Restaurant Review

I applied for a reviewer position at "blogreview.com" or something like that. Anyway, I was denied. They said I was denied for two reasons. The first being that I only had 4 articles on my site, so they couldn’t get a sense of my writing, this has inspired me to write more. The second reason was, I wouldn’t write a sample review. I guess I just find it hard to make up a review. I want to be prolific, I do, but not at the expense of caring about the content. This has inspired me to review something. So I am going to review a restaurant.
Last year I celebrated my fortieth birthday. My wife was kind enough to throw me a surprise party and a ton of friends came. I got some great presents. A couple of my friends even chipped in and bought me an IPod. One of the gifts I received was two hundred dollars in coupons to spend at a restaurant called, “Lucky Chengs” in NYC. The coupons were in serious danger of expiring at the end of this year so we needed to use them. “Lucky Chengs” resides just outside an area of NYC called Alphabet City (Alphabet City gets its name because the streets are lettered A, B, C, instead of numbered). It is located around 1st ave. and 1st st. Although I used to party a lot down in that section of town, I never heard of the place, but it is a very appropriate location for this type of restaurant. I had been to The Pyramid Club, a bar around the corner, which unlike everything else in Alphabet City from the early nineties, still exists. The draw of the Pyramid Club was that transvestites would dance around, flirt, dance on the bar like some nightmare version of Coyote Ugly, and in general make the heterosexual cliental slightly uncomfortable. This is similar to the draw of “Lucky Chengs”.
As its name might imply Lucky Cheng’s is a Chinese restaurant, that just happens to be populated by garishly dressed transvestites. Although they offer a few dishes that could be classified as Thai, so if you go for dinner there, it’s sort of like a Pacific Rim job. The place has an overall feel of being inside a circus tent. Orange and red decore, and vinyl bench seating with springs that remind you you may not be homosexual. The food is adequate, served on square white plates with a decent amount of presentation. I enjoyed my hunk of sirloin over vegetables, but after the 4 Kettle One and cranberries I might have enjoyed anything. I would rank the food as a 3 on a scale of 1 to 5. If you want really good Chinese food, take your butt just a few more blocks south to Canal Street and experience China Town. But from what I can tell people don’t dine here for the food. This place is one giant bachelorette party, complete with wall to wall transvestites. And it is pretty giant, I got lost downstairs while looking for my wife who was getting a Tarot reading from “Kyler the Improbable”. There just seemed to be room after room of little private parties, I was a little fearful of the bathroom for that reason. I finally did find my wife, who was getting her reading. Now, I’m no expert on the paranormal, I think there are probably people out there who have a genetic disposition to having visions and getting a vibe off you, but those people are rare. So if I’m skeptical of whether or not a guy, who works out of the basement of a drag queen restaurant, wearing a Disney wizard hat and a cape, has “The Gift”, well all I can say is, sorry Kyler, tricks are for kids. I would never participate in a tarot reading for two reasons; one, no one really believes that crap anyway, so if it’s good news you won’t believe it either, and two; god forbid its bad news, then what, your all stressed. What’s the point? Well, Kyler must have sensed I was a skeptic because he shooed me away rather rudely proclaiming, “This is a private reading, bye, bye now.” Whatever, we’re there to have fun… right? If my wife wants to blow thirty bucks, listening to Kyler tell her that “…there’s a lot of confusion around that decision,” have fun.
And there was a bunch of other ways to blow money aside from eating and drinking. I have to give a special nod to the balloon artist. This guy was maybe the best balloon artist in the world. That said, I wouldn’t pay for the privilege of wearing a giant ejaculating penis on my head. Although, it was interesting to have the phrase, “Turn this way so I can see your vagina,” be acceptable in public. In addition, there was a wandering masseuse, who looked like he could really end up hurting someone. But the big draw is the trannies. The place offers a floor show, which is why all the bachelorettes flock there. The main talent is a Chinese guy/gal who talks really fast, and sings songs like “Endless Love” in a combination falsetto baritone. Interspersed through out is what can only be likened to the chaos of a Japanese television show. There are platforms where the transvestite “Performers?”, will take highly embarrassed patrons, and proceed to perform very graphic lap dances on them. The men submit to things such as headstands in their laps and leg locks around their heads. All the while their signifcant others, are turning blue laughing at the misfortune of having their heads pushed into the crotch of a two hundred pound he/she wearing lingerie. The women suffer a more intrusive fate as they are lifted into a headstand and have their crotches stroked. Oddly enough though, they aren’t half as embarrassed as the men. You could run a roller coaster around all the gender bending that is taking place. When we arrived, I was under the impression that although I am what would be considered a “Regular Guy” I would find this entertaining. But I must admit, I was slightly uncomfortable with heavily made-up men bearing large breasts, rubbing my back and fondling my bald spot. I threatened my wife with a fork if she volunteered me for any part in the show. Drinking definitely helps though, and by the time the shot “girl” came around I was buzzed enough to go with the flow. It sort of wins you over, like going to see “La Cage aux Folles” only raunchy. This place bills itself as a place to shock your friends from Desmoines, and in that regard they will not disappoint. It’s not overpriced, dinner for six was about three hundred, gratuity included, and we drank like fish. And though we were tempted to stick around for dessert, they don’t serve coffee. So I recommend going up the street to Venerio’s on 2nd ave. and 12th street. If you are a died in the wool homophobic conservative, or maybe just out with your in-laws, than this is not the place for you. But if you planning a bachelorette party, or out with a group, (the group must include girls, this is not the place for a bunch of straight guys) than you should have a good time. You might even get lucky, one guy had an entire bachelorette party take turns giving him lap dances, but I wouldn’t bank on that happening.

