Posts Tagged ‘Minions’

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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In a move that is totally 2007, the Barack Obama campaign team has set up a social networking site called My.BarackObama.com. You can think of it as Facebook‘s really, really timid cousin. You know, with fewer pictures of underage drunk girls and racist parties.

I, for one, am really happy about the development of this site. It’s another demonstration of Obama’s forward-thinking ways. Not only is he creating a community for his young supporters where they have a safe space to dialogue about their dreams for America, he’s making it just a little easier for me to find a husband.

Now, I like universal health care, peace and unions as much as the next guy. I’ll stand beside Obama as he takes on the Halliburtons and the Rangers and all the other ultra-right-wing organizations. But at the end of the day, I’m looking for one thing from my President and that’s easy access to potential suitors or at least drunken, liberal hook-ups.

I can just picture it now: I log into My.BarackObama.com and see I have a new message from HackeySacks1980. “Hey cutie… U R so liberal. U wanna chill 2nite??!”

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Why do people go to Manhattan clubs? They’re crowded, expensive, and the polar opposite of fun. Not fun. They’re pretty much all awful. Each and every one. But I think the worst might be BLVD. Pronounced “boulevard.” It’s tricky, I know. BLVD is located on Bowery between Spring St. and Hell. But it’s closer to Hell. You’ll see it. It has its minions standing guard outside. They’re not too noticeable at first, looking like typical Manhattan bouncers, however once they speak to you it’s impossible to ignore their satan inspired attitude, and asshole-like faces. Also, try not to look them straight in the eye. You might turn into stone. Or vomit. So best to try to avoid that.

Another reason to hate BLVD is for its dresscode; men are required to wear button up shirts and loafers of some kind. No sneakers. However, the bouncers/doormen are allowed to look as though they spent the early afternoon hours punching their faces in with their own fists, and wear clothes that resemble outfits that could be found at a Mordor tag sale. Justice, where is the justice? And most annoying, BLVD enforces a “no cutting” policy, even if, let’s say, a certain someone (me, perhaps?) was in line with friends but then left to (very quickly) use the bathroom at the Chinese restaurant next door.  Once returning to her original spot, this certain someone would be forced to move to the back of the line.  (That was a true story.) Total bullshit. It’s fine though, Medusa (bouncer’s nickname, by me) received a nice long reprimand afterwards. It went really well. He seemed to really care. Moving along, once inside BLVD’s sneaker-free club, one can enjoy the extremely reasonably priced $8 coat check, $15 drinks, $50 minimum credit card tab, and $25 cover. It’s like heaven on earth.

So, if you’re looking to get into an argument with a bouncer and spend a chunk of your weekly earnings on watered down drinks, well then BLVD is the place to go. And if what you’re searching for is the opposite of that? Well, I say spend your weekends in Brooklyn. Sweet, sweet Brooklyn.

*Note: Author left the BLVD scene shortly after battling it out with Medusa. However, all prices have been confirmed by some friends who decided to stay.

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