So last summer, Brownsox invited me to come crash at his mother’s place with him in Boston. I, unemployed at the time, accepted. What followed was an epic journey through both the cultural heart of both Beantown and the clan Brownsox.
Now the week before, I was with my family in Cape Cod. This meant that instead of having to suffer through flight, train, or bus to get to Boston, I could take a ferry over there Friday night. Let me tell you, sitting on the stern deck of a ferry watching the sun set as we motor over to Boston Harbor beats the Chinatown bus’s multiple delays any day (and the Chinatown bus does not have a bar in it).
I arrived at the south harbor about 2 hours before Brownsox was getting into town from NYC (on the before-mentioned-and-insulted bus), so I looked around for a place to grab a bite. Wandering down the harbor, I see a little sign saying “No Name Seafood”, with an arrow pointing down an alley by the dock. Normally, this would sketch me out, but Rockstar, another Boston Native, had recommended it to me, so I counted my blessings and headed down the alley. I gotta say, No Name delivered. For under 50 bucks I got beer, fried scallops and shrimp, fries, and Lobster. The place seems to cut cost by using large picnic tables and paper everything, but screw it, who needs décor with this much cheap good seafood.
My belly full of the sea’s bounty, I decided it was time to head over to the bus station and meet Brownsox. To do this, I needed to use the T. For anyone who has never been to Boston, the T is the local mass transit system, akin to the subway or the L. The T trains however, only have to cars to a train, and sometimes run on the streets, forcing them to obey traffic lights and Boston traffic. It makes the L look like efficiency perfected. Now to get to the bus station, I had to take the Silver line. On the Silver line, instead of a train, it is a bus that runs on electric lines that travels down an underground tunnel. Budget 1950s sci-fi is alive and well in the Boston transit system. Despite its goofiness, it got me where I needed to go, and I met up with Bownsox at the station.
After dropping our stuff off at Mama Brownsox’s lovely Cambridge pad, we decided to hit a local watering hole. It was here that the main cast of characters were introduced. There was Brownsox, who introduced me to his cousin, Mr. Chelsea. Mr. Chelsea is from India, is studying to be a priest, and is taking a coast to coast trip of America visiting family before going back to school. He was a Futbol fan, backing Chelsea (not everyone is perfect), and was a lovely chap. Also in tow was Brownsox’s big brother, Nilus. A word about Nilus; he is clearly a good brother and son, and evidently quite the intellect. Watching him interact with society however, is akin to watching a man try to hammer a nail with the crowbar end of the hammer. He is close right, but it just ain’t working no matter how hard he swings. Nilus lived in Evanston for a couple of months, and he was fired from a job where he, Harvard grad, had to wrap sandwiches, after the first day (Hubris did this job every Saturday on 5 hours of sleep, hung over, for a year). Some men were not meant to leave the ivy covered campus. It is hard to fully explain Nilus, so I will try to point out some Nilus ‘magic moments’ which happened over the weekend.
We headed out to the local grad student bar, the Thirsty Scholar. This place won me over with wood paneling, great tap, and futbol on the telly. We discussed the beginning of the EPL season, and I had a fairly intelligent conversation about religion with Mr. Chelsea. After a couple of beers and shots, we headed back to Casa Brownsox, where we watched the Die Hard music video on Youtube 7 times in a row (worth every minute).
Saturday started much more civilized than expected. Mama Brownsox had gotten us tickets to this hot art exhibit at a local museum (I am sure that both the featured artist and the ‘local’ museum are both very famous, I just don’t remember the names of either). It was actually pretty cool, and it featured the famous painting “Nighthawks” or as I had previously knew it, ‘that really well known painting with the sad people in the diner’. This was followed with some sightseeing in Boston, mostly for the benefit of Mr. Chelsea as I have been to Boston many times. After a nice walk, some lunch in the historic cobblestone-y district, and some tea at the harbor, Mama Brownsox left us to our own devices.
