…style over substance in New New York, exemplified by esto Esquire ad spied whilst waiting for the G-train. Television for gentlemen
…style over substance in New New York, exemplified by esto Esquire ad spied whilst waiting for the G-train. Television for gentlemen
it was fucking freezing again this morning after a teasingly warm sun-drenched sunday…and we remember that Guadalajara is dubbed the city of eternal spring
More to come re: the new-to-me TL1000s streetfighta roamin’ the backstreets of BK; and so far our hooliganry has been mostly just high speed maneuvers on Ocean Parkway, squirting between cars on the Belt, and shameful nervous gut-to-tank wheelies on Coney Island Ave but long hours social working and cold rainy days yield more time spent in rented rooms, watching wheelie videos. Enter tha DMV and the dude on blue ninja(?) at the 2:10 mark performing some real motorcycle magic!
Anyone know where these guys are from?
Ah, tostones…the ubiquitous latino treat!
Tostones are everywhere in Latin America and just another way to prepare the banana-like plantain, or platano (so dubbed en castellano).
Mashed into little disks and fried in oil unto a crispy goldenrod brown, los tostones are a definitive comfort food and go tits with nearly everything.
Dubbed patacones in Argentina and other parts south, tostones run the gamut from Mexico down to Tierra del Fuego and now at the corner of Farragut and E. 24th St in Flatbush. Brooklyn.
To prep your patacones, select only the choicest green platanos, slicing lengthwise along the husk, removing the skin, and cutting into cube sized morsels. Drop the morsels in hot oil and fry for a few minutes until lightly browned and soft. Out of the oil and into the patacone machine where they will be crushed into little discs. In a pinch, a couple of hipster skulls can be used to crush the patacones into the aforementioned discs. Discs are now shuffled back into the oil to be fried once more unto a golden brown. Season with salt. Delicious.
Chimichurri! Chimichuri! Chimichurri!
Don’t forget the chimichurri, dog, a delightful dipping sauce and revelation unto itself.
6 cloves garlic
1/2 Hot ass fresh pepper
1/4 Red bell pepper
1/4 tsp Salt
1/2 tsp Red Pepper Flakes
3/4 Olive oil stolen from housemate
1/4 cup vinegar
Put all that shit in a blender or just chop it up real fine if you don’t have one and mix it up. Dip away dog!
In all the thousands and thousands of miles covered in our most recent intercontinental motorbike journey, and of all the thousands and thousands of eyes we’ve peered into during our time on the road we can still count the number of true individuals, outcasts, and iconoclasts on our fingers and toes.
A surprising delight it was this morn when received it was an email from lil’ Paul Naragon, met so long ago in Vilcabamba at the end of Ecuador on the way to Peru…sometimes thought about and almost forgotten.
By feedlot I mean to say that we are constantly being fed ideas that “fatten” us to specific beliefs. We, by blindly accepting their worldview are building their prison of confinement for us. Certainly there are many who are content with this confinement without realizing it for what it is. In so doing, their opportunity to become aware of their nature as ‘creator of their own existence’ is almost guaranteed not to happen. This may not seem so important, but those who run the Feedlot are afraid of one important thing that could unravel the tapèstry they have woven for us. That is, self-control. When you are aware of your creative power YOU have given over to others and THAT IS what confines you—–that is, you confine you by believing THEIR ideas. The point is: No matter how things appear you’ve created them.
Is it not like going to a restaurant and ordering something to eat. You put in an order and expect the order as requested—right? Well, if you give the creation of social order a similar consideration you see that someone has put in an order for society to be the way it is. Who? Are you getting the kind of world that you want?
If you are honest, you surely may be getting a life filled with the ideas you think about—or maybe not—but the question is always there to be asked: WHO’s ideas are these? You can’t claim they are your ideas. You have been taught these ideas or you listened to someone else just as you are reading this. We live in a feedlot of ideas and are grazing quite regularly rather than questioning what we think about. And I am not talking about questioning someone else’s ideas with yet another person’s ideas.
There’s much to be discerned from the SILENCE. Strangely as it may seem the silence is indeed an integral part of our world. Without silence there would be no ability to express different sounds, different words, different sentences. Silence is what separates sounds! On another note, as I implied, there is much in SILENCE but its a foreign language to thinking and we know how distorted translations can be and often are.
Happy Easter y’all
It’s been a while and I’m sorry about that. Cousin Tommy said I left everyone hanging and indeed, it’s true. One minute we’re in Patagonia and the next…well we’re back in old New York sleeping in our childhood bed, parents yelling from beneath the stairs.
It’s all a bit too much and sometimes the mind drifts. One easter ago Quito was our home, a whole hemisphere away. Good times they were but that was then…
Right now we’re social working it up in ol’ Brooklyntown and assisting the people of Flatbush and Coney Island in reaching their goals, commuting on the century-old LIRR to our quaint lil’ office in Manhattan to type our notes, and getting up close and personal with the big apple.
“It’s gonna be a Brooklyn summer!!” said the hipster to the fly, gliding past in skin-tight jeans and little boots, talking loudly on an iPhone and droning on about all the different types of craft brews he’d be offering at his bday party.
