Britters.

Here we were in a trashtastic East Village bar. Could have been worse, could have been in a place where there weren’t cowboy boots nailed to the ceiling. Always a significant sign that there will be more than your share of dancing done. Even still, the place reeked of douchebaggery.

Epically. No popped collars, nothing so obvious, come on, we weren’t on the Upper East Side. But still there was this tang in the air. A tang of dress shoes with ironed jeans. You could practically smell the starch melting against the iron’s prow. Only one dude feared to tread outside the lines and he went the full monty — Cosby era sweater, all neon and horizontal stripes, a rabbit-lined hunting cap and a conspicuous pair of loafer/high-top hybrid. Strange. Too strange.

Obviously, not strange enough to leave behind the Bud Light special (7 bucks unlimited. I know what you’re saying… “Why leave EVER?”), but it took some doing to get one’s bearing in such a place. The guy I’d been chatting with (Scott?) slurped his brew and pointed at the ingrate who wore the rabbit hat and slurred, “Check that out. He slaughtered a raccoon for his chapeau.”

Oh, yes. Chapeau.

Nice, I know. What could I do, but return the volley. “Yeah, intense. It IS cold out there.”

“How could he do that though? Raccoons are bros.” He held his hands up against his face a la Uma in Pulp fiction, all scissors, and continued, “They are GANGsters. You can’t make them into a hat.” I considered this. Raccoons do indeed seem intelligent creatures (CON: trash-eating; PRO: note-worthy cameo in National Lampoon’s Summer Vacation) and why should anyone, including Davy Crockett have the right to snuff a life for headgear. So, what could I say but, “Totally. He’s a douche.”

Our friend Scott turned to me and with eyes wide open said, in epiphanic ardour, “Finally. A chick who understands what that word means.”

Breaths been bated for my musical picks of the year, right?  Well, why not?  Honestly, I could have just cribbed it from the ‘Fork, but I likes to make up my own recipes.  Next time you stop by, I’ll share the secret ingredient in my Celebration Punch.  Hint: class-A narcotic.

Without further ado, here’s what’s rubbed the soles off my dancing boots this year.

1. “Summertime Clothes,” Animal Collective

2. “Dull Life,” Yeah Yeah Yeahs

3. “Islands,” The xx

4. “Blinding,” Florence + the Machine

5. “Two Weeks,” Grizzly Bear

6. “Death,” White Lies

7. “Wake,” The Antlers

8. “Oh No,” Andrew Bird

9. “Bulletproof,” La Roux

10. “Little Lion Man,” Mumford and Sons

11. “Lust for Life,” Girls

12. “Keep It Goin’ Louder,” Major Lazer

13. “She Loves Everybody,” Chester French

14. “Bad Romance,” Lady Gaga

15. “Hang You from the Heavens,” Dead Weather

16. “House of Mirrors,” Doves

17. “You Do You,” Bear in Heaven

18. “Sunlight,” Harlem Shakes

19. “Golden Phone,” Micachu

20. “All for the Best,” Thom Yorke

If you ask nice (or offer sexual favors), I might even make you a holiday iMix.  Cheers, happy hols, etc.