Penne_Rigati.

Macs? MACS!? Sta' mingia!, im missing macs...this is a dirty little diner, thats been there since the 1930s, thier pouring olive oil out of milk jugs, taking swigs, and passing it..waitress will probably be smoking camel lights, and ashen in your veal saltimbocca, but who gives a shit! the food is beyond legit.. that "GODDAMNN THATS GREASY GOOD!", you can only get in that dying breed of true italian-american joints..bring your own booze, and bring 20 bucks..might end up pulling a freddo with some true grit worcester waitress..

i'm far from vegan, but i've been coming to this place since i've been a kid. the lady's nuts. everything's crazy. everytime i've come here, i feel like i'm on drugs. that drug might be MSG. chances are, if you're over 20 and live in worcester, you are never going to get out. let this place be a beacon of light in your dreary life.

this is one of those culty places where you can buy into the company. why do they always only hire minorities? and why was i spending twenty dollars a day on mint water?

farland is murder. it's pretty much the only decent food in town, but it's really expensive. but it's so good, you end up there again and again. and i'm pretty impressed with two dudes who are ballsy enough to have a COCK on their sign in the gayest place on earth. i mean, they're not joking. because they offer stuff like beef wellington and "WHO WANTS CREME BRULEE?"..it's worth going to hear the seven foot heterosexual jamaican slaves order a beef patty from the most effeminate man you've ever seen this side of san francisco. it goes something like this: "gimme a beefie." and the bleached blonde bimbo is all like "whaaat?" good coffee. and you can spend under ten dollars here on lunch, which is a fucking miracle in problemstown.

maybe i've lived abroad too long, but the guitar center flunky at the door tried to ID me.

i've only been here once, but the band was fucking good. and the owner of the place really insisted on telling me how cool my style was. the lady was like mid-50s and i was wearing my pajamas. i don't know if that makes me horny or makes me never want to go again. i'm not a fan of the irish, but i like their beer.

supposedly, dylan thomas's last words. what kind of punanai boy was he, anyway? i always hoped my last words would be something along the lines of "your friends are pussies." man, i've fallen in love at this place, i've fallen out of love, almost gotten taken out by a rogue wave..the best jukebox ON cape cod. and some of the best live music you'll see while working your indentured servant job of a summer. if you're a local, this place will take care of you.

BUT i'm gonna give it FIVE stars, since it changed staff..i invested ten long months of serious drinking in this joint.. i'm talking fighting cops in the street, stabbing someone who roofied me, and walking home shirtless in blizzards 10 feet from the ocean! and then they go and change bartenders?? when i really NEEDED THE MOST?!? but i guess they have delicious tuscan fries and they pour heavy. but watch out for the geezers trying to slip ya a mickey while a cold atlantic be ragin' up a storm. HELLTOWN.

i can't stress this enough: DON'T GO HERE AT NIGHT BY YOURSELF if you don't know what you're looking for. picture this: a fey young man in his very early 20s, new to town, working the ballet circuit...young enough to make the mistake of being lured by the waterfront views not once, but twice. finds himself surrounded by four or five large closeted men, possible executives at john hancock, propositioning for one thing or another when he's just trying to enjoy a nice walk home from the theatre district. these men are used to negotiating at the business-table, but once that tie is loosened, they're no longer trading stocks: they're trading flesh. they aren't asking, they're demanding. no is not a familiar word to these men's ears. don't be stupid. don't go here after dark.

sandy's music might be the only place in the greater boston area to find yourself a banjo, mandolin or fiddle. it's about 10x10 and i'm not sure if they let you touch things, but they probably do. every time i go in the place, i'm scared shitless coz the guys that work there are true grit, full-time players. they're not fucking around.

sandy himself, though i've heard he's rather sweet, looks like he's chiseled out of a tobacco leaf or something..i hear he is one of the best banjo players in the world, and is a no bullshit kind of guy. since I am "total bullshit guy"..i never ask to touch anything, just get my mandolin strings and run. they have jam sessions on sundays, INVITATION ONLY. i know i won't ever be invited. but if you're good, there's a chance for you. i'm just gonna cry, and sing along to Ol' Waylon.

back in its artistic heyday, boston was home to some of the greatest comic artists of our time. i'm talking ron rege jr, CF, paperrad..serious heavy hitters.. the owners of million-year picnic were always kind enough to always help out these starving, scrappy youths by buying their hand-printed, one-of-a-kind little zines and comics to sell at the store.. now that these kids are all racking in the cash, book and distibution deals of their own, Million Year proudly displays thier work On the TOP SHELF!..no more dusty ink stained bins filled with old farsides and chinese newspaper!

