A mini revalation

Bourbon Samurai once wrote about how a drunk loves a dog, because they now have the same intellectual capacity and can now interact in an exciting new way that was previously unavailable. I have found a similar connection; one between a drunkard and someone else’s baby.

I was out to dinner at a new sushi restaurant in Queens with Hubris and a bunch of his work friends. I had gone out drinking with Hubris beforehand, and was downing sake and beers pretty quickly, so the buzz was a-forming. Now, one of the guys at the table invited his brother, and said brother came to the sushi place with his wife and baby. The wife and baby sat right behind me, and I was entranced. I looked into those large brown eyes and saw an instant kinship. For we both were filled with a curious awe at the confusing sights and sounds that bombarded us. Now, the baby’s mother was there to hold and take care of the child, who made the baby safe, but I just stared at the creature like its giggles held the answers to all of life’s questions. Seriously, go get bombed and stare at someone’s else’s baby, and see how you feel.

In other news, I have begun the process of moving, with is both a huge pain in the ass and an exciting adventure into change. This does suggest a lack in blogging and blog-inspiring activity (ie. Drinking until I am a jackass) but we shall see. I also now know how to play darts, and desire to improve at it. More as that develops.

The guys go to a classy event. Stupidity ensues.

A word about young Wall Street types. They spend so much time working, that they have a hard time meeting people outside of their office (aka, people they don’t hate). So, in order to meet people, they join charity groups that on the weekend help the community. The Banker is in one of these groups. His particular charity is connected to a larger charity group, which last night had a huge fundraiser. It had free booze. Game on.

The actual event is called “Taste of the Lower East Side”. Basically, you buy a ticket, and all the best restaurants in that area set up stands in a ballroom and serve some food or drink from their restaurant. It is as awesome as it sounds. I grab two tickets (steep, but hey, it’s Charity) and brought Bourbon along (I considered bringing a date, but then the sad fact that I am me hit me).

When we get there, we waste no time going to work, eating everything in sight and drinking whatever is available. Its clear that all the liquor is donated, so the beer is not great (I am fairly sure that I could get a keg of Brooklyn Lager donated to me for a Its-Tuesday-and-I-am-bored party), but apparently one of the sponsors is Grey Goose, so we make do. The Grey Goose table is easy to find, as it has a giant ice sculpture of the Grey Goose seal. A couple of cocktails from them (including a great Tom Collins, which is not really at Tom Collins with vodka, but screw it, it was tasty) and I was ready to keep eating.

We eventually met up with Banker and his buddy Spring roll, who were working the room. We grabbed them and headed deeper into the maze of amazing food stands. As we go further, I see a large sign for Tequilla, so I head over. Now, next to the tequila stall, serving some anchovies is none other than Mark from this season of Top Chef. We bug the hell out. Normally, I am pretty cool when running into celebrities, but for some reason this sighting was freaking me out. I try his anchovies, and tell him “I am probably the 100th dude to tell you this, and there will be 100 more, but you were the bomb on Top Chef”. He was very touched and thanks me for the support. Later in the night, I gave him a beer and toasted his awesomeness. That kiwi is the man!

We ran into some other people we knew. The Banker’s parents were there, and we caught up with them. Banker’s parents are quality people who do a great job of turning their back on what an alcoholic retard I am. I have one fond memory of crashing at Banker’s parents place right after college, and having an hour long conversation with Banker’s dad, while I was hammered and Banker was showering off his own vomit. Good Times. Eventually I ran into my old buddy Duke, who was there with a date. We caught up over a couple of drinks, and compared notes on the food/ Top Chef sightings. Duke is a great guy who I see too rarely.

We continued to eat anything in sight, and drink whatever was available. The highlights was a margarita, Tequila aged 18 months in whiskey barrels, a mushroom tart thing, Shrimp in a shot of mango juice, cupcakes, and a bunch of other things that I forget because I was eating and drinking too much. By the time the event began to wind down, I would just take a bite of something, and throw the rest of it away, not because it wasn’t good but because space in my stomach had become a precious commodity.

The evening got to the point where the lights came up and the music stopped playing. However, we are still buzzing on about a dozen different sugars, so didn’t want to go home. While Banker said goodbye to people, I decided the most logical thing to do is lick the Grey Goose ice sculpture. Bourbon captures the event on my IPhone, but is unable to get a good shot, so I have to lick the damn thing three times before an acceptable shot was taken (Good thing, because at shot three, people started to get wise to me).

