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Posts Tagged ‘Liquid Heroin’

More working, less coke. More mani-pedis, less passing out in cars. More red carpets, less vomiting in plants. More Hilary Duff, less Paris Hilton. More rehab, less knife fights.

Eek.

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Bon Vivant Diner: located on Broadway b/w 11th & 12th Streets

This diner is pricey. Probably too pricey. It’s decent though. But nothing to scream and shout over. Though, their milkshakes are tasty. Recklesley was so taken by the chilled drink she proposed there be a way to, “inject [the] milkshake directly into [her] veins.” We Brooklyn Skeptics prefer sugary treats over liquid heroin. We feel you just get more out of it.

As for the service, the waitstaff seemed pretty competent, for the most part anyway. At one point during the meal I, the author, asked our waiter for the location of the (women’s) powder room, and my question was met with the response, “yeah, sure.” Hmmm, interesting answer. Interesting and not at all helpful. (No need to fret, I eventually found the restroom on my own. Because I am a champion.)

There isn’t really anything more to be said about Bon Vivant Diner (English translation: Good [Something] Diner). It was pretty mediocre in all respects. My overall opinion: Nay-ish.

*I should point out that this diner is not in Brooklyn. Sorry.

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After a long day at the Met game, some of us were just looking for a way to unwind last night. It was quickly decided that we all needed to let our hair down, forget the troubles of the world, and get to some orderly – if excessive – competitive drinking. And so we began the first game of Asshole I’ve played since college. It was a doozy.

In case you are not as painfully familiar with the game as I am, you can look it up for yourself because it is too complicated to explain. It had a lot in common with the Brooklyn Brewery Beer Tasting, in that it involved a lot of beer and a terrifyingly drunk Johnb. It differed only in the amount of swearing, rules and playing cards involved.

About an hour in, the game devolved into some sort of fantasy/role-playing drama as one president reigned over the rest of us. She doled out drinks like other unelected leaders dole out summary executions or questionable intelligence. We curried her favor by slinging praise and adulation at her. We undercut our opponents with cruel moves and mandatory drinking. That’s the thing with this game – it encourages the very worst in its players. Normally generous, gregarious individuals reveal themselves to be sniveling brown-nosers whose only real skill is torturing those who are arbitrarily ranked lower than they are. It’s like Risk with livers.

Pros:

  1. Encourages swearing, drunkenness and other underrated activities.
  2. Less complicated than poker.
  3. Invites discussion of civic infrastructure, economic mobility and democratic principles.
  4. Involves trivia questions from time to time.

Cons:

  1. Brings out the asshole in everyone, so to speak.

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I’ve recently adopted a Tuesday evening tradition. Well, it’s only been two times now, so maybe it’s more of a Tuesday evening coincidence. It’s something in the spirit of Mardi Gras – revolting hedonism on a Tuesday. This event, which I like to call “Shotdogs,” has everything but the girls gone wild.

The evening starts out at Welcome to the Johnsons, a perfectly divey bar in the Lower East Side in Manhattan (yuck, I know). I’ve been going to this bar for several years now and was something of a regular when I lived in that hood. I was there for the summer when fruit flies had infested the limes and so there was always a fine film of bugs and bug-parts on every drink you ordered. That was when I developed an irrational fear of bar fruit. I’ve witnessed the replacement of the toilet that was once so covered in band stickers, you could hardly tell what you were supposed to do with it. The new one is collecting its own piss stained collection. I’ve been there for brawls between guys who look like they fell out of a Ramones show thirty years ago – replete with blood trickling from their self-pierced safety pin earring holes. Anyway, as pleasant as all that sounds, there is one reason above all that I have been a Welcome to the Johnsons fan for so long: $2 drinks during happy hour (from when you wake up till 9 PM). You must not tell anyone about this. It’s a secret.

At Welcome to the Johnsons, the drinking begins. First, $2 whiskey and gingers. Then the shots. Last night we did a Red Headed Slut, followed by the bartender’s own concoction, Dr. Nut. Then we continue on with the regular drinks. All the while, the conversation gracefully flits from one topic to the other, weaving in nearby patrons and their opinions of The Flaming Lips, March Madness, olive juice, etc.

cupcackeeIn order for the Shotdog participants to remain reasonable, we all have to eat dinner. Dinner is hotdogs from Dash. In my case, vegetarian chili dogs. In other cases, processed meat monstrosities, choked with bacon, Fritos and other wonderful things. But that’s not all. Then come the chips and salsa from Festival Mexican Restaurant (outside of which, some guy drunkenly peed behind a Pathfinder while everyone in the bar watched with horror and glee) and then cupcakes (including one for the bartender) from Sugar Sweet Sunshine. Please keep in mind, I skipped the gym to partake in this madness.

