Brooklyn tales

Just woke up in a Brooklyn Bed and Breakfast and thought I’d share the snippets of my most recent dream fragments.

In one dream I was driving through the snow of Colorado while listening to an overly long phone message from my friend Mike waxing poetic about how each kiss from his new girlfriend is like a love letter from God.

In another dream, Andrea and I were hanging out with Brian Posehn. Brian was trying to show me how illiterate he is by showing me his collection of Chaucer and Oscar Wilde books.

I also remember something involving working for a gerbil insemenation farm but I'll spare you the details.

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Last Night.

I also want to quickly retell the tale of last night, my first proper night in Brooklyn. The first part of the night was fantastic. We went to a place called Union Hall. It was a real swanky bar with bocce ball courts indoors. We saw a great show downstairs. Every week Michael Showalter and Eugene Mirman put on a cheap, awesome night of standup.
So that part was awesome. The part that follow...not so much.
I'll spare the details as I'm writing this in Grand Central Station and I want to go buy things but basically we got lost in Brooklyn, hailed a cab driver who took us to the most dangerous part of Brooklyn and let us off. We wandered around like idiots with our bright yellow tourist guide in our hands, straining to look at the map. We ended up walking into a chicken joint where there was a crackhead bugging the shit out of the workers, trying to get free food. When that didn't work he stared hassling us for cash. We tried to avoid him so we went outside. He followed. Then across the street there was a big mob of hoodlums strutting around and banging metal doors. We waved down a gypsy cab and the hoodlums surrounded the cab. Eventually they strutted away, we jumped in and got the hell out of there.
Brooklyn is awesome.