#72 "Gettin' the Band Back Together II" In Color! September 18, 2013

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Wolf Credo

Respect the elders

teach the young

 cooperate with the pack

Play when you can

 hunt when you must

 rest in between

 Share your affection

voice your feelings

 leave your mark.

This has been hanging in the Men's room of the Cafe Loup for as long as I have been working there. It has probably been up there for 20 years. Most people think it is a charming addition to the place, or at least, an amusing thing to read while you pee. Guys like it so much that they sometimes get carried away and steal it. This is unnecessary as we keep copies behind the bar for those same guys who love it so much as to steal it. The saddest time that someone heisted the Wolf Credo was probably about eight years ago. The Loup was being repainted, head to toe, and the guy who was painting was a friend of Lloyd and a fine artist. He, as a gift to Lloyd, made a beautiful hand-made Wolf Credo on a repurposed piece of wood. He hand painted the credo and even hand painted the wolf peeing on the tree. It was all lacquered and sanded down and looked incredible. He probably spent as much time on it as he did painting the place. Well, it was promptly stolen from it's place above the urinal, and so we went back to having the photocopied version in there. One hopes that it has a nice home now, but I fear that whomever stole it, did so in a drunken stupor and once awoken to the hungover light of day, looked at it with mild bemusement and then promptly forgot about it and now it's in some landfill in New Jersey. Truly a shame. And it goes against the teachings in the Wolf Credo itself.

I never really wondered about where the Wolf Credo had come from until recently. I thought it was some ancient saying, possibly stolen from the Native Americans of the plains or some other such place where wolves are held in high regard. I was wrong. The saying comes from a woman from California named Del Goetz. She wrote a book called "Life in the Pack," all about raising and living with Siberian Huskies. According to her website, she has raised over 25 dogs and up to 12 at a time. She says, “I chose to raise dogs instead of kids because you don’t have to buy them a car or send them through college — and, they don’t do drugs. They show their appreciation when you feed them and show their affection constantly rather than conditionally when they want something.” She seemed like an interesting person so I decided I would find out a little more about her, and see if I could get a connection with her and the Cafe Loup, if there is one. However, she has proven pretty hard to find. Googling her gets you her website and the Amazon link where you can buy her book. The rest of the results are Marin County board meeting minutes praising Del's community service in the Muir Woods Park of California. She seems like she is an outstanding member of the community and I wanted to know more, so I emailed her. She, sadly, has not written back. I figure she's out in the woods raising dogs and helping with the community fire department. If she ever writes back and I can set up some sort of dialogue, I will certainly add that to this post. 

 Del certainly did leave her mark. Although she seems to be living the quiet life somewhere outside of San Francisco, at one time she penned a poem that has lived on in the Cafe Loup Men's Room for at least 20 years. It is so popular that we keep copies of it behind the bar for the guys who come out laughing and talking wildly about it. Some guys have even memorized it. It's odd that we don't have one in the Ladies Room, although in the picture, it is obviously a male wolf leaving his mark on a snow topped pine tree. But it seems cruel to leave the ladies of the Loup out of the loop. It's always funny to see a guy come out of the john laughing and talking about the Credo to a woman who has no idea what he's talking about. The guy is usually a little tipsy anyway, and then rambling on about teaching the young and voicing your feelings clearly leaves no mark on his date. She's probably rethinking sharing her affections with this guy, until I come along and say how great the Credo is, and handing him a copy from out from behind the bar, thus saving this guy's night and sharing the Credo with his date as well. 

All in all, the Wolf Credo is pretty solid advice for humans. I hesitate a little with "Leave your Mark," but as a species, that has been done already what with man made substance that may never break down and mutating wildlife. As individuals, everyone does want to leave their mark historically. No one wants to be forgotten, and I think that this little poem may remind people, even very subtly, that they aught to get out and do something with their lives. 

Cafe Loup and the Wolf Credo: Always trying to help out humanity.

#72 "Gettin' the Band Back Together II" September 18, 2013

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I probably shouldn't write this post. Not because it's childish, highly unlikely, or even based anywhere in reality, but because I don't want to give away my plans. I don't want someone to read this and steal my idea so that when the day comes, I'm left out in the cold. Yes, I am talking about the Zombie Apocalypse. As a New Yorker, the Zombie Apocalypse is going to be a trying endeavor. There are 20 million people living in the TriState Area, and so when the outbreak comes and most of the population are turned into zombies, New York City is not going to be a great place to be. Unless you find yourself at the Cafe Loup.
A couple years ago, some friends of mine and I found ourselves at the Loup talking about this very scenario. We had all seen countless zombie movies and T.V shows, so we knew the risks of being in a big city. One of the best portrayals of New York during the post-zombie-apocalypse is in the movie "I Am Legend" in which Will Smith ends up being the last man alive on the island of Manhattan that has been overrun with zombies. He fares rather well, and I think anyone who has seen the movie would move to Washington Square North as well. However, before you can become "the last man standing," you need first to survive the initial scourge of zombies. That is where the Loup comes in. Some people are going to think that going out and fighting these undead former finance bros is going to be the way to go. I am here to defend the opposite stand; that of laying low and surviving. Battling zombies on the streets of New York is going to be difficult at best. There are not enough firearms in the city and there are too many variables. Zombies could get at you from literally any angle; from the sewers, dropping down from buildings, jay walking, or from behind the wheel of a large automobile. No, being on the streets after dark during these troubling times would be unwise at best. The better solution is to lay low, wait out the initial push, and then return to the world when the zombies have been starved out of Manhattan and have moved on to the suburbs. Hence, the Cafe Loup.
The defensive capabilities are pretty solid at the restaurant, although there will have to be some preparation, and you are going to want to have a couple people to help. With luck, the Zombie Apocalypse will happen at approximately midnight on a Sunday night. This way, me and a handful of good people will be there and we can keep the riff-raff out, e.g. you, dear readers (as zombies, remember; but you won't care because you will be undead). We have a steel door that will need to be pulled down and locked from the outside. Then, we will need to just go ahead and break one of the front windows. They will be broken soon enough once the zombies start realizing there are people with deliciously edible brains inside, so what's the harm in speeding along the process? Once back inside, the front windows are going to need to be barricaded. We will use as many, if not all, of the tables, chairs, refrigerators, and stoves from the dining room and kitchen as necessary. This barricade will hopefully keep out the undead hordes, but in the unfortunate event that this barricade does not hold, there is still hope! As a couple people are barricading the front of the restaurant, a second team will be taking all of the food, water, and booze downstairs into the basement. This is where everyone will be living for the next 6 months (or as long as it takes for the brain eaters to move out to Long Island). Once the front alcove is sufficiently barricaded, the basement door can be shut and the second defense can be started in the stairwell. Once everyone is downstairs and the two-system barricades are in place, everyone can relax a little bit.
But not for long. That's when siege mentality is going to have to take place. Now, if the Zombie Apocalypse does happen on that fateful Sunday night, we won't be as stocked as possible, but we will be stocked for a good 6 month, subterranean vacation of misery. Yes, we will be alive and that will be exciting, but the 6 months in the dark of the basement might not be what you would call a vacation. However, we will be well stocked with foodstuffs, clean and safe drinking water, and of course a ton of booze. I think on Day 1, you drink the best stuff you've got, as a celebration of surviving the initial outbreak, barricading the place and ending up in a safe spot underground. Then, on Day 2, you start emptying the well liquors and liqueurs, so as to save the good stuff for a couple months from now when the cabin fever and the rank odors of your co-inhabitants is going to be irritating. I think there would be enough food for 6 people to live down there for 6 months. Granted, we wouldn't all be eating "escargot followed by cassoulets and chocolate pudding for dessert" every night, but there is enough dry and canned food that we could all not starve. Yes, we will be losing some weight, a lot of weight, but we will come out on the other side alive and not zombies. And what a glorious day that will be! The day that we finally emerge from the basement into the Post-Apocalyptic Dystopia! We'll remove the refrigerators from the doors, and armed with knives and hammers, we will spill out onto 13th Street and greet the new world with squinty eyes and emaciated faces. But we will be alive!
(Wouldn't that be the worst if that in that 6 month stretch, a cure was found and New York City hadn't actually been overrun by zombies? We finally hack our way out of the basement and find that life had just gone on as normal, and people simply thought the Cafe Loup had closed? But, if New York had been completely consumed by the zombie horde, it'll be nice to know that we can get all the great apartments now.)
In all of New York, I truly believe that the Loup is my first choice of places to be when the Zombie Apocalypse happens. As for all of you, if you would like to be invited into the elite club of zombie survivalists on 13th street, I would recommend coming in every Sunday night, just in case "Patient Zero" tastes the first brain somewhere in lower Manhattan and plunges the world into total and utter chaos. Wouldn't it be nice to spend the next couple of months in a dark basement sipping on the daily ration of Creme de Cacao instead of roaming the streets in search of brains?

