Hello, Ruby Tuesday

I know the arrival of a Red Lobster in Times Square some years ago was a low point in the ongoing corporate raid on New York City under the administrations of Mayor Rudy and Mayor Mike, but the building of a Ruby Tuesday right across the street from it, at the north east corner of 43rd and 7th—that's got to be one of the seven signs of Apocalypse, right?

Ruby Tuesday? Has it gotten so bad, that we have to contend with lame chains like that? What next? A Sizzler on Houston Street? (There's one in Queens, I know, I know.)

Ruby Tuesday I have never gotten. Can anyone tell me the rationale behind this chain? It's one of those character-free family eatin' joints, right? Like Houlihan's or Bennigan's or whatever. But what's with the psychedelic name? I assume they didn't hatch a deal with the Rolling Stones way back when, but the name sure as hell zooms you back to 1967 and images of drugs, war and hippiedom. Yet, that aesthetic is as far as you can get from these anonymous dining halls.

Are we supposed to see "Tuesday" and think "TGI Friday's" and go "Oh, it's that kind of place." Or do they just think Ruby Tuesday is just a cute, cheery name? Are they that clueless? Then there's their slogan, "Simple Fresh American Dining." I'll tell you what simple fresh American dining means to me: a picnic in the park. Not temporary imprisonment in an airless, joyless, tasteless wasteland.

Wikipedia tells me that "In 2007, the restaurant will be moving out of the `bar-and-grill segment' with changes including `higher-quality menu items,' `fully upholstered chairs', and `premium wines and beers.'"

I'm sorry. Fully upholstered chairs? My mistake. Rudy Tuesday does belong in swanky NYC. We're all about upholstered chairs.

Moon Over Wyoming

Well, whaddaya know? The Moondance Diner has been saved. But I'm never going to see it again. Because it's going to Wyoming!

La Barge, Wyoming, to be exact, population 493. Vincent and Cheryl Pierce bought it from the American Diner Museum, that wishful-thinking, Rhode Island-based nonprofit museum-without-a-home. It was actually given to the ADM by Extell Development, which is developing the site where the Moondance sat in Soho. Nice of Extell. Why the museum sold what would be the prize possession of its tiny collection, I don't know. No place to keep it, I guess.

Anyway, I like this comment in the Sun article by the executive director of the Greenwich Village Society for Historic Preservation: "It's an indication that the real estate market in New York, and particularly in Manhattan, is so superheated that anything that doesn't dedicate itself to the super luxury market does not seem to be able to survive."

Amen, brother.

Wall Street Journal R.I.P.

Rupert got what he wanted, and what no one else in the thinking world wanted or should ever have wanted, if they care about minor things like truth, quality of life, ethics or the freedom of the press.

The Wall Street Journal is now owned by the scruple-free vulgarian from that former penal colony on the other side of the Equator. And the nation has lost one of its few remaining respectable broadsheets. You know, the ones that actually practice journalism and wonder what that word means and/or should stand for. Anyone who believes that Murdoch will stand by his pledge to protect the editorial freedom of the Journal staff is the rankest of fools; nine months from now, the paper will be a laughable shell of itself and be peopled with cave-dwelling amoralists culled from Murdoch's other rags-in-newspapers'-clothing outfits around the world.

Not a tear should be shed for the worthless Bancroft family that all-too-easily talked itself into the sale. Weak-kneed, weak-willing, mealy-mouthed, greedy, spoiled little third- and four-generation do-and-know-nothing failures who are incapable or unwilling to understand things like "legacy," "standards," "public trust," "greater good" and "heritage." May each and every one of them lose their windfalls in one fell swoop on a horse or a bender or an investment, and be lowered to hawking copies of the New York Post at street corners.

As for Rupert, I guess I should be angriest at him. But what do you do with a fellow who needs to destroy an information and cultural institution like the Journal, which contributes to every life by its very history and existence, jsut so he can use its pages to line the sides of the gold-plated private toilet he calls a media empire, and, eventually, the sides of his platinum, bejeweled coffin.

