Yesterday I shared a few slices with my esteemed friend Erick Lyle, who is not only my friend but also a total zine hero. I think Scam 5 1/2, The Epicenter of Crime: The Hunt's Donut Story, might be my favorite single issue of any zine ever written. If you quote me on that make sure you include the "might" because I'm not married to that statement (duh, marriage is for squares), but I do totally love that zine. It is contained in its entirety in Erick's book On The Lower Frequencies, which is a pretty great book, though since there's been so many more books than zines it's nowhere near my favorite book ever written. The God of Small Things is nowhere near my favorite book ever written either, though, and that shit rules. In fact, my favorite book is actually Mystery On The Docks if you want to contextualize.
We met up at the corner of 86th and Lex where I made a kind of weird kombucha handoff with a stranger who had contacted me through the World Kombucha Exchange, after which we trooped over to Italian Village Pizzeria and settled down for a slice. Though it bears noting that on the way we skipped a Pintaile's and a Pizza Nova because the former is nasty and I've already had their crap pizza, and the latter, it turns out, is a Canadian chain.
I forgot to take a picture of my slice at this place, so I took one of the slice pie waiting to be served. It was totally fantastic, if a little too cheesy, kind of in the vein of Tom's Delicious. Much like Tom's this place had top quality ingredients, although the slice here was a little thicker towards the heel, and a little less crunchy all around. Because the front end had a brittle crunch to it but the back end wasn't stable. This slice flapped around like a huge, floppy cock. And because of the lack of overall firmness, it was difficult to maneuver into my mouth. But once I did I was sure in for a treat!
As we were finishing up, Erick pulled out a copy of Lunch Poems by Frank O'Hara and said, "You know, I figured maybe he was in this neighborhood when he wrote some of these poems, so I was thinking we could use them to describe each slice of pizza." So what does Frank O'Hara have to say about Italian Village?
where is the summit where all aims are clear
the pinpoint light upon a fear of lust