#71 In Color!!! September 10, 2013

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"Water World"

In any good restaurant, there should never be a dull moment. Actually, the only dull moment should be closing up for the evening without a hitch; locking the door, and peacefully walking away, leaving the space to breathe overnight to get ready to do it all again the next day. The rest of the time should be a non-stop hive of activity. Ordering, delivering and preparing the food, cleaning the place, making it look good for the guests, and eventually serving as many meals as humanly possible. All of this usually goes on without incident day in and day out. There are some days, however, that try their hardest to mess up the natural flow of the normal day in the restaurant. One of those days happened just this week, and I was there to witness it.
There have been a handful of times that the restaurant has closed because of natural disasters. The Cafe Loup was open on 9/11, and from I heard, they were packed. The place doesn't have a television set, and my guess is that people needed to get out of their apartments and be with other people on that day, and so they congregated at the bar and in the dining room trying to make sense of the events of the day. I started working there a couple months later and business went on uninterrupted until August 14, 2003. I was taking a shower, getting ready to go to work when the stereo went out. I didn't think much of it until I got outside and saw that the traffic lights were out. It was the Great Blackout of 2003. The entire Northeast was blacked out, the biggest power outage in American history with over 50 million people without power. On that day, though, we all thought the power would be back on in time for service, so I went to the Loup to see what I could do. I found Lloyd there that day sitting outside on the sidewalk with his little battery operated television set that we would watch the World Series on a couple months later. Sure enough, the entire city was without power. I went into the darkened restaurant that was being lit by the emergency floodlights, but the kitchen was pitch black. There would be no service that evening. A couple regulars came in and we gave them some drinks, and drank a couple beers, since they would all be warm in a couple hours and then sat outside on the sidewalk to watch the endless streams of people walking home. That little forced night off wasn't such a big deal, the power returned the next day and the restaurant went on with the usual business that evening.
The next time wasn't so easy. Flash forward nine years to October 2012. A storm people were calling "Frankenstorm" was making it's way up the East Coast. The closeness to Halloween was the reason for the name, but once it hit New York City, the humor of the name was quickly forgotten to the actual name of the storm, Hurricane Sandy. This hurricane, when all was said and done, ended up being the second costliest hurricane in American history, runner-up only to Katrina which essentially leveled New Orleans. To this day, there are still people in New York City living in hand-made shelters that they built after their homes were destroyed, and this is going on 3 years since the storm. I was lucky enough to be out of town when the storm hit, and although the storm water didn't affect the Cafe Loup, the aftermath certainly did. The water flooded the streets on the south and east side of Manhattan, causing one of the power stations to explode and shut off the power to lower Manhattan for a week. Just our luck, the power outage affected everything from 14th street on down to the southern tip of Manhattan. As you know, the restaurant is on 13th Street. Lloyd estimated that he ended up throwing out over $7,000 worth of food that started to go bad a couple days after the power went out. Then he had to buy all that food again and start over. And we were the lucky ones! Minimal to no water damage, and everyone survived.  Pretty good for a city where 100,000 homes were damaged or destroyed, and 71 people died.
Finally, and this is why I even thought about this subject in the first place, are the events that took place this past Wednesday evening. The previous two events cost the restaurant a lot of money and stress, and so this little thing that happened on Wednesday is essentially a non-event, but it was pretty eventful anyway, and it made me think about how sometimes it's the unexpected events that make you enjoy the quieter moments. What happened is that at about 7 o'clock on Wednesday night, a water main broke on 13th St. and 7th Ave, flooding the subway and draining the neighborhood of its water. Our building still had hot water, but there was no cold water and no water in the toilets. I was working the door, so I would tell people this as they came in, showing them videos from Twitter, and letting them know that the toilets were essentially not working. Not one person was disuaded from coming in and enjoying some drinks and dinner. Every once and a while, Tim and I would go into the bathrooms and manually fill up the tanks, and rinse out the urinal, thus trying to create a sort of normalcy throughout the night. The kitchen guys filled up as many receptacles as they could with the water that was remaining since they knew it would eventually run out as it had in the smaller buildings on the block. For the most part, I was impressed by everyone who helped out to make a possibly disastrous situation completely reasonable and incident free. Some of the guests didn't even know anything was amiss until they were leaving. Writing about this night coupled with the previous stories seems like they aren't related in the slightest, as the other two were disasters on a national level, while this water main break only affected an extremely small amount of people and was essentially a nuisance rather than an all out life altering event. But it was exciting. To be put in a pressure situation and come out on the other end not only successful but also making such a small impact that many people didn't know there was a problem was pretty cool. It certainly makes you appreciate those nights that nothing out of the ordinary happens. Oh, to be boring!

#71 September 10, 2013

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"Garden of Eden"

As my loyal 8 readers know by now, the text in these blog posts really doesn't have much to do with the picture posted above.When I started writing this blog, it was more based on the pictures, but as the years wore on and I struggled with the meaning of the drawings and the meaning of the project in general, the text of the blog started looking inward at the restaurant that the drawings are made in. The space of the restaurant, and the inner workings became as important to the drawings as the drawings themselves. I mean, one could exist without the other, but without the restaurant, the drawings would never have come into form. In fact, these drawings represent a perfect storm of opportunity. The restaurant has gone through so many changes in name, ownership, and time, that if it hadn't been for the exact time and scenario that we were able to find ourselves at Cafe Loup, this blog would be about something completely different.
Which brings me to an awesome event that happened a week ago. We were having a normal Friday night at the restaurant, when a table of eight men of varying ages sat down at Table 8. They seemed to be just a normal table of eight, until they revealed who they really were. It turns out that one of the guys at the table was getting married, and this was his "bachelor party," even though his 12 year old nephew was in attendance and he was in his 60's. So, ok, they were having a tame bachelor party. Big deal, right? That sort of thing happens all the time at the Loup, so why was this party special? Well, the guy who was about to get married at one point tells Edie that his parents used to own the restaurant in the 1960's and that he hadn't been back to the restaurant since he was 11 years old! He had the idea to have the bachelor party at the same restaurant that his parents had owned 50 years prior.

