I want to be in a zombie movie.

I wish I had the money to buy a Sony handicam or whoever makes the handicams, film myself and a few of my victims friends. It would be perfect! I know people are probably sick of zombie movies and things to do with zombies, but hear me out, okay? People are sick of seeing bad zombie movies. Remember the good stuff? I’ll admit, I thought Zombieland was a tad funny, but it’s not something I’d watch over and over again. Want to know what I’ve watched about a billion times when I actually wanted to watch a TV? The original Night of the Living Dead, in all of it’s black and white glory. Sure, the special effects were crap, but honestly, to be a zombie, you just need to be covered in shit and act like you just brained yourself in a tragic accident involving alcohol and a porcelain toilet bowl. You can watch it in action, in fact. New Years is a popular time.

No, see, if I made a movie, I don’t know that there would be altogether too many zombies at all. After all, the mindless crowd is overused, anyway. No. I want a hero or heroine, or both… maybe even a group of people. And I want them on the run. Maybe in the woods, maybe I could find a few areas of Putnam or something that has low traffic and make it look like the town is abandoned. I’ve been to the antiques district at like 7 in the morning. It’s possible, and watching all of the old people file silently into one of the local breakfast places is downright creepy. No, I definitely wanted to go for more of the suggestion of zombies. Keep the person watching the movie in suspense. There are a few movies like that, too, but the one that I am thinking of, in fact, is an old Russian movie called Stalker.

No, not the kind of stalker you’re thinking of. Zombies are bad enough without having a preference for the kind of human brain they want, and consequently stalking their prey. That, and if the movie started with the idea of a zombie actually stalking a woman, for example, in the serial-killer kind of way, watching her through her bedroom window and stuff, people would probably think it was some weird kind of porn. The movie Stalker is what the video games are loosely based on, for those who play them. The games borrowed the idea of The Zone and the Wish-granter, but none of the monsters and stuff found in the game actually have anything to do with the movie (although, they’re pretty cool). The movie itself is loosely based on a story, the title of which would translate to The Picnic by the Side of the Road. In the movie, however, you’re given the impression that something is going to happen to the ‘hero’. Something is always following his group, it seems to be around every corner. But nothing ever really is there. Nothing actually attacks them (that you can see). It might sound boring, but it’s a very good technique, and one that I wish more horror movies would use properly. Instead of having Jason pop out every 5 seconds, he’d be a lot scarier if you were expecting him to, instead, and you knew that when he did, it would be fucking horrible.

It would just be something fun to do. So, gentle readers, would you be in a zombie movie? Would you be in my zombie movie? Do you want to be a person or do you want to shamble around like the walking dead? Any good filming techniques? Tell me all about it! If I ever do make a zombie movie, I’ll post it here and allow you to bask in it’s poor acting and poor film quality glory.


The other driver is always an asshole. Always.

I was driving around today, mostly to and from work, and I made an interesting observation. Mainly, I noticed my own thoughts about other drivers. I live in Massachusetts, right along the bottom part that boarders along Connecticut. People in CT and in MA drive very, very differently. Different kinds of bad. The part of Mass that boarders along CT that I live in is Southbridge and Webster-Dudley. The people there tend to drive faster than they need to and often times, rather recklessly, regardless of the age of the driver. In Connecticut, you run into two kinds of assholes. Right below the boarder is Woodstock, and Woodstock is one of those places that you live in if you’re a rich bastard a doctor or going to retire, or otherwise have a well-paying job and love the countryside (no, really… I mean country. Woodstock is a dry town – as in, no alcohol – and if I’m in Woodstock, I need to either go to Eastford or to Putnam to get gas. Come on). The most frequent one is the driver that must go at least 5 miles below the speed limit. And they won’t speed up, no matter what. I know what people are thinking… old people, right? Wrong! I see teenagers doing that. While the roads are small and curvy and it is dangerous to go too fast… there’s no need to be rolling at 10 mph. I mean, I know gas isn’t exactly close, but come on, you can do better than that.

One type of driver that I run into no matter where I go always tends to be what I call El Douchbago. El Douchago is almost always male, anywhere from 18 to mid 40’s, and they have big, lifted pick-up trucks. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve had one of these fuckers get behind me, blind me with their headlights and ride my ass. I’m no slow-poke. I’ll speed up for them (as long as it’s safe) and I’m usually going a decent amount above the speed limit. Most of Woodstock is around the 35 mph range and I’ll go up to 60 mph if the road isn’t too curvy. Still, these fuckers will ride my ass, flash their high-beams, and honk obnoxiously before passing me (often illegally) and going off at a much, much higher speed.


I will eat your soul. And the soul of your puny little Toyota.

Besides often wondering if I’ll be witnessing a wreck shortly, I wonder why people do that. I don’t understand the need of El Douchbago. Are your balls too big for your truck? Are your truck’s balls bigger than yours? It does seem like you’re trying to get them run over, run down, and otherwise destroyed.

Another thing I’ve noticed is that other drivers are always assholes. Always. It doesn’t matter if it’s your friend, your neighbor, that weird guy from across the street, or somebody’s sweet little Grammie that is going to the store so she has the ingredients to bake Little Jimmy his fucking cookies. They’re all fucking assholes. Or Stupid Bitch. That one is popular, too. I’ve taken mental notes when it comes down to what I would have to say to other drivers if I could somehow communicate telepathically.