Look, everyone knows that hipsters are garbage and that they’ll do anything to be cool, but this is the kind of shit that would bring out the inner bully in anyone.
Ah but let us not forget that you are a light, that you are a sun. Drift within. This is your body. Did you get lost on the trip? Did you get trapped in memory? Did you forget? What did you do? Virtual mindgame…trivial paranoia… You had to make it a bad trip. Don’t see the light…Do not see right…
In this mirror of confession, what do you see? Your personality… all your goals and your fears? Your ambitions? The chess game of your life; got to check that, you can’t take it on the trip. All those animal impulses that you hide, and keep down below, all this baggage must be checked. You can’t take that on the billion year voyage.
Are you ready?
Then take this chalice, the elixir of life.
Damn son, thank the Gods for Magic Hat and all the hipster nerd beer bullies who sling the Magic Hate at our most favorite brews. More for us to doff and the much maligned Saint Saltan is a veritable treat. The beer police might have you believe that every exceptional brew has to be the equivalent of a fucking carbonated wine with an 8+% alcohol content but this is not the case and a case of Magical Hat Spring Fever offered up this tasty beauty, weighing in at a svelte 4.6% abv. The Manboy motto, more or less, is that a great beer should taste like drinking a glass of delicious bread. Brewed with coriander and sea salt, Saltan is brewed in the “Gose” style (whatever that means) but reads like a pilsner and is indeed delicious. It’s one of the best beers I’ve ever had. An adorable label adds to the charm and Saint Saltan is more God than saint. Bien impresionante…straw colored..remembrances dreampt of Cerveza Austral and the Patagonian hinterlands. In Hat we trust.
Included along with the saint are a couple of other decent offerings from the Magical Hat spring collection:
Pistil: Pistil dandelion ale at 4.5%. Label states that such is brewed with dandelion. Indeed, it is possible but taste it me nots. Regardless, it is a tasty enough brew and does not dissapoint. Epa Epa! Wey IPAish. Nothing to write home about but it is Magic Hat man and we do love this shit.
Ticket to Rye: 7.1% All access tour ticket to Rye. Part of MH’s “Tour of IPA’s” ticket is a darkish brew with an alcoholic bite. An outstanding ale. The taste is strong, powerful even. A powerful brew. Goes well with green corduroy pants on St. Patricks day, but don’t spill it on them. Be careful!
Just remember that the light that glows so bright glows half the night and stay tuned fans for more entertainment! Soon to come are tales of new bikes and dark nights!
…keepin’ it real in the big bad apple, Cine Meccanica screens moto or auto inspired flicks every Wednesday eve out in the ol’ Brooklyn hipsterlands, dishing out a little car culture along with some barbequed meats and free popcorn. This week’s joint serves up the 90′s biker classic Stone Cold, feautring footballin’ badboy Brian Bosworth in his cinematic debut and legendary robot Lance Henricksen slummin’ it as Chains Cooper, a Barger-esque figure. Come one cum all!
Stone Cold is what a 60′s biker movie would be if it was made in the early 90′s. Channeling into the psyche of a post cold war recession era America, Director Craig R. Baxley was somehow able to both resurrect the bikeploitation genre amid a violence-saturated 90′s media landscape and deliver us all from evil amen with exactly what we needed as a nation at the time: Brian Bosworth as an action hero playing undercover biker-cop Joe Huff from Alabama.
Of course, the reality is that Stone Cold the movie has long since been relegated to the dusty VHS video collections of history, surviving just barely as a cult favorite of a small chosen few bike and Bosworth aficionados alike with the only real irony being that Stone Cold actually pulls off what Tarrantino and Co. tried to do with the Grindhouse movies and Hell Ride: 90 minutes of non-stop action taking itself just seriously enough so that you don’t have to. There were two movies in 1991 that crashed a motorcycle into a flying helicopter and only one of them starred Lance Henricksen.
Enter the Dragon: SC begins with a delightful homage to the iconoclast rogue cop stereotype as Alabama officer Joe Huff, played by the Boz in all of his ill-fitting 90′s jeans glory, singlehandedly dismantles a multiracial gang of thugs hell-bent on robbing a supermarket somewhere in the hinterlands of early 90′s Alabama; an almost shot-by-shot tamed down remake of Stallone’s brilliant entrance in Cobra. Marion Cobretti Joe Huff is not but the Boz gets the job done with an equivalent style and grace and is promptly suspended from the force for his efforts.
Things heat up as next we’re treated to a glimpse of the Boz serving his suspensionin in a chic sun drenched mansion, post-workout and prepping what appears to be a power shake. Eggs, egg shells…a snickers bar? The joke’s(yoke’s) on you and this shake is not fit for cop consumption. Stone slides a dog dish of the stuff towards Fido, his pet dragon, and the whole ritual is interrupted by the nerdy Lance and the gruff officer Cunningham, G-men calling on Huff to get off his suspended ass and help the FBI infiltrate the Brotherhood, a dangerous and exotic gang of motorcycle madmen roaming the bayous down ole Mississippi way. Huff reluctantly accepts the invite, becoming John Stone in the process and the stage is set for one of the greatest motorcycle action movies ever made.
