Monday, September 19, 2005

Weekend Update

I'm feeling surprisingly chipper today.

We had a semi-busy weekend, and still managed to get decent rest, which is so important to us older folk.

Friday, after a grueling week, Tim showed up at my house a bit early. I got to answer the door in my briefs, dripping from the shower. After dressing, I managed to fix us a couple Manhattans using a bourbon new to us, Bulleit Frontier Whiskey. All in all very tasty. So tasty in fact, we had two each. I pulled myself together and we wandered out, on our way to dinner and Greg's 30th birthday party.

We dropped in at Live Bait for a burger for Tim and a crab cake for me, plus a couple of beers a piece, thereby guaranteeing us a rosy glow when we finally arrived at said party.

The invitation suggested that alcohol might make a swell birthday gift, but I'd already gotten a Virgin gift card for my musically inclined buddy, so we brought a couple of six packs and headed on up. The combined weight of those beer bottles was handy for the bicep curls I did all the way from the bodega to East 29th Street.

The doorman sent us to the wrong party at first. I could tell the minute we got off the elevator that the crowd of 20-something straight kids looking at us in wonder were not the invited guests. Back on the elevator again, this time consulting the invitation in Tim's pocket. Sure enough we arrived, were greeted by the host, saw Gregg and his (then) very attractive boyfriend, saw Mike and Eric, saw many of the other bear-type denizens that Greg attracts. The world's largest assortment of alcoholic beverages was arrayed in the kitchen. Not an inch of counter space was visible. We headed up to the roof and enjoy the 360 degree views afforded from the 48th floor. It was a lovely night; the moon was almost full, and most of us behaved accordingly. People were extremely friendly. A young man asked Tim and I if we were cover-models for Woofy Couple Magazine. We both thought that was sweet. We generally think that we'd be much more suitable for Mutt & Jeff Weekly. A thin young woman in an ill-fitting bear suit serenaded Greg, causing him to remove his shirt in embarrassment. She was exactly wrong and therefore just right. Midnight rolled around and we had to vacate the roof. It seemed like 90 plus people had crammed into the apartment, sending me into a spasm of claustrophobia. I looked around and noticed several of the same faces I've seen for years. They've never bothered to acknowledge me and that night was no different. When it seemed the most crowded, we begged off and left. I hear everybody went to Snaxx afterwards, but there was no way I was heading down into a basement after that crowd scene.

We hopped a cab across town and got out at 10th Avenue. The scene on 28th Street is completely bizarre. In my alcoholic reverie, it almost seemed like a Coney Island midway, with booths on both sides of the street. It's so strange to see all those people in their finery waiting in line to get into Crobar, choking on the smoke coming from the several vendor carts selling kebabs and such. Ah, the sheer glamour of it all. We pulled into the Eagle, which had that lovely shower curtain stretched across the ground floor bar, printed with instructions to go upstairs. We did.

I know you all love the Eagle. I can't stand that roof space. The halogen and sodium-vapor lighting that pours in through the chain link fencing from the parking lot across the street is harsh, combined with the grim brick walls towering over you. The crowd always seems to be waiting for the person behind you. The bartenders almost never make eye-contact with you when you order a drink. C'mon guys, there's got to be better places than this in New York. It's just not fun.

We headed home and slept in the next morning, had a very lazy day and went back to Tim's that afternoon. We thought we'd head out to Newark for a Portuguese dinner, or to Newark Avenue for Indian cuisine but hit the VIP diner instead. We relaxed and were in bed by 11:00!! On a Saturday night! Nice for a change to feel well rested on Sunday morning.

We headed back into town, Tim to the Dugout and I to the gym, where I got a really excellent workout in. I headed down to see Tim around 5:00. An alright crowd, not to bad for a September night. I was joined by the world renowned Joe.My.God. who spent a good part of the evening regaling me with tales of inappropriate behavior, keeping me in stitches. Gregg stopped by to tell me that he and his attractive boyfriend had parted company the morning before. I was sorry to hear that. They seemed cool together. And Ted's real cute. Birthday boy Greg dropped by for a beer, and we got to indulge in a decent birthday hug and some special birthday kisses. Tim had a good night, and we headed home, crawling into bed before 11:00 and watched the full moon shining down through my terrace doors.

4 Comments:

Blogger circleinasquare said...

New York at the tail end of summer;
*sigh*

6:59 PM  
Blogger farmboyz said...

Let's focus on the rooftop of The Eagle for a moment. It is not entirely without redemptive corners. The trick is to see how the intrusive lighting plays on the other attendees before selecting your position. If someone is standing in attractively suffused lighting, stand directly in front of him until he moves, and then assume his slot. There are about five such slots (sluts?) on that roof. Sometimes, the roof unleashes some exhiliration from the hearts of the attendees that wasn't available on the lower floors. Perhaps it is the moon, perhaps the air, or, as I assume, it is the Tower-of-Babel effect. They can go no higher. This is where the gods dwell in mist and thin atmosphere. The climbers lay down their quivers after the long hike, unfold the knotted cloth containing their talismen (yes, I know that's not the correct plural, but it's cute) and are ready to worship. Problem is there's never enough gods about to match the pilgrims.

Further, you describe a dugout encounter with Joe.My.God. I've had those (elsewhere). They are wonderful, like speeding head first through an asteroid belt into Vegas, like an undertow carrying you somewhere back to a place you've known or to somewhere new but recognizable. You don't swim against him because its such fun to go there. There is no end to him, and to his ability to spin and to dazzle. If one sees Joe at a bar, it is wise first to pee and to gather provisions before greeting him, as you may not wish to excuse yourself while he speaks, and there are no commercials. He should have been the proprietor of a rooming house in Amish country.

10:25 AM  
Blogger David said...

I haven't been to the Eagle that often, but the bartenders are always nice to me. I dunno.

3:41 PM  
Blogger Joe said...

I think what Tony is saying, in his usual gloriously descriptive way, is that I talk too much.

Guilty!

9:59 AM  

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