Editorial Note: The anecdote was, in fact, not hilarious at all. I'm using an ancient writing device that the Romans called "sarcasm."
While waiting for the E train, Amy showed us her new shoe organizer. She was very excited, and so were we.
We got off the train and immediately wondered where the hell we had been dropped off. The area just above the East Village looks like an mill town in New Jersey from the 50s. Honestly, the place was so unfamiliar I thought I'd be accompanied at any moment by a troupe of singing dwarfs who love sweets.
Editorial Note: I'm really pleased with that "Wizard of Oz" reference. If you didn't get, that's OK, I'm sure I'll make another one in the future.
There was this old factory in the distance that looked as though it hadn't yet been made into luxury condominiums, which immediately disconcerted me. Un-utilized commercial space in newly sheik residential areas always rubs me the wrong way.
What was really strange about the place was that it looked like a 'bad neighborhood' but there were all these really great, hip little bars and restaurants all over the place. I guess they're a result of the neighborhood's proximity to the East Village. I think we were technically in Alphabet City, or just South of it. At any moment we thought we might get mugged, but it would be alright because we would catch up with the muggers late at some place named after a verb with a giant screen-printed scene from "The Love Boat" over the Bar later.
Editorial Note: I know, there aren't usually so many asides--get off my tip. Second, I just made up the whole "bar named after a verb with a screen-printed scene from "The Love Boat" thing. It only exists in my dreams... for now.
When we got to the bar I was surprised to find it was an Irish pub. I was surprised because nothing I read mentioned anything about it being an Irish pub. No matter, Irish pubs are banana muffins, and people are usually really friendly there. We sat down and ordered beerz.
Shortly after we sat down, the bartender--who had this habit of listening to what you were saying but completely failing to acknowledge you--told us there were free wings at the end of the bar. This was especially awesome for me because the only things I'd consumed all day were a few Godiva chocolates--holdovers from the absurd amount of Christmas candy our office got--and a bottle of vitamin water (I don't remember which flavor, so don't ask... it was probably the orange one). I immediately loaded up a plate and ordered another beer.
This isn't a very good picture, but I needed photographic evidence of free wings.
Typically when I go to bars with large beer selections I order the one with the funniest sounding name. I did not, however, order the Dinkel Ackle Dunker, because that's surprisingly common. I got something named after a type of dog that was good enough, but not terribly memorable. It did, however, get me wasted. Half-way down my third beer I cursed the wings for not being more absorbent.
Amy noticed a bottle of rum from the Dominican Republic behind the bar. She ordered a Diet Coke and Rum and inexplicably got sillier. Neither Walt nor I can drink rum anymore, for our own individual reasons, so we didn't try the drink. That said, I was going to break my normal avoidance of rum because this was "special Dominican Republic run," but I also don't drink diet soda, so I was basically completely barred from Amy's drink. In retrospect, I wonder if she did that on purpose...
Rum from the DR:
Ok, we've all got a healthy buzz, time to go meet Brent at Doc Holiday's--where soberness goes to die. On the way there, we passed "Angels and Kings," which is owned by Pete Weintz of "Fall Out Boy." I'm not a huge Pete Weintz fan or anything, in fact, I kind of love how much sites like Gawker make fun of him and his guy-liner, but for some reason I vehemently wanted to go in. The place looked really lame though. All the metal shutters were down and it looked like no one was inside. It was also oddly bright, not just the lights, but the walls. You'd be surprised what bars look like when the lighting is good. The walls of Beauty Bar, incidentally, are bright bright neon green, but you'd never know because the lights are always so low. Little knowledge for your mind.
After not going to "Angels and Kings" we arrived at Doc Holiday's. Amy went to get a taco, and we sat down with Brent and a bucket of Rolling Rocks. We were under the impression it was still Happy Hour, which meant we'd get 2 buckets for the price of 1, but when I got to the bar the bartender said, "it's too bad it's not Happy Hour anymore," then you'd get 2 for the price of 1." Shit. I didn't want to bring it up, you don't argue semantics with the bartenders at Doc Holiday's. Come to think of it, you should really try not to argue semantics with anyone at Doc Holiday's.
The Rolling Rocks in the bucket were the kinds of beers that are made specifically for buckets of beer, which means they were tiny. For some reason I didn't take a picture, but if you want to put on your imagination cap, think of a normal-size beer and make it about 3 inches shorter. Viola.
