Let's Pancake Battle!

Today we have the recipe from the New York Times, as presented by Terry Jinn, versus the recipe in Vegan with a Vengeance.

Since I view myself as a journalist above all else, I tried to go into this competition as unbiased as possible. I have no inclination toward Vegan or meaty food. I'll eat anything, as long as it's delicious and doesn't make me feel gross afterward. The competition winner will gain my pledge to their pancake services forever.

I cooked from both recipes, so the matter of the chef's skill remained the same. Even though it was my first time using the NYT recipe, it was only my second using the VwaV recipe, so I don't feel they got too big of an advantage.

VwaV
The recipe was fine, but I always hate getting two different options for the amount of milk to use. It involves maple syrup and vanilla extract, so sweetness was guaranteed. Mixing the batter was fine, although I had to go against my natural inclination to over-mix. And ladling them out was simple. Using this, I cooked about 15 Kirk-sized pancakes (a little bigger than a silver dollar), and they were fluffy and sweet and moist and wonderful. Thumbs up! It's like dessert, right, but it's good for you, 'cause it's pancakes!

NYT Pancakes
Again, two different milk amounts. Why does God do this to me? I got a bit worried about the batter; it was yellower than I'd have expected, but it smelled nice and pancake batter-y. Ladling was a problem. I usually pride myself on ladling out pancakes or sizing balls of cookie dough, but these just weren't falling off right. Too little milk? Too much milk? I could never get them the size I wanted, so I ended up with 22 Big Boy pancakes. This recipe makes a ton!

But it's in cooking that it fell far behind. These guys didn't want to brown, and we all know pancakes should be a nice, golden brown [although, in my opinion, the pancakes in the below video are TOO BURNED. It disgusts me.]. I always fear overburning my food, so my usual method is to turn them too soon. For the first pancakes I'd force myself to wait patiently until there were about five popping bubbles (pancake bubbles look like alien eyes to me). With this recipe, hoo, boy! I'd sit there forever and be like "OK, they are DEFINITELY burned" and there'd be just a bit of brown on them, but they were definitely cooked and ready to turn. What gives?

I wonder if the other ones cooked easier because they had a lot of oil in them already (two tablespoons! Plus two tablespoons of maple syrup), so they'd be a bit oilier than the NYT pancakes, which just had two tablespoons of butter. But I suppose the egg should offshoot that, right? I dunno, this is just a theory.

I can usually get the hang of cooking a pancake by the fourth one, but I made 22 DAMN PANCAKES and not one turned out "perfect" by my standards. Or even "good." I almost want to make them over again, because I feel I must have screwed up somewhere with the batter, but I'm hesitant to waste my time and energy and risk ending up with nearly two dozen subpar pancakes.

And then there's the taste. Sorry, Terry, and what were you thinking, New York Times? These taste awful. Very eggy, like an egg bagel, maybe? Just very eggy. And I like eggs... but I don't like them in my pancakes. They looked like arepas, which are fine, but I'm not cooking arepas, I'm cooking pancakes.

They reminded me of buttermilk pancakes, which I don't like. They're a bit sour. Not my thing. It took me years to realize this, and I just thought every diner served shitty pancakes. They don't, it's the buttermilk. I think.

I managed to eat eight of these big, yellow, eggy things (they looked like pancakes that had never seen the light of the sun - Morlock pancakes, maybe) before calling it quits, whereas I could eat all 15 of the other ones because I'm a big fat pig but also they were smaller.

Looking at the remaining 14, it's like, "I never want to eat you again. EVER."

So again, my apologies for coming across as harsh, but those were the worst pancakes ever, and the winner, hands-down, goes to the Vegan pancakes.

Let's Puzzles! (II)

So I bought two more puzzles last night, but it's OK. They're FINE ART. And Disney.



(I have buyer's remorse on the first, since I don't like Winnie the Pooh. But I felt bad that they didn't have the one of the Seven Dwarfs' cottage, which I really wanted, so I overcompensated. Maybe I'll return it. MAYBE.)

Also, looking at the thousands of puzzles on Amazon, I am shocked and appalled by how ugly the art is on most of them. Am I usually this picky in real life? I like to think not, but looking at the puzzles, most of the time I'm like, "Ugh, why would I want to spend my time putting together THAT?"