“I see you there, fuckface. Don’t you dare turn.”
“The light is green. Green, asshole! GREEN MEANS GO.”
“Holy fuck, you asshole, you just ran a red light.”
“Stupid Bitch, on her cell phone. She won’t live long.”
“Christ, that was a stop sign. A stop sign! Not a slow-down-slightly-before-slamming-on-the-pedal-and-hope-you-don’t-die sign.”
“Asshole, it kind of helps if you turn on your blinker when you make a sudden turn.”

"What do you mean I can't drive?"


I swear, it’s like none of these people ever read their driver’s manual. Aren’t you supposed to read one of those before they give you the little plastic card with your adorable mug on it that tells the police man it’s okay for you to drive? I thought you did. Hell, I might even remember some parts of it. That’s not even an excuse, though. I understand that each state has it’s own particulars, such as allowing a right turn at a red light, but there are plenty of things that are common sense and people don’t seem to understand that. It’s generally a bad idea to suddenly brake in front of someone to make a turn without using your blinkers. See, friends, when you turn your blinker on, it tells me that you intend to make a turn in that direction, and common sense tells me that you’ll likely slow down, so I’ll be expecting the drop in speed and won’t ram your ass like a bull with a hard-on. It is also equally wise to actually look both ways before you cross an intersection that doesn’t have a stop-light. Remember your mum telling you to look both ways or you’d end up flattened like the road kill just up the road? Being in a car doesn’t magically make you invulnerable to other cars. Being on a magic carpet, however, might, though that requires three extra months of driver’s ed, and getting your carpet registered is really hard and kind of expensive.

Plus, I think it hurts your tax return, too.

I’m sure people have lots of interesting things to call the “other driver”.  Some of them might even be words that your mum wouldn’t scrub your mouth out with soap for.

The Top Five Songs that will make Rosiel Cry like the Sissy Little Bitch He is

Everyone loves to listen to some kind of music. Even if it’s some drunk cockroaches drumming out the beat to Beverly Hills 90210 with that pretzel stick they just stole out of your plate. Music is music. By definition, it’s organized noise, and I have to tell you, there is some truly Goddamn awful noise that some people call music. But, that’s why we’re all different, gentle snowflakes.  Music evokes different emotions in different people. Some music, like Juno Reactor, just makes me want to kick people’s asses. Some music, like virtually any kind of techno, will make me want to speed down the highway. And some music will make me bawl like a bitch. Usually, it’s a combination of the sad lyrics (if there are any) and the fact that many times just beautiful music will get the water works leaking from me. Take my word on it, I might act like a tough guy, but deep down inside I’m really just an asshole a soft, cuddly teddy bear. Who gets weepy and teary at what might possibly be bad music, but I digress.

So, if you ever have the misfortune of being in my company and you want me to run from the run, crying, in glass case of emotion, you might want to have me listen to…

5: Dido – My Lover’s Gone

source: http://www.didomusic.com/us/home/

This song is one of my favorites, and was that way, from the moment that I heard of it. The song is from the album No Angel by Dido, although it was out for quite a while before I ever listened to it. I’m sure that I’m not the only one who found it the way that I did. I was listening to another song called Stan, by Eminem, and the song features part of another song on No Angel, called Thank You. Naturally, I was curious about who this beautiful lady was that was singing in the beginning of one of Stan, and I was thrilled to find out that it wasn’t just something made for Stan, but in fact, another entire song. I listened to Thank You, loved it, and listened to the rest of the album. When I got to My Lover’s Gone, I just stopped dead. First, let me just start with Florian’s beautiful voice. Her voice is lovely, warm and melodic, and it just brings out the lyrics of the song even more. The song starts off quietly and slowly builds up – the beginning notes make you think of someone lonely, sitting out on the beach.

My lover’s gone.
His boots no longer by my door.
He left at dawn.
And as I slept, I felt him go.
Returns no more.
I will not watch the ocean.
My lover’s gone.
No earthly ships will ever
him home
Bring him home again.

Then, the music picks up slightly. There is percussion added, but nothing too fast or intense, as to not take away from Florian’s voice, but rather to add power to it.

My lover’s gone
I know that kiss will be my last.
No more his song
The tune upon his lips has passed
I sing alone
While I watch the ocean
My lover’s gone
No earthly ships will ever
him home
Bring him home again

The percussion picks up again, and the lyrics are repeated, but that song doesn’t need anything more than that. The music goes along so well with the lyrics that I have no trouble envisioning a lonely person – not even specifically a woman – waiting for their lover to return, but knowing that they never will. Perhaps something terrible had happened to them or perhaps they weren’t a lover at all, just someone who was there to fill the loneliness and is now gone, leaving the void again. Either way, this makes me want to bawl every time I hear it. It doesn’t help that the music is lovely, and that by itself will move me. See? I told you that I’m big sissy, nancy-boy, and as you read down this list, you’ll begin to see it more and more.