A note on Boston as a city. In the summer, it is as great a city as you can find in America. It has the right mix of new buildings to historic sights, it has tons of stuff to do, better parks than I remember, and sitting by the harbor having a drink outside is just beautiful. This ignores all the many problems of Boston, such as the goofy mass transit, horrible drivers, freeze-you-to-death-and-I-know-cold-I-lived-in-Chicago winters, and of course, Patriot fans. Those factors make living in Boston dubious, but for a summer weekend, it is perfect.
After Mama Brownsox left us, we decided to meet up with an old friend of Brownsox at the Cask and Flagon, over by Fenway. I was impressed with how easily the T could get us within 5 blocks of Fenway Park. Being a Mets fan, I am always shocked when in other cities ballparks are both easy to get to and surrounded by things other than empty lots. The Cask and Flagon, or anyone unfamiliar, is THE Redsox bar, as it is literally across the street from Fenway. It is the closest thing I have seen to Nevada Smiths for Baseball, as far as atmosphere and excitement, all it needs is some singing. It also was one of the biggest bars I have ever been it, and there still was a line to get in. I have to say if you are ever in Boston, it is a must visit. Nilus had a magic moment, where he, the Boston native, stood in this famous sports bar next to one of the most beloved ballparks in this country, holding a beer that I believed had a redsox logo on it, turned to me and said “There sure are a lot of redsox fans here.” That comment does a pretty good job of describing Nilus and his grasp of the world around him.
After a couple of rounds, the need to eat struck us, and we headed out into the night. After more wandering around Boston (we would do that a lot that weekend, partially to soak in the atmosphere, partially because Brownsox and Nilus are not good at making decisions and we had to wander around until they did). We did meet up with another friend of Brownsox, a very lovely lady who was a groupie of Brownsox’s old A Cappella group (I hope reading that hurt you as much as it hurt me to type it). After a while we stumbled on a restaurant called Whiskeys, best described as a Brother Jimmies that didn’t suck, and ate there. Our new female companion quickly impressed me with both her love of Bourbon and his discussion of blowjob etiquette. Nilus had another magic moment when he ordered a vermouth on the rocks, and then turned it back when it was the wrong type of Vermouth. This experience was a frequent occurrence over the weekend. He also enjoyed a vermouth and tonic with a cherry in it, and turned the drink back when it came sans cherry. Nilus is never odder than when he is at a bar.
Full of food and booze, we headed back to Cambridge to drink there. As luck would have it, Arsenal and his girlfriend (now known as C.C.) were in town, attending some family event with C.C.’s mother. We met them up at a Starbucks in Cambridge (I was again shocked with the T’s ability to get us to where we needed to go), and then headed to a bar. The place we headed was a micro-brewery, one I had been at years ago, when the Vanisher and I had visited Brownsox right after we graduated college. I am not sure if my tastes had increased or decreased, or if levels of inebriation played a part, but I found the place less pleasing to the palate than I had three years earlier. We did have a lovely time, the mass of us. Mama C.C. not only bought me a beer, but told me how much she loved a show I produced a couple of years ago. I need to meet more people like her. Arsenal, in a fashion typical of him, bolted early, and we needed to find a new bar.
We wandered around Cambridge for a while, looking for a place still open at Midnight on a Saturday (college town my ass). As we wondered, I witnessed a brutal cockblocking barrage, as Nilus totally attempted to hit on this girl who was with us, despite the fact she had come into town to most likely hook up with Brownsox. Later conference with Brownsox confirmed that he had hooked up with her earlier this summer, and a repeat was all but guaranteed in a better situation. This barrage continued all night, after we found some shady backroom bar where the booths were run down vinyl and the staff seemed pissed we showed up and dared to ask for booze in exchange for currency. I chatted with Mr. Chelsea and some of Brownsox’s old friends, while out of the corner of my eye saw this crime of brother against brother, laughing to myself. Eventually, it was time to go, and the girl in question decided to crash with other friends, not surprising after suffering a two brother attack (if you couldn’t guess, Nilus’s game makes me look like Warren Betty in prime). Brownsox, distraught by the fraternal betrayal he had suffered, went to bed.