It's an unfortunate fact the one of the pillars of our republic, Freedom of the Press, has been and is left to the self-serving supervision of power-mongering, remorseless old men who care nothing for the public or country, but only for their accumulation of power and riches. Murdoch, Zuckerman, Hearst, Pulitzer, McCormick, etc. All the same guy.

Expressway to Ugly

OK, I know it's foolish to expect anything from a corporation like McDonald's. But may I just ask why the miniature fast food franchises known as McDonald's Express are so aggressively ugly?

Granted, no McDonald's outlets are exactly handsome, with the possible exception of a few of the original drive-ins, which have a certain retro charm. But the Expresses are particularly offensive to the retina. They are mostly boxy, two-story jobs, like the world's most utilitarian condo duplex. And they are encased in squares of shiny red, black and yellow tile, giving them the appearance of a particularly garish public restroom turned inside out.

What was the idea behind this design? Are they meant to look kinda Art Deco? Are the bright colors supposed to attract the kiddies? Are we supposed to feel cozy inside their compact designs? Whatever the concept was, it ain't working.

These buildings despoil every block they occupy. I've seen them in the Village, I've seen them on the East Side, I've seen them in Jackson Heights. They are always the uglist thing around. And there's a lot of competition in Queens!

Lost City: New Orleans Edition: Good Signs

Here are some leftover images from my recent journey to New Orleans. I couldn't not post them because they are such good signs. Of course, NoLa is a kingdom of good signage, where classic neon and such are not tossed out for some crappy new plastic or cloth awning.

Not the interesting abbreviation of Pharmacy. And the restaurant is pronounced "Two-Jacks."

Domino Museum Advocates Reveal Themselves

As first reported on Lost City yesterday, and reported in the New York Sun and elsewhere today, a group of Brooklyn art leaders are trying to drum up support for the idea that the City would be better served if the Domino sugar plant, recently landmarked, become a Tate Modern-like museum, rather than a hive of new, fancy apartments and retail space—which is what its owners plan to do with it.

The Sun article revealed just who these artists are. "I look at this place and I say ' Tate Modern, Tate Modern, Tate Modern,'" Greg Stone told the Sun. Stone is a longtime Williamsburg resident, a well-known participant in the neighborhood's art scene whose art has been shown in many local and international galleries. Having lived in Billyburg for a good couple decades, he has seen the many changes the nabe has gone through.

One of his partners in the effort, Joe Amrhein, is better known. As the owner or the massively successful Williamsburg gallery Pierogi 2000, he is a near mythic figure in the Brooklyn art world. Few if any Williamsburg artists have gotten anywhere without first winning a show at Pierogi, or, at least, a place in the gallery's famous "flat files." (Stone has shown at Pierogi.)

Unsurprisingly, the developers are not impressed by the idea. "We believe that the adaptive use that makes the most sense is residential," a spokesman for Community Preservation Corporation Resources, told the Sun. I bet they had some saltier comments for the plan once they were off the record

What a Wonder!

I confess. Though I've written about the Wonder Wheel many times, until last Sunday I had never ridden on it. This is primarily due to logistics (not that I'm making excuses). I usually come to Coney with my kid, who is still too young to ride the Wheel. I can't very well tell him to wait on the ground while I take a ride, so I've had to bypass it for a few years.

Well, this past weekend, I convinced the Wife (not an amusement park lover, per se) and a friend to come to Coney, and thus I was afforded an opportunity to part with five bucks and partake of the landmark. My friend and I boarded the above blue car, passing by the hardbitten, seen-it-all carnies who man the thing. I have to admit, I didn't expect the Wheel to hit the heights it does. I felt a bit dizzy looking down, but I was grateful for the all-encompassing view of Coney, as well as bird's eye view of what Thor has wrought.

Moves rather slowly, this creation. But the periodic slides down the metal tracks leading to the center of the circle were stomach-churning enough. I'd ride it again, but maybe in one of the stationary cars.

Domino Plant a Museum Piece?

To some residents of Williamsburg, the news that the Domino Sugar Plant had been saved from destruction (unlike much of the rest of the Brooklyn waterfront) by the Landmarks Preservation Commission in late June just wasn't good enough. They still find it an abomination that the plant will become yet another residential palace, christened "The New Domino" by developers CPC Resources and Isaac Katan, and set to include some 2,200 apartments, 660 of those characterized as "affordable housing," which, in this market, could (and does) mean anything.