We pop into a bar across the street, which appears to be slammed. I walk towards the back looking for a table, but find a staircase that leads to a basement bar about the size of my living room. Weird, but it was quiet, so we hunkered down and drank some Stellas. Eventually Hubris poped up, right around the time Banker and Spring roll remembered its Thursday, and should attempt sleep before work tomorrow. We finish our drinks, and debate a similar course of action. Then Teach called me, and said he would be out of work in ten minutes and wanted to grab a drink. At this point the night has gone pear shaped, so why not?

Teach works at Stout, which is a very nice midtown bar. We met him at the super generic Blarney Rock bar next store, which is not so nice. We order some drinks and I kindly grab a Sam Adams so the moment Teach arrives he will have a cold one. Teach does come by, but about at the end of the beer, I realize I need to get some sleep this night, and Bourbon looks like he has been stepped on by a giant. Hubris and Teach, who had not tried to eat and the drink the LES dry, opted to stay out, as we cabbed it back home in a stupor.

The next morning at work, I was unable to think about anything for more than 5 minutes. It was worth it though, and I am buying my tickets for next year tomorrow.

Grear bars in NYC: Campbell Apartments, when you need to class it up.

Campbell Apartments is the nicest bar I have ever frequented. This bar/lounge was originally Robber Barron John Campell’s office and prohibition era salon, and the décor has stayed the same since those Roaring Twenties. It’s a large cozy room with dark lighting, comfortable seating, and even a mock fireplace. Its location, inside Grand Central, makes it a hot spot of well off commuters. The drink menu specializes in Martinis and Prohibition era cocktails. The Flapper’s Delight, a mix of Amaretto, Champagne, and Papayas juice, is a personal favorite. Their Chocolate Martini is also well ranked.

I was introduced to the spot by my old college roommate Kingpin, whose taste this bar served perfectly. He loved the class of the joint, and the fact that they would serve minors if the minors dressed the part and did not balk at the bill (average drink price, $16). When I lived in Westchester, the bar served as a lovely spot for a drink before catching a train. I was having a drink there one time, waiting for a train and in a particularly depressed mood, when a woman, not a girl or a lady but very much a woman, started hitting on me. It became clear that her advances was more to do with getting rid of the sketchy dude hitting on her than any interest in me, but I am a man of manners and played along. After the other guy took the hint and moved on, the woman began telling me about her divorce and her concerns about finding another great love in her life. Heavy stuff for a 23 year old kind who just wanted a drink before catching a train. Still it was a neat moment when two random people can have a brief connection in a dark bar.

Clearly this is not a bar for crazy stories, but I have a great history with the joint. Its cocktails are amazing and its atmosphere is fabulous; its just not a bar I will go to more than once a quarter.

P.S. my other favorite bar in Grand Central, the beer stalls that see 2 dollar Coors Lite tall boys. Because no one should take a train sober. Hell, Brownsox and I are known to just go to Grand Central and walk around drinking Coors Lite killing time. It’s a nice change of pace from Campbell’s, to say the least.

Great bars in NYC: The Frying Pan, or 'The Boat'

Bourbon Samurai like going to plays. He had heard of a production of Pericles that was being done in an old boat, which is cool if you know the play. He convinced me to come check it out with him. What we didn’t know was besides enjoying an evening of Shakespeare, we would find arguably the coolest bar in Manhattan.

The boat in question was The Frying Pan, a decommissioned lightship docked at the Chelsea pier. When one arrives at this particular dock, one finds the boat, ample seating at the dock, and an outdoor bar and grille. We arrived early for the show, so we each grabbed a drink and sat on the dock, watched the dusk and drank beer/whiskey. After the show, we returned to the dock/bar, and had a slew of other drinks, as the dock erupted into a full out party. We had found the spot for the summer.

We would return several times that and next summer. While the best time to hit the place up was around sunset, its evening scene is great, with lots of seating and dancing and sometimes live music. The drinks are pricey, but not maddeningly so (at least to New Yorkers). The food is surprisingly good, and I remember one great lunch there where Hubris, Bourbon, and I celebrated ending the ’06 season with fried fish and beer at lunch, debating whether we should steal a water taxi, and how far we could go before we were caught.

The craziest memory I have of the spot was 2 summers ago. A group of us had two tables near the beginning of the dock, including Jersey and Jersey’s half-brother, who was visiting from out of town. We looked down the dock towards the bar and noticed some commotion. After a moment, we realized that a fist fight had broken out. A large clearly drunk man was throwing punches at another slightly less drunk man who was defending himself. The first guy’s buddies tried to pull him off. They finally calm the guy down, and he starts to head down towards us back to dry land. He gets within spitting distance of us, and then turns around and charges back towards the bar. One of his friends stands in his way, and gets a shot to the face for his trouble. Once again, the guy had to be cooled down, and dragged off the dock. I am glad Jersey’s half brother got a story out of his trip to the big city.