The next day, we woke up earlier than desired (9 am), and headed out into the world. Brownsox went to meet some old friends for breakfast, and Mr. Chelsea and I headed back to the Thirsty Scholar for some futbol goodness. I am a huge fan of any bar that will open its doors to me and offer both the Beautiful Game and pre-noon beer, and found this local joint lovely, if a little quiet compared to my normal game day haunt. The bartender was an old Englishman who was thrilled to see our fandom, and went on a rant saying how Cricket is better than Baseball (Mr. Chelsea agreed, I just nodded). We watched the Chelsea-Liverpool game, which ended in a 1-1 draw with little excitement on either side. On our way out, the bartender shook my hand and told me Arsenal would suck for at least the next two years. I look forward to returning to this bar soon and having a laugh (cause we’re the top of the league).
Now came the real point of the weekend, Brownsox and I were heading to a redsox game. We debated drive vs. T, but found we were short on time and drove down. We parked about a mile away from the park (Yay Boston) and walked over. Now I have not been to that many ballparks, but I have been to a few, and Fenway is an experience all itself. Besides being surrounded by sports bars, walking into Fenway is like walking into a walled-up baseball town. The whole building has its own streets with shops and vendors and all sorts of crap. Our first round of beers were usual overpriced ballpark fair, but when we came to round 2, Brownsox demanded better. In our quest, we walked all the way to the other side of the park to find a special bar that served Harp, Bass, and Guiness. Now of course on our way back, we found a similar bar much closer, but that’s not the point. The point is that I was at a ball park drinking Harp instead of Old Style or worse. It was a good game, we had pimped out seats behind third base, but the sox lost to the Angels (I hate the Angels, mostly because if I do not, my roommate will beat me to death with a chair. There is nothing funny about that sentence). After the game, we hit up the Cask and Flagon for another metal encased brew, then headed back to Casa de Brownsox. The car ride and mile long walk to find the car was key in sobering me up for the family Brownsox.
The rest of the evening was spent having cocktails and dinner with Brownsox and his extended family. This included Brownsox’s very cool cousin, his WASP wife, and Brownsox’s grandparents. I drank far too much wine on top of the many beers I had had that day, and ended a fabulous dinner debating with Grandpa Brownsox if Barry Bonds should be allowed in the Hall of Fame. Luckily for me and my drinking problem, Brownsox’s Indian family has a New England sensibility to it, so my buzz went unnoticed by the fun-loving family.
The plan for Monday morning was as follows. Brownsox was going to help Nilus pack up his car, and then drive with him to Michigan State, where Nilus is in grad school. When that was complete, Mama Brownsox was going to drop me off at the train station, and I was going to train back to NYC. Now to say that Brownsox and Nilus were inefficient in their packing and timetable would miss the magic of their foolishness. At one point, I just starting packing the car myself, as the two were bumbling about trying to get out of the house. The entire clan Brownsox watched as their young bucks were barely able to pack a car and leave in a timely matter. But eventually the car got loaded, the boys headed west, and I caught a train heading home.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
New job, first hangover.
Last Tuesday, I was feeling the need to blow off some work tension. I called Uber260 to see if he wanted to grab a drink. He said he could grab a beer (single) round 6:30. Best deal I had so far, so I met him at Irish Rouge for a happy hour round. We grab a cold one and shot the shit. Uber260 tells me that he is heading down to Williamsburg to see Oatmeal and Dreamfaker do some sketch comedy. Normally, I would avoid Brooklyn with all fiber of my being, but I was still a tad off from this steady job thing, and had been tame in my partying (as this blog can show) so I throw caution to the wind and agreed to tag along.
A quicker than expected subway ride later, we are in a bar in Williamsburg. We are greeted by Brownsox and and Groucho, who alert us to this bar's special deal; 3 buck Stellas.
A word on Stellas as a beverage. it has 2 key properties
1: It tastes like a cheap American beer
2: It has far more alcohol in it than American beers
Now one could see how such a beverage, offered at such a discount (for NYC standards) price could lead to disaster. I , however, a man of standards, could maintain respectability for most of the evening. We watches some sketch comedy, tricked Groucho into downing some shots and lament the passing of time, and finally when words become a trial, we grabbed a cab back to Queens.