Back then, the place was called "Garden of Eden" and it was a glorious downtown restaurant that seems like it thrived in the 1960's. It was then, as it is now, a family run establishment, serving delicious food and drink. The family goes by the name of Monasebian, although they spell it "Monas'bien" on the menu (as you can see in the picture above, depicting the front page of the menu). The Monasebians built the bar, and put a little pool with goldfish and plants in the middle of the dining room! The bar that they built is still that bar that is in the restaurant today. The pool, sadly, is no longer in the dining room. I am pretty sure that it was right in the middle, where Table 24a and 24B are today, and next time I am at the restaurant I am going to see if I can find some traces of the pool.

Mr. Monasebian in the dining room. 1965

The picture above shows Mr. Monasebian in the dining room. The column to his left is still there, although since the picture is so dark, it is hard for me to get my bearing on which direction we are looking. However, you can see the pool to his right, with flowers poking out next to him. 

When his son was in for dinner, they brought with them an old menu from the place and also a bunch of pictures from the dining room and kitchen. Those are the pictures I am showing you all here. We, as the staff, were so interested that we were all huddled around these guys looking at the pictures and menu while our sections sat patiently on a busy Friday night. Tomoyo even gave the guys a tour into the basement (so that she could photocopy the pictures and menu) and they said it was the same as they remembered. In fact, the picture of the kitchen looks incredibly similar.

In the kitchen of "Garden of Eden" 1965

The kitchen of today still has some of the same things in it, from 50 years ago. In this picture, you can see a metal structure hanging from the ceiling with metal hooks hung from it. That thing still hangs in the kitchen now. The shelf behind the head chef is still there and still in use today. You can see a server in the background under a stack of plates. We no longer keep plates there (we do keep pots and pans there), but it seems like that is where one would pick up food, which is the same as today. I admit, that when I first went into the kitchen at Cafe Loup, I was surprised by how small it was. I was then doubly surprised to see how much food could come out of such a small kitchen. But this being New York, you have to make it work with the space you have. Upon seeing this picture, I realized that they were working with the same size kitchen 50 years ago. Not only that, but it was set up the same way! So, these guys figured out how to make such a small space efficient, and it got handed down from owner to owner until today, where it is essentially the same setup now.

Some of the menu from "Garden of Eden" 1965

The menu was a real treat to look at. Not only for the things that they served, but for the prices! 

Prime Rib for $3.95! Coffee for $.35! 

I'm sure these prices were relatively high for the time, but this is New York! And this is Greenwich Village in it's prime (rib)! This was probably a place where you would dress up and take a special date or go with a group for family style dinners. You'd get some steak and some wine and have a grand old time. One of the great things on these menus, besides the food and prices, are the little sayings on the bottom: "Your Presence is a Compliment to Our Restaurant- Haste Ye Back!" That one is great, but the one on the next page, I think we should somehow incorporate into the current menu....

More menu from "Garden of Eden" 1965

"Dinner Without Wine is Like a Day Without Sunshine." 

Truer words have never been written. This whole page is incredible. When the guys showed us this page, it was literally like finding a treasure chest. From the warning that this new-fangled thing called curry is indeed very spicy to the "Shashlik" served on a flaming sword! This place must've been the best! I mean, you could get three lobster tails for $3.95, served with salad and a Baked Idaho potato! So amazing. 

It seems like they also had some special occasions. I don't know for sure, but the next picture looks like there was a buffet every once and a while. I know that at my grandparents place in the 1960's, they used to have a buffet every Sunday evening. It was that way until the 80's, as I remember having to dress up in a little mini suit and tie every Sunday night to dine at the buffet. It was quite an event! This picture certainly reminded me of that time, even down to the chefs tall hat. The only thing that's missing is the decorative Jell-o molds with lobsters in them.

The buffet at "Garden of Eden" 1965

Yes, it looks like the Monasebian's had quite a place. I don't know where this picture of the buffet table was taken, but I have a theory. It seems like the back wall of the restaurant, which would be where Tables 36-40 are now. Now, there is a large banquette there (and photos of Janis and Jimi), and I know that in the place that replaced "Garden of Eden" this was a live room where bands would play. This seems to be that back, and the wall behind the Monasebian's seems to be lined with marble, as you can see a slight reflection of a light fixture just about the chefs hat. I could be wrong, but no matter what, the place looks so 60's glamorous! 

View from the pool. "Garden of Eden" 1965

Finally, here is a picture from across the pool. It depicts Mr. Monasebian seated while his guests put on their furs and prepare to depart for the evening. The pool is in the foreground and you can almost see the goldfish swimming around in it. 

I am not sure when the Monasebian's sold the restaurant. The son, who was celebrating his bachelor party there two Fridays ago said that he hadn't been back to the restaurant in 50 years, so I am guessing they sold the place right round 1965, or so. Maybe not, maybe they kept it until the 70's, who knows. I don't know when it changed hands, as there is nothing about it on the internet that I can find. I even brought that point up a couple of posts ago, lamenting the fact that I didn't know what was in this space in the 1960's. "The Garden of Eden" must have been the first thing in the building, as the building itself was built in the 60's. What I find fascinating is that the place that I know of that replaced "The Garden of Eden" was called "The Bells of Hell." It's so poetic, and so New York. The owners of "The Bells of Hell" must have known the Monasebian's and known about the "Garden of Eden." They must have thought, "Well, we're not going to run a fancy dining room with live goldfish and flaming swords. We're going to run a honkey-tonk rock n' roll bar, so why not take the name in the exact opposite direction?" I think New York business owners of the past thought about that stuff more than they do today. I mean, Cafe Loup got it's name with the same sort of mind-frame, but that's a different story. I like to think that for the past 50 something years, the little space on 13th St. has been both Heavenly and Hellish, and now serves as a kind of space in between the two. A place with both qualities, and now it lives in the body of a wolf, an earth-bound creature that for centuries has been both feared and respected by all those who come in contact with it. A perfect middle ground between Heaven and Hell.

#69 In Color!!! August 27, 2013

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The Cafe Loup art collection is pretty amazing. In the last post I wrote about the artists who are shown at the Loup with whom I had or have a personal relationship with. This time around, I am highlighting the more famous of the bunch, most of whom are no longer producing art on account of no longer being alive. I think only one of them is still among the living.
Talking about the art at the Loup, one must start with Brassai. He is essentially the image of the Loup (notwithstanding the Loup's shadow puppet logo) and his work embodies the spirit of what the Loup achieves to be. There are about a dozen photographs of his adorning the walls of the dining room. They range from his photos of transvestites, to the cops on the beat, to portraits of Picasso and Matisse. We have a couple different photos of his on the back of our dessert menu and on the front of our wine cards. [Quick side note: Sean Lennon used to live on the block and would come in quite often. One time him and Yoko came in and I waited on them. He drew a picture of one of the girls from the Brassai photograph on the wine card. When he left, I took the drawing home. So, I now own an original Lennon drawing (of a Brassai photograph, drawn at the Loup. So meta).] I like all of the Brassai's we have in the dining room. I like his style. Being a night person, I can relate to his fascination with Paris at night, especially in the 30's. Obviously, that is why he is so famous. Pre-war Paris is just about the most romantic thing you could think of, and Brassai captured it better than anyone. My favorite piece we have by him is just above Table 12. There are a couple pictures there. One of them is of a couple on a bed in a brothel. Above that is a woman relaxing at the opium den. Whenever I have a couple of people sitting there who are being indecisive or just slow at ordering, I look up at this photograph and I am instantly calmed. The woman is so stoned, it's amazing. There's a little cat with her that is probably equally as high just from the contact buzz. Compositionally, I think there are better ones, but I just like how mellow this one is. It is truly a comforting thing when I am completely in the weeds or stressed out. The woman is essentially saying to me, "This, too, will pass."