4: Kidneythieves – Serene Dream

source: http://kidneythieves.com/home/

I found out about the Kidneythieves purely by accident. One of my friends had their album Zerospace in my car, and they left it there. On the way to return it to them, I listened to it. It’s decent industrial rock music with some nice and strong female vocals. I liked it and was going to ask if I could actually borrow the CD to listen to it (and decide if I want to spend the money to buy it) when a song that was different from the others came on. Most of the music was along the side of rock, but this one started out with very soft acoustic guitars, (probably synth) piano, and violin. I immediately loved the tone of the song. It made me think of winter, of the snow covering the trees, and of being young and not worried about all of the stupid shit that I worry about now. It basically made me feel like I was a kid again, and made me miss it, even though a lot of my childhood isn’t something I’d want to repeat. That song made me remember the parts, as far and few between as they were, and want to relive them.

Serene dream
soft, easy winter
watering the dry spots on the day
serene dream
spend no-where with me

isn’t far to no-where
rise and feel the bomb of fountains land
close your eyes
in front of no-where
language of
no words
spend no-where with me

serene dream
free of thirst and pain
heavy turns to cake
where the ethers speak

(spend no-where with me)

tall day
it’s a
tall, tall day
it’s a
tall, tall, tall day
spend no-where
spend no-where
spend no-where
spend no-where
spend no-where
spend no-where
spend no-where with me

Needless to say, I went out and bought Zerospace. I love almost all of the songs on it, but Serene Dream will always hold a special place in my heart. And in my tissue box.

3: The Birthday Massacre – Weekend

source: http://www.thebirthdaymassacre.com/

I’ve been a big fan of The Birthday Massacre ever since I heard them via Pandora Radio. I loved the synth-rock style of music and I’ve always been partial to female vocalists. The first album that I listened to was their first album, titled Nothing and Nowhere. I fell in love with Happy Birthday and Promise Me, so naturally, I was excited when the band produced more albums. I even liked the remakes of some of the songs from the first album, found in the Violet album. When Walking With Strangers came out, I was listening to it, and a particular song struck my heartstrings. I mean, personally, I love the entire album, but Weekend makes me think of some really powerful memories. At the time when the album came out in 2007, I was going through a tough time in my life. A lot of things were changing. A while back, a childhood friend of mine had committed suicide, and I always kept in contact with his family. At this time, his widow was having issues with keeping their house and I was seeing how I could help. Consequently, this did remind me of his death a whole lot, and when I heard this song, it made me think about him… but not about his death. It made me think about being in school with him. I was always a bit of a weirdo and picked on quite often by other kids. After he made fun of me a lot, after we fought a lot… we ended up becoming friends. One of the things he always told me was that we’d get out – get out of our crappy life situations, get out of our country, and go together to the Land of the Free and become something.

Lights out
boys sleep-walking on the weekend
black out
two night’s killing of a best friend
fall out
like soldiers walking off to the deep end
hands out
don’t stop marching ’till the hearts rend

the time goes by
and sets the stage
they play their parts
and act their age
they never forget
the lines that they say
speaking slowly

I promise you one day
I promise you always
We’ll make out one day
I promise you always

Night’s out
Girls keep walking on the east end
White out
Two lights shining on a dead end
Drawn out
Like circles trailing off the pavement
Stand out
Don’t stop marching ’till the hearts mend

As time goes by
We set the stage
We play our parts
And act our age
We’ll never forget the words they’d say
Talking slowly

I promise you one day
I promise you always
we’ll make it out one day
I promise you always

I promise you one day
I promise you always
We’ll make it out one day
I promise you always

2: Death Cab for Cutie – Soul Meets Body

source: http://oldsite.deathcabforcutie.com/press_releases/

One of my friends is a big Death Cab for Cutie fan. He was always trying to get me to listen to them, and the few songs that he selected for me just didn’t interest me at all. I tried listening to other songs, thinking that I really just don’t like these guys, come on, Mark, just leave me alone, but then I listened to Plans, and I heard Soul Meets Body. I liked the melody, but most of all, I appreciated the lyrics. It made me think of my then-girlfriend, and how fluttery she made my heart feel. It does make me cry sometimes, since I’m touched in the head easily moved, but it’s a good kind of crying. It just makes me remember how nice it felt to be wanted and to actually want someone else. The song makes me think of comparing the person you love to a song, to music, and that basically takes the cake for me. I adore music and I happen to love my fiance. My fiance being the music of my life is a theme I’m willing to go with, and this song always makes me think of that.

I want to live where soul meets body
And let the sun wrap its arms around me
And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
And feel
Feel what its like to be new

Cause in my head there’s a greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place
Where they’re far more suited than here

And I cannot guess what we’ll discover
When we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels
But I know our filthy hands can wash one-another’s
And not one speck will remain

And I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
But if the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you’re the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere

Where soul meets body
Where soul meets body
Where soul meets body

And I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
But if the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you’re the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere

Did I mention that I’m a sissy, yet?

