers and bringing happiness to children, but both eventually degrade
most of their time sitting down only to get up once an hour or so to
swing a club at something and only being able to move as quickly as
castors will spin. i wondered if baseball players sit hold over hostages
while watching cops on television, but i got sleepy thinking about the
tangential relationships of them all being the same beings in different
uniforms on different screens and laid down with a cheese and mustard
sandwich as a pillow to have a nap.
3) the holding cells at the criminal
courthouse are about 300 square feet and have wide expanses of wallspace
with LES inscriptions and a bloodstain while the dia:beacon,
so i've heard, is 300,000 square feet with rooms built entirely around
richard serra's huge sculptures, a gallery specifically renovated to
display gerhard richter, and an entire basement of bruce nauman installations.
while i never saw the basement of the holding cells, i'm thinking that
i prefer the museum. and next time, i'm taking my own sidecar.
caleb:: anyone like new orleans style baked/stuffed potatoes? give dale
a call: 334-756-3336. seriously.