It's like, photographs? No, thanks. I think photos make bad puzzles. Don't ask me why. Yet one of the few puzzles from my childhood was a photo. Of a panda. I enjoyed that one.

And yet most art/illustration looks so ugly. It's like a horrible nightmare and makes me want to punch myself in the face until I die. I'd put up more pics, but seriously, just do a search for jigsaw puzzles, and you'll see what I'm talking about.

I miss my old puzzle, with all the Marvel superheroes. It was great, but then my dog ate one of the pieces. This was one of the most heartbreaking (non-violent) moments of my childhood. I should have framed it.


I love this illustration. It's so weird. The races stick together, and the Hulk looks uncomfortable to be standing so close to Power Man. What gives, Hulk?

Meanwhile, Mephisto and the Silver Surfer are duking it out, Man-Thing is just inexplicably chilling in the DEAD CENTER OF THE PUZZLE BECAUSE HE'S THE MOST IMPORTANT CHARACTER EVER (why did they put him there?!), the Beast is checking out Howard the Duck, and Nightcrawler is like, "Eff that, I'm not gonna stand by Skunk Girl. I'm just gonna sit on Galactus's shoulder," and then Captain America goes, "All right! Puzzle time!"

And that's what puzzles are all about, Charlie Brown.

Let's Puzzles!

During ToyFair '09 I got to meet a guy who paints pictures for puzzles, which is a very interesting and unique job. And then I found out that Oscarbait (a group I direct) likes to get together and do them while watching movies.

So because I am highly impressionable, I totally went out and bought a 1,000-piece puzzle, set it up on the kitchen table, and got to work. This was maybe two weeks ago, and last night Sarah and I finished.


Whee! Here's what I learned:

- Puzzles are boring. I feel like they're an exercise in obsessive-compulsive behavior. Seriously, sitting alone in the kitchen sorting out the ground from the sky, I felt like a vampire or ghost (or whatever the legend is) that has to pick up all the spilled salt/pieces of straw on the floor before I can go out and kill someone.
- My kitchen table is too high or something. It's uncomfortable to sit there for a long period of time.
- This is another time-wasting device, when I need more time-saving devices in my life. Life is unfair.
- I'd also work on this while Sarah was cooking or washing dishes, which makes me feel like a lazy ass, but truthfully, our kitchen isn't big enough for two people, even though we are small. It's just easier for one person to do the dishes. And she's a better cook than me. And at least I'm in there hanging out with her rather than spending time with the gerbils or Toon Link, right?
- It's interesting to note that when I'd suggest we switch (I clean/cook and she work on the puzzle), she'd treat it like a grueling exercise in unfun.
- Charles Wysocki (who designed this puzzle) is a bastard! All those pieces of blue sky, the big cluster of trees, and let's not even think about the dirt ground, it's all really hard! Each of those sections I had to solve by trial and error, you couldn't figure it out from the colors. It was all muddy and stupid.
- Even though it makes it easier, looking at the box is dumb. It's like cheating. Just look at it once when you buy it, and then figure it out as you go along. I'm glad I didn't look at it, though for ages I wasn't sure where that gigantic dog was supposed to go.
- This puzzle has a KID RIDING A GIANT DOG. That's probably the main reason I bought it.
- I'd still rather do one of those Simpsons or Disney mosaic ones.
- Where do you buy puzzles? When I made up my mind to get one, it was like that junkie itch where I had to buy one RIGHT THIS SECOND, but where? Toys R Us in Times Square? That weird model shop down the road? And then I realized the simple answer: drug stores. All drug stores carry puzzles (though their selection might be shoddy). This is good to know.
- What do you do when you finish? I kind of wanted to frame it, since it's Pappy's First Puzzle, but as Sarah pointed out, neither of us are particularly fond of the design. And frames cost money. So what next? We destroy it and put it back in the box? Feed it to the gerbils?
- I'm going to exchange this puzzle with Oscarbait, and work on another, hopefully better, one.

Let's Potato Chips!

This is pretty old, but the blog got a tip o' the hat on a recent episode of Dollhouse, as shown in this screencap. (And thanks to Eliza for letting me know about this!)

I now have several bags of Let's Potato Chips.

Let's (Never) Burger King.

I never thought I'd say this, but you know what? Fuck Burger King.

