Tuesday, October 25, 2005


The best part about the horrible, pneumonia-inducing weather patterns we receive here in New York City is that whenever it rains you can be sure the rain will be accompanied by a cold, lashing wind. And what do you get with this delightful, frothy combination?

Almost always found on corners, which is where one gets really surprised by a big perpendicular gust, there they are without fail. In groups or singly, stuffed into trash cans already overflowing, they all have the same story to tell: bought for $7 at Duane Reade because you lost your last $7 umbrella the evening after the last rainstorm when you went out drinking at that fake-Irish pub across the street from whatever job it is about which you are currently complaining; there is no reason for you to believe that this umbrella is even going to survive the two block walk to the subway without getting turned inside-out and shredded, and yet you buy one anyway, perhaps just to marvel at the astounding shoddiness of its design.

They almost beg to be destroyed; like pop stars, they're so much more interesting to look at after they've met their demise at the hands of the very thing upon which their existence depends. Just walk anywhere in the city today and open your eyes. At every street corner it looks as if a massacre has occured; as if Steven Spielberg finally put to good use his "child-like sense of wonder" and deployed his close personal menagerie of favorite animatronic Spider-Sentries to the streets of Manhattan and ordered them to destroy each other in a frenzied, robotic cockfight.

O hail the rain god and the goddess of wind too.
Spare us the flu of the chest and the hot brain;
And spare us also the flu of the pigeon (god's own rat);
But leave to us the dead umbrellas,
For they give us pleasure to look upon
And allow us a moment's pause, in wonder
Before your power and crooked destruction.


At 2:27 PM, Blogger Derek Keogh said...

Fake Irish pubs are everywhere in new york, so to is maddeningly torrential rain that is an exagerrated cousin of it's drizzly Irish understated counterpart, which doesn't destroy, it just soaks you to the skin.

Same goes for the pubs..

At 6:43 PM, Blogger stark pimp said...

I like this for a drinking term - Surely someone's used it before -

"Oh CHRIST did we ever get wet last night!"

So true. Outside the bar it was drizzling, inside we got drenched. Alright, that's got to go in a song...

At 3:52 AM, Blogger DJ said...



At 11:14 AM, Blogger stark pimp said...

oh I understand, seattle rain may be constant, but in my experience it's more like the irish version that derek describes. i'm talking lashing razor blade rain, cold and accelerated. malicious, not desultory. am i wrong?

At 12:51 PM, Blogger Timothy Bracy said...

i predict that we will be molested by the most forcefully horrific weather in many hundreds of years in the next months. the eight days of historic rain which directly preceeded my wedding- literally the most ever on record in one extended period of time in new york city- will be only a preview of the biblical suffering to be visited upon us by the elements come this winter.

At 1:47 PM, Blogger stark pimp said...

And now that my gorgeous Naples, FL winterhome has been swept out to sea, there is nowhere to run. NOWHERE TO RUN.

At 12:19 AM, Blogger DJ said...

Of course you're totally right, it's just that...


At 12:01 PM, Blogger Derek Keogh said...

"Dead Umbrella's everywhere" over the last few weeks has become a phrase that has entered into the common parlance of my inner circle of football (soccer to you) playing, drinking friends.

A common use of this phrase is in the bar after a defeat. Eg. "Did you see their number 7, that pass for their second goal through the back four, dead umbrella's everywhere"


" The keeper never moved for the free, that third goal was the nail, jaysus, dead umbrella's everywhere"

On a different note, I just heard some bad news. McHale's on 8th Avenue is closing on Jan 1st. Another institution to 'get wet in' closes.

The Bottom Line is already gone , CBGB's is on the way I hear and now McHales.

Dead Umbrella's everwhere indeed..

At 6:58 PM, Blogger stark pimp said...

I am VERY pleased to hear this has entered your argot. Please keep me abreast of how this term evolves.

Oh my. I've been to McHale's, the "steakhouse," but I've never eaten there. This is bad. Peter McManus on 7th Ave. is still going strong but I've seen Horatio Sanz in there twice, which is too much for anyone's good. There are always comics in there. Like most bars, it's best at around 1-2pm. CBGB's, I must say I don't care much about. I never saw anything there but horrible bands and what's more I had to pay incredible amounts of money to see them and drink while I listened, cringed, then left quickly. While I admit it is sad to see it go, what's sadder to me is to go in there and see how dead and lifeless it feels, to think of the energy that once had a home there.


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