December 13, 2007
Burger At Its Best • post/haste
FIRST IMPRESSION: 
Mister Hamburger, recently of out retirement for a limited time only (he'll quit again after reviewing local take out joints which he uses to order in the future), just called Burger at its Best. The man who answered and took Mister Hamburger's order was weird, but in a funny way. When Mister Hamburger told him the delivery address, the man didn't understand so Mister Hamburger had to say "PENTHOUSE, like the magzine." The man still did not understand so Mister Hamburger said "PENTHOUSE, like the porno mens magazine." And then the man knew what Mister Hamburger was talking about. The man didn't know if he could deliver Hamburgers to Casa del Mister and Missus Hamburger, and when asked to clarify, said "We'll try." And then he laughed. Mister Hamburger thought he was funny. He liked it.
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October 28, 2007
smell it and... um... right • post/haste
"Vulva original is not a perfume: it's a beguile va-gyn-al scent which is purely a substance made for your own smelling pleasure."
V U L V A (NSFW if you are American)
October 20, 2007
Atlas Banana Bernstein-Gilbertson, 12, Beagle Extraordinaire, Dies • post/haste
Atlas, the beloved beagle companion to Joanna and Ashley Gilbertson, died peacefully and with dignity on the evening of Monday, October 15th, at the office of her long-time veterinarian Dr. Spencer Silvers. She had been diagnosed with an inoperable malignant tumor just one month prior.
Atlas was born on May 3th, 1995, in Mystic Maryland. She was the only female in her litter, which consisted of three other beagle puppies. Her given name was so absurdly in contradiction with her character that it can no longer be recalled. She was re-named Atlas at 8 weeks of age when Joanna brought her home.
Atlas spent her formative years in Philadelphia. She was a regular at the dog park on 43rd and Locust Street, and on the University of Pennsylvania's campus. Professor Albert DiBartolomeo once invited her to sit in on his class, "The Art of the Personal Essay". Unfortunately, her presence proved too disruptive to the students, and the invitation was never extended again.
Atlas learned basic obedience commands at Williams Dog Training from Ron and Nora Williams. Her education continued at home. She was initially rewarded for performing well with dog treats. As Atlas progressed from puppy to adult, however, Joanna replaced the treats with ice cubes so as to ensure that Atlas would not become a big fatty like so many other beagles. Atlas' love for ice was life-long, and regardless of being told otherwise, she seemed to believe that any ice within smelling distance belonged to her.
In 1997, Atlas moved with Joanna to New York City. Soon after, Luna, another beagle, moved in with them. Luna and Atlas never quite worked out their pack's hierarchical structure. Luna moved to a lovely home in New Jersey a few years later. Atlas was relieved, as was Joanna.
In 2003, Atlas was asked to be photographed for the book 97 Ways to Make Your Dog Smile. Her portrait was later selected by Newsweek Japan for their July 30th cover (and beat out, among the other 96 dogs featured, a beagle).
The photograph has since found its way on to the North Shore Animal League's rescue site, though someone has photoshopped a party hat onto Atlas' head.
Atlas spent most of 2006 traveling through Europe with Ashley and Joanna. The language barrier was practically non-existant to her: she was able to convince strangers in Italy, Austria and France to give her food, or look cute enough after stealing it that she never got into trouble. Her greatest coups were in Paris, when she managed a bite out of a low-slung baguette, and when she drank water from the fountain outside the Louvre.
Atlas' appetite was notoriously immense. She would eat anything except for spinach stems and cherry tomatoes. She loved cheese, chicken, ice cream, and beer (which she would drain from mostly-empty cans by biting into them). Atlas was full only once, on the morning after one of Joanna's birthdays, when she took advantage of Ashley and Joanna's hangovers to eat an entire batch of double-chocolate cookies, and half a dozen cupcakes. When Joanna awoke, she found the remaining cupcakes on the ground, and Atlas as bloated as a whale at the foot of the bed. Despite her subsequent visit to Dr. Silvers, it was one of Atlas' greatest days.