This place with its chill vibe and beautiful view makes it one of my favorite all time bars. It’s a little pricey and a pain to get to, but for a chance to sit on a dock with a cold one and some decent food while hanging with the crew, you do what you gotta do.

A New York State of Mind

I like New York City in the summer. I may be the only one who does. Everyone else hates the sticky heat and the egg-boiling sidewalks. I focus on the positives. The crowds decrease, the sun stays out longer, the women wear less clothing. My favorite part of a NYC summer is sitting outside at a bar or café and having a cool beer of Vodka Tonic as the sun recedes from view. There are a whole series of bars (Beer Garden, Riveria) that take on new meaning because of their outdoor seating, and some very beloved bars (The Frying Pan) that only operate in the summer. Yes, an AC is necessary and brownouts are not infrequent in the outer Boroughs, but the pros in my mind outweigh the cons.

I will talk about summer more, probably when it is actually summer. I mentioned all this because this weekend was the first time the weather got nice. I took a drive upstate to drop some stuff off in storage, which was beautiful. After getting back and returning the car to its Upper East Side garage, I declared the evening too beautiful to spend at home. I tracked down the Banker, and we wandered the UES looking for a pub with some available outdoor seating. We found a place on 85th, grabbed some beers, and took in the night. We discussed, among other things, various neighborhoods on the Island. I have long bitched to Banker about his own turf, the UES, where he now lives and we both grew up. We then began talking about how one defines a neighborhood, and how often it is a shallow attempt to re-brand a neighborhood to make it cool. Here are some examples.

1: Nolita: the rape of Little Italy by the Lower East Side. A great historic neighborhood dying out, and being renamed something goofy. A mini-tragedy.

2: Noho: Again, the rise of the Lower East Side causes areas to get stupid names. It’s part of the goddamn East Village, just call it that. The whole remodeling of that entire part of Lower Manhattan pisses me off.

3: Clinton: This one pisses me off the most. Why would you change arguably the coolest name any neighborhood has ever had, Hell’s Kitchen, and change it to something so boring?

This goes to Outer Boroughs as well. Anyone who went to look at an apartment in East Williamsburg knows what I am talking about.

Yes I know bitching about gentrification is old hat, but as someone who recently was looking for a new apartment, the tricks people use to rename and re-shape neighborhoods piss me off. I actually love all those neighborhoods, but hate the way they are being misrepresented.

This will probably come up more as we move into summer, and take more full advantage of the city (I hope). I will be spending much of my time this summer on the Upper West Side, so expect some commentary on that neighborhood. More hilarity as it develops!

Tales from the Archives: Barfest

Remember the movie Beerfest? Well, I barely do

Hubris, through a friend, acquired 2 free tickets to an advance screening of said film. He was under the impression that it was an industry showing, and brought me, the closest thing to an in the industry guy he knew at the time. When we arrived though, it clearly was just some promotional advance screening, so no hobb-nobbing for us.

We enjoyed the movie, but believed that if we had gotten 5 of our friends together and decided to make a similar themed movie, it would be just as good if not better. This indignation, fueled more by the broken promise of getting the chance to pretend to be ‘kind of a big deal’, as well as the film’s booze-heavy content, made us try something crazy; 15 bars in one night.

Now there were several obstacles in our path. It was summer, so most people were out of town. We were on the Upper West Side, so we did not know the terrain well. It was 9pm on a Tuesday, so we did not have a lot of time to cover a large amount of ground. We accepted our limitations, and decided the best course of action was to get some food at a Northern point, send out some texts, and drink our way south.

We chose Parlour Bar as our starting ground. The last time I was at this place, I ran into a child I had taught at an Arts in Education class eating dinner with his mother, who picked up a round of drinks for us as she left (The mother, not the child). We ordered some Pilsner Urquells and some food, to prepare for the trials ahead. Now after seeing this movie, we were under the false assumption that chugging good beer was an effortless task, so we down 3 Pilsners in a half an hour in rapid form. Bad idea, as we walked out of the bar with bad indigestion, weary of our chances to complete the task at hand.