But it didn't seem to matter how big the beers were... because we got trashed. Just because the buckets weren't 2 for 1 didn't mean that they stopped serving PBR. The table was a wasteland of cheap beer and no longer topical graffiti about things like: Reaganomics and POGs. They ran out of cold PBR, so we switched to Miller Lite.
Once Walt's hood went up, he told us all about the "Walt Tang Clan," and it's founding principles.
Editorial Note: The Walt Tang Clan, while originating in Malaysian during the Thai-Malaysian War of Words, was first brought to the United States via Ohio State University in the Summer of 2003 by Walt Keys and his merry band of Juggalos. After abandoning the Insane Clown Posse in hopes of finding a better life for their children, and their children's children, Walt fell upon an ancient scroll that detailed the doctrines of the "Walt Tang Monks." He passed along these teaching to his breathren, and thus the "Walt Tang Clan" was formed. The fact that Walt's name is "Walt" and that he is the founding American father of the Walt Tang Clan is purely coincidental.
Then Brent mentioned that he had some friends who were having a house-party at their apartment a couple blocks away. What? Brent, who the hell are these friends of yours who randomly have an apartment right in the middle of the East Village? Whatever. So we went.
Inside there was a beer pong table set up, along with a giant TV, a tap of some kind of microbrew beer coming out of a refrigerator, and these two weird girls sitting on the couch.
Hi weird, giggly girls!
Neither Walt, nor Amy, nor I knew anyone there, and I was starting to wonder if Brent actually knew anyone there. Then I realized these guys must be investment bankers, in order to be this young and have a place in the East Village. This made me very uncomfortable. There's something about investment bankers I don't trust. I can't really pin-point it, but I'll tell you this, I always watch my drink around them.
They seemed like nice enough guys though, and they ordered pizza for all the strangers in their apartment, which put them on the "Nice List." They also has these two interesting signs next to the front door that totally intrigued my drunk ass. One, I know, was about sports betting, which I don't really care about but admire nonethesame. The other looked like a guest roster, but everyone on it got the designation "Brother," and it was labeled "HOTEL DELTS." Now that I think about it, "DELTS" might be the street name or something, or maybe the building name. For a second I thought it was something really clever and bizarre. Maybe it is. Maybe "DELTS" means "crotchless panties" in Ukrainian, or something.
We took some random pictures of ourselves in there apartment too:
We walked to the subway and Brent was fascinated by a building under construction. Once my attention was called to it, I was equally fascinated--but frustrated because Brent is, like, 3 feet taller than me and could see everything better. We both tried to take some pictures, but this was the best one we could get.
Then we rode the subway for a while and had a tired photo shoot. We were all tired for about twenty minutes. Apparently, when you're as wasted as we were, a few minutes of fake sleep is like several hours of real sleep. Soon enough, Brent was trying to do the "Superman" on a subway pole, Amy was eating an apple she found under one of the seats, and I was making out with a homeless guy named "Brickhouse."
Editorial Note: 2 of those things aren't true.
Back at the apartment, Brent fell asleep on our temporarily, woefully uncomfortable couch. I woke up the next day with a moderate hangover, and cursed the chicken wings again--for not being absorbent enough.
3 comments:
Boundary Bay hoodie, represent.
My brother and I were recently in a single file line in an immense cavern holding candle lanterns. We almost sang, and we love sweets. Andy and I are like your troupe, except I prefer you picture us in Snow White rather than creepy, creepy Oz.
To post this comment, I have to type "jzchoo." Ha. Hahaha.
we went to that same apartment with brent after the thanksgiving potluck.
at first i was really excited, being the only girl there with my pick of the lot. but then, i realized that the place was packed with a bunch of bankers and accountants and they all looked about 22. one guy asked me to design his website and gave me his business card. im pretty sure he was about 20. but they did let me play with their itunes all night, and i believe it was the douchiest music library i have ever seen, so i had a lot of fun playing garth brooks and backstreet boys to the whole party. and the beer was free.
P.S. i think DELTS refers to a frat... still impressed?
the beer at said apartment was newcastle, and was the main ingredient in the cocktail of excess that made me fall asleep on the train and wake up in newark.
i will teach you the ways of the walt-tang... when you are ready
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