NYC Blogger Reviews: Deadspot (or, how Beckeye and I became the official NYC Blogger Welcome Wagon)

NYC Blogger Reviews is a new CPW series where we will review and critique bloggers that we meet in person. After all, assessing the respective strengths and character flaws of those in our blog circle is an important task, not to be undertaken lightly. NYC Blogger Reviews will provide most of the scathing commentary you have come to expect from CPW; for the rest you will have to turn to Beckeye who might slip in a review when she's not reporting on important news about Glenn Tilbrook, Britney Spears or Top Chef.


Today on NYC Blogger Reviews we will recap our evening with special blogger guest star Deadspot from over at Dead Spot on the Web. (It's a spot. It's on the web. It's dead. You know the rest.)

It had become quite the comedy of errors trying to figure out how and where to get together. Beckeye was brave enough to suggest an actual meal rather than a drink; already knowing me in real life, she probably fell for that whole "safety in numbers" thing and felt no need to worry that we might pass out and end up in Deadspot's basement. After all, he has at times toyed with the notion that some might think him a creepy cyberstalker, something that would only increase my respect for him.

Since Beckeye suggested eating actual food, I tried to come up with a few interesting ideas for people out for a fun evening while sticking to a sensible budget. My first idea along that line is always to get Indian food in the East Village. After Deadspot's enthusiastic e-mail reply to this, Beckeye bristled at the notion of being required to eat something other than a burger, although rumor has it she has recently broadened her palate to include meat loaf - so I'm trying not to be too hard on her.

I moved to Plan B and compiled a list of every halfway interesting place I could think of that didn't cost an arm and a leg, and called Beckeye to help me narrow it down.

"I really don't care where we go - you guys can pick, just don't make me eat anything spicy. And that way, if I don't like it I still get to complain," said Beckeye. I wasn't going to let her get off that easily though, since complaining about the venue is usually my specialty.

"I recently went to this trailer-park themed restaurant that serves tater tots. That would be good!" she offered. I looked them up and found their location in Chelsea, noting to myself that a trailer-park restaurant amongst all the snotty queens in that neighborhood seemed like an amusing juxtaposition.

I headed with Poor George into the city, trusting that Deadspot would call me eventually so that I could instruct him on where to meet us. Apparently, maintaining one's status as a creepy cyberstalker involves not purchasing a cell phone since I suppose cell phones make it easier for the Feds to track you down.

I did hear from him as we were crossing the Manhattan Bridge into the city.

"Hi Deadspot. Since you're from Central Illinois we figured you might like something to make you feel at home. So we're taking you to eat in a trailer-park." Unfortunately, Deadspot has a sense of humor and wasn't as offended as he would have been if I'd really been on my game.

"By the way, we have no idea what you look like, or if you even exist at all, so you'll have to recognize us," I noted.

"Oh, that's ok, I'll describe myself. Just look for a guy with dark hair, jeans and a leather jacket." Fair enough.


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I dropped Poor George off at his music rehearsal and headed over to Chelsea where I found street parking without even having to threaten anyone. The evening was moving along just swimmingly; it was exactly 7:00 which is when Deadspot and I agreed to meet. Beckeye was coming in on the subway and would take a bit longer.

I found the restaurant, only to be notified that they were closed for a private party because some Chelsea queen was seeking to return to his white trash roots as part of a birthday celebration, or at least that's my theory since I'm really just making most of this up.

Anyway, with the restaurant being closed, I was required to stand on the sidewalk and keep my eyes peeled for a non-cell phone wielding dark haired man in jeans and a leather jacket, probably not an unusual activity in that part of the city.

Thanks to Deadspot being 30 minutes late on account of an unfortunate subway direction mishap, every dark haired man in Chelsea in a leather jacket and jeans now thinks I'm cruising him. Although the exercise resulted in several dirty looks of the "what the fuck are you staring at, faggot?" variety, I'll admit it was fun to people watch for a bit.

Deadspot apologized profusely upon his arrival, and remained admirably unshaken when I berated him for casting aside my rather simple subway directions in favor of those given to him by a semi-coherent hotel doorman who had sent him over to 23rd Street in Queens, probably as a practical joke. (You really have to watch out for those doormen.)

We headed to a nearby bar & grill and had drinks and conversation while we waited for Beckeye. Topics ranged from soccer and religion to freeze-dried boxed potatoes and what neglectful bloggers we have been lately.

Beckeye arrived, we had more drinks and then enjoyed a fine meal of burgers, fish & chips and shepherd's pie.

Most importantly, Deadspot convinced Beckeye and me that he is not a creepy stalker but is a nice guy and a fine dinner companion. He gets the CP+Beckeye Blogger Stamp of Approval.

He also promised to let his own blog circle know that Beckeye and I are normal people, although he promised to make it sound more flattering than just calling us "normal." Little does he know that normalcy is a quality I've long aspired to.

Thanks, Deadspot!