1: Chairlift – Cool As A Fire


I found Chairlift through a forum. At the time, I was just looking for something new to listen to, and their name sounded obnoxious enough, so I thought I’d give them a try. I never thought that I’d find a combination of one of my favorite songs and the one song that really just makes me bawl. The music is nice and subdued – definitely compared to the rest of the album – and the lyrics are very simple yet straight to the point. The vocals are ambiguous, as in the fact that I’m still not sure if that’s a girl or a guy singing, and I kind of like that. Sometimes, I listen and I’m sure it’s got to be female vocals, but then I think, wait, that might just be someone with a dick. I’m never sure. The vocalist from Circa Survive made me question that kind of stuff in the first place, anyway. The song makes me think of every single one of those I’ll never let you go, Jack moments that happen in real-life and they’re not cheesy, and most of the time, you don’t let go of Jack. Except, then, Jack fucking dies anyway, and fuck your life. That kind of sadness that actually makes you feel it in your bones and your whole body starts to hurt.

Wasted the morning again
The world at the window is dead
The look in your eye says you don’t love me anymore
Cool as a fire
I’m alive
I’m alive
I know

But now that I found you
I don’t have a choice

With or without you
I don’t have a choice

When nobody’s watching
I’m coiled in question

Hiding the signs
Because weakness wins if weakness shows
Cool as a fire

I’m alive
I’m alive
I know

But now that I found you
I don’t have a choice

With or without you
I don’t have a choice

Now that I found you
I don’t have a choice

With or without you
I don’t have a choice

Gone with the weather
Nothing ever lasts forever
Gone with the weather
Nothing ever lasts forever
Gone with the weather
Nothing ever lasts forever
Gone with the weather
Nothing ever lasts forever

Your name is Brett. And you need to start paying your bills, you cheap schmuck.

I have a bad track record with cell phones. My first cell phone ever was stolen from me like a week after I got it. The one after that was one of those old phones that you could hit kill someone with. It had great reception. It was a Nokia. It was also the size of a fucking brick. Eventually, my brick-size cell phone began to annoy me, and I bought another one. Another Nokia. It was neat, it was small, and it was basically an MP3 player that could also make telephone calls. I loved that little thing. Alas, our love was not one made to last, and Mr. Nokia took an accidental trip to the great Toilet Water Park of Beyond. I fished him out, but he was already gone. *sniff*. I finally wanted that first cell phone that I had had, the one that was stolen from me. It was a Blackberry Pearl. I had no need for it; I don’t have interbutts in my phone plan or even texting. But it was cool at the time, damnit, and I wanted the thing back.

So, instead of getting one of those brand-spangled-new phones, I bought a used Blackberry Pearl, which I’ve been using ever since. For some reason, buying the Pearl necessitated a change in my phone number, so I just changed that, too. And consequently, I’ve found out more than I ever want to know about the person who’s had my phone number in the past. The person who owned my phone previously was named Brett. I know that he’s a young construction worker who doesn’t like showing up to work on time, does drugs, and owes a lot of money to his credit cards. All of this just from the phone calls that I’ve received from people asking to talk to him.

At first, it was just a few weird voice messages. The first few times, it was a man named Tim that wanted to congratulate Brett on getting the job and that he expected him to be at the work site 5 am sharp. The next few messages were asking if Brett could please come in about half an hour earlier because the project was moving more slowly than it needed to be. I got quite a few of those. I can imagine poor Brett coming in the next few times “on time” and then getting yelled at by his boss because he was technically “late”. In fact, the reason I stopped getting the voice mails from the construction company may be because he lost his job there. Oops.

Next, a few months later, I started getting calls from some shady fellows. Most of the conversations started with “Yo, dog”. Those of you who know me know that I do not appreciate being yo, dog. The first few calls were diffused with a simple, “I’m not Brett, thanks” and a subtle click as I hung up on them. But, then, things started to get a bit violent. Brett owed someone a lot of money and was going to get an ass pounding if he didn’t pay up. Most of the people calling were under the impression that I was his “bitch and whore”, which I imagine must have caused a lot of confusion to his real bitch and whore (who did call me later, as well) and proceeded to threaten me as well. I was amused, as my phone number is still a Philadelphia number, but I don’t live anywhere near that anymore. I suppose when Brett lost his construction job, he turned, in his despair, to a life of drugs and hookers. I was considering getting a different number when the calls stopped, and so I kept it. I’m lazy, and don’t feel like paying money to change a telephone number.

A few months later, I again started to receive calls for Brett. This time, it was a rather depressed fellow named David. David, it seems, needed something that Brett was selling and needed him to get him a fix right away, even for double the amount of money. A few times, it was just some voice mails, but once David actually called when my phone was on and I was awake. I answered and recognized his voice. He told me he didn’t know that Brett had someone who lived with him. I informed him that I don’t even know what Brett looks like and David freaked out, saying he would call the police because Brett’s house was being robbed. Kind of strange to care that much about your drug dealer. I’m sure Brett had a fun time when the police showed up at his house, especially if they’re like typical Philadelphia PD and assumed that he was robbing himself. Again, for a while, I didn’t hear anything about Brett, and it made me start to wonder about the poor guy. He was starting to become just like family; any knowledge I had of him involved hasty and mostly uncomfortable telephone conversations. I wonder if he just give people his old telephone number on purpose, because he forgets he doesn’t have it anymore, or it’s just one number off from mine and the fucker doesn’t bother to correct people.

Well, today, I got a call from a collection agency that scared the crap out of me. As far as I know, I don’t owe anyone nearly that much money and I pay my shit on time. I’m proud of it, in fact. My fear immediately went away when they asked me to confirm that was I was indeed and truly a guy named Brett.