Brassai 

The most famous picture we have at the Loup is this next one, by the late Irving Penn. It is prominently displayed between Table 10 and Table 11 right up front. This is a great picture. It's called "Doug" and it is a portrait of the then leader of the Hell's Angels. I really love this piece and I look at it a lot. When you are surrounded by art all the time, sometimes you overlook it or take it for granted and it becomes part of the background. This one never does that. The steely gaze of this Doug character is so arresting, it commands attention. That, and dude's hair is epic. Penn did a shoot for Look magazine in 1967 photographing the hippies and Hell's Angel's of San Francisco's burgeoning hippie scene. He shot The Grateful Dead that day as well. His description is probably better than anything I could write about it, so here it is:

"During the photographing the hippies and the rock groups surprised me with their degree of concentration. Their eyes remained riveted on the camera lens; they were patient and gentle. The distracted quality which I feared would be typical of this new kind of person was not a problem at all.

The Angels were something else again. They were like coiled springs ready to fly loose and make trouble. Being inside a building with their precious bikes (and the wives and children I had asked them to bring) frustrated their natural tendency to smash up the place and do mischief. The delays and provocations were endless. Still, the hypnotic lens of the camera and the confinement of the studio held them in check long enough for the pictures to be made. When the experience was over and their screaming bikes went down the road, I breathed [the] deepest sigh."

Irving Penn "Doug" 1967

The next piece was bought by Lloyd himself, which is a little different, since most of the collection was bought by the previous owners, Bruce and Roxanne Bethany. As long as I have worked at the Loup, the front alcove has been adorned with a bulletin board where artists can pin up their gallery opening invitations. There are a lot of them on there from way back (I noticed one yesterday from April 2000!). But, on the board, right up front is a poster for the opening of an exhibit by the artist Eugene Von Bruenchenhein. This guy was an "outsider" artist and was never famous in his life time. He was a baker from Milwakee, Wisconsin. When he was done baking for the day, he and his wife/muse Marie would make art. Photo shoots, drawings, paintings, and essentially installations were constructed and executed. When he died, thousands of pieces were left behind, including thousands of these pin-up style portraits of his wife Marie. On the poster on the bulletin board, poor Marie's breasts have been poked though by a decades worth of push-pins, but she remains cheerfully staring out at all of coming and going guests. A couple years ago, Lloyd finally bought one of these photographs after being obsessed with them (and the poster) for years. I couldn't find the exact one that hangs in the restaurant, but the one below seems to be from the same time period/photo shoot. To see the actual piece, you'll have to come in sometime and sit up front at Table 11. It's proudly placed right beside the Penn. Lloyd was so happy when he brought it in and showed it to me for the first time. He was grinning from ear to ear and as he hung it on the wall he said to me , "Not bad for a baker's wife, eh, Junior?"

Eugene Von Bruenchenhein

This next piece is by the only living artist in this post. It is a print by the Irish artist John Kindness. Besides having an awesome last name, this guy's print is pretty sweet. It hangs in the back, by Table 36, so it has a soft spot in my heart. When I was new at the Loup, the back section was always mine. It is the easiest section, on some levels, so all the new people start out back there. I was back there for a couple years, and I got to know this picture pretty well. It's pretty simple; just a rubber ducky and the ducky's interior bone structure. Pretty simple, but that is what I like about it. We serve a delicious duck dish at the restaurant, so I think it's fitting that this little fellow commands the back corner. In fact, there is a little shrine dedicated to ducks in that back corner. There is a duck pull toy, and depending on the day, there is even a little duck toy that looks just like the one depicted in the picture. It may have been stolen though. That happens sometimes. Anyway, this guy lived in New York for a while in the 90's, so I bet that's when the Bethany's picked this one up. I could be wrong though. It is certainly the most playful of all the art at the Loup.

John Kindness

"Cocteau In Bed With Mask, Paris 1927" by Berenice Abbott hangs above Table 18. This is one of Abbott's early works, before she moved to Greenwich Village in 1935. She is most known for her work once she moved to New York. However, when she was living in Paris, she became famous, and her portraiture was a veritable "Who's Who" of the Parisian art scene. She had moved there in the 20's and started working with Man Ray. She must have known Brassai as they were working side by side at the time, and both in Paris. In this portrait, the artist, playwright, writer, and overall eccentric Jean Cocteau is seen "sleeping" with a mask. I've always liked this piece, as it is surreal without being over the top. I don't know what Cocteau's hands look like, and I have always imagined these hands to be someone else's. I am not sure if that is true, but they certainly look like they could belong to another person; a woman, perhaps? Anyway, I am also fascinated by the fact that she would have him "sleeping" like this, since he was such an active artist and socialite. Maybe it is because he never slept, and so it was funny to them to portray him in this manner. At any rate, it's an interesting piece even though at first glance it seems so simple. Another fun tidbit; this Cocteau character looks a lot like our handsome bar tender, Jay Milite! They could be cousins! Check out the similarities next time you are in on a Friday or Saturday evening.

Berenice Abbott

Dorothy Dehner's print hangs over Table 5 on the column right in front of the bar. She was an artist who lived in New York from the late twenties until her death in the 1994. She was mainly a sculptor, but she studied printmaking with Stanley William Hayter at Atlier 17. He was working on a technique he called "simultaneous color printing" which is what we see here, even though Dehner uses color sparingly. I studied printmaking in college and have given this piece the old college critique plenty of times. What stood out to me initially was the dirty edges. That was always such a sore subject in my classes that it was burned into my head to always, always, clean the edges of the plate before running it through the press. However, Dorothy never learned that lesson, or if she did, she ignored it and printed it with some filthy edges. Using the "simultaneous color printing" method, she inked up this plate (probably copper) with black ink into the grooves that she had etched, and then rolled on the red to the raised surface of the plate and then ran it through the press. This poor piece gets moved around a lot. It is on the blind side of the column, so when people come in and sit down at Table 5 with a bulky coat or backpack, the piece gets jostled. There are even marks on the wall that show the history of the constant movement, which is a bit of a shame since this woman has work hanging in MoMA.

Dorothy Dehner

Finally, we have "Mirror" by George Tooker. Another print in this same edition has a home in the Smithsonian, but you can see it just down the street at the Loup! Tooker was an American artist living in New York during the second half of the 20th century. He was well respected in his time as an artist and had shows (and work in the collections of ) MoMA, the Whitney and other prominent institutions. This lithograph hangs above Table 43 in the back of the restaurant. Unless you are sitting at Position 3, the print goes largely unnoticed, even though it is right there on the wall. I think this is because how the banquette at Table 43 is positioned. It's too bad that it's not more noticeable, although I like this place for this piece. It's a nice reminder of ones mortality while taking orders from a table of 25.