By 9:00, we are all sufficiently bloated and return home to watch American Idol while we mainline salad and try to rehydrate.

Now, I don’t know if this particular evening’s activities can be approximated in our borough. I have a feeling that it is possible, but only in Williamsburg, where girls in leggings and guys in hoodies are a dime a dozen. The real issue here is that while the people at Johnsons and the people in Williamsburg are all disgusting hipsters, the ones at Johnsons are much skeezier. In my mind, this goes a long way. So, until an absurdly underpriced dive bar and an absurdly overpriced hot dog vendor move into my current hood, I think I’ll just keep hitting up the L.E.S for my shotdog fix.

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The Brooklyn Skeptic Brooklyn Brewery Taste Test 2007

In an effort to both bond with our fine borough and get totally soused, Brooklyn Skeptic gathered on Friday evening to painstakingly taste test seven varieties of Brooklyn Brewery beer.

Undisputed winner: Monster Ale
Undisputed loser: Our livers

Brooklyn Lager: We started our evening off with the cornerstone of the BB lineup, Brooklyn Lager. The general consensus is that it’s mad bitter. I mean, it’s bitter to the point that before I moved to Brooklyn, I thought the borough would be too intense for me because of this beer. Some suggested it’s “bitter like johnbaptisedme,” while johnbaptisedme suggested it is “bitter like Wynona Ryder, but delicious like Val Kilmer. Oh! Cheers to the new couple (according to pizappas – but her celebrity gossip is debatable). Either way, Brooklyn Lager is a total power couple from 12 years ago.” Other folks suggested it tastes like “street cred” and “tobacco,” which, apparently, taste excellent with tofu pups in a blanket.

East India Pale Ale: Immediately upon popping the cap off this bad boy, we noticed the little story on the Christmas-colored label. BB suggests that the IPA is responsible for colonialism in that it is the beer that enabled the British to get to India. This ideological bitterness overcame the bitterness of the beer itself. Nice touch. Otherwise, all parties agreed that the eIPA was flavorful, dynamic, fruity, perfumey and divine. It felt like it was just bouncing on the tongue.
Johnbaptisedme added: “I feel sick” and “DRUNR!” I think this means she felt sick and drunk. That happens to the best of us.

Let's go METSPennant Ale: This is Brooklyn Skeptic’s binge drinking beer of choice. It is mild and delicious, with a burst of versatile flavor. We agreed that it is not offensive to any palate, won’t turn anyone off to Brooklyn, but still tastes like a quality beer. The best comment here is that it “can be drunk in mass quantities if necessary.”
Turtle suggests that it is Brooklyn Brewery’s safety school. Agreed. Pizappas offered that it tastes like a beautiful day at the Mets game. This concerns me because I really don’t like the idea of her licking around Shea Stadium. Shit’s nasty.

Pilsner: The Pilsner was, by far, the crap-wad of the group. It was suggested that it’s name be changed to Bud Dark – uncharismatic, deserving of a can rather than a bottle. Upon sipping this beverage, Turtle declared it a “wussy, flowery foo foo dandy beer,” and then dashed it to the floor. I cried as it began to warp my hard wood. Get your mind out of the gutter. The discussion was ended abruptly by the hostess declaring, “the sooner we finish the Pilsner, the sooner we can move on to something good.”

Frothy BrewBrown Ale: This is a really delicious beer that pizappas, johnbaptisedme (who at this point in the tasting is completely out of the game) and I had the great fortune of sampling at the actual Brooklyn Brewery last fall. It was just as delicious in the bottle as on tap.
This is a dark, rich brew with hints of chocolate, coffee and burnt sugar. Pizappas, who is a long time Brown Ale enthusiast, commented that it had a nice mouth-feel – thick on the back of your tongue. Plainclothesman countered with “makes me drunk.”

mmm...chocolate...Black Chocolate Stout: By this time, all of the Skeptics were drunk as skunks, but we still had two high-alcohol-content beers ahead. All handwriting illegible. I’ll just abandon the narrative so you can get a good picture of what’s going on:
“Smells like liquor!”
“Tastes delicious and gets me waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasted.”
“Smells like delicious tar – like once the dinosaurs has gotten totally fucked up & hallucinating on the tar that would be the end of their species.”

AHHH! Godzilla!Monster Ale:
Wins.

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-Britney Spears has once again, checked out of rehab after only one day. Someone should tell her she should stay in rehab longer. And get a better wig.

-Naomi Cambell was quoted as saying, “I’m the only one of my friends who doesn’t have kids. If I don’t have them soon I’ll be under loads of pressure.” Good idea. Have some kids, Naomi, and then beat them up with your cell phone.

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