Adventures in Unemployment

Day 34 (con't...)

W Hotel- Union Square

...Being in the West Village reminded me it was about time I finally hop the Path Train to Hoboken to visit my friend Doug who resides in Jersey City Heights. I called him on my cell and fortunately I was close enough to the C & E trains which I could take downtown to the World Trade Center (now Ground Zero)and transfer to the path. I arrived in Hoboken after an easy 15 minute train ride and upon looking at the tranquil urban beauty around me I had one of those heart crumbling moments where I asked myself if it's really worth paying so much to live in Manhattan. Tired of having the argument with myself I shrugged and said, "sure."
Doug picked me up at the station and took me to his apartment. Wow! His apartment, just a short 15 minute train ride out of Manhattan, kicks the ass of any apartment I've seen to date! It's huge and modern and lofty and has all those qualities you wish you could afford in Manhattan. We spent some time on his real balcony drinking wine and catching up. We stayed on the porch until the sun went down and just above the healthy looking trees growing in his courtyard stood a city twinkling and packed.
I took the Path back to Manhattan and got off on 14th street and 6th Ave. I didn't feel like waiting for the L train to the East Village so I exited onto the street figuring I'd walk until a bus caught up to me or I caught up with a bus. Unfortunately, but like always, neither happened and my stomach was growling. Having earlier discussed hamburgers (of which I'm a connoisseur) with Doug I got a craving for a big-fat-juicy bacon cheeseburger. I was close to Union Square and thought Big Daddy's Diner offered a good burger and I'd stop there.
Big Daddy's is one of those ultra Americana "decade" restaurants where you're supposed to feel like you're sitting in a classic fifties diner but really it's just stupid and annoying. Like, thanks, but I don't need you to pour my ketchup or display the drinking straws in that cute spiral manner which may or may not have existed in the fifties. I got it the first time when it was called Johnny Rockets and, btw, that place sucks too. I'd rather you just go away and let me do everything on my own. In fact, the only thing that's "fifties" about this restaurant is that you have a bunch of minorities serving white people hamburgers.
Regardless, the "Bad Boy Burger" is quite huge and comes with all the fried bullshit you'd expect on an American menu. As a side, you can have either fries, tatter-tots, or onion rings but you have to pay extra for a side salad. Go figs. And we're supposed to be shocked that America has 40 other countries beating us out on the life expectancy rate?
I wolfed down the burger which looked incredible before ingestion but felt awful afterwards. I paid my $14 bill and headed out with a stomach feeling as though it just consumed a basketball. I nearly cried looking for a cigarette to help aid my digestion but all I found was the M14D Crosstown Bus. I got on, took my seat, stared at all the strangers, thought they were weird and got back to my apartment.
Eric, my roommate, was there catching up on the last season of Six Feet Under which he's been ordering through Netflix. He and I caught up and discussed our weekends before I grabbed my laptop and headed down the street to a cafe.
All the cafes were either closed or closing down so I ducked into the 11th St. Bar which is right down the road. One of the best things about living in New York is that you can walk down any particular street one million times and never notice a restaurant or bar that has always been there. I walked in, my first time ever and was amazed at the size and energy of the place. Here on a slow Sunday night was an entire Irish Music Jam going down in front of the bar.
I couldn't believe it! A place so right-off-the-bat cool had always been right in front of my nose and here I was politely ignoring it each night like a passerby to a Queer Justice League.