One thing I thought I'd never do

I thought I'd never do this: Eat those White Castle burgers from the freezer section of the supermarket.

But living in New York will change a guy. Listen, I love White Castle. When I lived in New Jersey, there was a White Castle two miles down the road. At 2:00 in the morning, when you're hungry as all get-up after a night of playing Halo, White Castle is the greatest thing in the world. When I was in college, I routinely got a sack of ten cheeseburgers (plus fries, plus Coke) and ate it in one sitting. Usually I washed it all down with Tabasco. But I never, ever thought I'd stoop so low as to buy a box of frozen sliders.

So what drove me to it? Well, it all started with a Saturday night party at the Bowery Hotel. And then a few drinks were involved, including, uh, tequila shots that someone else bought for us. And then there's the need to soak up that alcohol with something really greasy and salty. So wifey suggests we go to the deli and get Hot Pockets. But then I see something that looks about a hundred times better than Hot Pockets:[Okay, I know that we should have just gone to White Castle and gotten fresh-made sliders, but the closest WC was 36 blocks away. Plus, on the entire island of Manhattan, there are only three WC franchises, according to the website.]

So I bought a box, took it home, and nuked them. And then we ate. They were -- much like deep-fried Twinkies -- absolutely delicious and disgusting at the same time.
Some notes about the burgers:

• They came out of the box in plastic-wrapped packages of two. I don't know why they didn't just package all six of them in one plastic wrapper. Who eats only two White Castle burgers at a time?
• They had only the meat patty, cheese and onions between the buns. No ketchup like the fresh-made ones do. I added my own.
• They tasted exactly like they're supposed to.
• They reminded me of this.

Waiting to hear a voice

You know how Kanye West once said that he'd have cut off a piece of his finger to have a voice like Wu-Tang's Ol' Dirty Bastard? Well, that's almost exactly how I feel about Mike Doughty's voice.

I'm 90% sure that you have no idea who Mike Doughty is, but that's okay. In 1996, I heard a song by a band named Soul Coughing, and the lead singer had the most arresting alternative rock voice I'd ever heard. I mean, it's the kind of voice you never forget, and never mistake for anyone else's. So, 11 years later, when my friend BM played some dude's solo record in his car stereo as we drove toward Union, NJ, on a Wednesday evening, I recognized the voice. And it turned out that the dude's name is Mike Doughty, and he used to be the lead singer of Soul Coughing. And it turned out that last night, BM and I went to see a Mike Doughty show at the Highline Ballroom.

I met BM outside the Highline at 7:45, which was 45 minutes after wait-list tickets were supposed to go on sale. He was still waiting, but at least he was first in line. There were about ten other poor souls behind him who liked Mike Doughty enough to wait for wait-list tickets but not enough to have bought tickets in advance.

BM really wanted to see the show. I am not nearly as a big a fan as BM -- I don't have any Mike Doughty albums, and I've only heard four Soul Coughing songs ever -- so I wouldn't have been terribly disappointed if we hadn't gotten in. But at 8:30, we finally did get in, plunked down $25 each for tickets, and shuffled into the Ballroom, a small-ish performance space with the requisite black walls and a stage low enough that you could step onto it from the floor without much trouble, but not, of course, if you were five feet tall.

A bunch of guys in fake beards and funny hats were already on stage playing some vaguely interesting music. The music seemed improvised, but it was like the band was making it look more improvised than it really was. Two of them sang into various microphones, but as far as I could tell, they weren't singing a lick of English, or any other intelligible language. If Tenacious D were from Lithuania, and had a bassist and a drummer, they'd have sounded just like this. Then they stopped playing, and BM went to get some beers, and while waiting for the real opening act to take the stage, I commenced my favorite pastime at rock shows: I people-watched.

But then I got distracted because the heavyset guy standing in front of me had really bad body odor.

You know what's annoying? When you're standing in the crowd at a rock show, waiting for the opening band to show up, and you're so busy talking to your friend that you don't notice the six-foot-three dude with jug ears moving into position directly in front of you. And then when the band comes on, there's a living totem pole blocking your view.

After stepping to the left, however, I thoroughly enjoyed the opening band, the Panderers, who apparently are "from the great state of Indiana!" Never mind that it's a three-piece act, and two of the guys in the band aren't from Indiana. They played gritty southern rock and were catchy as all get-up. On one of the songs, singer Scott Wynn pronounced the word "iron" (as in iron bars) like "eye ron" which I thought was one of the greatest things I'd ever heard. And the drummer looked like Dave Grohl! They were hilarious and knew how to rock out, and I would have bought their album on iTunes if they'd made Scott Wynn's voice on the recording sound exactly the way it did at last night's show. Unfortunately, it sounds like a completely different guy.

At one point, Wynn asked if there was anyone in the audience named Sheila, and since there didn't appear to be any, some dude in the back started yelling and jumping and claiming he was named Sheila. Then the band played a song called "Sheila" and Wynn sang it to him anyway. I guess new artists will do whatever they can to sell records.

After the Panderers had left the stage, BM and I started talking to the excitable 23-year-old kid with a goatee standing in front of us. I never got his name, but we'll call him Jake. Jake was a huge Doughty fan; he said he considered Mike Doughty the third-best live performer he'd ever seen (the best was System of a Down, and the second was Tool). Then he told us that he'd be happy if Doughty played a Soul Coughing song called "True Dreams of Wichita." Jake could tell that I wasn't a true fan of Doughty's, so he spent most of his time addressing BM. Later, when Jake wandered off to the front, BM turned to me and said, "Have you ever met someone who just refused to stop talking?"

Another 25-minute wait, and Mike Doughty himself took the stage. Shockingly, his drummer was the same Dave Grohl-looking character. And his bassist was also the Panderers' bassist. As it turns out, two-thirds of the Panderers are also half of the Mike Doughty Band. How convenient.

Doughty was warm and funny and good, and that voice is largely undiminished in its character. He opened the set with "Busting Up A Starbucks," as good an opener as any, but throughout the night, he took requests from the audience, which, I'd learned, is common practice at a Mike Doughty show. Of course, Jake yelled out "Wichita!" multiple times, until Doughty said into the mic: "Wichita? No, not tonight." That shut up Jake for the rest of the night, but he continued to dance like a flailing maniac through songs like "I Just Want the Girl in the Blue Dress" and "Put It Down." It's a blessing and a curse to be a true fan.

Doughty closed the night with "Looking at the World from the Bottom of a Well," the only song I really knew (apart from "I Hear the Bells," which the band did as well, but poorly -- a buzzy, badly tuned mess).

One more thing... you know those guys with the fake beards earlier in the night? They were the Mike Doughty band in disguise. Who else could they have been?

If you've never heard the voice, this is hardly the best way to listen to it, but watch this anyway:

A hamburger today

You may or may not care to know that I ate three cheeseburgers in the span of two days last weekend. I couldn't help myself, really. The bad part was that two of the three were eaten at popular fast food joints not known for their gourmet standards. The good part was that they were delicious.

As much as I like a good hamburger, I'm somewhat befuddled by the New York restaurant trend of serving a pricey burger. I'm not even talking about Chef Daniel Boulud's $29 DB Burger (stuffed with short ribs and foie gras). Today came news of an $81 kobe beef burger at the Old Homestead steakhouse. I bet they don't call it the Recession Special. Gothamist reports that it does come with homemade ketchup and, uh, tater-tots. Because nothing says "I'm eating the most expensive burger in New York" like a side of tater-tots.

As a point of reference, the most expensive burger I ate last weekend was the always excellent Nolita House cheeseburger, served on brioche with boursin herb cheese and fries. The damage? $12, plus tax.