George Tooker "Mirror" 1978

The Cafe Loup has so much more art, and shows so many more artists than just these that I have mentioned. One of these days, I will find The List and give you more of a glimpse into the extensive collection at the Loup. I mean, I didn't even get into the sculptures. I guess I will leave that for another time. Until then, make sure you come down and visit. We'll have Jay Milite mix us up a couple grapefruit margaritas and we'll talk art!

#68 "Make Your Wish" In Color! August 9, 2013

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I am not a writer.
When I started writing these blog posts almost 5 years ago, it was really just to showcase the drawings. I was only posting the drawings on Bookface before posting them here, and in Bookface there was no description of the drawings, how they were conceived, or any information at all except the number of the drawing. We didn't even name them on there, it would just show up one day as "Tim & Jeremy's Mind on Loup #68!!!" Usually with three exclamation points. When number one hundred was posted, I used all caps. No one cared.
As the blog posts seemed to get longer and longer I also started thinking about them differently. Originally, I would make a couple comments about the drawings themselves, but then I started thinking about the restaurant more. Since these drawings are all done in the restaurant, during the operating hours of service, I thought that it would be more fun for my 8 regular readers to get a glimpse of life within the restaurant.
The Loup is, after all, a strange and magical place. It has been at 105 W. 13th St. since 1989, and was conceived a decade earlier in a different location also on 13th St. Since that time, it has become a neighborhood staple. Regulars know they can come in any time for comfort food and strong, delicious martinis. It is a safe haven for artists and celebrities, who know they can show up and dine unmolested by tourists or people looking for autographs. And then there is the literary aspect. When the restaurant was first opened in 1977 by Bruce and Roxanne Bethany, they decided to court the literary community. They decided that if the place was full of writers, the rest of the world would follow. They were right. Writers of all types have haunted, and still haunt the walls of the Cafe Loup. From Salman Rushdie and Christopher Hitchens' wild late nights, to young unknown poets struggling to buy a pint, the restaurant has been a comfort zone and meeting spot to an entire generation (or two) of New York literati.
Of course I had no idea about any of that when I walked through the doors in 2002 and handed someone my resume. For me, it was off a convenient subway line, it was in a cool neighborhood, and it was a on a block with a bunch of other restaurants so it was easy for me to walk up and down the block dropping off resumes. At the time, I had been unemployed for months and so I would go out every day looking for jobs wherever I could. I was cold-calling places, like the Loup; I was going on mass cattle calls that I found in the back section of the Village Voice, and any other method I could think of to get a job; any job. So when I got the call from the Loup, I was just happy to get a call back. I didn't care if it was a Village Institution. I didn't care if it was a Writer's Bar. I was just happy to get a full schedule and the ability to pay my rent. It wasn't until much later that I realized the respect and admiration the people of New York felt for this little restaurant. I was always a little jealous of the regulars because they had this incredible place to go night after night and interact with all these interesting people. Later on I realized that I was not only part of that, I was helping to continue the tradition of making it people's favorite spot. Cafe Loup was my regular bar, and I got paid to be at it. It was a wonderful revelation, and even though I do have some favorite regular places outside of the Loup (aka work), I still consider it my regular place.
I went off on that tangent to let you know about the restaurant a little, although I am sure I have written all of that in some form or another throughout this blog sometime in the past. The original point of this blog post was going to be me going on a self deprecating rant about how I am not a writer, or how I don't describe myself as a writer. I write this blog out of a weird compulsion to continue writing about these drawings in relation to the restaurant that they were created in. It really is compulsory in that I have no motive, I have no goal in mind for the drawings or for the text that accompanies them. Tim and I have talked about making them into a book someday, and maybe some of this text could be included somewhere in there, but that is not the motivating force for me to continue writing. The truth is, I don't know why I keep writing these things. I think it might be a way of processing the work experience and trying to convey it in a clear and concise manner that helps me understand my past 13 years at this establishment. Not that it is important or even very interesting. Maybe I am trying to defend to myself my employment at a place for such a long period of time, even though working at the Loup has given me the freedom that I moved to New York for in the first place. I needed a place that was steady where I could work while pursuing my other interests, which have been incredibly varied in the decade and a half that I have called New York my home.
So, when you read these posts, I hope you enjoy them, but also know that I am almost writing them as a diary that I might look at some day to help me  remember this time and place in my own history. I always say that in an ever-changing world, at least the Cafe Loup stays the same. I sincerely hope that it stays the same forever, but I know that it won't. Some day it will be a Duane-Reade with a Starbucks kiosk in it, and the Cafe Loup name will be in every mall in America as a "New York style French Bistro." Then, you and I will be able to come back and read all of these blog posts and remember a time that was, of people that were, and a special place in the middle of it all. And we can all laugh at all of my typos, run-on sentences, and basic inability to write in the English language. Until then, I'll see you at the Loup!

#65 "Happy Campers" In Color!!! June 27, 2013

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Oof. That last post stressed me out!

I was inspired to write a post in the style of a short story instead of a blog post, and for some dumb reason I decided to write about being in the weeds. Well, it was like I was reliving being in the weeds, and the customers were real! Even the guy who tugged on my apron was a real person and I can see his face now! Argh! That is one of the challenging things about this project: I am forced to think about work while not physically at work. One of my favorite parts about being a server and bartender is that when you leave the job, it doesn't go home with you. I don't ever have to work from home. If I am not at the restaurant, I don't have to serve people. It really is a great thing. However, with this project, a little bit of the restaurant is with me all the time here on my computer. I am sure I have mentioned that I rarely draw people I know on these pictures because I don't want to have to think about them when I am at home. Don't get me wrong, Tim and I have inadvertently drawn customers and friends on these drawings before and probably will again, I am just saying that I don't usually do it on purpose. I would feel bad if I drew someone I like on one of these drawings and then all of a sudden, the drawing progresses and that person that I like finds themselves in some crazy scene like the one pictured above. On the other hand, if we draw someone who we don't like very much or who is a difficult customer, then I have to see them, color them in, and make them fit into the crazy scene like the one featured above. That means that I have to spend time with them that I usually would not do. I try to avoid difficult customers. I do not want to hang out with them in my own home in my free time, and they probably feel the same way about me. 

When we do get difficult regular customers at the restaurant, we usually will trade them out. For instance, if you are a problem customer for me, but Mike doesn't mind you, then you will usually have Mike as your server even if you are not sitting in Mike's section. The same goes with me. I will take Edie's problem customers and vice versa and on and on, amen. This makes the night better for everyone, including you. I mean, you don't think that you are a problem customer! You think that you are Cafe Loup's best regular and life of the party! But I am here to tell you that you are someone's problem customer. I think that I am probably someone's problem customer. I walk into a certain bar on a certain night with a certain someone behind the bar and they roll their eyes and say, "darn, that guy is back! Why can't he come in here on my night off?"

It's just part of life. You think you are a good person, a generous person, and a person who is liked by all people and babies and small animals. But you're not. Someone thinks you suck. And I think this happens a lot in restaurants because people who are problem customers don't know that they are being obnoxious a lot of the time. Sometimes it's the alcohol that makes them difficult. Maybe that one night they had a couple too many and started talking crazy to their server. Maybe they were just really hungry that one night and weren't in the mood to small talk and so they got a little snippy with the waitress. Well, whatever it was, your server remembers. 