I had just one big blog-about-able plan for today, and that was to buy some Star Trek glasses. I need them to drink things from. And though it's weak that there are just four with Kirk, Spock, Uhura and Nero (Really? NERO?), whatever, I'll get two and that'll be fine.

So I get there and they're sold out. Who the hell bought them all at this particular Burger King? And then because I feel obligated to buy something, I get a fish sandwich.

This thing tastes like a garbage can. It's a combination of rot and metal and nothing in it even hints at good, crispy fish. It's literally the worst fish sandwich I've ever eaten. It doesn't count as food, it's more like an edible punishment.

Also, it's really expensive.

What the hell?! So I call their survey number on the receipt, and they don't ever let me talk to a human, just a computer with the unlikely name of Jennifer. And then they never even let me speak, I can only punch in numbers, the most commonly used one being 1 for "Poor." And as a reward, I get "one free Whopper sandwich or Original Chicken sandwich with purchase of any size drink and fries."

I rarely curse on this blog, but fuck that noize. I demand satisfaction.

So I call up their corporate. Yes, I'm one of those people. They keep me on hold for 12 minutes, and frequently tell me that I can leave a voicemail for them, but I'm not gonna fall for that trick. That voicemail's gonna go right in the garbage can, which they will then process to make more fish sndwiches. I need to speak to someone real.

After many minutes of bad music and Burger King trivia (seriously, BK Trivia), someone finally picks up. In a very nice and polite tone, since I live by How to Win Friends and Influence People, I tell them that it's really unfortunate that they are out of Star Trek glasses, especially because I'm mostly confined to the house and it's difficult for me to wheel to the nearby Burger King. She tells me that when the promotion is done, I can call and they will send some to me if there are any left over. But I don't believe her. That'd be too good to be true.

And then I get into the sandwich, and say that even my dog wouldn't eat it, and dogs'll eat anything. So I suspect something is wrong with the fish sandwich. And they should do something about it. She says she'll let the district manager know or something, and I'm gracious, and point out that it tasted spoiled AND was overpriced.

Since she took down my name and address (but not my phone number), I expect they'll send me some coupons or something. In the words of Dave Thunder "What a rip-off!" Why would I want to eat there again? I hate that place!

I intend on calling them every day for the rest of the month.

Only in New York! (II)

So I'm coming home from an afternoon screening of Star Trek, and on the subway I'm thinking how wonderful it is to tell nice stories and to inspire people and have hope for the future and how if there was an actual Starfleet I might sign up, but how is that different from the US Army? And there are a number of reasons why, because Starfleet is about exploration and not about combat and it'd be nice to have mad skillz and then there's civic duty and also it's good to have a noble cause and then wouldn't you know it, some jerk comes on the train and ruins everything.

As I've said before, it's sometimes hard to tell if a person is homeless or crazy, and in my several years in the city, I've learned it's just best to keep your head down, turn your music up, feign sleep, and in worst case scenarios, switch cars.

But this guy didn't seem too crazy, he was just playing a beatbox very loudly. This is against subway rules, and it's clearly marked on the walls somewhere.

The rush hour commute is mostly accepting it, albeit grudgingly, until the lady next to me decides to take a stand. "Excuse me," she says, politely but firmly. "Can you please turn down your music? It's playing so hard I can't hear my own." [She was listening to an iPod, which is allowed under the rules because of the headphones.]

And everyone in the subway car leans forward imperceptibly, eager to find out if he'll turn off the boombox, or if he's crazy or an asshole.

Turns out he's a little bit of both. Eventually he does turn off the music, but then he confronts the lady. He asks questions that are irrational and don't make sense, but I think his point was, "Hey, I paid my fare. I got the right to listen to my music. I don't bother you about your music."

Except he's wrong, as the lady points out. Her music is inaudible to the rest of the car; his makes it impossible to think about Star Trek.

Now if I was heroic and strong and bulletproof or an undercover cop, I would have leaped to her defense and pointed out how he's terrible at debate, but sadly I'm an unemployed coward with scoliosis. And anyway, the lady was right and in no apparent physical danger.

"But you're the only one complaining!" says the guy. And that causes the tide to turn. The tipping point is reached, as Malcolm Gladwell might say, and other members on the train begin to argue with the guy. A foreign old lady, bald businessman, they all chime in, and I start to regret that my stop is next. In retrospect, I should've stayed on to find out how it all turns out.

