Paul Smalera

One of the first things I wanted to write about when I made the leap was a little country/bluesy rock and roll band that a friend of mine introduced me to by taking me to see them in a dark, weird basement under a pizzeria in Soho.

When I met them there, I introduced myself as a writer, which is something I did once before, long ago, when I had hardly written anything. After that embarrassing moment, you’d think I’d have learned my lesson, but this time, I had dropped my entire old life and moved to a new city to BE a writer. And even if I wasn’t yet, damnit, I was at least gunning to be one, which was a definite improvement.

So, I talked to this red-haired larger-than-life, lead-singer-of-a-man names Sean, and told him I wanted to write about them. And I desperately wanted to, because they played a kind of music that I felt like I had been missing all my life. So I pitched a story about them relentlessly.

And

nothing

happened.

Fast forward two years. I have learned a ton about this business, and it seems Hoots and Hellmouth have learned a ton about theirs, having signed a record deal and released a professionally produced album, which is excellent. The fact that both of us made alot of progress in a relatively short time (which feels extremely long, I’m sure, to both of us), let me finally write a story about them for the New York Press. It was an extremely rewarding story to write, and I hope you’ll take a minute to listen to them, or maybe even buy the CD (also available here).

Congratulations boys! It was an honor to be able to write about you, and your month-long residency at Pete’s Candy Store. I caught their last show there last night, and they sounded and seemed better than ever. Keep spreading the good word.

I’d like to briefly report something I just noticed. When I started this job in January, I went to the supply cabinet and got four pencils, four pens, and a highlighter. Through massive amounts of work in the period since then, I have yet to fully extinguish even one of my pencils. (I rotate them so they are all roughly even in length.) I even added two coveted Mirado Black Warrior Pencils, and two red copyediting pencils to the collection, but have yet to put them into the rotation. I’m waiting for a big assignment to do that.

I am a model of efficiency.

Also continuing in my role as Traveler’s Quizmaster General (ok, I gave myself that title), I try, this month, to teach my fellow statesiders about our neighbors to the north, eh? See if you can tell  a canuck from a poutine: Interactive Quiz: Conde Nast Traveler

Another week, another clip. Read my meandering feature on the east side of Broome Street–its history, its culture, and its future. For out of towners, Broome is one of those little streets on the Lower East Side that, while part of the whole, also looks like a microcosm of all of New York. Ok, there are alot of streets like that. But Broome is more interesting than most. Read: New York Press.

Friends, there is good pizza, and there is good pizza. Having grown up in New Jersey, I was used to the idea that if a pizza place managed to stay open for more than a year, the pizza they were serving was probably going to be good. Small town economics dictate that crappy restaurants close fast. Yet here in Manhattan, bad pizzerias are everywhere, and they stay open for years! There are simply too many people on this island who don’t know or don’t care what a good slice should taste like. May I suggest, for those of us who do care what a pizza is supposed to be, that you read my New York Press review of Cronkite Pizzeria and Wine Bar, a new joint on the Lower East Side? Although they are definitely a gourmet sort of place, they are doing all right by me. Mangia!

Photo: Wendy Ploger

It's been a while, but here's another clip of sorts. Over at Conde Nast Traveler's website, every issue of the magazine should bring with it a monthly online quiz. This month's is written by yours truly, and it's all about that city of sin, that according to Guy Martin in this month's issue, may save us all: Las Vegas. To take the quiz, click here. Sorry, no betting!

Have you ever really, really wanted to like someone, but just couldn't? Like, no matter what they said or did, or how cool they were, this person just rubbed you the wrong way? And you're kinda pissed off at yourself because you don't think you're a very judgmental (at least not in a  harsh, calculating sense) kind of person, but, regardless, there it is. You don't like 'em.

Well, when I reviewed Kampuchea Noodle Bar for the New York Press, that's sort of how I felt. As much as I wanted to settle in at a table and slurp up all the goodies and flavors I had come to associate with Southeast Asian cooking, in the end, I just left the place feeling a little flat. I hope to see this place come around, but for now, if you want to know what I'm talking about, have a click on my review above. Thanks, and enjoy.

Imagine, if you will, that you live next door to Henry Kissinger. He waves hello in the halls. He puts mail of yours that he accidentally received back into your mailbox. But you can’t get out of your mind that you live next to Henry “War Crimes” Fucking Kissinger.

Well, that’s actually not my essay at all, but imagine you lived next to Kissinger in 1970 rather than today. And imagine he decided, one day, that you, and everyone else in the building, were the enemy. That’s a little closer, but still nothing like my essay in this week’s: New York Obsever- New Yorker’s Diary. You’re going to have to find out what it’s about for yourself. I hope you enjoy reading it.

Ever move somewhere and crash your moving van into a bus? No? Really? It's totally the rage. To learn about how sweet moving-van crashing can be, read my column, The Welcome Wagon in this week's edition of The New York Press. 

The other day I was whisking my own tarragon, mustard seed, lime, mango viniagrette, and as I reached for the aged champagne vinegar, I thought, "what the fuck am I doing?" It turns out David Kamp has my answer. What I, nay, what we, all of us as a country are doing, is classing it up. But why? What's wrong with Wonder Bread and Hellman's? Those are 2 of the 5 ingredients in an kick-ass BLT, the food of the gods and my choice at diners nationwide. David recently asked visitors to his blog what they thought of the title of his book. I was delighted to weigh in, and he was delighted to highlight my delightedness to weigh in. How delightful. 

Want to know what witty title prompted my witty rejoinder? Click on the link above, or buy his excellent book here. PS, David also authored The Rock Snob's Dictionary: An Essential Lexicon of Rockological Knowledge which, as a formerly aspiring Rock Snob, I love. I say formerly aspiring not because I achieved Rock Snob Nirvana (get it?) but because I just gave the hell up. I was sick of being outgunned by the emaciated nerds who run every record shop in the universe. Now I just bow down, offer alms and humor them while I plunder their superious knowledge to aid me in my shopping.

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