.... Stop by and talk to the owners maybe they'll sell some of yours . they sure know how to pick a winner. But beware, it is usally staffed by some super nerds who are writing thier thesis on Garfield at harvard..and don't consider art books worthy of being in the store.

i can remember being 16 years old and scraping together dimes to buy some scallion pancakes from this jamaica plain staple. this is really cheap food and you get a lot for your money. the kung pao tofu seems like the best idea you had in your life alone and drunk on a tuesday night, and it probably is. thirty minutes later, and its anyones guess through which end it will make its triumphant return..

there's always a wait on weekends because of the proximity to the temple, but my god, i once ate a full chicken dinner here at ten in the morning with two cups of borscht, one hot, one cold, and extra pickles. wash it all down with an egg creme better than you'll find on the lower east side circa 1947. the war's over and everybody's smiling.

are you fucking kidding me? if this latte wasn't so goddamned delicious, i'd throw it on "still life with cats #960" and run for the door before this girl finds out her lady friend is hitting on me. and god help you if you beat them at pool.

this small, cute store in buenos aires sells mostly tee-shirts with people you love on them. when i was 15, i would have killed for most of the stuff they have in this place. i'm talking brian eno, new york dolls, david bowie, lou reed, all the crypto-homo rockers. even priced in argentine pesos, you'll still feel a little weird for paying 7 USD/25 pesos for a one-color print tee-shirt you could have made yourself. but you can't really take your printing press on the road, can you?

as you walk through the silver light of dawn on a cold winter morning in providence, julian's is the first stop back into civilization on your return to proper providence from the dredges of warehouse parties in olneyville. everybody you know's gonna be here and that's either a good or a bad thing depending on your mood. omelettes and alcohol served by someone you probably know and probably have slept with.

as an italian-american, i'm quite apt on the bocce ball courts, but the phenomenon of playing inside must have really thrown me off, coz last time i was here, i ended up having to buy ten people italian ice across the street at louie-g's. it's got a very nice atmosphere, everything you'd expect from a rich uncle. books and portraits, old but comfortable chairs. i guess a really cool bar, but every time i'm there and catch myself having a good time, i realize i can't be that cool because i'm in park slope.

every wannabe tony montana in the greater lisbon area is gonna try to sling you some powdery white plaster as soon as you reach the top of the hill. there has never been even a gram of real cocaine in the entire history of portugal AND YOU KNOW IT. bad form.

cool neighborhood.

i don't know how to review a coffeeshop because i don't remember anything about it. let me state that i am an amateur when it comes to dabbling with the green. but jesus fucking christ, i guess my friend thought i was some sort of fog marley impersonator. whatever i smoked had me in a chokehold. i guess that warrants five stars since i was staying around the corner and found myself unable to make the 15 step walk home for a few hours. if fear and an al capone-like paranoia are your idea of a good drug experience...or if you aren't a punani boy like me...then this place is for you. i was freaking out and there was a phish poster. the only happy place i could find was taking solace in the fact they'd broken up.

this place was literally my first stop in amsterdam after leaving the dirty south of portugal. on "the west coast of europe," i'm known as somewhat of a tall man. but you should have seen me in this isle of anglos trying to push my way through the sea of 9-foot dutch trying to get the bartender's attention. once this somewhat impossible feat was accomplished, i felt very at home in my elf-like appearance in this very tolkien-esque bar. i passed the pipe to gandolf and asked him what news he had from gondor.

i don't know what to say about this place. this used to be my #1 hang out spot. the staff is super sweet and super sexy and frequently changing, so if you make a pass at a waitress and fail, chances are she'll be replaced within three months. one of the last spots in the lower east side where you can still feel like a real bowery bum. the rumors are true about the corn. the place sometimes looks like a scene from DEEP THROAT with the way people finish these off. often crowded but you can beat the rush if you stop by before home on your weekend walk of shame.

when i first moved to providence, nobody told me this was the #1 gay pick up spot in the whole city. as a rather fey looking young man, i thought providence was just full of nice older gentlemen who just wanted to buy me coffee. back then, maybe it would have gotten 5 stars. now that my eyes are opened to the harsh reality that is providence, i realize that these sleazies can be avoided if i just don't hang out so much on sundays. for an italian-american town, the espresso here is not half-bad. and they'll give you 5 shots for under 5 dollars. play chess with your friends and talk about the times you didn't live in providence.

the owner of this restaurant is a notorious madman who came up with the name when he woke up on a desert island in the south carribean surrounded by empties of red stripe (this is all true). it has no sign but look for the giant forks. this joint has an open kitchen and a sexy waitstaff and is packed to the brim every night of the week. the noise level is sometimes so loud that you have to yell at the person next to you, but i mean, that's what i'm looking for in a restaurant. let me talk about the food. come on tuesday for the famous BRISKET NIGHT. wednesday and thursday are college kids, friday through sunday there's lots of mafia-types merrily slurping down spaghetti and bottles of chianti like they didn't just kill somebody.

so, last time i was here, my girlfriend thought it would be a good idea to bring along an ex-Israeli soldier to our date. thank god they serve alcohol and let me get drunk while watching some French pseudo-porn film. there's only one theater and that's okay, because they're usually showing something really nice. you can get beer and coffee and some other stuff served by RISD or brown students. sit in the cafe and eavesdrop on conversations involving daddy issues and the joys of living in such a gritty city. there may still be an experimental film night called THE MAGIC LANTERN, with cool films and really nice posters.