Being a server is a hard enough job as it is without difficult customers. When I have a full section, which is 12 tables with up to 36 people in my section AT THE SAME TIME, I do not have time to have difficult people. That is 36 people all needing something and all at different times, so I am trying to figure out the timing of getting 36 people one thing at a time. A lot of the time, I have half of those 36 people being regulars who know me, and see that if I do have a full section, they'll be more patient than usual. And yet, with 18 people on my side, all it takes to throw the whole night off is one problem customer. Since the job is all about timing, and making sure everything is landing in the right place, one person making crazy demands or keeping me at the table longer than necessary is a formula for throwing off the entire night. On the other hand, if I mess things up on my end, the same is true. There is a very delicate balance and if as little as one thing disrupts that balance, a good night can turn into a bad night in a matter of literal seconds. 

That is why when you are a problem customer, your server will never forget you. There are people who have been coming to the restaurant for years whose face gives me a visceral reaction of dread and yet I can't even remember how they spited me. They may have done something 10 years ago, and yet, when I see them, I hand them over to Mike or Edie. Yet, even as I say that, I am looking down the pike at future T&J drawings and see more and more real life people making their way into the drawings. However, as you will see in future blog posts, the people who do make it into the drawings come with an interesting story. So, even though they might be awful, at least their story is interesting. Maybe it will be about YOU!

#59 "2-5-5-4-7-4-6" July 10, 2013

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This month marks the five year anniversary of the "Tim & Jeremy's Mind on Loup" series. Five years ago, on September 1, 2009, I posted the Very First collaboration drawing that Tim and I had ever done. I am sure there were more before it, but we had never taken the time to bring the drawings home to do anything more with them. In fact, Tim and I had been working together at that point for at least three years, so we could have been doing these things upwards of 8 years, or as long as we have known each other. It would be funny if we had started right from the beginning. In the five years since we started these things, we have made it to a grand total of 105 finished drawings (with countless loose doodles collected by myself, Tim, and Edie). The fact that we are only on number 59 on this blog is a little disheartening to me, as the writer, since that means that I am behind by almost half. Daunting, to say the least. I mean, as the time has gone on, the blog posts have gotten more and more complex, mirroring the artwork. If you go back to the first drawing, it is really just six doodles that seem to come together to form a narrative. It wasn't until years later that the drawings started to become a universe of their own, complete with backgrounds, themes, inside jokes, and substance. The first couple years there were a lot of growing pains, Tim and I both trying to figure out exactly what we were doing with these things. The happy answer is that, to this day, we still don't know what we're doing with these things. We still make them, and have a stack waiting to be finished presently in a drawer at the Cafe Loup. Some are almost ready, some are still in the premature stages, but there are plenty coming down the line. As long as we both work at the Loup in some form or another, these drawings will continue to be made, since when we are spending time there, we are adding, subtracting, and ultimately making more and more artwork. It has become ingrained in the daily life at the Loup. You go to work, you doodle a little bit, you serve hungry guests. Then you have a beer and doodle some more. It's just the way we do things there.
Over the past five years, the progress of both the drawings and the blog have gone through fits and starts. Had it not been for the years 2011 and 2012, I might be caught up with both; however, those two years I was spending my time differently. That time ended up making future T&J's heads and shoulders better than their brethren of 2009-11 (in my opinion). If you look at the early ones, you can see how inept I was at using Photoshop, the program I use to color all of these drawings. I had been using Photoshop since college, but I wasn't really that good at it. I could use the basic tools and even then I was lazy and would cut corners. I look back at those drawings and I want to recolor all of them, but of course I stop myself because they are a time capsule of where my skills were at the time. Taken as a whole, you can see the progression of skill and comfort gained merely by continuing the project. Then, once 2013 comes around, you can see a major transformation. The years 2011 and '12, I spent illustrating children's books that you can find here. Spending the whole year working on these books honed my skills to a whole new level, and it shows in the drawings from 2013. I always like to look back on the past and see that progress has been made, and it is clearest when you look back on artwork that you have created in the past. As an artist, you like to think you are always at your best. There are days and months that you sometimes feel like you are stagnant and doing nothing interesting, but then you look back at the work you did a year ago, three years ago, five years ago, and you see that back then you didn't know half of what you know now and that the quality of work was simply not as good. There are occasions that some of the things you made were good, but I feel like on the whole, you are always improving, or if not improving, then you certainly change. Brush strokes change, line quality, all of it. I mean, when I first started coloring these in Photoshop, I was using a mouse! It wasn't until almost two years later, that I started using a Wacom pen and tablet to color them. That technology changed the whole look instantly. I still use the same pen and tablet as I did then, and I've used the same version of Photoshop this whole time because I'm a cheapskate. But I got comfortable with the technology and so it has influenced the look of these drawings. To my eye, the more recent ones don't look dated to me, even though I am using outdated technology. But I also know for a fact that in a year, three years, and five years down the line I am going to look back on these recent drawings and think that they are very primitive and outdated. But, like the restaurant in which each of these drawings is conceived and created, everything changes while staying the same all at the same time. Tim and I have been drawing pictures on the Triple Dupe pads for 5 years. We'll draw on them again tonight, and tomorrow and on and on. No matter what happens outside of those walls, the drawing will continue as long as we are working within. 