When I headed home, I was much more messed up than expected. I was able to get some sleep eventually, after a prayer or two to the Drainage Deity, but woke up the next day feeling like Roy Jones Jr. used me to spar. I could exist in the world, but alot of energy was needed not to dry heave. Good thing I am a pro, so I sucked it up and did my job.
Thus I popped my cherry on being hung over at the job. It was bound to happen, I was just surprised Brooklyn was involved.
A quicker than expected subway ride later, we are in a bar in Williamsburg. We are greeted by Brownsox and and Groucho, who alert us to this bar's special deal; 3 buck Stellas.
A word on Stellas as a beverage. it has 2 key properties
1: It tastes like a cheap American beer
2: It has far more alcohol in it than American beers
Now one could see how such a beverage, offered at such a discount (for NYC standards) price could lead to disaster. I , however, a man of standards, could maintain respectability for most of the evening. We watches some sketch comedy, tricked Groucho into downing some shots and lament the passing of time, and finally when words become a trial, we grabbed a cab back to Queens.
When I headed home, I was much more messed up than expected. I was able to get some sleep eventually, after a prayer or two to the Drainage Deity, but woke up the next day feeling like Roy Jones Jr. used me to spar. I could exist in the world, but alot of energy was needed not to dry heave. Good thing I am a pro, so I sucked it up and did my job.
Thus I popped my cherry on being hung over at the job. It was bound to happen, I was just surprised Brooklyn was involved.
Friday, January 25, 2008
A return to form
So sorry about the lack of posts. My new job has been keeping me real busy and real sober. However I had two events within the last week that harkened back to the old days
Last Saturday, Hubris and I woke at 8am and headed down to Nevada Smiths for the 10am soccer match. We arrive at the bar with empty stomachs, a box of popums, and a desire for drunken sports. About a beer in, Brownsox and Arsenal joined us, and we got down to some futball goodness as only Nevada's can offer. I will not bore you with the details of the match (see Hubris's blog for that), but it was a great game,we won 3-nil, and we drank lots of beer and sung many songs. After the game, my buddies wanted to head home, but I wanted to stay for the next game. Kodez's team was playing next, and it was a big game for them and an excuse to keep slamming Carsberg for me. I hung out and met up with Kodez, but I remained at the bar as he headed towards the other fans. I hung out for about half the game, but the slowness of their game and the many pre-meal beers I had consumed made it clear this morning at Nevadas should end. So around 1pm, I left the bar.
Now what happened to me next is a fairly common experience to many young new yorkers. You head home after a couple of drinks, hit the subway, but fall asleep and find yourself several stops past yours. This is a common sight in this town to see young people have this happen to them. It is not a common sight at 1 in the afternoon, however. Yet there I was, waking up at 125th Street in the early afternoon. Now after heading back downtown, barely awake, I could either go home and sleep, or run errands. I choose errands.
After a haircut and some new shaving cream, I need sleep. really badly. My plan was to get a couple of hours, then head out into the city for some Saturday night fun. Sadly, a couple of hours became 7 hours, and I woke up at 9:30 pm, confused and hung over. Feeling that the evening is lost, I just play Mass Effect until returning to sleep.
This is how my weekend got consumed by a morning at Nevadas. Next up, learn the story about my first work hangover. Coming soon!
Last Saturday, Hubris and I woke at 8am and headed down to Nevada Smiths for the 10am soccer match. We arrive at the bar with empty stomachs, a box of popums, and a desire for drunken sports. About a beer in, Brownsox and Arsenal joined us, and we got down to some futball goodness as only Nevada's can offer. I will not bore you with the details of the match (see Hubris's blog for that), but it was a great game,we won 3-nil, and we drank lots of beer and sung many songs. After the game, my buddies wanted to head home, but I wanted to stay for the next game. Kodez's team was playing next, and it was a big game for them and an excuse to keep slamming Carsberg for me. I hung out and met up with Kodez, but I remained at the bar as he headed towards the other fans. I hung out for about half the game, but the slowness of their game and the many pre-meal beers I had consumed made it clear this morning at Nevadas should end. So around 1pm, I left the bar.