That. Stupid. Fuck. Again.

I had to spend an hour convincing them that I am not Brett and that I don’t owe them any money, and no, I don’t know Brett.

So, Brett, you lazy fuck, if you happen to be reading this, get your shit together. Come on. If you sell illegal stuff, chances are that you have some money to pay these guys back something. Be a man, you cheap fucker. And pay up.

Next thing you know, there will be a band called Dildos.

As I’ve probably blathered about a thousand times, I am totally in love with music and am always looking for new things to listen to. I look at music forums, read magazines, listen to the radio. Anything. As I look at the newer music, I tend to notice some of the band names, and I’m kind of wondering if they’re getting desperate. Obviously, you want to be unique and you want people to notice you and remember your name… but do you really want to be known as Starfucker? Don’t get me wrong; a name isn’t everything. I mean, who could forget Meatloaf? I come from an era where your bad was called something like Jeremy and Company, rather than Mew or The Engineers. There are older examples of this kind of thing (again, consider Meatloaf). Some of these bands sound like their band names might have something to do with music. Some of them sound awesome. Some of them sound like shit.

As an example, let’s consider this; recently, I’ve discovered a new band. Their album is called Something, and their sound is a mellow sort of “indie” rock (God, I hate using that term) with pleasant male/female vocals. The song that I cannot stop listening to over and over again is Cool As A Fire. Know what their name is? Chair Lift. Fucking Chair Lift. As in, the thing that you piss all over because holy fuck you’re on top of a mountain and you can fall off of it and die but shit you want ski. That thing. A chair lift. Or how about Starfucker? As in, someone who fucks stars. You know, the whole reproduction thing. Or, perhaps they just give the stars a bad deal. I really don’t know. Their music sounds spacey and very synth like their name suggests, so at least that works.

But there are some bands that have no fucking excuse. Look at Mew. I only listened to them, and ended up magically liking them, because their fucking name was Mew. Like cats. Do they sing about cats? Not to my knowledge. Are there cats being used as vocalists? Sometimes it might sound like it, but again, not to my knowledge. So, no mew for Mew. Or, Geographer. Do they sing about maps? Nope. Globes? Annoying classes that you have to take in order to get enough credits to pass the school year? Not really. There’s Modest Mouse. That’s a cute name and all, but they don’t really sing about mice, modesty, or modest mice. I can just imagine an adorable little rodent in a sexy satin slip, covering herself with one hand while blushing and giggling. Modest Mouse!

There’s Deerhoof, but those guys are entirely special. You’ve all heard of bands that are satirical, right? Kind of how the Beastie Boys started out, or what LMFAO was supposed to be? Deerhoof might have been like that at one point. They sing about cute animals and magical unicorns and faraway lands and shit… and they took their singing so seriously that they stopped with the satire. They seem to fully believe and support what they’re singing about. GO UNICORNS! GO RAINBOWS!

So, I’m waiting for the really awesome ones to start coming out. I want to listen to music from Pink Sparkling Dildos. I hope their a punk rock band. I really do. Starfucker already exists, and (in my opinion) their music is decent, so I’m happy. Or how about Cheap Vibrator? They sound like a nice synth band. There’s just so many possibilities that the mind reels.

Gentle readers, can any of you think of any interesting ones? I look forward to the comments on this one.

Rosiel Reviews Food Legibly: 85 Main

85 Main is a restaurant located on 85 Main street, in Putnam, Connecticut. It’s located in between Victoria’s Station Cafe and Bella’s Bistro. At first glance, from outside, it might look like just like another one of those places. It, honestly, it might remain just so in your head until you decide to walk in and everything inside will totally change your mind. It’s especially nice during the warm weather. The front part of the restaurant actually opens up, and there is outdoor seating, overlooking Putnam’s Antique District. A nice view with a nice meal. But, that doesn’t mean that they skimped out on the inside. The inside is just as nice as the outside, if not better.

(I apologize for the slightly blurry pictures in the bar area, but honestly, they looked cool, anyway)

The inside of 85 Main is a very cool and classy-looking place. The atmosphere is nice, calm, and relaxing. Even when there’s a lot of people, most of the time, it was still quiet and we weren’t interrupted by the noise level. the staff is friendly and are readily able to answer any and all questions regarding their food, and even where they get their ingredients. While we were eating, our server made sure that we were comfortable and had everything we needed without being overly annoying and asking way too many times. A lot of places have where they either ask you way too much or they don’t ask at all. The tables were all very clean and the seats comfortable. The interior uses relaxing neutral colours without looking like your Gramma’s kitchen, which is a definite plus.

The first thing you might notice, even before coming inside, however, is the menu and the price of the things on the menu. If you’re used to eating cheap, this place isn’t super cheap. It might be about a dollar or two per item more than what you’re used to paying at a typical chain restaurant, but it’s about average for something that isn’t Friendly’s or Ninety-Nines. If you take a pander through the menu, you’ll immediately see why the prices are the way that they are. 85 Main’s menu offers a comprehensive ‘bar’ menu, which consists of foods that one would definitely think are way above any kind of food someone would call ‘bar food’. They feature an awesome selection of sushi, which dwarfs anything that I’ve seen in the area. It was the seafood selection that made me curious enough to try dining in this place that I’d walked by a million times and never went inside. I was with my fiance and she’s a seafood lover, so we stopped by, hoping that by the time we left, we would be full and our pockets would still be at least sort of full.

