5...5...5 for my lonely

I hate that feeling I get when I go to check out someone's blog- anxious to have something new to read at work- and they have been lazy and their post from last week is still staring me in the face. Sadly, no one is more guilty of that than I. I've been so neglectful! But know that I've been thinking of you, dear reader(s?). Every time I've witnessed something fucked up or googled something absurd, I've said to myself, "Self, you've gotta remember to blog about this." Unfortunately, until now, I hadn't found the time to sit down and actually type the words into my little computer. What with all the drinking I've been doing. I think my liver needs a little rest- maybe just a week. I suspect that it is now as black as my lungs.

Anyway, before my beer-soaked brain totally forgets, here are the 5 things (what, you thought I'd actually write this post and skip making a list? Silly reader!) that I thought were hilarious/weird/disturbing that I've been meaning to blog about but got too drunk and lazy. (Damn, where's my countdown show on VH1?!)

1) Jonathan Jackson (thanks Beth for the pictures! He just might be the cutest little Lord-lover ever!) has a band with his brother. They are a Christian rock band- like the ones that have that Worship Together album that advertises on TV late at night when I'm stoned that features "I Could Sing of Your Love Forever", except with a tatooed soap star as the singer. Their lyrics are amazing. Seriously. I was trying to pick some to post here and it was so hard. I think my favorite might be Rise (music & lyrics by Jonathan Jackson):


There's something about the night
That makes it alright
There's something about the wind
That makes me grin
There's something about the rain
That takes away the pain
There's something about friends
That make life not end
There's something about a cat's meow
That touches me somehow

Your eyes are filled with hate
Well, brother, it's not too late
No, you've gotta love one another
Like sisters and brothers
And love one another - I will
You've gotta believe one another
And relieve one another
And love one another until
Oh - rise
Oh - rise
Rise above

Look around - what do you see?
Children's unity
So why destroy them? Why destroy them?
Hey. . . no

You've gotta trust one another
Like mothers and fathers
And trust one another - I do
You've gotta believe one another
Do not leave one another
And love one another - I do

Turquoise oceans
Peaceful emotions
I'll rise above you
With rainbows of virtue
Love will live on
Hate will be gone
If we rise
If we rise above

Brother, it's not too late - no, no
Sister, it's not too late - no, no
Mother, it's not too late - I said no
Father, it's not too late

If we rise, if we rise above
Rise above me for I am not worthy
I am coming home - righteousness is my humble abode
Rise - rise above me now
It's never too late
Rise above me now
The Lord too in your lane
Rise
Rise

.....but only cuz I totally want the Lord to be in my lane. They must be a pretty edgy God rock band because the song before this actually has the phrase "gonna fuck you up" in it. Dude, I don't know that the Lord is down with the f-bomb. That's why I use it all the time. You MUST check out his other sensitive yet brooding Jesus lyrics HERE .

2) Playgrounds in New York are some the funniest and most fucked up places in the whole city. Last week I babysat during the day and took my little charge to Washington Square Park where I was the only non- foreign person there with a baby. Yep me and a bunch of middle aged Spanish and Dominican ladies who spent the afternoon reading Cosmo and chatting on their cell phones while the spoiled terrors that they were supposed to be watching threw sand everywhere. Well, there was one actual mom on the scene. A 45 year-old mother of a 2 year-old little girl. She seemed very professional and Murphy Brown-ish (though it was a Thursday at like noon and we were in the park). But I nearly died when she brought her little walking, talking kid over, put her on her lap AND STARTED BREAST FEEDING HER. Dude, if you are old enough to ask for it, you are too old for the tit. I couldn't help but stare. I wonder if when she is 60, she is gonna follow little Toothy Mcbreast-alot to a high school dance and whip out her old old saggy boob so her 15 year old kid doesn't go hungry during "In Your Eyes." Am I wrong people?