Now what happened to me next is a fairly common experience to many young new yorkers. You head home after a couple of drinks, hit the subway, but fall asleep and find yourself several stops past yours. This is a common sight in this town to see young people have this happen to them. It is not a common sight at 1 in the afternoon, however. Yet there I was, waking up at 125th Street in the early afternoon. Now after heading back downtown, barely awake, I could either go home and sleep, or run errands. I choose errands.
After a haircut and some new shaving cream, I need sleep. really badly. My plan was to get a couple of hours, then head out into the city for some Saturday night fun. Sadly, a couple of hours became 7 hours, and I woke up at 9:30 pm, confused and hung over. Feeling that the evening is lost, I just play Mass Effect until returning to sleep.
This is how my weekend got consumed by a morning at Nevadas. Next up, learn the story about my first work hangover. Coming soon!
Monday, January 7, 2008
Disclamer
So today, I started my new job, working in managment for a theater company in New York. As per the big scary packet they gave me that tells me I have to dress nice and not get drunk on the job, I should tell you that all my views here do not represent anyone other than my silly self. I will only rarely mention my job, partally as this is a blog about being a crazy drunk and not a managment guy for the theater world, partally because there is a confinentiality agreement here and I don't want to get fired. So expect very little shop talk.
On a more relevant note, Hubris's birthday is tomorrow. To celebrate, we are all going to Nevada Smiths to play the Wii, as it is Wii night. Feel free to come on by and act the fool.
On a more relevant note, Hubris's birthday is tomorrow. To celebrate, we are all going to Nevada Smiths to play the Wii, as it is Wii night. Feel free to come on by and act the fool.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Arsenal Opening Day 07: part 2, the morning of the game
So its 3am in the morning, 4 and a half hours before opening kickoff, and I need some food to make it. Along with Uber260, Arsenal, and his girl, I headed over to Soup n' Burger in the east village, which besides being open 24 hours serves one of the best burgers in the city. There we slammed some burgers and met up with Hubris and Bonnilass. Sadly, this only killed about an hour, but took us past last call in the village. So we went into the night looking to find some amusement for the next 3 hours.
With every place in the neighborhood closed, we decide to head over the Union Square park and hang out. We take a seat over in the south courtyard, and enjoy the semi-quiet sight of late night New York. Now around 5am, a man comes out of the subway, carrying a soccer ball. He then proceeds to juggle it hacky-sack style in the court yard. Juggle very well. For the next forty five minutes. We were voyeuring on this man's strange soccer workout. After about 45 minutes, the guy just went back into the subway, returning to whatever magic soccer land he came from. It was like fate knew our plan, and offered us a late night opening act to the game.
The park losing its charm, with still another hour and a half to go, we went to find a place to use the restrooms. An all-night Walgreens was willing to serve (14th and 3rd, for anyone needing a place to pee). With no other options left to us, we sneaked over to the last bastion of people looking to kill time, Starkbucks. We stop in for some coffee and water, and hang until about 6:30.
We head to the bar, hoping they had opened up. Alas, we still had to wait outside with the masses for another half an hour (ya there was a crowd to get into a bar at seven am. I love this town.) But finally, about fifteen minutes before kickoff, the doors opened on a new season.
It was everything we had missed all summer. The beer was flowing, the crowds were singing, and then, the game began. Joy of Joy the Gunners were back! EPL is back! Fulham vs. Arsenal is on! I am drinking at 7:30 am! Everyone is singing! Fulham just scored! Wait, What???
In the first minute, the first minute, of the game, Fulham slides the ball past our goalie on a shot I could have blocked. All joy is gone! Misery and exhaustion sets in! Why am I drinking this early in the morning? I spent the next 80 minutes of the game in this funk, barely able to consume my carsburg or even talk to anyone. I just stared at the TV like the laziest zombie ever.
