January 2010
9 posts
This Isn't the Complaint Department.
I chatted with a friend today who works at the New Yorker. Cue: your envious grimace that morphs into a ponderous flip through my Facebook Friend roster to figure out who to chat with at my next house party. Yes, he’s a very amusing writer who pulls pithy comments from his mind like I pull clothes from my already-worn pile to see if they’re too besmirched with traces of last night...
A review of White Rabbits' gig at Bowery last... →
Yikes, they were good!
Small Talk, as per.
Scene: Candle-lit dinner party with ten or so guests. Flowers, wineglasses, place-cards wind down the table. I’m seated with two guys bookending me on both sides. The meat of a manwich, if you will.
Conversation’s all a-burble when I bring up the news that a recently published biography claims Warren Beatty managed to have sex with 13,000 women during his career. Guy on my left...
Still Shocked.
So, I sat next to Lou Reed tonight at a concert. I know. I’m still fanning myself even though he spent most of it snoring and it wasn’t during one of his wife’s shows.
I emerged all star-stuck, as anyone with a pulse would, and went to meet my dad for a drink round the corner. Bounding up all excited, I grabbed his arm and asked him, “Guess who I sat next to...
Manly Dranks.
Every inch of the bar was handcrafted with heart-stopping attention to detail: antique doorknobs instead of beer pulls, legless school desks bolted to the walls for an intimate stand-up drink, sugar dispensers act as hurricane glass round the candles. It’s cobbled together, but cleverly so. And almost every surface is made of rescued wood, so it feels aged and manly.
I was seated at the...
