Nathan's Famous frankfurters. 1310 Surf Avenue. Coney Island, Brooklyn. NYC.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

How you dare?

Real America?... Pro-America areas?...

What's that you say, Mrs Palin? What the fucking hell are you talkin'?...Are you suggesting that Osama Bin Laden attacked the non-real-America?... Your stupidity sucks!!!...Anyway... don't worry Mrs Palin. Jesus Loves You More than You will know.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

An amazing trip. Maybe next year...

Riding on The City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call
The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.

Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call
The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Thursday, October 09, 2008


En el no sé cuántos de la 46th St. entre la octava y la novena, lado mar , se encuentra O' Flaherty's Ale House. Ochenta años de tradición irlandesa in the middle of Hell's Kitchen. En O' Flaherty's puedes jugar a dardos, a billar, cenar puding de Yorkshire, ponerte ciego de cerveza o hablar con Nelson, el camarero más veterano del local. Well. Nelson es la persona wiser that i've ever meet in the USA. Nelson nació en Irlanda, sesentaypico years ago, y ha llevado su sabiduría como camarero all over the world. Nelson, como Daniel, cree que Spain "is the best place he's ever seen". Iluso. Nelson vive en Long Island, sin más señas. Nelson es un newyorker de pura cepa y con eso ya basta. Conocí a Nelson hace 7 años. Y, ¿por qué hablo de él? Pues porque fue la primera persona -a parte del taxista y del recepcionista del YMCA- con la que hablé en Gotham City. Nelson sabe de todo. Football, Scoccer, metereología, Fórmula 1, macroeconomía...Desde entonces lo he visitado cada año , la última vez hará unas cuatro semanas. Me dijo que en unos meses se jubilaba , y que se iba a vivir a no sé qué aburrido e imbécil estado del norte. Nelson es un fan de los Mets, pero a pesar de ello, todo lo que se de baseball se lo debo a él. Nelson prepara el mejor gin and tonic de Manhattan. Nelson is a Goodfellas. A true pal. El tío de la foto es Tony Bennett, but , My God!!...he looks like Nelson!!!.

Thursday, October 02, 2008


Where is the honesty?
Where's the integrity?
Where's the love...
And, where's that money going?
Where is our common sense?
Lord, I miss intelligence!!!
We kinda made a mockery
of the word'democracy'!
Where's the love...
And, where's that money going???

Lyrics: That Guitarman from Central Park