So, what do these malcontents want? Oh, art, culture, something that gives back to the community as opposed to stuffing one individual's pockets—that sort of stuff. Lost City has gotten wind that a group of prominent Billyburg arts leaders are trying to stir up support for a plan which would transform the Domino Plant into a world-class art center, a la The Tate Modern in London (below).

One has to say, on the surface, the plan makes some sense. It's kind of a no-brainer, actually. The Tate and old Domino have a lot in common. The Tate was created out of an old abandoned, hulking old power station sitting in the East End right across the Thames from central London, just as the Domino building stares at Manhattan from across the East River. (Leave it to an artists' community to notice these parallels.) As to what such a plan could bring to Gotham, well, the Tate Modern has far exceeded expectations as far as attendance since it opened in 2000; it was at one time the third more popular tourist attraction in London. Which, of course, means pots of cash for the city.

The pushers of this plan see the Domino as hosting rotating exhibitions of private collections, art fairs, traveling international exhibitions, and imagine it being serviced by a water taxis (just like Fairway!), restaurants and a pretty little promenade. (Hey, how about building our own Millinneum Bridge from Manhattan to get there?)

Not such a wild dream. Hard to see it happening without a big fight. And, after all, CPC and Katan owns the joint and ain't likely to let it go. But I, for one, would like to see someone give them a run for his money.

A Perfect Combo

A dip in the Red Hook community pool, and then a meal courtesy of the Red Hook Park food vendors. This has to be one of the most blissfully perfect and unassailably authentic Saturday set-ups New York City has to offer. It's just ur-Gotham.

First of all, the 1930s-era, WPA pool is free to all comers and kept in fantastic condition. The rule-heavy administration and the whistle-happy lifeguards put a bit of a damper on things, true. On the other hand, they keep the experience exquisitely elemental. No pool toys, no flotation devices, no boom-boxes, no food. Just you, your swimsuit and the water.

After you've had you fill of watery fun, the Red Hook vendors are just a kitty-corner away. I tried the Carello Guatemalan stand for the first time and, damn, if they didn't zoom straight to the number one spot as my favorite vendor. The chili relleno taco and fried, cylindrical chicken tacos are out of this world.



I couldn't find ballfield boss Cesar Fuentes anywhere. I asked a few vendors if there was any new news about the loathsome Parks Commissioner's attempt to push the mom-and-pop shops out of the park and yield up the concessions to open bidding, but could find out nothing.

It's been somewhat disappointing that way the press, on the web and off, has rather dropped this story after beating the drum so hard there for a while. Let's not give up on these guys! I mean, I'm sorry, but that chile relleno taco was just too good. And I don't want to have to settle for an Italian sausage or a Krispy Kreme after my pool time.

Big Gum on Smith Street

The most mysterious storefront on Smith Street is the M. Poggi Wholesale Confectionery at No. 293. You know the shop; the one with gigantic facsimiles of packs of gum in the window. The address sits silent and stoic among the hubbub of Brooklyn "Restaurant Row." It would seem to a going concern, but I'm never seen anybody enter or exit (certainly nobody has ever dusted those king-size candies), and the door is so pasted over with stickers and decals (included one indicating membership in the NRA) that it's impossible to ascertain whether business is being transacted within.

I've never had the courage to knock on the door because something about the store seems to whisper to me "social club." You can't be to careful in Carroll Gardens. And, after all, the outfit is run by someone with a vowel at the end of his last name.



Anyway, I love this store, whatever it is. Reasons? Let me count them. First or all, there are the titantic gum props. Freedent, Orbit, Doublemint. It's like a forgotten Warhol installation.



Then there's the classic gold stenciling in the window, unchanged, I'm sure, since the store opened.



Poggi also handles tobacco, explaining some faded posters in the corner for Benson & Hedges, featuring a man with very '70s hair, a bent cigarette and the slogan "That's the breaks."



New York City has been working with wholly numerical phone numbers for some years now, but, spelled out on a Salem sign, Poggi still goes by TR5-5581. Finally, there's the requisite "Will return at" clock in the window.