I’m not big on outdoor dining because, honestly, when it comes to bugs, I’m a pansy. All you need is for some poor little thing to land on me, and next thing you know, my food is up in the air and there’s a plate that’s sitting on some poor old lady’s head and there’s sauce dripping down her face, and I really just don’t want to deal with that kind of problem. So, Rosiel will eat inside, thank you. The dining area looked lovely, but the bar area caught my attention. There is the actual bar itself, but there is also regular seating around the bar, so you can get the atmosphere without actually having to be at a bar, and I like that. I loved the bar. It was dark with a lot of lighted things, like the bar itself, featuring two awesome-looking mermaids, but my favorite was the ceiling. Unfortunately, it didn’t come out well in my pictures, but the ceiling is one of those drop ceilings, but the supports and the panels were painted entirely black. Holes of different sizes were put into the panels and made the whole thing look like a starry night. I want to do that to my room!

Again, I apologize for the blurry pictures, but I’m not too used to my camera. As you can see, the atmosphere of the bar is very warm and just inviting. I could have sat there for a long time, comfortably, and guess what? I did. another thing that I liked about the place, and this is definitely a deciding factor for some people, was that their bathroom is beyond clean. It’s sparkles and shines. The sink is new… and, well, if it’s not, it’s been very well taken care of. It’s one of those cool sinks where the water doesn’t just come out of the faucet the normal way. The water comes out around the what appears to just be a handle, and there’s a spout that pours it into the sink. I just thought that was cool. The toilet is new, too, and in great condition. It’s definitely not one of those places that would make you consider holding your business. So, for those of you who are squeamish about that sort of thing, you’re perfectly safe here.

The table that the two of us sat at was a small square table that had a booth seat on two of the sides (the seat curved with the wall) and a single chair. The booth seat actually had pillows and according to my fiance, the pillows were coma-inducing. I’m a cheap bastard and wanted just some ice water for my drink. It was served to me, and it definitely didn’t taste like Putnam city water. There was no metallic after-taste to it, and they even added in a nice, fresh lemon. My fiance ordered a soda, though we were a bit surprised when the soda came. It looked perfectly normal, but it tasted slightly like someone combined a coke and a rootbeer. We asked how this came to be, and it turns out that 85 Main gets all of their sodas from a local company called Hosmer. Hosmer makes their sodas using only natural ingredients and they make them the old fashioned way. So, my fiance got to taste a soda from the olden days.

Both of us started with different things for food. I ordered a Potato, Leek, and Asparagus soup, and my fiance ordered Fresh Prince Edward Island Mussels, in a white wine and garlic sauce, with bits of tomato and a piece of garlic bread. I expected the soup to be just some potato soup with maybe some stuff floating around, and I knew what to expect from the mussels, or so I thought; my fiance orders them all of the time if they’re offered, unless we know that they’re not served well at a particular place. Well, wasn’t I wrong? You can imagine the look on my face when we were served our food.

My soup, which was just awesome. The texture was very smooth and it had a lot of flavour. It was creamy, and I could definitely tell that they used a cream base, instead of just pureed potatoes and some water. I could taste the leeks and there were nice, big chunks of asparagus floating around, or more like sinking, since the soup was so deliciously thick. Needless to say, that bowl was drained in about 5 minutes. It didn’t last long at all.

The mussels were also a big hit. The bread that they came with was just awesome. I know you’re probably tired of me using the word ‘awesome’, but there really isn’t another way to explain it. I’ll let it be known that I don’t normally eat mussels. In fact, I generally hate them. I was willing to try one of them, just to give the food a try… and then I had another. And another, and another. The mussels soaked in the flavour of the sauce that they were in and were just about the most moist and succulent mussels that I’ve ever had. I was actually willing to eat them, and that’s never really happened before. Another thing I did want to note that made the both of us very pleased is that in the entire plate, there was not a single mussel that hadn’t opened. All of them tasted very good. There was not a single bad one, and the other times, my fiance would find at least one that had gone bad and she’d have to spit out. The mussels also lasted about a few seconds a piece.

I might also add that the food is very filling. I was sure that we’d leave 85 Main hungry, but we didn’t. We weren’t quite stuffed, but definitely full, and it wasn’t the Chinese food kind of full, where you’re hungry in an hour. After we left 85 Main, my fiance and I had to go shopping for other things before we even considered going home. But, hang on, I haven’t gotten there, yet. We stuffed our faces some more, since neither of us had belts, and eh, the jeans were a little too loose anyway. Being very impressed with how fresh the seafood was, the both of us decided to order some sushi. My fiance ordered Salmon Avocado Maki, which is pretty self-explanatory, and I ordered the Alaskan Rolls, because I’m a fancy bitch. Alaskan Rolls are St. James Smoked Salmon and asparagus on the inside with raw salmon on the outside. When the Maki came out and was served, I wasn’t quite in so much shock, as I already partly expected the awesome. And was not disappointed.