3) I overheard some people at work today talking about annoying commercials and how the New York Times should really spring for new ads. (I go straight for Arts and Leisure!) One guy brought up a commercial I hadn't thought about in a really long time but one that haunted me with its awefulness for a long time...... "I'm so gellin'!" Remember those commercials? With their inane rhymes and the "square guy" who claimed, "I'm totally gellin'" to which his hep co-workers replied, "He's so NOT gellin'".... Just remembering it makes me mad all over again. I hope whomever created that commercial gets anal leakage. Yeah, the kind they warn you about on packages of chips made with Olean.

4) Speaking of work, I felt totally vindicated by my old anti-Harry Potter rant in a previous post when I heard my co-worker exclaim in the midst of a Potter-fight: "It's a kids thing. I don't hae time to waste on a kid's book." Ah, as long as I'm not the only snob out there.

5) I had the most fucked up nightmare last week and it haunted me for a couple of days. I couldn't shake the anxious feeling that it provoked in me. Basically, I was at school at some place like MIT but I was a fish out of water- like Reese Whitherspoon in Legally Blond, except less blond and perky. Everyone hated me and thought that I wasn't smart enough to be in the program and I kept embarassing myself in class. And then one of my classmates solved the last digit of pi and our professor told everyone else to see if they could solve it too. And I thought to myself, "Remember that movie where the dude went crazy because of pi? Don't make yourself crazy." But then I kind of did make myself crazy. All I knew of pi was 3.14 (thanks high school!) and all of my books, when I got back to my dorm room, were blank or written in Greek or Japanese and I couldn't understand them. And I was running around trying to come up with more digits of pi. No one hated high school math more than I and after that last statistics exam senior year, I've never wasted another minute thinking about math more complicated than leaving a tip at a restaurant so clearly this dream was a nightmare worse than showing up at school naked. I mean everyone has anxiety dreams but why does math have to enter into it?

So, there. I finally blogged about all the stupid shit I wanted to. There is finally something new to look at on this overly pink page. (Though I still don't get how you post pictures....damn you, Beth!) And this week there will be so much more to write about- Curiosa on Saturday....taking Jen on her first non-WASP ferry ride....researching a piece about the Republican National Convention for work....not being so drunk that when I ride in the elevator in the morning at the office that someone doesn't comment about the smell of beer coming out of my pores....good times.

Odds and ends, odds and ends. Lost time is not found again.

I could (and probably should) be writing all about Siren Fest and telling you how loud Mission of Burma were and how sweet the little crying indie teens were at the Death Cab show and how dance-tastic Electric Six were (even sans Jack White) but not only do I SO not feel like it..... but I'd be totally lying. I'd be lying cuz after a great, sweaty urgent punk-y set by the Thermals (as fronted by Hutch "father of Retown's 1000 babies" Harris) I got too hot and too drunk to really pay attention to anything else and, frankly, I only stuck around through the Constantines and TV on the Radio. Let's just say what followed were 13 straight hours of drinking and, while I had a fun night, there ain't much to recount. (Drank beer, went to a bar, played jukebox, drank beer, went into the city, drank beer, sat in park, drank beer, went to another bar, drank beer, ate pizza, drank beer, passed out.....) Though I'm pleased to report that I neither blacked out or puked so I'd consider it a winning day/night.

And I could write in detail here about the odds and ends of I Love the 90s that I've caught but frankly it mostly makes me angry. What? Have I lost my appetite for sickeningly un-fillilng, non-nutritious meals of nostalgic fluff? No, I still love that Alfenso Ribero can sing all the lyrics to Snow's Informer, but I can't help but be filled with rage watching second tier comedians all say the same thing about Joey Buttafuco's fat head and guido pants. PS: I say that with respect in my voice because I wish I could be one of those second tier comedians- call me, VH1!!)

Or I could write about how my ipod has died and won't turn on and just looks at me with a sad face depicting a file with an exclamation point on it. Worse yet I can't figure out how to register with Apple so I can send it back and get a new one. Worse still, I can tell it's gonna be til like winter til I get one back!