Having been in similar situations, I'd imagine this to be the ending: The crazy guy refuses to listen to reason because he is, after all, a crazy, and then some guy who looks like a Dwarf/biker/Viking growls a threat and the perpetrator is cowed into silence. That happened on a bus once when a jerkass yuppie wouldn't give up his seat to a pregnant lady and it was pretty awesome.

So they're futilely arguing (you can never get a crazy person to listen to reason! When will people learn?!) and we're at my stop and I'm thinking how I wish I was Spiderman or something and the guy's boombox is right there on the floor AND his back is to it and I'm right by the door so as I walk out I take it (just like Swiper the Fox!) because when children are bad they get their toys taken away.

Now I'm not gonna steal a crazy guy's boombox, primarily because I'm afraid it would have bedbugs, but also because I don't need one. No, I'm just engaging in a tiny bit of civic disobedience since I can't arrest people for being jerks. And also, it'll really piss that guy off.

So in one fluid motion I pick it up, step off the subway and set it down on the floor. Now ideally, he won't notice until the train doors have closed and it's too late, but I hear someone say something (maybe the lady, who was being too nice for her own good) and I as melt into the throng [thinking strategically that the guy would have to be REALLY crazy to chase after me, lest he lose the train and maybe the boombox], he steps out and grabs the boombox. I descend the stairs to safety, and hear him threaten to break my punk-ass jaw. I don't make eye contact, and refrain from smiling until I'm out of his sight.

On the way home, I keep looking behind me to see if a Hawaiian-shirt clad crazy is coming for me. But mostly, I wonder how the guy and the rest of the subway car are reacting to my unexpected swipe. I'm still really curious if they continued arguing or if he just muttered to himself for the rest of the ride.

In hindsight, this was a pretty stupid thing to do. It's quite a bit more dangerous than making fun of a bunch of kids or smelling a subway car, but I had to do something. Sometimes I get impulsive and want to save the world, and since I'm Kirk the frail and meek, I have to be sneaky and passive-aggressive instead of direct and brave. What would you have done?

Yes, the guy could've had a knife or a gun. Or even just broken my punk-ass jaw. But sometimes we have to take the law into our own hands... Right?

Let's (Less) TV?

I realize I've been literally watching a ton of TV lately, and that's no good, since I have enough places to go and people to see without idling away the hours in front of the TV.

Jiminy Christmas, I went through our series manager on the DVR and there's all this junk on it. So I've decided to let go of a number of series starting this fall. But who stays? Who goes? It's like my own little reality show right here.

- American Idol. While I love the audition episodes, I never get so into the actual competition. It'll play in the background, I usually don't care one way or the other, and then I fast-forward through the results show. So clearly I don't wanna watch this very much.

- Make Me a Supermodel vs. America's Next Top Model. There's only room in my life for one modeling reality competition, and I'll reluctantly choose Tyra over Tyson. Every effing season Tyra Banks breaks my heart, because the one model I'm really rooting for (be it the girl with autism, the punky girl with a mouth full of marbles, or, in this season, Allison the Hobbit) never wins. This season hurt especially because Allison made it to second place, totally deserved to win, and did not.

Like any abusive relationship, I should just walk away, but it's hard because the good times are really good. And next season is all about short models, so I'm willing to give it one last chance.

- Hell's Kitchen vs. Top Chef: Masters. Thoreau said "Simplify, simplify" (I only know this because he was quoted in Calvin & Hobbes), and he's right - I should only watch one cooking reality show, too. Actually, it's kind of stupid because unlike Project Runway or Top Design, you can't really appreciate the finished product - you can't smell or taste anything because scientists are lazy and haven't built food-o-vision yet.

This is a tough call, because I really do like Gordon Ramsay and I know someone who works on the show, but it DOES seem similar every season, and... Thoreau told me to simplify. So while I might tune in to Top Chef: Masters, just because it's about actual talented chefs, I don't think I should return to Hell's Kitchen.

- The Fashion Show vs. Project Runway. I'm not hating on The Fashion Show so far, and I'll want to see Project Runway on its new channel, so this is the one indulgence I'll allow myself - I get to watch both fashion-based reality programs.

- The Celebrity Apprentice. Eff it. Two hours long. I don't know how or why I got started on this in the first place. I just happened across it one night and then look where it got me.