Alaskan Rolls

Salmon and Avocado Maki

The maki wasn’t bland at all. The rice was moist and actually seemed to be the way it was supposed to be. We were also served soy sauce (you have the option of requesting low-sodium soy sauce, too, if that’s your thing). The setup for the soy sauce was probably going for the traditional Japanese setup, though that’s not something that I’d be knowledge about. Each person is also given individual serving dishes for the soy sauce. We were given disposable chop sticks, which is to be expected, but they’re actually very good quality. They’re in sealed packages, so you know that they’re clean, and they’re sturdy. They won’t snap in half if you so much as sneeze on them, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not in the mood for a splinter in my nose, mouth, or eye. If you’re into that kind of thing, you really might want to keep that to yourself and make sure you have 911 on speed-dial.

It doesn’t look like we ate much food, but honestly, if there were anymore of that Maki, my fiance and I would have to have taken some of it home. There was no way that we were going to cram anymore food into our bodies. I did get to speak to a man named James Martin, who as it turns out is the owner of the place (I wanted to get permission to take pictures). Mr. Martin was very nice and helpful, and he wasn’t nice in that “oh, you’re a customer” way. He was just nice. I told him that I wanted to write a blog post about his restaurant, and he was more than happy to help me with any information, including where they get their ingredients from. It should also be noted that Mr. Martin is a chef, as well. Several of their sources, I’ve used in my own cooking and I know that they’re the good stuff.

They get their fresh veggies from Morse Farms, which is located on that little line between Mass and Connecticut. We’ve been there several times to buy our own produce and I can attest that they are indeed the real deal. The food is always fresh and organic. They get their shellfish from American Mussel Harvester, which is one of the biggest, if not the biggest shellfish providers to restaurants in the entire country. Considering that they actually got me to eat mussels, I’d say that they’re pretty damn good. They get their beef from Devon Point Farm, which sports local grass-fed beef. I didn’t get to try that, but suddenly those hamburgers look more tempting. Their chicken meat comes from GourmAvian Farms, which specializes in breeding heritage chickens – they’re known for their Rhode Island Reds, French Reds, and American White-Feathered. I love chickens, so that’s a definite plus for me. Plus, I support the breeding of the heritage breeds! World needs more people like that.

85 Main gets their dairy products from The Farmers Cow, which is also something else that I use in my own cooking. The Farmer’s Cow is a collection of Connecticut farms with the mission to provide the best available locally grown products, and they do a great job. My fiance and I both love to drink milk and we’ve tried a lot of different companies; Hood, Garelick, Cumberland Farms, etc and nothing tastes as good as The Farmer’s Cow products. Mr. Martin also did tell me about where 85 Main gets the fresh ingredients for the other seafood, and I’m kind of mad at myself for not being able to remember the name. I do remember what he told me about it though, and that is that it was difficult to get this company to sell to 85 Main, because it’s a company that commonly only sells to Japanese restaurants.

Either way, I’m impressed!

Normally, I would have listed things I don’t like instead of everything I love, but I honestly can’t really find anything that I disliked. It’s amazing that a restaurant can offer fresh, local food at a decent price. I would definitely recommend 85 Main to anyone who likes to just… eat. The food is awesome, well made, and fresh. The staff is friendly – no one is snotty and no one acted like you might not belong if you’re not dressed well. The atmosphere is peaceful. All around goodness.

Rating: 5 stars

85 Main
85 Main Street
Putnam, CT 06260
Phone: (860)928-1660
e-mail: james@85main.com
Website: http://www.85main.com

Additional Websites

Hosmer Mountain Sodahttp://www.hosmersoda.com/
American Mussel Harvester (AMH)http://www.americanmussel.com/
Morse Farmshttp://www.farmfresh.org/food/farm.php?farm=2614
Devon Point Farmhttp://www.devonpointfarm.com/
GourmAvian Farmshttp://gormavian.com/
The Farmer’s Cowhttp://www.thefarmerscow.com/

Additional Information

85 Main hosts an annual oyster shuck-off. This year (2012), it’s on Sunday, may 6th, 12-6pm. There’s live music, drinks and seafood, and a competition, of course. It’s located at Rotary Park, in Putnam, CT. You can view their website for more details, and I’m sure that if you’ve still got questions, Mr. Martin will be happy to answer them via e-mail, or you can even stop by the restaurant, and sample some of what’s to come!

Interacting with people is a pain in the ass

I have a dislike of having to interact with people in any way, shape, or form. It’s not that I hate everyone. I generally have the same sort of vague distaste with everyone that I meet for the first time. I’m sort of like that one token old guy in all of the movies with a gruff I-am-old-so-I-know-everything attitude that doesn’t like you, doesn’t like your friends, but has to help you because the world will blow the fuck up, otherwise.

Yer a Wizard, Harry

Well, you know what, Harry? Fuck you. Fuck you and your stupid fucking almost coke-bottle glasses. Get some new ones, you blind squinty-eyed fuck. If you’re a fucking wizard, find someone who’s wearing a pair of Oakley’s and set their ass on fire, then steal their fucking glasses. I mean, I kind of understand how you have those pieces of shit in the beginning of the story, but you’d think that toward the end, you’d fucking get something better. Christ, your parents left you an entire vault full of fucking money. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind their kid buying a pair of nice glasses with it instead of going around with a taped pair of plastic contraceptives.