Atlas will be remembered for her sweetness, stubborn streak, break- and tap-dancing moves, comedy routine, pick-pocketing, ability to tell time, leg-licking, covers-stealing, bone-hiding, and romping. She will be sorely, sorely missed.
A memorial service for Atlas will be held in the near future. In the meantime, have some ice, or a beer, or, really, anything, and follow someone you love around until they scratch you where it feels best. Then give them a kiss.
February 08, 2007
le café crème | mister hamburger • post/haste
Le Café Crème, 4 Rue Dupetit Thouers, 75003 Paris France
BURGER NAME: Hamburger "Muffin" (Pain Anglais) €10
FIRST IMPRESSION: 
Mister Hamburger loves to eat hamburgers and smoke. Inside. For the time being, Mister Hamburger is allowed to smoke in bistros and cafes in Paris, so the first impression is already high. Mister Hamburger loves France, especially Paris, and especially Paris bistro food. Le Café Crème serves the burger on a chopping board, country style, which is charming, and the presentation was perfect. Mister Hamburger felt it was a meal that looked very good, and not at all pretentious like many of the hamburgers he has eaten before. Mister Hamburger thinks a hamburger should be something that looks like it wants to be eaten, not a work of art he is scared to touch.
January 18, 2007
hard rock café roma | mister hamburger • post/haste
Hard Rock Café Roma, Via Vittorio Veneto, 62/A, 00187 Roma (RM), Italy - +39 06 4203051
BURGER NAME: HRC Hickory BBQ Bacon Cheeseburger 11.75 Euros (About US$4,327.65)
FIRST IMPRESSION: 
Mister and Missus Hamburger has a friend in town, and we went out and got smashed last night. In fact, when we got home, Missus Hamburger tried to puke, and could only sneeze. Mister Hamburger gave her for that because it was funny. We decided to get a burger after a heavy day of tourism, and in context with playing visitor, Mister Hamburger and entourage went to Hard Rock Cafe.
January 04, 2007
you — not i — will always have paris | joanna • post/haste
On December 31st, 2005, I resolved that for twelve months, Paris Hilton would not exist for me. It was not as easy to pull off as I thought it would be.
It didn't matter that I lived more than half the year abroad, often without access to the internet. I had to force myself to cover up her photo in the Herald Tribune's People column a few times. I had to cover my ears, sometimes figuratively, occasionally literally, when people gossiped about her seemingly constant string of antics. During a particularly dicey drive from Tuscany to Rome, I had to switch radio stations five times in two hours. It would have been six, but I didn't know that she was singing the first time Ash and I heard her song. It was a catchy song.
Yesterday Ash told me about her latest public modeling session in Sydney, and how fashionistas on the Vogue.com.au site are questioning her LV-sprinkled bikini's authenticity. I finally looked at the pictures today.
I don't care at all. About the swimsuit's provenance, about her trip to Sydney, about anything that she does, anywhere.
Not to sound surly — or surlier than I feel — but I no longer have any interest in the rest of them, either. Lindsay and Tara, Ashlee and Jessica. I can't help myself when it comes to Nicole Ritchie, but that might be because I think the chick has a personality.
It's a relief to be able to say her name, to write it. Paris Hilton. But it feels dirty, in the bad way. And though as of January 1st, I'm off the hook from my own decision, this is probably the last thing I think or have to say about... um... her.
December 25, 2006
st. regis hotel, roma | mister hamburger • post/haste
BURGER NAME: Classic St. Regis burger with fries (20 Euros)
FIRST IMPRESSION: Mister and Missus Hamburger are in Rome for a while, and we're both tired of Pizza and Pasta for every other meal. For Christmas dinner we decided on a burger, a St. Regis burger no less.
The hotel is amazing. Well, the lobby anyway. The Hamburger family did not dare to even ask about prices for a room. It's old school Rome, and the decor alone gave the hamburger and fries an extra hamburger. The cocktails, which preceded the burger helped to, pushing the presentation from a three to an easy four.