Fate would smile on us though. On our way to a stretch of bars on Amsterdam, we passed by a Mexican place I had been to with the Gymnast and his brother. We stopped in and had a Margarita. This proved to be a clutch move, as the sugar gave us energy, and the change up from beer did not over-fill our stomachs. New verve hit us, and after that drink, we headed out to continue our journey.

Amsterdam Avenue from about 84th Street to 72nd is basically just a long line of bars; many suck, many are cool. First we hit up a bar known for diverse designer beers. Good bar, bad choice as designer beers are often heavy. Next up, we got Vodka tonics at a bar across the street. After that, we hit a neighborhood joint, where we met a local who talked to us about how the neighborhood had changed, and his career as a photographer. We left that bar, and Hubris booted on the street. I responded by singing Arsenal songs. We then found a bar where some people were playing Beirut. I stopped Hubris from signing us up, then booted in their bathroom. Next we went to a bar that was popular with my high school back in the day, which I talked about with the bartender. We went on till until we heard from both Sketchrock and Teach, who said they would meet us at Irish Rogue. We decide to grab a cab, and finish the count in Hell’s kitchen with friends at our side.

When we arrive at Irish Rogue, we grab the super-comfortable couches, and order a beer bone for the table. Our friends meet up with us, and we start training the bone. This takes us longer than it should, and when we are done, Teach declares he is hungry. Rogue’s kitchen long closed, we headed out for more booze and food.

We hit the Westway diner, but order beer so we can count it as a bar. Now, it’s about 3 in the morning, and we all are hammered. At one point, Teach and Hubris start arguing about something. I don’t remember what it was, or who was saying what, but both Teach and Hubris are men who do not back down from their opinion, especially when hammered. The conversation kept going with them screaming at each other, until Teach could take no more, slammed his fists on the table, and got up to go. A woman at another booth, who was passed out up until this moment, yelled at Teach, who Teach then called a bitch and stormed out of the diner. Concerned that he might cause a bar fight, I ran out after him, with Sketchrock in charge of getting Hubris home without incident. I found Teach on the street corner fuming, and took him back into the Irish Rogue for a final drink, hoping to cool him down. When we got back to the bar, Teach had regained his composure, and began flirting with a woman at the bar. I had a final beer, and we headed to my parent’s place to sleep. We would have gone back to Queens, but Teach had a doctor’s appointment early in the morning.

We never made the full count of 15, only making it to 12 bars that night. It was the first time I woke up drunk the next day, which was fun until the grueling mid afternoon hangover. I will never look at either Broken Lizard or the Upper West Side the same again.

I've made a huge mistake

So it has been decided that Hubris, Bourbon Samurai, and myself will get an apartment together in May. This may be the single worst decision in my life, as any attempts to evolve towards adulthood will be smashed by a wave of liquor fueled, video-game powered, bad movie coated, fist-fights-at-1am tapered tomfoolery. Think I am exaggerating; well here are some recent examples I submit to the jury.

1: Last Saturday the three of us hung out with Brownsox at Kettle of Fish in the West Village. Brownsox was on a mission, so that left the three of us to hang out. After a while, a random woman came up to Bourbon and told us that Bourbon looked exactly like her brother, and offered photographic evidence to back up her claim (which was accurate). The woman went on to talk to Hubris about her marriage, while Bourbon struck up a conversation with the woman’s two (mix-gendered and unattractive) friends. Now I had reached a booze powered point in the evening where both my anti-social nature and mildly damaged hearing made talking to new people (especially unattractive ones) un-enjoyable, so I just starting playing pinball, and then played a perfect round of Pac-man (this was my high point of the evening, and I am okay with that), until everyone wanted to go home. This scene will probably repeat much over time, as Bourbon and Hubris like talking to new people more than me, and I like sleep more than them.

2: The next morning, I was awoken by Hubris barging into my room chanting “Kahn”. At first I was confused, but then remembered a promise to watch Star Trek II with them that morning. Star Trek was a nerd fascination that never hit with me, but Hubris loves it and Bourbon would probably kill me and Hubris if he could ride the U.S.S. Enterprise. I did find the movie enjoyable (I had never seen it before), and we followed it up with an evening of baseball watching. This was all well and good, until Bourbon and Hubris started wrestling, and the two of them landed on my leg. No serious damage done, but damn that hurt.