#57 "Happy Hour at the Cafe Loup" In Color! May 8, 2013

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For those of you who have never been to the Cafe Loup, this is almost exactly what it looks like from behind the bar. There are some small differences in real life, but what you are seeing is essentially what Tim and I see from behind the bar on any given night. A couple of obvious differences are that there are never any flying logs, and we don't have a helmet connected to a giant tube that is connected to the ceiling that gives you booze straight to the dome-piece. Other than that, it's your typical night at the Loup (although most likely a night in the winter months as there is a coat check girl hidden away in the coat room). The customers are typical generic bar customers, that could be found in any bar in the country. Let's appraise them from left to right, shall we?
Two wolf fathers (probably in finance) discuss the days highs and lows while their pups fight on the floor. These guys definitely come in early in the evening because the kids have to go to bed early. They drink martinis or other such drinks with high alcohol content so as to get the most bang for their hard earned buck. Next, (not counting the coat check girl) is the loner who is oblivious and confused. He stands behind everyone at the bar, looking uncomfortable and contagious, so now everyone feels weird. He is completely unaware that someone has narrowly missed is cranium with a sizable log, but continues to stare ahead, afraid to approach the bar and get something to drink, paralyzed by the fear of actually talking to someone (he'll probably turn around and leave saying, "I liked this place better when no one knew about it [in 1977]"). in front of him, seated at the bar, we have the only woman at the bar. She is pretty excited though, the whole bar is hers for the taking! She can have any of these dudes, and she just might. Dien is always talking about the "fishermen" at the bar. These are typically men, but in some cases they are women, who sit at the bar and go "fishing" for a date. I have mentioned this before (T&J #2 has The Blind Fisherman). The woman in this picture looks like one of those fisherwomen. She has come to the bar tonight to score a date with one of these guys. The competition is fierce, but the blue mustachioed man made his move and now is trying to make eyes at her. Maybe he's a fisherman too. He certainly looks like one with that stare that is practically screaming, "look at me! My hair is blue! I am a totally not creepy catch!" And yet, she continues to ignore him, lost in her own mind thinking about the excitement of finding love in a hopeless place (or she's looking in the mirror behind the bar). Next is the guy who's connected to the tube. This guy represents the ones who come in and drink for 8 hours straight. You know they can do it because you've seen them do it before. They rarely get wasted enough to do something stupid, but every once and a while they get that weird drunk. Most times, though, they seem cordial enough, sitting at the bar for hours and hours, always connected to their drink, or in this case, tube, chatting with whomever is sitting directly to their right or left and never missing a beat when the characters around him change. The pallor of their skin is pasty as they haven't seen daylight in weeks. Oddly enough, only he and the fisherwoman are the only ones smiling. After him we have a guy who could go a couple different ways. He could be some nerd who just got off work and would like a beverage, or he could be an employee of the Loup who just got off his shift and would also like a drink. Even though he doesn't look like anyone who currently works there, the Loup has been opened since 1977 (1989 in the location pictured above), so maybe he is a employee of Loup's past. Must've been a rough night, according to that face, not to mention his pen exploded in his pocket. Rough stuff. Next to him is the prophet. This guy could easily be "The Man Who Knew Too Much." You've seen him at the bar, but more likely you've heard them. They talk incessantly about anything and everything and have a strong opinion about all of it. They are usually right and unwilling to listen to what you have to say. Hence, they think that they are holier than thou, even though you are frequenting the same bar. Next to him sits the eccentric. He got his hair cut like a pharaoh and got matching neck rings. It's part of an ongoing art project that is more performance than body modification, but it's a work in progress so wait until next year to pass your judgements. Also, it will be on display the MoMa in a couple months, so you should feel lucky that you are seeing it now. He doesn't have a lot of money though because he's waiting for the grant money to roll in so if you could buy him one drink he'll pay you back in September. Finally, we get to the end with the Bad Ass. Yeah, he's got a gaping head wound, but so what? He just needs a shot of Jack and a Long Island Ice Tea and it's all good. I forgot it was even there. He says stuff like, "How'd you know I wasn't looking at you if you weren't looking at me?" after a couple more drinks. It's best to let this dude drink in peace and quiet. The less talking the better. You hope that by not engaging him, he'll move to a bar where more people can admire is Bad Assness.
It really is a Happy Hour! And in true Loup form, you look back at the clock after what seems to have been 10 or 15 minutes and it's, "2:20AM???!!! How'd that happen! I've gotta work in the morning! Dien, how much do I owe you?"

#57 "Happy Hour at the Cafe Loup" May 8, 2013

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There are no real Cafe Loup patrons in this picture. There is one person who is based on a real person, but not a customer. The rest of these characters are from our collective imagination. However, when I posted this on Bookface on May 8, 2013, all of my Loup friends thought they had figured out who was who. I guess on the one hand, you could find similarities to a couple of our customers in some of these fellows, but they just happen to be at the bar. In fact, this one wasn't even located at the Loup until the very end, when I put in the coat room and the clock over there on the far left of the picture. Before that, it was just some random bar in Anytown, U.S.A, although with all those shot glasses littering the bar, it could be anywhere in the world. We always joke about Happy Hour, saying that it's always Happy Hour when someone inquires if we have any specials. I worked in Massachusetts for a long time and you aren't allowed to have happy hours there at all. You can't have happy hours, drink specials, or sell beer in gas stations or after 11 pm or on Sundays (actually, that one got changed) and last call at the bars is at 1am.  It's all from what they call the Blue Laws, which is a fancy name for antiquated Puritanical nonsense. There are Blue Laws in many states and countries that basically force businesses to stay closed on Sunday to observe the sabbath; Massachusetts dates back to the 17th century. You can imagine my surprise when I went to college in New York and found out the bars are open until 4am and you can buy beer pretty much anywhere. I was born in Massachusetts and I have a lot of family from that part of the world, but there are some things about that state that baffle me. I understand that you want to control the amount of alcohol people consume before they do something stupid. I even understand that people in bars at 4am are certainly up to no good. But, if there is one thing I've learned about people and drugs (and alcohol is one of those weirdly and widely accepted drugs), it's that if you want some, you can figure out a way to get it. I learned this in High School, when drinking was taboo, but very common. I learned from a early age that the cool kids went to places like The Field and had parties with beer! This story is as old as teenagers, I'm sure. These kids would find a way to get booze, any kind of booze,and 9 times out of 10 they would succeed. My buddies knew a guy named Basil who would sell them Milwaukee Best cases when they were 16. Kids would lift their parents bottles of booze (which I previously mentioned led to my never drinking of Johnnie Walker Red again). You could always get something if you really wanted it and were determined. It's like that old Chris Rock joke where he says that junkies are the most industrious Americans because they wake up in the gutter and they are high as a Georgia pine by the time they go to sleep.

 Drinking is such an ingrained part of the American Culture. The advertisements for booze come into our homes right through the television. Every magazine has ads for beer and wine and even hard liquor these days. On top of that, people are always discovering new ways to get a buzz. In my lifetime, dozens of new designer drugs have been invented for people to get high from. I know that these are very different from alcohol, but in some ways they are exactly the same. From these designer drugs, all the way down to the caffeine in your daily cup of coffee, drugs are a part of daily American life. You ingest  them in order to change your chemical composition in your brain to feel good and feel different from how you feel without ingesting these things. You take these things to feel happier. You take them at your own Happy Hour. By that logic, when I wake up in morning and have a cup of coffee, that's Happy Hour. When I get off work and have a beer, that's Happy Hour. I guess we were right in our assessment: it really is always Happy Hour at the Cafe Loup.

#46 "Sacajawea's Nightmare" November 23, 2011. In Color!

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Sacajawea was pretty amazing. She was pregnant with a child and then gave birth to said child while on the expedition with Lewis and Clark back in 1804. She was detrimental in helping the expedition with relations with the Shoshone tribe that lived near the Rocky Mountains at the time. You have to remember that no white people had been this far west ever, and it was probably a good idea to have an interpreter. Even Sacajawea couldn't help the expedition once they crossed the Rockies, as she had never been that far west either. However, the whole expedition made it to the Pacific and back while only losing one man the whole time. And that was before they even left the Territories! Sacajawea died young at the age of 24, but had packed a lot of life into those 24 years. This person whom I am referring to as Sacajawea in this picture is no doubt not even close to what Tim or I were thinking about when we drew this picture back in November of 2011. Tim drew the face and I drew the body from what I can tell, and we probably didn't think it looked anything like Sacajawea then (or now, to be honest). However, like I have said before on this blog, I name these things to try to harness the chaos and turn it into something one can grasp. I could have easily called this one "Deadhead Tacos" and people would say, "Oh, there is a severed head inside a taco. That makes sense." I could've called it "Outside the Cabin in the Woods" and people would say, "Oh, I saw the horror movie with a similar title and this does look like what would be happening outside that cabin during the daytime." I think what my point is, is that no matter what these things are called, they are still an exercise in randomness. For instance, the vacuum cleaner-looking thing at the left hand side of the panel started as an espresso stain on the dupe pad. Then it got turned into the vacuum cleaner-like thing that stands before us today. Yes, that is cliche, but you have to understand that these drawings were done in a working restaurant during working hours, so these "mistakes" often happen. The days, weeks, and months that it takes Tim and I (and also some guest collaborators) to complete these drawings make most of them listless and afloat on strange seas that have no beginning and no end, but simply bob and turn with the current. Once they get nearer to their completion, sometimes they are pulled together by a strand or two of cohesiveness, but even then, it is a separate idea that has come up in the heat of the moment and sometimes will have nothing to do with the drawing as a whole; it bullies it's meaning into the drawing that was once just trying to get along in this crazy world. Then, you slap a name on it, and that further harnesses it so that now, when the viewer sees the title and the imagery together, they say, "Oh, I can totally see that Sacajawea is having a nightmare. I too hate traffic, Smurfs, cowboys and mummies and would not want to dream about them in this fashion." The fact of the matter is that Tim and I drew this picture over two years ago, I colored it in and posted it on Bookface on November 23, 2011 and I named it "Sacajawea's Nightmare" today, about an hour ago, on October 16, 2013. I think that this reasserts the drawings randomness, but I guess one could argue that it does the opposite. That the process eventually makes the piece cohesive and compartmentalizes the chaos and makes it orderly. But, as my 8 loyal readers know from previous posts, this is the question I keep asking myself about these drawings. Namely, "Is it chaos or is it order?"
To that, I say, "Oh, I just want to go watch some Smurfs."