But never give up on the boys in red and white, because as the song tells us, they are fucking dynamite (and someone's mother is a streetwalker). Van Persie gets one in the back of the net on a penalty shot at the 84th minute. A tie, live has meaning again! shame is over! I am not an idiot for staying up all night in order to go to a bar at 7:30am! But its not over yet. in stoppage time, Hleb nails one in the back of the net. A Victory on opening Game! Joy of Joys! Beer tastes good again! My Morning is saved!
It was an interesting train ride back home, mixed with ajulation and fatigue. But a journey worth taking.
And thus began the o7-08 season, a morning that tool my love of Nevadas and the Gunners to the next level. Who to be indeed!
With every place in the neighborhood closed, we decide to head over the Union Square park and hang out. We take a seat over in the south courtyard, and enjoy the semi-quiet sight of late night New York. Now around 5am, a man comes out of the subway, carrying a soccer ball. He then proceeds to juggle it hacky-sack style in the court yard. Juggle very well. For the next forty five minutes. We were voyeuring on this man's strange soccer workout. After about 45 minutes, the guy just went back into the subway, returning to whatever magic soccer land he came from. It was like fate knew our plan, and offered us a late night opening act to the game.
The park losing its charm, with still another hour and a half to go, we went to find a place to use the restrooms. An all-night Walgreens was willing to serve (14th and 3rd, for anyone needing a place to pee). With no other options left to us, we sneaked over to the last bastion of people looking to kill time, Starkbucks. We stop in for some coffee and water, and hang until about 6:30.
We head to the bar, hoping they had opened up. Alas, we still had to wait outside with the masses for another half an hour (ya there was a crowd to get into a bar at seven am. I love this town.) But finally, about fifteen minutes before kickoff, the doors opened on a new season.
It was everything we had missed all summer. The beer was flowing, the crowds were singing, and then, the game began. Joy of Joy the Gunners were back! EPL is back! Fulham vs. Arsenal is on! I am drinking at 7:30 am! Everyone is singing! Fulham just scored! Wait, What???
In the first minute, the first minute, of the game, Fulham slides the ball past our goalie on a shot I could have blocked. All joy is gone! Misery and exhaustion sets in! Why am I drinking this early in the morning? I spent the next 80 minutes of the game in this funk, barely able to consume my carsburg or even talk to anyone. I just stared at the TV like the laziest zombie ever.
But never give up on the boys in red and white, because as the song tells us, they are fucking dynamite (and someone's mother is a streetwalker). Van Persie gets one in the back of the net on a penalty shot at the 84th minute. A tie, live has meaning again! shame is over! I am not an idiot for staying up all night in order to go to a bar at 7:30am! But its not over yet. in stoppage time, Hleb nails one in the back of the net. A Victory on opening Game! Joy of Joys! Beer tastes good again! My Morning is saved!
It was an interesting train ride back home, mixed with ajulation and fatigue. But a journey worth taking.
And thus began the o7-08 season, a morning that tool my love of Nevadas and the Gunners to the next level. Who to be indeed!
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Arsenal Opening Day 07: part 1, the night before
At long last, the post about opening day. First, learn about the night long journey to get there.
The night before AFC's first league game of the new season, Uber260's sketch group was doing the 1 year anniversary show. Because of this, and the game's 7:30 start time, we decide to pull an all nighter.
The comedy show was at the Impact theatre, which is in fuck-far away Brooklyn, but right by where most the group live, so good for them. Myself, Kodez, Bourbon, and Brownsox head down around 6 pm, and get there around 7:30. The nice thing about a sketch show is that the whole event is more casual than going to see other types of shows, so we spent the half hour before curtain drinking malt liquor in the theater with the sketch group. The show itself is lovely, as this group's work always is, and was augmented by the fact that this time, the light worked in the bathroom at the theatre. After the show we headed over to Groucho's house for the afterparty.
Groucho happens to live in an abandoned school that someone bought and turned into a (probably illegal) apartment complex. The pros are that his place is huge and the rent is low. The cons are they live on the corner of Sketchy and Drive-by. However there are two great stores around the corner, a bodega with the single greatest beer selection I have ever seen, and the most hilarious liquor store ever. The place has bulletproof glass around the register, and often looks like someone came in ten minutes earlier and bought all the good booze. The guys running it are always trying to sell you homemade Armenian wine. The first time I went there, there were five children playing soccer in the back of the store. Needless to say, it says something about the neighborhood.
