These walls can’t talk
Buffalonians who do graffiti may have gained something in that giant, officially sanctioned graffiti space on the wall of Holly Farms in Allentown. However, they have lost their most time-honored Buffalo canvas: the walls of the ladies room at Nietzsche’s. The restrooms, says the word on the street, have been painted black! Not only that, but a visitor has challenged the move by scrawling on the black wall with a multi-colored pen. The graffito (it’s one graffito, two graffiti) reads: “Painting bathroom walls black is like burning books.”
Paul Ruben, the North American editor for a the colorful British magazine Park World, paid a visit last week to Martin’s Fantasy Island. Buzz met him at a picnic shelter. Our chat was interrupted whenever the quaint little train passed, and the tots in the shelter would yell, “Toot toot!” and “Whoo-hooooo!” In between, we enjoyed Ruben’s stories. We learned he had ridden over 800 coasters, the latest being Fantasy Island’s kiddie coaster, just that day. “It’s very smooth and comfortable,” he said. Originally from Niagara Falls, N.Y., Ruben has ridden the Comet every single summer since the year it opened at Crystal Beach. “I’m not obsessive,” he joked. Once, in the ’70s or ’80s, he was flying down the first hill, when he looked down at the beach – and a bather was mooning the Comet! Ha, ha! Had to be a Buffalonian. “I had a camera. I took a picture,” Ruben laughed. “I still have it.”
Buzz avoids wine rebates, and now we know why. Carelessly, we bought a case of Astica, a wine from Argentina – and learned later that it involved a $24 rebate. And so our journey began. We wrote our name and address on a form with lines ∂ inch apart. We addressed an envelope, following tiny, packed instructions, to: “Dept. #TORASTZ413, P.O. Box 426015, Del Rio, TX 78842-6015.” After a search, we found our receipt and – oh, no! They demanded the UPC code off the case! Buzz phoned Howard, the guy we married. The case was in the trunk of his car. It made its way home, and with scissors, we hacked the UPC code out of it. At press time it was in an envelope, in our purse, stamped but unmailed, our rebate still in question. Got to respect Astica. They know how to drive you to drink.
Thanks to the chicken wing, ideas take flight. Here was a part of the chicken that had gone begging. Now, it is a delicacy! The natural question: What about the other underused chicken parts could be turned into a treat? Price Rite on Elmwood must be trying to get a toehold on that question, because Buzz beheld a tray labeled: “Chicken Paws.” They look like those long, gnarled fingers that chickens have on their feet. Gross, you say? Be serious. If one of these were deep fried, covered in hot sauce, napped with blue cheese, and offered to you, you wouldn’t chicken out. Admit it.
Instead of chicken wing – or chicken paw – eating contests, we should have contests to see who can do wine rebates most efficiently. Contestants would sit there squinting at forms, soaking off labels, stabbing at cardboard boxes. It’s a spectator sport. … Radio ads crack us up because so often, they’re such a stretch. This week’s doozy: “What are your plans for the last days of summer? Picnics? Reunions? It sounds like fun! But if you’re having problems with your teeth…”
“Western Town is a non-sulking area. If you want to sulk, please visit one of our many sulking areas throughout the park.”
– Announcement at Martin’s Fantasy Island