To find out more about Lucky Cheng’s go to http://www.planetluckychengs.com/

Now I live in Jersey!

Can’t we all just get along? I like to start some times with a question. This does not imply that I have any of the answers, sometime you can seem smarter if you ask the right question. Since this is the first in what I hope to be a long line of informative, educational and at times, humorous essays, I guess I’ll introduce myself.
My name is Jeff, let’s just leave it at that. Maybe if I knew you a little better I could tell you more but since I’m new to this and have no idea how much hate mail I might generate, let’s just leave it at Jeff. I live in New Jersey. Being originally from New York, I’ve always considered New Jersey to be sort of a red headed step-child. Aside from knowing how to get to Giant’s Stadium or Great Adventure, I had no knowledge of the state. And I was proud of it in a weird way. There’s a Chris Rock joke that say’s that certain black people are proud of “not knowing”, that this is part of “Keeping it real”. Well, I can identify with that because that’s the way New Yorkers are. Most that live within an hour of Manhattan consider themselves close enough to be lumped in with the true in habitants of the five boroughs of New York City. And that, in addition to New York being the center of the universe, puts most above acknowledging the rest of the country. You can sing “I love LA”, and “Yellow Rose of Texas” until your blue in the face. New Yorkers will remain stubbornly unaffected by your allegiance. We are so aloof about being from New York that we may actually feel sympathy for you and your small minded patriotism. In the long line of states that we feel are inferior, we give perhaps the biggest nod toward New Jersey. Sure there is affection for New Jersey, kind of like having a brother with Down’s syndrome. But true New Yorkers pride themselves on not knowing anything about it. If you asked a New Yorker how to get to Edison, New Jersey he probably wouldn’t even favor you with a reply. If you’re lucky you might get a “What are you, some kind of comedian?” look and then he’d dismiss you. That just the way it is. If you were walking along, and an ant pulled on your pants leg to get your attention, and you bend down. The ant says “Hey buddy, down here.” So you look down mostly out of curiosity, and the ant asks, “Hey buddy can you point me in the direction of large rock and elm?” Do you A) Step on the ant. B) Say “How the fuck should I know? Do I look like a fuckin’ ant to you? C) Stare at the ant stupidly until it goes away. Or, D) Consider how to direct this ant to the proper destination. Now, even if this happened to you while you were walking though your backyard in East Bumfuck, Kentucky, and you answered A, B, or C, well then, you understand a New York mentality. If you answered D, then you’re a fucking tourist.
But now I live in New Jersey. I couldn’t move straight here I had to first move to the Midwest to deprogram myself. And believe me that will deprogram you. If you are from New York and move to the Midwest it’s kind of like joining a cult. Suddenly everyone is nice, and will give you change of a dollar for the meter. Without making you buy something. People say hello out of the blue. The smell of apple pie has replaced the smell of homelessness and urine and the streets are clean. Now at first you’re stubborn, you don’t want to give in, but then you do, and it’s not like you feared it would be. You thought it was going to feel like someone replaced you with a pod, but it feels good. You might even become a Cub’s or a Bull’s fan. But you hold on to your Mets cap just in case.
So long story short, I can now tell you how to get to Edison. I live in New Jersey with my family, wife and three boys. It’s a bit rural but I can be across the Holland Tunnel in forty minutes. So I hold on to my status.