Tag Archives: Richard Allen

snowpocalypse 2010

On Christmas night, my dear friend and ex-bandmate from The Merch Grrls, Charlotte Eerie, visited New York City from London. After my delicious, filling, meat-less holiday meal and her long, fatiguing flight, we rendezvoused at our old neighborhood quaffing grounds, Black and White, on 10th Street between 3rd and 4th Avenue.  I extinguished a cigarette after only a few drags, and dropped the remains into the dented metal pail hanging in a corner of the smoker’s recess under the awning before stepping into the warmth of the votive-lit bar and my friend’s tight embrace.  Our bartender, a mutual friend and a wry writer with dark, disheveled humor and hair, poured our mixed drinks.  He mingled witty repartee into our gossip and convivial conversation while an unlit cigarette dangled from his lips.  (Plug:  Check out Richard Allen the first Sunday of every month at Black and White for Fahrenheit, a five minute open mic for writers presented by the Antagonist Art Movement.)

Comfortable in old habits and hangovers by the next morning, we sojourned to our favorite diner, 7A Cafe, (where the front windows conveniently framed our favorite “dive” bar, Niagara) for our regular brunch as though a year had not passed.  While we devoured our usual orders of vegetarian eggs benedict, mimosas, and coffee, snow began to fall outside.  After eating, we attempted to brave the already vast and intimidating snowpocalypse.  First we tried taking a cab uptown, however when the car drifted and hydroplaned on the wet road, we opted for the crammed subway at Union Square. Before that week, both Charlotte and I struggled with the superflu on our respective coasts, but, upon her arrival, we pretended the virus was not severe because we wanted to see one other.  However, as soon as we trekked back to the apartment, Captain Trips (read: Stephen King’s version of the flu) flourished like the onslaught of the blizzard raging outside.  Since Snowmageddon and sickness barricaded us indoors, we settled for a slumber party. Continue reading →