Continue reading "st. regis hotel, roma | mister hamburger"July 16, 2006
May 27, 2006
franks bar and restuarant, vienna | mister hamburger • post/haste
Franks Bar and Restuarant, 1. Laurenzberg 2, Vienna. +41.1.533.7805
BURGER NAME: Cheese Burger with fries (7.40 Euros)
FIRST IMPRESSION: Mister Hamburger is in Vienna, where they call the Mayor a "Burgermeister" (the future Missus Hamburger calls him Mayor McCheese), and where they first made hot dogs (Wieners), so Mister Hamburger was looking forward to sampling the local short order fare. Sadly, Mister Hamburger hasn't seen an American made, or in this case, a hamburger inspired by those in the United States, since he left New York City for a year in Europe three months prior. In fact, he has had major problems since arriving in Vienna with access to hamburgers, Bibi, or Pipi or whatever the name of the guy who decided to open an American joint called Franks in Vienna, could have served Mister Hamburger a shit sandwich and he would have gotten at least one hamburger. Mister Hamburger really hates Schnitzel and Mister Hamburger burns his mouth every time on the stupid Wieners.
Mister Hamburger thought the space was nice too, traditional soft Viennese lighting, natural light streaming in through a skylight in the middle of the room and high cavernous red brick ceilings. The interiors earned Franks an extra hamburger.
January 19, 2006
nick burns on nicks and razor burn • post/haste
Shaving With Five Blades When Maybe Two Will Do | New York Times
January 15, 2006
kool bloo | joanna, a.k.a the future missus hamburger • post/haste
Last night, in preparation for Mister Hamburger's and my upcoming nuptials, Alex, Liz and Arthur came over for Round One of The Official Wedding Cupcake Tasting. For three hours, I and my crack team of gifted palates sampled an assortment of cupcakes from five different bakeries, meticulously noting our reactions to a multitude of cupcake variables. To inject even more scientific-ness to the experiment, we emulated the wedding-environmental-factor of inebriation by pairing our test subjects with four bottles of champagne.
Just as Mister Hamburger began his weight-loss regime, I too have been trying to shrink down for our wedding.
Consequently, cupcakes and champagne were dinner. And lunch.
Perhaps having consumed enough of sugar in one sitting to spontaneously develop type-two diabetes produced today's intense craving for red meat. Or maybe it was last night's series of Mister Hamburger-like cupcake reviews and continuums. Or maybe it's just that I really miss the hell out of that man and felt like trying on his hamburger hat.
Whatever the reason(s), I caved to my craving, and just ate my first hamburger since — oh man — October. What follows is my first, and likely last, hamburger review.
Stay tuned for the results from Round One of The Official Wedding Cupcake Tasting. I'll post them when the dining room no longer smells like frosting, or the thought of cupcakes doesn't elicit waves of nausea. Whichever comes first.
Kool Bloo, 221 East 23rd Street, 212.679.5665
BURGER NAME: 8 oz Burger with Bacon and Cheddar Cheese, $9.95
FIRST IMPRESSION: 
Home delivery really does a number on a burger. It's the steam. Someone really needs to invent a box that keeps things hot but sucks up the moisture. Anyway, the last time I even saw a hamburger in person was in Paris when Mister Hamburger finally answered the call of Quick's "Cheese Fever" ad campaign. That was a weird looking burger, and so was this. Kind of disappointed that it was so flat, not plump like Mister Hamburger's hat.
December 20, 2005
burger king, crab air base (forward operating base warrior), northern iraq | mister hamburger • post/haste
BURGER NAME: Whopper with Cheese meal, $5.25
FIRST IMPRESSION: 
Kebabs, roast chicken, slop from the mess halls throughout Iraq. A burger is clearly a welcomed treat anywhere on the planet, but in the land of shitty kebabs, and even worse KBR contracted army food, a Burger King was a surprise. Four hamburgers for the sheer fact they were there.