- The Amazing Race vs. Survivor. This was my first season of TAR and it was pretty good. Redheaded cheerleaders and a deaf guy? Sure! And I've been with Survivor since year one (true, we took a short break, but that's what happens in life). And next season they're going to Samoa! I wanna go to Samoa! I know they probably don't make those cookies there, but they might. These are the types of show where if I watch the first episode, I'll want to stick with it. And I'm probably gonna watch the first episodes.

Then there's the scripted stuff, of which there is surprisingly not much. But that'll all stay.

So looking at the above, I'm saving about six hours a week. That's not too bad.

I just wish Kid Nation was still on the air.

Let's Lost (Season Six)!

Last night I dreamed about LOST. Specifically, stuff that's gonna happen in the final season. There are a shit-ton of spoilers in this, so read carefully, but also be aware that everything in here is a dream, so you should take it with a grain of salt. However, I believe that these are dreams visited through the gate of truth as opposed to the gate of lies, so don't be surprised if next year I point to this and go, "I told you so! I win! I have psychic powers!"

It starts in Europe, maybe the Ukraine or Poland. Someplace cold and snowy. I'm on a fact-finding mission regarding LOST. I pass by this restaurant that has these delicious-looking pancakes, or their Eastern European equivalent.

So I go in and who do I meet but JJ Abrams. He's talking about LOST with some people, and since there are so few folks around who can speak English, I horn in on the conversation. We talk about John Locke, and I have choice things to say about him which I won't repeat here because I don't want to spoil the season finale, in case you haven't seen it yet. John Locke is a mystery, both in the dream and in the real world.

And there's something else... I witness a radio transmission between two places, it seems like Korea and the Ukraine, maybe it's Penny's weather station. The words are garbled, and it's subtitled, but the words go by super-fast. Fortunately, I use my mad skillz to read the subtitles, and I can interpret their language barrier.

This was supposed to be a teaser for people, the sort of thing that can only be seen once so there are no screen-grabs or anything. But I'm brilliant and I comprehend much more of the message than they intended. Like, they wanted us to focus on some words and not the others, like a magician's misdirection, but I got to the secret. And this was dangerous information.

The message, which I doubt will appear in Season Six, was about, like, an earthquake or weather control or natural disaster (that might have been caused by man) or something. It ties in to the Season Two finale and what happened at the end of Season Five. There IS a connection (you should have realized this if you are observant and have mad skillz like me).

The dream changes. I'm in a comfy bus or a limo with Damon Lindelof. We're talking and he's letting me watch the entire season premiere of Season Six. It begins in New York City, a POV shot of a certain street. I notice what others would miss - this is the real NYC, and it's someone watching from a certain area, a specific street corner, off of 55th or 57th Street. If I can find the location from which it was filmed, I'll discover a secret.

Then I know. I know this street. It ties in to an episode of Mission Hill that I love, and I chant over and over, "It's Weirdo Beardo! Weirdo Beardo, Weirdo Beardo, Weirdo Beardo!" Weirdo Beardo being a very minor character/place on that short-lived animated series, basically a video store that specializes in obscure and weird films [and yes, I know Mission Hill doesn't take place in NYC].

Damon laughs and is psyched that I figured it out so easily. He says that Weirdo Beardo (the name of the store and also the name of the weird, bearded guy who runs it) is a tip o' the hat to why there are so many obscure movie references throughout LOST. His example, which Sarah says is not true, is the Easter egg of Soylent Green in Season One (in a life raft? A boat?).

I'm not sure about the Weirdo Beardo connection, but I suspect it's something like the Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind (a bookstore) in Stephen King's Dark Tower series. But it's some sort of nexus between the real world and the fantasy world of LOST, or the real LOST and the dream LOST. It links into knowing there's a man named John Locke out there, and also an actor named Terry O'Quinn who plays John Locke.

Damon takes a liking to me, since I figured out one of his puzzles but I don't know the full answer. So he asks me, "What do you know about JJ Abrams?" I think about it, and have to admit, "Nothing, really." And he advises me to do some research on JJ, he's a "very interesting guy."

Talking this over with Sarah the next morning, she asks me to describe the JJ Abrams from my dream, and I finally realize what Damon was trying to tell me.


This is the real JJ Abrams. And this is not the man I met in the Ukraine. That man was bald, slightly older, and an impostor. [Note: In my dream, Damon Lindelof was the real Damon Lindelof.]

