Cincinnati Sucks Up Here, Too

If you know me, and chances are you do because I don't think anyone else reads this drivel, then you know I'm not all that crazy about Cincinnati.

At a laundromat here in Manhattan Sunday, I saw a dude wearing a Skyline T-shirt. For those not familiar, Skyline is a Cincinnati original. Like Graeter's ice cream and Montgomery Inn ribs, Skyline is Cincinnati's very own brand of chili. It's pretty good.

As Jennifer and I left the laundry, I asked the guy if he was from Cincinnati. I figure we're 700 miles from there, perhaps he'd like it if someone from his hometown said hello. He said he was, indeed, from Cincinnati. Grew up in Sharonville, went to Princeton High School and even was a lifeguard at a pool in a nice neighborhood near where I lived -- Hyde Park and Mount Lookout.

As perhaps overly judgmental as I may seem in my criticisms of that city, I'm just as good at getting to know new people, asking them questions and letting them talk. I prefer to listen than to talk about myself. It works out perfectly when the other person talks about me! Just kidding. Unless you're paying a therapist, it's arrogant to talk too much about yourself to someone new, and I just don't have a lot of exciting shit to offer about myself anyway.

So I figured this might be a worthwhile conversation. Perhaps Jennifer and I will make a new friend to hang around with in a huge city where for the most part we've only socialized with each other.

And then I asked him what he's doing now up here in the big city.

"I'm an international businessman," he said with a straight face.

I don't speak many languages, but here's how that translated in my head: "Fucko likes himself a little bit. It's time for this conversation to end."

He was still mid-sentence when I just looked at his mediocre girlfriend, flashed a smile that, if she was smart, knew meant something like, "Your boyfriend's a cock," and said, "well, good talkin' to ya." Jennifer and I didn't even wait to hear his reply to that; we just turned and kept walking.

Two things here -- if you're arrogant enough to think it's cool to refer to your occupation in such a way, you're probably smart enough to know that I'd be curious why the fuck you're doing you're laundry at this shithole I was just leaving.

And b), would jokes about the International House of Pancakes be funny here? Should I have told him I'm a local newsperson? Or a national newsperson? Perhaps a regional newsperson?

(Just opened a can of Budweiser at 12:18 am..)

RESTAURANT REVIEW -- Jennifer and I we're walking home from taking pictures in Central Park when she suggested finding someplace to eat outside. It's been gloomy and wet most of the time we've been here so far, and Sunday was really the best day we've had weather wise.

So we dropped in on Mustang's, at 85th and 2nd. The night before, while walking home from Pita Grille (also very good) just down the street, I read the Mustang menu on the wall and it looked both tasty and affordable. I think I even said something like, "This is where we're going next time we eat out."

One thing I'm realizing is the liquid part of the bill is just as expensive as the food portion. The Traditional Cubano Sandwich was excellent (ham, pork, sweet pickle and some kind of cheese). This place was cheap to moderate, but we each ordered two drinks, and that was half the bill. Still, I'd recommend it to anyone, especially if you're looking to sit outside on a busy corner this summer.