• by Kelly Samardak , June 25, 2008

Brianna Taylor and Blake Lewis, Canal Room, New York
June 24, 2008

Last night was one of those beautiful city nights, when Manhattan can do no wrong. The thick but gentle wind tickled my hoop earrings as I walked along Canal Street toward Canal Room, where I was about to watch Brianna Taylor from "The Real World," who said "but I don't like hard work of any kind," followed by Blake Lewis from ""American Idol," famous for creative use of mouth noises and being rumored as one of Lindsay Lohan's chew toys. You're right; I have GOT to find a way to spin this for this column. It'll come to me...

Do you watch "The Real World"? The seven strangers, picked to live in a house, forced to drink a lot, given jobs people would kill for and then taking advantage of it, and all competing in the "who can get the gnarliest STD" contest. Do you watch it? Or are you like my dad, who says things like "why do I need to watch 'The Real World' when I live it?" Every year I say "This is the season where I stop watching!" I know I'm out of the target demographic -- and every year... they suck me back in.

It's kind of the same with "American Idol," minus the alcohol, plus the occasional mug shots, sometimes minus the talent. I never make it through the whole season because my ADHD kicks in and I end up playing in traffic or chasing after squirrels in Central Park. Either way, unless you live in a bubble, you know what it is and you know that people vote using their mobile phones and then eventually get sucked into the advertising and marketing machine that IS "American Idol." Ringtones, ringbacks, and community tie-ins (they have a very active blogging audience) are only the beginning. Soon enough you'll be able to take the dispersible hologram of David Cook to dinner with you while he serenades you over pork chops and applesauce. If you see that happen, I thought of it.

Harnessing my love of train-wreck television I had to go to Canal Room last night to see Brianna, a former stripper with a decent set of pipes and Blake Lewis, a petite fellow with sproinky hair, a sampler, and a guitar. It was fine. Brianna impressed me with her confidence. Sounds like she got some vocal corralling and looks like she got some style advice (ditch the under-cheek revealing booty shorts, embrace the tough rocker songstress in loose jeans and a ripped Jägermeister T-shirt), and Blake was nothing earth-shaking (I can hear my boyfriend beat box in the shower any day), but absolutely adorable and entertaining to the all-age (like, I saw 8-year-olds) crowd.

And that's really all I have to say about that. Canal Room is a good venue for short people who like live music with the raised stage and all, but I'll never understand the low like Flo Rida couches on the ground -- sitting in those gives you a great shot of everyone's belowdecks. Oh, I get it now.

Hungry for something red and dead, my pal Gail and I headed to Nancy Whiskey for a burger and a beer, on the recommendation of the owner of Canal Room. He was right; the burger was a perfect mouthful of hot greasy spurts and crispy meat critters.

The burger came with a price though: a horribly rude bartender with even ruder hair who told us we couldn't sit at the table dangling precariously out the window because it was "the smoking section." They had what, two customers? And those two weirdos went outside to smoke anyway. Our actual waitress was great and showed signs of frequent abuse by the hag behind the counter. Remember this, at Nancy Whiskey, the bartender will not even look at customers who order a full meal (mmm, onion rings!) and drinks. If you're going, make sure you either get that burger for the road, or just walk on by.

Throwing a party with burgers and B-list talent and want it covered in Just An Online Minute? Send invitations to kelly@mediapost.com

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