The party itself was a good time, as I spent most of it either catching up with the people in the comedy troupe, or protecting Brownsox from the undesired advances of a rather large female.
The party began to wind down around 1 am, so my associates and I realize we need to find another party in order to last through the night. We make some calls, and learn Corleone is having a birthday party at a bar in the West Village. We get the address, and head to the subway.
Once we get off the subway into the West Village, we walk around trying to find the bar. Now either due to the old layout of the neighborhood, or the amount we had to drink in Brooklyn, we are completely unable to find the right street. Eventually, laziness sets in, and we hail a cab. The cab takes us four blocks to the bar. We did not really pay for travel, just directions. The moment we get out of the cab, however, Brownsox loses his lunch all over ninth avenue. Our first casualty of the night. Needless to say, Brownsox did not make it to the game that morning. Undeterred by the loss, we head to the bar and meet up with Arsenal, Renaissance, and Corleone. Now after some time at this bar, the amount I have drunk and the many more hours I need to be awake all hit me, and I decide food is what I need. Bourbon, who loves sleep much more than he loves the beautiful game, decides to stay at the bar, while Arsenal, his girl, Uber260 and myself head out for some late night eating.
Next post, learn about the surreal morning, and the game itself.
The night before AFC's first league game of the new season, Uber260's sketch group was doing the 1 year anniversary show. Because of this, and the game's 7:30 start time, we decide to pull an all nighter.
The comedy show was at the Impact theatre, which is in fuck-far away Brooklyn, but right by where most the group live, so good for them. Myself, Kodez, Bourbon, and Brownsox head down around 6 pm, and get there around 7:30. The nice thing about a sketch show is that the whole event is more casual than going to see other types of shows, so we spent the half hour before curtain drinking malt liquor in the theater with the sketch group. The show itself is lovely, as this group's work always is, and was augmented by the fact that this time, the light worked in the bathroom at the theatre. After the show we headed over to Groucho's house for the afterparty.
Groucho happens to live in an abandoned school that someone bought and turned into a (probably illegal) apartment complex. The pros are that his place is huge and the rent is low. The cons are they live on the corner of Sketchy and Drive-by. However there are two great stores around the corner, a bodega with the single greatest beer selection I have ever seen, and the most hilarious liquor store ever. The place has bulletproof glass around the register, and often looks like someone came in ten minutes earlier and bought all the good booze. The guys running it are always trying to sell you homemade Armenian wine. The first time I went there, there were five children playing soccer in the back of the store. Needless to say, it says something about the neighborhood.
The party itself was a good time, as I spent most of it either catching up with the people in the comedy troupe, or protecting Brownsox from the undesired advances of a rather large female.
The party began to wind down around 1 am, so my associates and I realize we need to find another party in order to last through the night. We make some calls, and learn Corleone is having a birthday party at a bar in the West Village. We get the address, and head to the subway.
Once we get off the subway into the West Village, we walk around trying to find the bar. Now either due to the old layout of the neighborhood, or the amount we had to drink in Brooklyn, we are completely unable to find the right street. Eventually, laziness sets in, and we hail a cab. The cab takes us four blocks to the bar. We did not really pay for travel, just directions. The moment we get out of the cab, however, Brownsox loses his lunch all over ninth avenue. Our first casualty of the night. Needless to say, Brownsox did not make it to the game that morning. Undeterred by the loss, we head to the bar and meet up with Arsenal, Renaissance, and Corleone. Now after some time at this bar, the amount I have drunk and the many more hours I need to be awake all hit me, and I decide food is what I need. Bourbon, who loves sleep much more than he loves the beautiful game, decides to stay at the bar, while Arsenal, his girl, Uber260 and myself head out for some late night eating.