Baxley really bashes a body over the head with all the cliches. It’s all good though and the only thing missing is a clip of the Boz ordering something in fluent French at a snooty restaurant in a sports jacket with the sleeves ripped off.
Look, the Boz is alright but the Brotherhood is where SC shines. Led by Lance Henricksen in the guise of Chains Cooper and carving out their own little corner of hell in the swamps of the south, the Brotherhood and it’s members are the driving force behind all the motorcycle madness and character driven glory.
Ice: Sergeant at Arms and resident Brotherhood enforcer, the Iceman is played by one William Forsythe and is a total and complete and absolute badass. Ice is ice cold indeed and never loses his cool not even for a second; he is the ultimate brother and loyal to the bitter end. He is the most loveable character in Stone Cold and utters more than a few chosen lines. He laughably refers to Stone as a “grown-up version of Bam Bam” and delights with one of the greatest death rattles in the history of cinema. “Fuck you cop,” are the Iceman’s last words, slipping from his charred lips as he dies in the street following a high speed machine gun driven motorcycle chase and spectacular fiery crash. Ice is immortalized in a viking-style funeral as the Brotherhood somehow get a hold of his dead body and set him ablaze atop his prized hog as a tribute to the fallen.
The black-haired beauty: Played by one Arabella Holzbog, Nancy is Chain’s ol’ lady and sole property of the Brotherhood. Inevitably, Stone shows some interest in her and her hopes are piqued as the reality of smoothly exiting the brotherhood with head attached becomes a possibility. Nancy bears the poorly etched GFBD tat which brands her as property of the Brotherhood for all time lest she forget the adage: God Fogives, the Brotherhood Doesn’t. Treated like complete garbage by the Brotherhood throughout the entire film and constantly referred to as a bitch, Chains eventually shoots her in the head without so much as the blink of an eye just to anger Stone. A cursory glance at IMDB and one wonders whether the bullet was really a blank.
Gut: Gut is the Brotherhood’s whipping boy and is the only member of the Brotherhood that receives less respest than Nancy. Gut has a clear man-crush on Stone and follows him around like a puppy throughout the entire film. Despite being a seemingly upstanding member of the Brotherhood Gut is constantly being ripped apart by Chains and other seemingly lesser Brothers. One wonders what Gut did to deserve such foul treatment and while he does not befall the same fate as Nancy per se, Chains disrespects(loves?) him enough to chop off his fingers on a whim before the end of the movie.
Chains: Leader of the Brotherhood, Chains Cooper is played to a sociopathic T by Lance Henricksen. It’s hard to imagine anyone else in the role of Chains and the image of Henricksen, clad in priest frock and firing a machine gun from the back of a Harley blasting through the halls of justice, is seared into the back of the brain forever. Chains has charm and is actually believable as a top-dog in the motorcycling underground. One imagines Chains to be a thoughtful leader and lover, both tough and tender, but in Baxley’s world of one dimensional charactermanship we are treated to only the former, with Chains serving the role as the turn-on-a-dime violent psychopath leader of the Brotherhood. In one of the greatest scenes in cinematic history Chains slowly forces Gut’s extended fingers through the spinning spokes of his Harley wheel. Gut’s crime? Protesting Chains’ cold-blooded murder of two immobilized and unarmed men.
Unbeknownst to the Feds, who are only into the Brotherhood for drug trafficking, extortion, etc…mickey mouse stuff, Chains has something else up his sleeve entirely and is a much more ambitious man than Baxley had led us to believe. Chain’s top-secret plan is mysteriously referred to as D-Day throughout the latter half of the film and Baxley chooses to regale us with a late reveal as Stone Cold finishes strong in an orgy of cartoonish violence and explosions. Bent on “cracking the Whip” and murdering state District Attorney Brent “the Whip” Whipperton for pushing for the death penalty for one of their incarcerated brethren, the Brotherhood manage to take over the Mississippi state courthouse. They even steal a helicopter. They are successful in what appears to be their sole mission of murdering the wholly unlikeable Whipperton but the question remains: what next? With hundreds of lawmen awaiting outside ready to shoot to kill, one imagines that no sane member of the Brotherhood could have believed that D-day would end well. While Stone is imprisoned inside the helicopter, the true extent of the insanity of the Brotherhood comes to light: First the court house, then the White House.
Of course, the Boz and company eventually wrest control of the courthouse and Chains is killed…but questions remain and thoughts are stirred. What if Chains and the Brotherhood has actually succeeded in their ultimate mission? What if they had indeed made it all way to the White House and Washington? Would the Brotherhood have been able to capture the hearts and minds of the people in a post cold war recession era America? We remember the times and note that stranger things have happened.
President Chains has a nice ring to it.
Stone Cold (1991)
Wednesday, March 20th
Film starts at 8:00pm
at Lady Jay’s: 633 Grand St, between Manhattan & Leonard, Bklyn, NY 11211
Free popcorn, Juke Box Meccanica, $2 Bingo for Prizes. PRIZES!