December 14, 2005
gotvoice will travel • post/haste
Two-twenty's toes are often bloody from tap-dancing on tech's edge, but ditching our trusty landline is one switch-ball-change we're not yet willing to make. Sure VoIP is cool, and everyone we know who has Vonage loves its price and interactive online functions. Nonetheless, we were here on that day and during the black out and... sorry, getting defensive.
Anyway, for those of you who are as equally committed to dedicated wires as you are to mobility, GotVoice might be the coolest thing you've seen in a long time.
A free account lets you access your landline and mobile voicemail from anywhere via the internet. You can check your messages on their website, or have your messages e-mailed as mp3s. Or both.
Enjoy.
December 12, 2005
mcdonalds in nanning, china | mister hamburger • post/haste
McDonald's, Central Nanning, Southern China
(Mister Hamburger regrets to say the Home Delivery option isn't available, even though Mister Hamburger is in the land of home delivery.)
BURGER NAME: Double Cheeseburger, medium fries, and orange juice. $3.
FIRST IMPRESSION: 
Noodles, rice, noodles, rice, noodles, rice, noodles, rice, noodles fucking rice. Even if they had served Mister Hamburger a bit of skanky meat between buns, first impression would have been five hamburgers because Mister Hamburger had had enough of going native.
November 10, 2005
stella mccartney mania | joanna • post/haste
H&M clothing is like crack: it's cheap, provides a short, intense high, and, over time, becomes a regrettable addiction difficult to break. Stella McCartney's collection for H&M is like cocaine: it's "chic", a bit more expensive, and, apparently, everyone in New York is openly doing it.
As a recovering H&M addict, I generally limit my forays to the shop(s) for essentially disposable accessories, namely, the wide black hair elastics, and the stockings (fishnet, opaque, sheer, whatever), but the siren song of Miss Stella proved too difficult to ignore. I swear, I tried to stay away, and even attempted to solicit dissuasion from my friend Liz in the form of an e-mail: "I try to stay out... but they keep pulling me back in." Her response? "Well... this is special! And worth it!"
Fully enabled, I arrived at the H&M on 34th and Herald Square at around 11:30. I knew Lagerfeld's collection sold out in minutes, but Stella's? Surely not.
Gone. Seriously. Everything but some ridiculous bikini with a rhinestone encrusted triangle bra that to any woman with a cup-size bigger than an A looks like two pasties conveniently connected by a string (you know, so you don't lose one of them). Apparently, there were women lined up at the Herald Square shop at 8AM. Okay.
At this point, I'm jonesing. I remembered that there's another H&M on 34th and 7th. I walk in, and there are, I don't know, 100 women standing by the escalator. At first I thought they were in line to check out. No. They were waiting for the next shipment of coke merchandise.
Suddenly, the escalators switch directions, and like highly suggestible lemmings, the more optimistic junkies glide upstairs, albeit wearing utterly confused expressions. Others see the escalator flip-flop as a ruse and remain downstairs. At this juncture, I'm no longer interested in the clothing; I am utterly fascinated by how strangely everyone is behaving.
The traffic flowing upstairs allowed more people to gather in the allocated Stella section...
...inciting the ladies who went up to return downstairs.
When I left, there were about 200 women still waiting. According to a clerk behind the counter, the shipment would be arriving within minutes, and would be the last of the day.
Still curious, I returned to the Herald Square shop. It was dead. I approached one of the workers there to inquire about future shipments. According to her, the Herald Square Store will get more product in at 8AM tomorrow morning, and the 7th Avenue shop is due to replenish at 3PM and 8PM today.
I'm not going back. Can't do it. Not giving in to the Scandinavian ski demons. No no no.
But if you see the blue dress — is it a dress? I don't care, whatever it is in the window — in a size 8, can you get it for me? And those boots, too, if they even sell them, in a size 7.5. Yeah, those. I'll pay you back. I promise.