Or I could write about how jealous I am of Beth's blog since she has clearly mastered the fine blogging art of posting pictures which my blog rejects every time I try. For example I wanted to wow you, my loyal audience of 3, with pictures of Jonathan Jackson (but while my blog wouldn't comply it was no great loss cuz I read some article about his love for the Lord and how one of his favorite pasttimes is spreading His word so clearly my crush is over!) but alas, even cutting and pasting the html code was too complicated. I think Retown must be a place where troglodytes live.

In truth I've been so scattered lately that I don't think I have the attention span to write anything cohesive. But, since Shaya suggested that I rename this blog Listown and lists are easy even for the ADD-aflicted among us, here is a list. And since I've strayed in recent posts from what it is that I really love, it is a brief list of the mix that I'd be making to put on my ipod if old Retardo Montalban (as he's called-man, has he earned that nickname this week!) wasn't out of commission.

Disco Blackout- Controler.Controler (let's hear it for bands from Toronto! Especially post-punk bands from Toronto with chic singers that sound like the love child of Karen O and Siouxsie)
Remember Today- The Thermals (Yes Hutch is gonna be my baby daddy and the band's urgent, 3-chord, lo-fi punk can seem repetitive, but this song has really thoughtful lyrics like, "Anything you can break you can probably mend, Anything you can feel you can feel again.")
Disconnect The Dots- Of Montreal (I've been loving this album for a couple of months but I actually caught this video on MTV2 last night and it's so wonderfully weird- just like the band- that I was reminded why this was such a supremely fun song)
The Rat- The Walkman (Ok, despite the title of this song- and I think I've made my phobia of rats clear here before- I love this song. I can't believe I don't have the album yet. Dude, it came out in February!)
Michael- Franz Ferdinand (This song reminds me of my college years where I thought gay men were the sexiest. Living in London I always found myself- thanks to a certain gay boyfriend- dancing at GAY with all the pretty men feeling like that Margaret Cho joke about wishing as a little girl that she would be surrounded by beautiful men when she grew up and knowing now that she should've been more specific. I think Franz Ferdinand must've been at those clubs in London cuz they totally captured the feeling of that sultry, sexy queer dancefloor star. Rob Sheffield's article in last week's Voice pretty much summed up my feelings about this song)
Lover I Don't Have To Love- Bright Eyes (Usually I like Conor's wordy poetry when talking about politics or misery but what makes this song a favorite these days is that it is so fucking sexy! It really is the only song I can think of that really captures a one night stand- it's all about wanting and it's exciting but detached- and the best part is, he narrarates from the point of view of both of the characters. The Conor-like band guy: "It is 2 o'clock. The club is closed and we are up the block. Your hands are on me. I am pressing hard against your jeans. Your tounge is in my mouth, trying hard to keep the words from coming out. You didn't care to know who else may been you before. I want a lover I don't have to love. I want a girl that is too sad to give a fuck." His small-town, hipster groupie: "I want a lover I don't have to love. I want a boy who is so drunk he doesn't talk.... I need some meaning I can memorize. The kind I have always seem to slip my mind. But you write such pretty words. But life is no storybook. Love is an excuse to get hurt and to hurt." I F'N LOVE THIS SONG!)
Jenny Was a Friend of Mine- The Killers (It's my favorite Killers song of the moment. It's moody and dark- it's about murder- but it may have the catchiest chorus on the whole album)
Six Different Ways- The Cure (Because the Cure are always awesome and I'm getting amped up for Curiosa next weekend!)
Combat Baby- Metric (This was my favorite song on this album when I bought it in December and I was just browsing on the itunes music store and it was this week's featured video! I'm really excited for them. Plus their lead singer....also from Toronto!)
Watch This House- Natural History (They are playing this weekend at the East River Music Project for free. If you like Elvis Costello- and I'm planning on being his next wife- and his early punky stuff, you won't be sorry!)

Almost immediately I felt sorry.....