So WTF? This is what Damon wants me to research. Who was this faker? Why was he sent to throw me off? What misinformation did he feed me? What about the transmission? Does the real JJ Abrams have anything to do with anything (highly doubtful, since he's busy with other projects)? Was the whole John Locke thing a red herring? Or a trap? And should I still pursue it with the knowledge that it's a trap? And what REALLY stands on 55th or 57th Street?

Destiny calls.

Let's (Not) Burgers?

[First off, forgiveness please being all quiet on the bloggy front. I've been up to stuff, but it's stuff that can't be blogged about... yet. But don't get excited, none of it is that exciting. Except for the super-secret exciting parts, those are pretty good. Ooh, if you only knew! Mmm, boy!]

So I had two burgers in the past week, after a hiatus since before January (!!!), and as I said on my Facebook status, I think my burger-eating days might be over.

"What?!" said the omnivores on Planet Kirk.

"You go, girl!" said the vegetarians/vegans, since they use outdated slang that I find hilarious. I could say "You go, girl!" for, like, an hour straight. I probably have. All alone, rocking back and forth, saying "You go, girl!" over and over and over.

I must explain the burger thing. Yeah, I think I'm done with 'em. I'm just not digging on them anymore. Back in the day, I loved them so hard, but these two in the past week - one from Better Burger and then today from Petey's Burger down the street - just left me feeling gross and greasy and unfulfilled, and that's not how I want to feel after eating food. I want to feel good and greaseless and fulfilled.

So maybe I've just moved on. Or at least, that's what I thought as I started to write this blog, but then I got a suggestion for a place in Park Slope, and I remembered how Petey's seems to be based off In-N-Out (back when I'd fly out to LaLa Land for work, I'd eat In-N-Out every day, mmm, boy!), and then the Message from Petey over on his website really inspired me, so maybe I'm not done yet.

Usually, if a restaurant or food fails me once, they're dead to me, just like that Thai place down the street. Fuck those guys! But sometimes I'm the type of person who will go "I didn't dig this meal. Better get it again tomorrow." (see: waffle sandwiches). So I dunno. As it stands right now, I'll probably get Petey's tomorrow. Except without the fries and milkshake. Just too much. Maybe just the milkshake.

But then, I dunno. Maybe I don't care. People suggest vegetarian burgers and I've had them and they're fine. It's like with bacon. I've had a lot of that fake bacon over these past few months. It's fine. I don't miss real bacon (maybe because I get it on my Papa John's pizzas all the time), when I eat the fake kind I'm not like, "Boy, I wish this was real." It doesn't taste the same but I don't care much one way or the other.

Also, it's interesting to note that I don't have this ambivalence toward hot dogs. I was talking with Julie about hot dogs today, and how good they are. God, they taste good! Especially if the skin is crispy. Mmm, boy!

Maybe I just don't love hamburgers because they rarely sock it to me (TerryBurgers being one exception). I'm picky about the bun, mostly. Few places have the proper buns. You could say the same thing about people. You go, girl! So if I don't like the bun or the lettuce or the tomato, I'm like, "Meh."

Hot dogs are easy. All their buns are the same. But a good burger is truly hard to find (and I don't think GoodBurger has good burgers).

If only Bachelor Chow would be invented, then all this food angst could end forever.

Cakes on a Plane!

Cakey's back, bitches!

The very funny Raspberry Brothers will be doing a MST3K-style screening of Snakes on a Plane this weekend, and they asked us if we'd like to screen two Cakey shorts before the feature. So of course we said yes.

This'll be the first time in, like, a year that we've had a Cakey episode up on the big screen, and as an added bonus, there will be a Q&A session featuring me, Dyna, AND Cakey (and maybe Duncan?). Even bigger bonus, as Dyna blogged, you can touch Cakey if you come, or get your picture taken with him. That's a pretty rare opportunity outside of Dragon*Con or my apartment.


The Raspberry Brothers: Snakes on a Plane
(b/w 2 episodes of Cakey! The Cake from Outer Space)

Two shows:
Friday, May 8, 2009 at 12:00am
Saturday, May 9, 2009 at 12:00am

Clearview’s Chelsea Cinema
260 West 23rd St (east of 8th Ave.)
New York, NY
Tickets: $15