this is what concerns me:

Last summer I lived in the Lost Boys (and Girls) camp of 206 Classon Avenue, across the street from the well-appointed complex for retired Catholic nuns, and down the block from the Hasidic housing “bldg” and the Pratt art school. I wrote on the history of 206 for the Syncopated 3 anthology, from dairy pasteurization compound to illegal loft (to luxury condos?). While I still think that piece did the place justice, I don’t think it captured some of the subtleties of the 206 petri dish. Subtleties like Rick.

Rick was an ex-ad photographer and current dolly grip for film and television, and a former resident of a small Midwestern town, Venice Beach, Canada, various rehabilitation facilities and the L train. He had an impressive collection of stories that involved a colorful cast of characters including, but not limited to, Ron Jeremy, David Bowie, Katey Sagal of Married with Children; and though nearly 50, he showed no sign of slowing down. I haven’t spoken with Rick in nearly eight months, but here I recount Rick’s Greatest Hits: some of my favorite things he ever said to me and various other roommates. Rated M for Mature.

On Jocelyn’s family complaints: Why don’t you just kill everybody in your family and live like me?

On John acting douchey: I’ll jump on you like a fuckin’ lizard. I’ll never get off your face. [Pause] It’ll be like you stepped on a landmine.

On Stephanie joking that 206 uses resources like a community center: We are a fucking community center.

On me, to Chris: Don’t you wanna just bash her in the head?

On himself, wearing my sunglasses: I remind myself of Jackie O. Don’t I look like Jackie O?

On himself, forever young: The Picture of Rick Morrison. How about me? 48 and I have a zit! Do you have a zit?!

On himself, waiting to get old: I can’t wait to get Alzheimer’s. I can say crazy shit and people will just feel sorry for me.

When I first started volunteering at 826 New York City last November, I was warned, as “a journalist,” that I was not to use my role as a tutor to facilitate my “career” as a “writer;” i.e. no interviewing, no poking around, no pursuing of stories behind the secret book-case-come-door panel that leads to the back room at the Superhero Supply Company on 5th Avenue in Brooklyn. Considering I was using the opportunity more to clarify if I really did hate kids or not (not, mostly, it turns out) the warning struck me as particularly laughable. But then I found myself writing down all the cute stuff they said…

In April I (temporarily) ended my once-a-week stint disciplining the children at 826–and a few weeks later, I started getting nostalgic for their youth. I realized that my favorite part about the kids was that they weren’t as boring as most of the people I interacted with each day. Examples:

-Do you live with your dad?
-Nope. I live with my friend.
-… How old are you?

-Yeah, like real vegetarians. I have friends who don’t even wear leather…
-Oh my god!

-If my calculations are correct, love is a feeling.

Next time: a collection of quotes from my former grizzled, formerly-homeless-alcoholic 48 year old housemate. I’m all about fair and balanced.

It’s only been like, six days! And it was great! Lots of Mr. Brendan Burford’s Syncopated Three’s on hand for the buying and viewing pleasure of all. Depicted: the lovely and talented Ms. Caroline Dworin and myself. Caroline did a bang-up job copy-editing the book. You should really go buy one! Except that you can’t yet. But maybe you should write it on a post-it note and put it on the wall above your desk or something so you don’t forget by the time it’s available in stores. Which will be, like, really soon!

Between yesterday afternoon and this morning, four of my flights from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina have been canceled due to weather. I’ve been stuck in Charlotte, North Carolina for a few hours now. They guarantee I’ll be back to New York by Sunday (or else my money back?)! Hopefully I’ll make it til then: I’ll have to ration these three Clif Bars. And who knows where and when my luggage will show up.
Fortunately the Charlotte airport has free wireless internet. But there are conditions: they block all websites that are flagged “Adult/Mature Content.” The ones I’ve discovered so far: Nerve and MySpace. VeganPorn’s okay though. Oh, Charlotte, a woman after my own heart. Now if only she could get her act together and get me on one of these damn planes before my computer battery dies (in 33 minutes…).

Update, 4:59 p.m. E.T.: Six canceled flights, down to one bar. But I found an outlet. I’m not sure what my total is then: negative twenty-three hours?

Always cook with a buddy - or seven, if your kitchen and buddies will allow it. This means for better times all around: someone to run to the store when the yeast is found dead (tragic), someone to watch TV while the dough is rising, someone to cook the spinach and make sure you don’t put too much olive oil on the rolled crust, someone to grate cheese and slice tomatoes and wave magazines frantically at the beeping smoke alarm, someone to test the center of the dough for crustiness and provide moral support when it seems to be taking three times as long to cook as it should, someone to take the pan out of the oven so you don’t burn your hand or set another pot holder on fire and then someone to tell you that it really does taste quite good and could you imagine doing all this without any of us? Impossible. You’d have been killed. And the alarm would still be going off.

If you are like me, however, post-pizza time you are stuck with a freezer full of a really tasty spinach, tomato and mushroom pie cut into awkward pieces to fit into a mustard-yellow tupperware the size of a hubcap. I guess heaven is no other people.

Ouch.

Dough: 2 tsp yeast + .25 c warm water + 1 tsp sugar, foam 10 minutes. Sift 3 c flour + 1 tsp salt + spices of choice. Combine and + 1.25 c warm water. Knead with floured hands. Let rise 60 minutes. Knead again, roll out onto floured pan.

Top: with too much olive oil + four sliced roma tomatoes + 10 ounces spinach sauteed in olive oil with 4 cloves garlic + 1 c sliced mushrooms + half package grated cheese. Cook at 450 as long as you can stand or until it burns beyond edibility.

Enjoy alone.

Growing up in the San Fernando Valley (like omg) my family ate at restaurants or got take out nearly every night of the week. I chalk this up to my parents’ extremely busy schedules, plus their New York nostalgia. And now that I live in NYC, it’s very easy to do the same (especially with a Vegetarian Palate that delivers so promptly). However, these factors have not only put a large dent in my little wallet, but have also made me a relatively incompetent cook. Lately I’ve been making strides to remedy this. These cookies are the sad victims of my learning process.

This cookie recipe was taken (and subsequently mutilated) from the Vegan Family Cookbook.

Ingredients:

• 1.5 cups flour
• 1.5 teaspoons egg replacer powder
• .5 teaspoon of baking soda
• .5 teaspoon salt
• .666.. cup brown sugar (or white if that’s all you got)
• .5 cup margarine
• 2 tablespoons water
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• Way too many chocolate chunks
• Way too many chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

1. Mix the flour + egg replacer + baking soda + salt in one bowl.
2. Mix the sugar + margarine + water + vanilla in another bowl.
3. Mix the bowl contents together.
4. Do not be alarmed that the dough is not really sticking together – just add tablespoons of water until it becomes one big creamy clump.
5. Now add way too many chocolate chunks.
6. And way too many chopped walnuts.
7. Spoon large clumps onto a nonstick cookie sheet. The VFC recipe makes 24, but this makes only a lucky 13, because the clumps are so damn big!
8. Bake for about 15 minutes or until they become nicely tanned. Do not be alarmed that the clusterfucks do not spread like normal cookies. This is to be expected.

And: Do not be alarmed that the clusterfucks look kind of gross — they taste awesome!