3: Wednesday, we re-installed a tradition of watching Top Chef, which is a great show and this season, set in Chicago, looks very promising. After the show, Hurbis was sent to get more beers (besides the six pack we had consumed), and we found a crazy show, Step it up and Dance! The show follows the basic Bravo reality competition form, this one about professional dancers competing for some money (there seems to be no contract or article or anything, which kinda makes it more hilarious). The brilliance of this show is that it is the semi-classy professionals show that Bravo has mastered, but the professionals are among the most emotional, bitchy, whacked out, and atractive people around, dancers. We dubbed this show and instant classic (I kind of understand the whole reality appeal now) and watched the whole episode until The Ultimate Fighter replay came on, which also is starting a new season (With Rampage as the most hilarious coach ever), and had the most brutal knockout punch I had ever seen in MMA. While I didn’t do anything crazy, I did stay up late drinking a lot of beer and watching a lot of reality TV. That can’t be good for me on any level.

4: Last Night was a good old-fashioned shitstorm. When I got back from work, both my roommates were in their familiar positions; Hubris playing video games, Bourbon screwing around on his computer. However, an urge to go out had arisen, so we ventured out to Los Amigos for some food and Margaritas. We were doing fine until Brownsox arrived and we hit our third pitcher of Margaritas, when everything went pear shaped. Hubris uped the belig, and demanded the Brownsox eat a whole place of guacamole, I began bitching about drinking too much, and Bourbon just giggled. We fled to our home, where the new episode of Step it up and Dance was about to begin. I set the TV auto timer for the show, and put on Beerfest until it was time for the show to start. Now right before Hubris’s favorite joke came up (the Das Boot inside joke when they are in the sub), the timer went off and changed channels. Hubris decided I had wronged him, and proceeded to pummel me with all his fury. Bourbon was perturbed, crying out “Stop it, he will spill beer on my computer.” I am actually a little sore (more physically than emotionally) today because of it.

So the best case scenario of this home is I just get fatter by drinking beer all day and dumber by watching a lot of reality TV and bad movies. The worst case scenario is an all out drunken brawl. Either way, I ain’t coming out of this any prettier.

Am I getting smarter or drunker?

The last three nights were both heavily intoxicating and intelligent

Monday night, I was stuck at work and missed most of the Met’s opening game. I did catch the tail end of it with Brownsox and Hubris at McCanns in Astoria. We stayed after the game for some pints, partially to mourn the loss of Uber260, which weighs heavily on Brownsox. After a while, the subject of woman came up, and for whatever reason, that sent Hubris off on a rant about the nature of the human spirit, which would over time flow out into a condemnation of Organized Religion and the responsibilities of the Fourth Estate. While I am not a very religious man, I do have spiritual beliefs as well as ties to the Church of Rome (I stole that from Tombstone), and argued on the roots and merit of religion both as an institution and a philosophical concept. I did agree with Hubris’s other rant on that in our information-heavy world we need to find a way to separate journalism from some dude wanking off.

We also drank a lot of Harps.

I won’t go into massive details about the discussion, but basically Hubris went off on his super-humanist, semi-Hobbesian “We do what makes us feel good” rant he sometimes does, which I do not totally disagree with, but find too limiting to the complexity of the human psyche and the creation of the world. However, it was a good discussion, mostly being a dialogue of ideas as opposed to two guys telling at the other that they are wrong (as these things often become), with Brownsox occasionally interjecting and rocking the jubebox.

We also drank a lot of Harps.

Tuesday I had a couple of drinks with Gymnast’s brother, AlsoGymnast (will probably change that name later, but now I find it funny) and discussed the business side of Theatre, and of a project we may work on together. Again, Harp consumed in mass, but the dialogue was of a higher quality than the usual stuff I say and later forget when drinking.

Wednesday was the biggest blowout. I met up with Bourbon Samurai, Gymnast and Teach to discuss theatre stuff at Gymnast’s new Astoria pad (the army grows!). After a good meeting, we all needed some food, and I needed a beer. We headed over to Fatty’s Café, a place near my house with solid food and a crappy bar. When we sat down, the waitress explained to us that if we ordered Tecate, we got a free shot of Tequila with it. This turned a sedate dinner into a passionate debate on playwriting, fueled by Mexicans intoxicants. We stayed out far too late (closed the place down, in fact) but had a great dialogue about the nature of dramatic structure, and collaboration.

So obviously not my wildest week, but still tons of boozing with a higher level of conversation than one would expect. It kind of harkened back to my college days, where often I would sit in a room with 5 other dudes draining a bottle of Whiskey and talking about plays (it actually was very fun, despite how depressing it sounds). Tonight I am having dinner with Banker, Rockstar and Bourbon Samurai, so pretty sedate there, followed by a weekend filled with Battlestar Galactica, a balls early futbol fixture, and packing up for my move in May.

will still probably drink a lot of Harps.