#46 "Sacajawea's Nightmare" November 23, 2011

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It has been a while since I posted last, and I just want to apologize to my 8 readers. Sorry! I guess the last time I posted, summer was here and I just needed to get outside! Yeah, right. I spent a lot of time at the Cafe Loup this summer, more than any summer since that year I only had one weekend off all summer. When was that? 2002? Oh well. It was a good summer, though. We had some fun and even when we were incredibly short staffed, we managed to eke out some dollars and cents and have a decent summer. That time of year is always a little slow at the Loup. People want to eat outside, our regulars go away to houses on the beach or in the mountains, and we are left on 13th Street with the scraps! That's right, tourists and the locals who don't go away. We had a good name for them over the summer. It was: The Leftovers.
I'm not saying that leftovers are bad. I have pizza in my refrigerator right now that is going to be an incredible snack later that will fill me up with food and leave me happy until dinner. On that same note, I have pickled herring in a jar that I never ate and has been expired since 2010 (which I should probably get rid of but there's sentimental value there?). Of course, we have plenty of regulars who stay the summer who are amazing and always a pleasure to see, but The Leftovers are the bad ones. The ones who we would see night after night and cringe at their very presence. Of course, going up to their tables, we put on a happy face and ask them how they are beating the heat, and boy was it hot out there today! That's the thing about waiters; they can be total con artists. I consider myself a pretty amiable guy; I like most people. This is the main reason I moved to New York City. I didn't move here for the Theater District or the lovely weather. No! I moved here for the people! Can you believe it? I had been living in physically beautiful places like Cape Cod and Colorado, and I gave all that up to move into a little apartment in Brooklyn because I like to be around people. All people, any people. Some days when no matter what I do, I can't get around all these people, I wonder what I was thinking back then, but most days I am happy with their company. Anyway, back to the con artist thing. Nine times out of ten, when a waiter comes to your table, they greet you with some pleasantries and a smile at the very least. They tell you some things and take your order, smiling and being nice. I don't have to tell you that 5 times out of 10, they are putting that face on and as soon as they turn their back, the frown returns. It's not that we don't like you as customers. No. You are the people paying our bills. We live on your tips to make ends meet. However, being nice to everyone all the time can get tiresome. You know the feeling. You have coworkers that you hate, but since you see them every day, you play nice so that the day passes without incident. Now, multiply that by 100 and you are a waiter. We not only have to play nice with our coworkers, but also the people who will eventually be paying us: You. That's where the con comes in. We have a lot of misbehaved customers and regulars who routinely make our lives at the Loup miserable. These people made up the majority of The Leftovers and are the people we constantly have to con, although most days you wish that they would find another place to haunt for a while. But no, we smile and chat and they would never know that they are the Problem Child to our John Ritter. So, I guess that doesn't make us con artists because we are still providing a service. I guess that makes us insincere. However, wouldn't you rather be lied to than have us be openly hostile to you? Wouldn't you like think, "I'm not the one who causing these people stress, it's that guy over there."? I guess that IS a con afterall: making you think and feel that you are a special flower, if only for the time it takes to have dinner. News flash: you ARE a special flower (but only during dinner at the Cafe Loup).

#45 "Fever Dream" November 17, 2011. In Color!

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Halfway through the evening, our host mysteriously disappeared only to reappear a couple minutes later holding one of the most unique pinata we had ever seen. He described the means in which he had obtained the pinata, a story that would seem outlandish even to us, but told in a way that made even the most skeptical of us believe. He was the kind of man who you meet and know that he had seen things that most people could hardly dream of. He was the man who had proven the unicorn existed and even cloned one out DNA he had obtained on a business trip to Tibet back in the 80's. He had made a couple billion dollars on the business of illegally cloning these animals for affluent families with daughters with princess complexes. His son rode the unnatural beasts in parades in various towns across the world, usually bringing the most eccentric and wildly colored ones for the utmost spectacle. Cloning wasn't the only enterprise we had been lightly lectured about that evening, although unicorns weren't the only animals wrestled out of samples of double helixed obscurity. Our host held the belief that dairy cows would produce more milk if their udders were in the front of the cow instead of in the rear. This way, the milk can be produced faster, and if his theory held sway, he was willing to genetically engineer these cows worldwide. The experiment was a failure so he only made one of these horrible bovine monstrosities. He named the animal "Onesie" and coddled her like one would a house cat or some other such domestic pet. One day his youngest son, who was a champion falconer accidently shot the poor cow, wounding, but not killing the brute. Instead, through some miracle of genetics, the wound inflicted enabled the cow to spit fire from it's posterior. Sadly, our host found this out while the beast was indoors and she set the curtains on fire, scalding one of the guests and sending them to the hospital. It was right around this time that Tobey Maguire showed up to the party. We were all happy to see that he was in the costume of the "Hitchhiker" from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, the 1998 vehicle from Terry Gilliam. He was in a foul mood, but still entertained us, first by stripping completely nude and then defecating in our host's public toilet. Our host felt that having a toilet for all to see was some sort of art performance. He was of the school that every organic member of the planet defecates, so why should it be a private matter? Shouldn't it be celebrated like all other human achievements? Many of the guests disagreed with his eccentric tastes, but Tobey was a good sport about the whole thing, and saw it as something interesting to put on his resume. Meanwhile, one of the family dogs thought it prudent to make a cocktail of raspberry sorbet and Oxycodone. The poor devil had been blinded in one eye in a ghastly accident sometime in the past, and even his good eye was injured and he ended up having to wear a monocle. It wasn't a surprise to anyone present that the dog needed the Oxycodone to relieve some of the stress of being nearly blind in one eye and only having a hole in his head where the other eye should be. This dog was special though. Another one of the host's cloning experiments, the dog had thumbs, wore clothes and even had a small demon where his left hand should be. Our host was both modern and terribly old fashioned and he believed that left handed people were actually spawns of Satan Himself so he fashioned the demon hand in the most literal sense. The poor dog had to carry around the demon, who had a mind of his own and a cantankerous smoking habit that polluted the air and melted the sorbet. This would have upset the guests and the host as well, had it not created the river in which our boat had been moored. Unoccupied, our boat waited patiently for us as we listened to our host spin fantastic yarns, all of which we believed because we had no reason not to. After all, isn't it better to believe in the fantastic than to dismiss it? If something can be imagined, it can eventually be created. We simply had to wait for the technology to be invented.