Gray’s

Gray’s is different. Usually hot dog establishments have titles like Frank’s Frankfurters or Bubb’s Burgers or Sal’s Sausages or some other alliterative combination of name and meat. But Gray’s is different. You’re not standing in front of Gray’s Dogs or Gray’s Burgers or Gray’s processed-meat joint. You’re at Gray’s Papaya.

From the ceiling of Gray’s hang festive fruits cut from tissue paper. Beneath the fruits are red-uniformed workers with lapels promising “snappy service!”, and behind the workers are huge metal vats churning away. Between the Coconut Champagne and Pina Colada rests the main vat, constantly brewing what Gray’s assures is “made from the magical melon of the tropics.” You sip, now illuminated to the truth that there is nothing better than a fruity drink to couple with your processed-meat sausage. You enjoy your papaya drink while the plebeians wash down their dogs with a soda.

“How can you tell a real New Yorker? By his loyalty to Gray’s Papaya”, reads the countertop sign. Loyalty indeed, and for good reason. While tourists may be satisfied spending two dollars on a hot dog boiled in dirty water, New Yorkers have standards. Shake, jiggle, or stir their martinis any which way, but know that the only hot dog they eat will be grilled, not boiled. Rows of frozen dogs decorate the large, electric stove covered in aluminum foil, patiently toasting both dog and bun crisp perfection. The first bite you take surprises you with a snapping sensation miles away from the moist, soggy texture of the dirty water cart dog. By your second bite you notice that the bun harboring the snappy meat is toasted and crispy as well. You smile, because you now know that no other grease food joint attends to such minute details. But of course Gray’s does, because Gray’s is different.

Sure, all hot dogs served in New York City may come from the same Marathon Enterprises in East Rutherford, NJ. And of course, wannabes like Papaya Dog or Papaya King may be popping up all over manhattan trying to reproduce the irreproducible Gray’s dog and juice experience. But you don’t frequent such places, because you are different, and now you know quite well that Gray’s is too.

round midnight

you want to hear this

watts

~ We could say that meditation doesn't have a reason or doesn't have a purpose. In this respect it's unlike almost all other things we do except perhaps making music and dancing. When we make music we don't do it in order to reach a certain point, such as the end of the composition. If that were the purpose of music then obviously the fastest players would be the best. Also, when we are dancing we are not aiming to arrive at a particular place on the floor as in a journey. When we dance, the journey itself is the point, as when we play music the playing itself is the point. And exactly the same thing is true in meditation. Meditation is the discovery that the point of life is always arrived at in the immediate moment. ~

mr. balloon hands