On this, the eve of the Siren Music Fest, I thought I'd take it easy and rest up for the fun ahead. So, instead of an evening out boozing it up, I went after work to see Fahrenheit 9-11 which, by the by, totally taught me how to spell the word "Fahrenheit". I could post here about how important I thought the film was or how I can't handle seeing 9/11 images without being reduced to tears, even three years later, or how angry Bush made me or how Michael Moore should've left out the "easy" Bush jokes because it weakens his otherwise strong arguments, but this never claimed to be a politcal site and- truth be told- I came home and launched into an hour long tirade/review of the movie and its politics to Beth so I'm just plum out of words now.

I then proceeded to spend an evening watching missed episodes of I Love The 90s with the roomie and reminiscing about where I was when "I Want It That Way" had a stranglehold on TRL or I heard the infamous phrase "I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Ms. Lewinsky." (For the record it was high on my sofa in college in St. Louis with Kate and in my London flat at Park West Apartments on Edgeware Road, respectively.) It's weird to feel nostalgic for things in the recent past. But the weirdest part is that I thought that it would seem superfluous and too recent but, since I graduated college in '99 and my life in the Louie feels weirdly like lifetimes ago, it actually made me nostalgic. And that made me kinda sad. 5 years is not really a long time. So, in the spirit of the disgust I feel with myself for allowing myself to be sucked in by Michael Ian Black and Mo Rocca and their brand of fake corporate nostalgia, here are the top 10 things that disappointed me these last couple days:

1) I thought that once I had digital cable there would always be something on TV to watch. I was wrong. This week I've been reduced to watching Grease for the 4 millionth time in my life (have I mentioned before that this was the movie that taught me- at 7 years old- that I was heterosexual because sideburned, leather jacket-wearing John Travolta stirred feelings in me that I'd never felt before), watching the same episode of The Best Week Ever 3 times in one night, watching the video for Lionel Ritchie's "Ballerina Girl" on VH1 Classic's pop show and just plain watching my neighbors through my huge bedroom windows. (I don't feel so bad about that last one, since my neighbors have totally seen me naked on more than one occasion. It's exceptionally weird to actually catch someone watching you from across the courtyard. Like when you make eye contact with them. I've since gotten curtains.)
2) I kinda felt like a dirty old lady twice today. First, while watching Fahrenheit 9-11 they had some sexy little alterna-dude in the high school in Flint talking about army recruiters with his East Village hair and Strokes t-shirt. (I know he is too young for me, lives in Michigan AND i was supposed to be paying attention to the attrocities of the Bush administration not imagining myself as a Mrs. Robinson character. Bad Retown!) Then secondly, when I was flipping through the TV trying to avoid yet another viewing of Grease, I stumbled across Tuck Everlasting on the N (or some other kids network). Now I loved that book in the 4th grade, but I must admit that I watched the movie for a whole 20 minutes just cuz I thought Jonathan Jackson was dreamy. (Please do not confuse him for the acne-ridden Canadian Joshua Jackson from the Creek. Jonathan was the original Lucky from General Hospital.) He is playing someone who is supposed to be forever 17, or something, and the actor, though 22, is still younger than my little sister- which is my general guideline of "how young can you go?" But he is all floppy-haired and puffy-lipped and reminds me of the blond WASPY prep school boys I pretended to shun in high school (I think in truth they shunned me). You know what else he has going for him? Jackson starred in my favorite tv movie/afterschool special of all time- Trapped in a Purple Haze, about heroin addiction- with Carly Pope (star of Popular and my favorite ABC family channel movie, This Time Around.)
3) The fact that I actually know nonsense like who starred in Trapped in a Purple Haze and This Time Around is pretty disappointing. That's pretty disgusting. And I wonder why I can't remember high school math! (PS: the other star of Trapped in a Purple Haze? Hayden "Shattered Glass" Christensen-Skywalker.)
4) Yes the Prince show was amazing. Trancendent even. But why did the purple one have to tease us with songs we really wanted to hear and make them part of some Vegas-y medley. I want to hear all of "When Doves Cry" damnit!!
5) And while we are on the subject of Prince.....don't change your lyrics! Who wants "Purple Rain" to be interrupted with lines about opening up their bible? Dude, PR is all about not wanting to be your weekend lover, not loving the Lord. Or Jehovah. Or whoever.
6) I heard that since Shaya and Adam and I were on the list for last night's Moving Units show, we could've just walked to the front! Dude, that's fucked up. We are being punished for being honest and not entitled assholes. Or we are just dumbasses who should've checked before we got out of line and gave up on the concert.
7) I Love the 90s reminded me of a lot of things that fill me with rage. Like Harry Potter. Now, I have no beef with the young wizard himself. And I think it's great that kids are excited about reading and waiting with bated breath for a book to come out instead of some stupid video game. But at the height of Potter-mania I had all these friends (Yeah, Dava I'm talking to you!) who were mad about the books and talking them up to me constantly. Now I'm on the record as being anti- all fantasy and/or science fiction literature and movies so I was naturally predisposed to hate old Harry. And though I've since seen the first two movies (though both on planes so it wasn't actually a conscious choice where money exchanged hands in return for the privilege of viewing these kiddie films) I must admit that I think there is something sad about being a grown up who reads Harry Potter. I'm sorry. I never said I wasn't prejudiced (hey, I freely admit to be prejudiced against religious people!). Its like pulling out a copy of One Fish, Two Fish on the subway. It's a kid's book. And you, at 25 or 40, are not a kid. You can digest grown up reading material. I'm not saying that you can only read Dostoyevsky (Hell, my current subway reading is either Entertainment Weekly or Howling At The Moon)but Harry Potter? A mind is a terrible thing to waste, folks.
8) I recieved an email the other day from a gentleman we'll call Slacker Joe (copyright Shaya Mohajer). Now we went on one date two months ago and it was, shall we say?, uneventful. (By uneventful I mean that he sat on my couch, high, for the better part of 6 hours continually putting on new videos until I made him leave) Now he's writing and propositioning me for sex. Now Slacker Joe has no job, no degree, no artistic dreams and lives with his parents. I'm no "Got to have a J-O-B if you want to be with me" kind of gal but c'mon dude! You had NOTHING to talk about. You don't do anything. You don't go anywhere. I know that we all have "needs" (also copyright Shaya Mohajer) but there is NOTHING sexy about someone who has absolutely no interests. At all. Seriously. He was cute, but not that cute.
9) I wish I felt something about the new Streets album. I really do. I get that Mike Skinner is clever and a good storyteller but I think his beats are lazy. I mean, there is no MUSIC in his music. Everyone else is peeing themselves about this record though. What am I missing folks? Am I deaf?
10)Geez, I just reread #7. That is kinda disgusting. No wonder my parents tell me that I'm a snob, ad nauseum.

See you all at Siren. I'll be the freakshow having convulsions of joy at the foot of the stage where the Thermals are playing.
Oh God, it's 3:24 in the morning and I've managed to make it all the way to the "Sandy" song at the drive-in at Grease! I always fast forwarded past this part as a kid. It's totally the "Cheer Up Charlie" of Grease. That's gotta be my cue to go to sleep. Or at least find something on HBO to watch.

Rock Rock Rock N Roll High School

I love Moving Units and I really, really like Erase Errata and the Unicorns so I, naturally, tried to see them at the free/$2 show at Volume- especially since it's around the corner from my apartment. Unfortunately, me and Shaya and Adam were not the only people with this idea. Arriving at the old warehouse space, we were awash in a sea of punky- outsider-y high school students and mulleted hipsters. They were arriving two-by-two like Volume was the freakin' arc! And the line- dear God, the line!- stretched all around the whole city block. When we finally toook our place behind some wannabe, Ducky-esque kids we were around the corner, at the exact opposite side of the entry. When a bouncer (or just some skinny indie rocker with an official-looking piece of paper) came out and said the club was full we had no choice but to shrug our shoulders and go enjoy a yummy dinner at Oznot's dish instead. But the night was no loss. In fact, waiting in line and chain smoking was totally worth it for the atmosphere we soaked up. And, with that in mind, dear readers, I bring you the five best things overheard in line at Volume:

1) Some long haired 'tween introducing another alterna-teen to her blond friends: "Simone, Alexis, this is Allegra."
2) Some man-faced high school chic in a black punk rock sweatshirt and arm bands, after answering her cell phone, describing the call to her friends: "He just said 'I was just taking a shit and listening to the Kinks so now I'll go back to taking a shit and listening to the Kinks. I hope this isn't your landline.' Can you imagine if it was my home phone? With my parents?"
3) One nose-ringed high school dude to his spiky-haired Good Charlotte-looking neighbor: "Are you from the city?" Good Charlotte: "Nah. Westchester."
4) Woman in the blue kinderwhore thrift store dress with her streaky mullet pulled into pigtails to her friend with a short, dark pixie cut and Morrissey cardigan: "C'mon, Steve's up front. He's been here forever. His boyfriend used to do the sound guy."
5) Asian alterna-teen dressed as Summer from the OC (short, flouncy skirt, pastel polo shirt, long shiny brown hair) on her cell phone: Blah, blah, blah...."Ok, I've got to go. Good luck tanning!"

High-Larious! Seriously. At one point I tried to talk and Adam said, "Shhhh, when you talk I can't hear!" So we just stood there silently smoking and eveasdropping! It almost made it worth it that I missed I Love the '90s. You know, despite my claims to the contrary, I've missed every episode this week. Well, at least you can always count on VH-1 for one thing- RERUNS!

Exit Music (For a Film)

I don't care what anyone says about the hipsters and getting-more-expensive rent, I fucking love my new neighborhood! And not for the reasons you think. Not just for band boys that roam the street making for daily pulse-quickening eye candy. Not just for the overabundance of coffee shops and bars (yet mysterious lack of supermarkets). Not just because it makes me feel better about being marginally employed because no one here seems to work a real 9-5 job. No, as it turns out, I love Williamsburg for exactly the reason I thought I wouldn't. I love the landscape of it. The industrial warehouse buildings with broken windows. The truck depots. The aluminum siding covered row houses. The abundance of grafitti on the brick walls on the kind of abandoned walk to my apartment from Bedford Avenue.
Sometimes when you are feeling shitty (and no one has been feeling shittier than me this week since the plague descended. Well, my doctor says it's tonsilitis but the woman did audibly gasp when she looked in my throat. Plus, I think a fever of over 102 degrees on a person that isn't in grade school is a little scary.) you really want to wallow in it. You want the movie of your life to have the soundtrack and set dressing to mirror how truly terrible you feel. Williamsburg has done that for me this week. As I dragged my sweaty, fevered ass to the subway so I could go see the doctor I felt oddly comforted by the quiet industrial landscape and the noise of the tractor trailers on Roebling Street. I felt like shit and the hot, deserted street, strewn with dog doo and beer bottles and (I shit you not) a dead rat, was like "mise on scene" depicting my misery.
I think there are two types of people in this world, those who wake up feeling shitty and who hate that and those who wake up feeling shitty and embrace that and determine to have the shittiest possible day ever. I, obviously, am the latter. If I'm going to be depressed, I'm going to be the best at it, goddamn it!
To wit, I've listened to nothing but Radiohead's "OK Computer" on my ipod since the plague descended.
"A heart that's full up like a landfill,
a job that slowly kills you,
bruises that won't heal.
You look so tired-unhappy,
bring down the government,
they don't, they don't speak for us," going around and around in my head.
It's so cliche- wallowing. It reminds me of being 15 and wearing the signifiers of depressed, misunderstood adolescents without actually being depressed or misunderstood. I wore black on the outside cuz black was how I felt on the inside. But, you know what? Now that the plague seems to have passed and I finally have energy again, I changed out of my pajamas and a sunnier attitude seems to have emergered. Hell, I'm back to my steady listening diet of Franz Ferdinand, The Thermals and The Killers! I know the worst is past.
But, I must admit, that it is oddly comforting to know that when something bad happens- I don't get that job that I want or some boy doesn't like me or I just generally feel icky- that I won't have to travel far to find an environment to match my mood. I'll just walk down to Roebling and N9th street and ogle the broken windows and grafitti on the outside of the warehouse building of what is obviously some hipsters expensive loft on the inside and soak up the fake depression.