November 01, 2005
an open letter to the asshole who swiped my wallet from Lucky Cheng's this past Sunday | joanna • post/haste
Dear Fuck-wad,
It took thirty-two years for this to happen, thirty-two years largely spent in New York City, for you or some thief like you to pluck my wallet from my bag. That's right, no one has ever stolen my goddamn wallet before, nor have I lost it — never — despite having gotten flagrantly inebriated, many, many times in some of the City's most delinquent-ridden establishments.
Do I now count Lucky Cheng's as among those venues? I honestly don't know. I didn't before.
The only beef I've ever had with a Drag Queen was down in Austin, Texas. She pointed at my tits and asked if I'd always been a woman. Catty bitch. But I can deal with a little nasty venom from a DQ; it's part of the schtick, right? Well, sometimes. Anyway, I think she was just jealous that I'm from New York. Whatever.
Look, I'm not assuming that you are a Drag Queen. The chances in this scenario that you are one, however, are significantly higher than they would be otherwise.
But even if you're not a New York City Girl, you fucking stole my wallet at one of the coolest, most well-established retreats for Drag Queens and Friends-of-the-Drag-Queens in the entire City. Shit, maybe even the world.
That fucking pisses me off. I resent you not only for stealing my wallet, but for prompting me to question — should the mood arise — whether or not I'll go sing Karaoke on stage with six-foot men in foxy Barbie-doll gowns, for possibly preventing me from receiving more lip-liner tips from a mocha-skinned diva with the most exquisitely drawn pout I've still ever seen.
Have fun with your MetroCards, and please, stay the fuck away from me. I know you know where I live... but I also know at least one place where you work. And if you don't think that the New York City Girl Community is going to be pissed off that you robbed me at one of their joints, sister, you are a fucking moron.
Joanna
mister hamburger's weight loss regime | mister hamburger • post/haste
After years of research and months of dutifully writing hamburger reviews, Mister Hamburger has been forced by management to explain his long absence from two-twenty.
Mister Hamburger, dedicated as they come in the World of Hamburgers, was happy to sacrifice his usual sharp looks for an extra tire and love handles. However, Mister Hamburger became concerned that the future Missus Hamburger was not excited about his extra girth, shortness of breath, and potential likelihood of heart problems.
Mister Hamburger has started running. Look for the guy on the East river some afternoons wearing his hamburger hat and puffing and panting his way down to the Russian and Turkish Baths. Mister Hamburger gives the baths .
The running, however, only gets 
because it is so hard for Mister Hamburger to get motivated to go out as New York gets so goddamned cold. Mister Hamburger gives New York's relative lack of Autumn 
.
Mister Hamburger has some travel plans over the next fifteen months or so. Stay tuned for Mister Hash Cookies, Mister Dim Sum, Mister Kebab, and Mister Spaghetti.
Mister Hamburger has not quit though, he still has hamburgers now and then.
October 06, 2005
the 10 show • post/haste
Two-twenty highly recommends attending The 10 Show at Chelsea Market.
Also, in case you're wondering, Mister Hamburger anticipates giving the exhibition .
September 12, 2005
miracle grill | mister hamburger • post/haste
Miracle grill, 1st Ave btwn 6th and 7th, 212-254-2353
BURGER NAME: Sirloin Burger with cheese ($13.45)
FIRST IMPRESSION: Mister Hamburger went to a German place for beers earlier and ordered something called a Spartan ale. Mister Hamburger, being a real man, ordered one liter of the lolly water crap and was forced to drink it to prove his manliness. When he arrived at Miracle Grill, the miracle was Mister Hamburger did not piss himself, or vomit the sweet crap back up.
Instead, Mister Hamburger made it to the toilet, and on the way back he saw some incredible looking burgers on the grill with a nice man dropping spices onto them. Mister Hamburger had already settled on the chicken breast, though upon seeing the patties grilling, he made urgent changes to his order after racing back to the table like a loser from LA.
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