Next post, learn about the surreal morning, and the game itself.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Great Bars in NYC part 4: The Continental, the Dive
New York City is filled with many bars that wish to be dives. They hire decorators to create the dive look, create fancy drinks that sound like crap dive drinks, but their clientelle and price quickly reveal them to be faux dives trying to charm the jaded new yorker out of their drinking coin (Brother Jimmies, I am looking at you). However, there is a little place on St. Mark and 3rd that keeps the dive alive. How do I know it is for real?
1: The Bathroom should be condemned: It takes alot to be the foulest bar bathroom in NYC, but the Continental bathrooms are horrible. I had a friend who said she nearly went in the street in order to avoid these bathrooms. The smell alone (when people are not getting high in the bathroom, mind you) is enough to win the award.
2: The patrons look sketch: While its proximity to NYU means a fair amount of students, about half of the bar look like they are cruising for a fight. One hopes one day, the sketch half challenges the NYU half to a fight. The winner is me, in the corner, drunk and amused
3: The Bar is huge, but never full: This place may have the most tables of any bar I have been to, but it never fills up. This adds to its creepy vibe.
and the most important part of its divi-ness
4: THE DRINKS ARE DIRT CHEAP: Yes sir, $1:50 and $3 beers are the norm at old Continental, and it is the proud home of 5 shots for 10 bucks. Now when I mean five shots, I mean just about anything you are willing to shoot, they will give you five shot glasses of it for ten bones. J.D., check, Soco and Lime, check, Stoli mixed with the blood of the damned, triple checked.
The defining Continental moment happened at a bar across the street (thats how badass this place is). I went to a hip wine bar around the corner to meet Arsenal and his girl, who were attending a party for a friend of Ms. Arsenal. I was hanging out with Arsenal and a buddy of his from out of town, lamenting the overpriced, wacky wine and beer only bar, when I began singing the praises of the Continental's shot policy. Arsenal, always one to save cash, suggest we head over to the Continental and grab a round of shots as opposed to buying a glass of overpriced wine. So we head over, slam five J.D. shots between the five of us, and return to the party at the wine bar, richer men for the journey. We repeat this move about three or four times before just moving to a cheaper bar. A victory not just for the Dive Bar, but for New York City itself.
Thus stands the Continental. Sure, the staff sucks and the bar smells. But if you want to go to war and save the wallet, no one else gives you as much bang for your buck.
1: The Bathroom should be condemned: It takes alot to be the foulest bar bathroom in NYC, but the Continental bathrooms are horrible. I had a friend who said she nearly went in the street in order to avoid these bathrooms. The smell alone (when people are not getting high in the bathroom, mind you) is enough to win the award.
2: The patrons look sketch: While its proximity to NYU means a fair amount of students, about half of the bar look like they are cruising for a fight. One hopes one day, the sketch half challenges the NYU half to a fight. The winner is me, in the corner, drunk and amused
3: The Bar is huge, but never full: This place may have the most tables of any bar I have been to, but it never fills up. This adds to its creepy vibe.
and the most important part of its divi-ness
4: THE DRINKS ARE DIRT CHEAP: Yes sir, $1:50 and $3 beers are the norm at old Continental, and it is the proud home of 5 shots for 10 bucks. Now when I mean five shots, I mean just about anything you are willing to shoot, they will give you five shot glasses of it for ten bones. J.D., check, Soco and Lime, check, Stoli mixed with the blood of the damned, triple checked.
The defining Continental moment happened at a bar across the street (thats how badass this place is). I went to a hip wine bar around the corner to meet Arsenal and his girl, who were attending a party for a friend of Ms. Arsenal. I was hanging out with Arsenal and a buddy of his from out of town, lamenting the overpriced, wacky wine and beer only bar, when I began singing the praises of the Continental's shot policy. Arsenal, always one to save cash, suggest we head over to the Continental and grab a round of shots as opposed to buying a glass of overpriced wine. So we head over, slam five J.D. shots between the five of us, and return to the party at the wine bar, richer men for the journey. We repeat this move about three or four times before just moving to a cheaper bar. A victory not just for the Dive Bar, but for New York City itself.
Thus stands the Continental. Sure, the staff sucks and the bar smells. But if you want to go to war and save the wallet, no one else gives you as much bang for your buck.
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