See, that was me interacting. And it wasn’t very nice, was it? Also take into consideration that I liked the Harry Potter books… except for the ending. There are things I hate, like To Kill A Mocking Bird. I fucking hate that book. I hate it so much that when I was assigned to read it, I “accidentally lost” it, when in reality I had taken it out back and set it on fire while I watched, laughing. It was worth paying the $22 dollars that the school charged me for it, nevermind that I could have gone to Boarders and bought another one for like 7 bucks. Fucking. Worth. It.

Those are inanimate objects. People are much worse. Inanimate objects are just that. Inanimate. They don’t care if you give them flowers. They don’t care if you scream ‘fuck’ for 2 hours. They are just there, doing their own thing. A person, however, can have a multitude of reactions to being given flowers. They can sneeze because, you dumb fuck, they’re allergic to them and you should have looked that shit up if you love them enough to give them fucking flowers. They could absolutely adore them and give a squeal which breaks the sound barrier, kills a few nearby bats, and ruptures your eardrums. They could take them and throw them back in your face. People, however, do seem to have similar reaction to having ‘fuck’ screamed at them. Most of them don’t like it. Those that do, though, those are the ones you need to watch out for. In fact, give me their numbers. I want to talk to them.

Talking to people is the hardest thing for me. When I grew up, I was a loner and didn’t really have many friends. I was weird, and apparently, people couldn’t handle my kind of weird, so they just left me alone when they weren’t busy making fun of me. Because I didn’t have any human interaction, I missed a lot of things that I should have learned, and am paying for it, now. When people communicate, they use their tone of voice, their words, their expressions, their physical gestures, and a whole slew of things to get their message across. I don’t pick up on half of that, and even if I notice it, I don’t always know what it means. Oddly enough, it’s friendly gestures that confuse me the most. I easily identify “red flags”, mostly because I used to be an EMT and I worked with a lot of people from psychiatric institutes. I actually had an easier time understanding them than I do most of my friends, and it’s not for a lack of effort on the part of my friends. It’s because I’m messed up.

I find it’s easier to communicate using things besides talking. My favorite way is by music. I send a song or piece of music that communicates feelings for me. While this sounds all beautiful and magical, and before anyone gets any ideas of me prancing around with a stereo, blasting Enya, let me remind you what society thinks of ‘tards like myself. Remember the guy who’s trying to impress his date? He takes her out to a lovely and probably expensive dinner, and then pays for it. He’s an absolute gentleman to her. Drives her to his home to get his groove on. Gets her in the bedroom, starts stripping… and then what does he do? He goes to his Goddamn stereo and turns on some Marvin Gaye. I am not one of those people. I do not want a boning soundtrack. That will make any time I listen to the music afterward awkward and possibly deadly if my cock gets stuck in the steering wheel of my car and I’m unable to turn it because the music is making me think about sex. (Yes, believe it not, I think about other things)

So, as this states, interacting with people is a pain in the ass. Sometimes, it’s more trouble than it’s worth. It takes a fuckton of effort to keep people pleased and happy with you, but you fuck up just once and suddenly no one wants to talk to you, often times they won’t even tell you what it was that you did wrong. Many times it’s because you share a belief that they don’t, or you like something that they don’t, and really, that’s unfair. Most of the time, I’m aware of a lot of things that people like and dislike, such as what my friends like and dislike, and even if I don’t like some of those things, I tend not to care enough to discontinue speaking to them because of it. I often ask myself if this one thing I dislike changes the person so much. After all, they had this thing before I met them, and I liked them before knowing it. That usually is enough for me to ignore that dislike and continue talking with the person. Unless it’s something like they teach a home-ec class that centers around frying and broiling babies. Mmmm, South-friend toddler. Even in that event, it’s not my baby that they’re frying, is it?

Nah, I might have a problem with baby-eating. Maybe.

But people often don’t have that courtesy. We’re so aggressive and war-like that it just takes one little thing for someone to earn a curb-stomping. I mean, look at racism. It’s fucking stupid, but it’s so much on a basic level that everyone does it. People love shoving things into categories. You might think that you’re absolutely not racist, but the second that you identify someone by their race, regardless of what it is… guess what? That’s technically racism. There’s a whole bunch of things… people care about your sex, your age, your sexuality, what you do for a job, what your religion is… a lot of these things are personal and not often even a great way to judge someone. For example, I’m Christian. I’m even a minister. I became one in order to help my patients when I was an EMT – if they knew they weren’t going to make it to the hospital, or were dying right in the ER… I could give them their last rites, if they so desired. The fact that I am a Christian minister is not the first thing I tell people. I don’t preach the bible. I don’t ask people why they’re not in church on Sunday or Wednesday or any other day, depending on their denomination. In fact, I don’t care. If you’re Christian, that’s cool. If you’re not, that’s also cool. As long as you’re not a douche bag to me or any of my friends, I couldn’t give a flying fuck if you worship the flying spaghetti monster. Or, for that matter, I don’t give a flying spaghetti monster, either.

There’s so much shit to deal with when it involves people that I’d really rather just sit there and listen to my ipod. My ipod doesn’t care about anything except having a full battery, and somehow, that gives me comfort, seeing as I can always keep it that way.