PS: I'm totally staying home tomorrow (even though I've had a boring weekend of staying in and "getting better") cuz it's the premier of I LOVE THE 90s!!
PPS: In case I didn't extoll it's virutes enough- penicillin rules. Seriously, I'm rethinking my stance on the best invention of the last hundred years. Screw computers and tv and stuff. I want to have Sir Alexander Fleming's babies. Seriously. Like a million of them. (FYI: he invented penicillin in 1928.)

Oh well, whatever, nevermind.....

Each day of this long weekend I prepared to update my blog. Each day something new and noteworthy happened. And each day I was too drunk or hungover or tired or overwhelmed to post. So, where does that leave me now? Well, for starters it leaves me with four days of catching up to do here. Unfortunately, since I waited this long to post, none of the weekend's events seem that pressing or interesting and I've had WAY too little sleep to write about anything that happened with any modicum of excitement. So I'm subjecting you to another list.

15 Things I Learned on My 4th of July Weekend:

1) Motherfucker parties are fun because the djs rock, but arrive late enough to miss the live music. Especially if the show includes the terrible Neil Young immitations of hipster-coiffed Jesse Malin. Especially if Jesse seems to have been on a coke binge and is going to talk more than sing. Especially if he is going to say redonkulous things about "freedom in your pants" and being too punk rock for Queens and not caring if anyone registers to vote but hating Bush.
2) Jesse Malin is a douchebag.
3) Motherfucker is supposed to be on Sunday nights to keep all the Friday/Saturday revellers out. When held on a Friday, the party is too crowded. Especially if you are on 5 beers and a vicoden.
4) Drag queens love my boobs.
4)The best brunches in all of the 5 boroughs are all in Williamsburg.
5) If you are going to stay up until three in the morning arguing with a philosopher about whether Back to the Future could actually happen, you need to be prepared to have your whole world view blown open. Also, when talk veers away from time travel and turns to determinism it is probably best to not be so stoned off your ass that you actually go to bed depressed and crying a little because you feel powerless over your own life.
6) Having a roof deck is key on a holiday that revolves around fireworks over the East River.
7) The best way to greet guests for your 4th of July party is stoned and in a towel fresh out of the shower.
8) Wearing a skirt is not a great idea if you have to climb a ladder to get to the roof deck where you are gonna watch the fireworks.
9) Fireworks are pretty for approximately 2 minutes. After that they get real boring, real fast.
10) Pete's Candy Store's outdoor area is my favorite. You can smoke, get sandwiches and play a rousing- if oft-aborted- version of the movie game with your whole party of 12 and 2 (weird) total strangers from the next table.
11) Sometimes, even if you think you watch too much TV and too many movies, the movie game can be hard. It's weird that it was easy for me to come up with Looking for Mr. Goodbar (as an example of a Richard Gere movie) but difficult to think of a Christopher Walken movie that wasn't The Deer Hunter.
12) Bars with no working air conditioning should be avoided at all costs during the summer months in New York City.
13) Between 2 guys and 3 girls, you can come up with a lot of terms for dicks and tits. Enough, in fact, to base a game on it. In fact, I think I'm better at that game (the listing of slang terms for body parts game) than the movie game.
14) When you are playing "I Never" and you are so fucked up that you can't remember when you are supposed to drink- it's time to stop playing. This is a lesson learned the hard way.
15) I am officially too old to pull allnighters. If I stay up all night (especially if I stay up all night drinking and smoking) I feel lousy the next day and can't function. But, that said, four hour daytime naps can be nice- no matter what your age.