Drunken Recollection… Concrete Jungle Where Drinks Are Made Of

Now that I’m clean-shaven and no longer look like this:

The bird is the word.

Or this:

I must admit, I missed my face.  I went through one day of phantom beard, but that was it.  I should mention my regret for removing the season-long Red Wings hockey beard on the first day of the Stanley Cup playoffs, but in order to fly to NYC without hassle, it seemed worth the hassle.  (Thank goatee they’re advancing to Round 2!)

Anysubway, I won’t bore you with the details.  All the details.  Just some of them.

Jay was Hitting One Liners Out of the Park

"Take me out to the ballgame, take me out to the crowd that wanted to beat up a guy for wearing a Mets' cap..."

On Friday, we headed to Yankee Stadium to see two of our beloved ex-Tigers play (Curtis Granderson and, um, Marcus Thames), and all day, my buddy Jay was calling ’em like he saw ’em.

Some of things he said that were actually documented:

I need to stop calling these trips vacations and start calling them work out retreats.

If I owned that shirt it’d be my third favorite shirt.

Hey I’m paying twenty bucks to look at empty stages tomorrow.

Steve: Who sings ‘I Can See Clearly Now the Rain is Gone?’
Jay: Ke$ha.

What are you? A garbophobe?

It’s getting all Wendy’s up in here! [This one was mine. – Ed.]

“It’s Getting All Wendy’s Up in Here!”

I wish I had photos as proof, but Wendy’s in Midtown is, simply put, insane.  I don’t think it was an isolated incident either.  The show Ugly Americans even gave a shout out to it.

At any rate, the breakdown of events (this all happened within fifteen minutes):

  • Some one threw their filled drink in the air.
  • A sober girl was trying to get a trashed girl up the stairs.
  • Steve slipped on the spilled drink and dropped everything but his drink.
  • Chris tripped down some stairs while holding only the top bun covered in its toppings.  (He wanted a plain one.)
  • Somebody left a strange package on one of the tables.  (I checked what it was, damned if I remember.)
  • A person kept screaming about how he wanted to kill everyone, and no one reacted.

I don’t know.  It seemed much crazier when I was trashed.

I’m So Proud of Myself for Something Not Proud

This photo's fuzziness doesn't even come close to my eyes' fuzziness that night.

On Saturday, we found a bar called No Idea and like the bar’s name, we had no idea what was in store (hee!).  We stopped here after not getting to play ping-pong at Susan Sarandon’s Spin because they were closing for a private party.

BONUS JAY QUOTE!

Here I was under the impression none of us played ping-pong.

The plan was this: kick back a few cheap drinks, make our way to bar hop in East Village, and finally check out P.D.T.’s in Crif Dogs (our missed mission from last year).  Let’s just say that plan’s quickly becoming an annual tradition.

As soon as the drinks kept flowing (courtesy of an all-you-can-drink party), the remainder of the night became a blur.

Oh yeah – my proud moment… I threw up and quickly returned to drink more.  I never knew I had it in me to do that!

The Drunk Idea of the Trip

Andrew Dice Clay’s reality show should have been called Rollin’ with Dice.  I was going to make a graphic, but fuck it (heehee!).

Drunken Recollection… The Empire Snuggies Back

In the middle of the night, a strange cough – that sounded distinctly male – startled me awake.  I was passed out in a queen-size bed with my cousin Steve.  We were in a hotel in New York City recovering from a long day of travelling and a longer night of drinking. 

…And we were each wearing a Snuggie.

 

EPISODE V
THE EMPIRE SNUGGIES BACK

The pub crawl on which the trip was focused was starting at noon.  It was ten when we started moving.  Steve kept mentioning how well he felt; I kept quiet about how much I was not.  We had set our sights on getting back to East Village by noon, but our first mission was to stop at the store to buy a vital item.

Steve called them safety pins; I referred to them as diaper pins.  Steve thought we could find them at Staples; I thought that was funny.  To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if they were still made.  Was there a need for diaper pins anymore?  (Safety pins?  Maybe.)  And why did we need them?  We each had grown fond of our Snuggies and didn’t want to ruin them.  (Oh, and we ended up finding some at Walgreen’s.  They weren’t by the baby supplies, but amazingly, condoms were.  Hmm.)

We had a plan to carry the three Snuggies we possessed in a backpack, and to don them as required (the third was Mike’s – another friend that was coming in from DC for his birthday).  It was New York though, and we probably could have worn them the entire way from Midtown, but… well, I don’t have a clever excuse.  I guess we weren’t 100% convinced the Snuggie Pub Crawl was real, and didn’t want to be left out in the cold heat (it was such a nice day… 70+ degrees).

Our first stop was the sign-up location.  We had purchased four tickets in advance (even though we thought it might not be real we used credit card information on the web… go figure), and on the train ride over, Steve verified the first bar stop on those four tickets.  When we arrived at the sign-up, Steve checked his pockets.

“I have some bad news.”  Apparently, somewhere between checking them on the subway and walking to this bar, the printed up sheets fell out and blew away.  We weighed our options.  We thought of alternatives.  They guy told us we needed tickets, and we didn’t want to have to purchase them again.  Luckily, he accepted viewing the receipts on my iPhone, gave us four tickets and four cups (Tim from Episode IV would be also joining us), and we arrived at our first official spot:

Bar None: The Fun Begins

Bar None: The Fun Begins

Now properly attired in our blankets with sleeves and with full crew in tow, the drinking began.  The three of them were off in a mad dash, but I was limping.  Mike put it best:

The days that start off slow very often end in a hurry.

Now I’ll let some pictures do the talking.

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Needless to say – some drinks were poured, some drinks were spilled, some conversation was had, and the Yankees got blown out by the Indians!  All-in-all, the crawl was a success.  But the night was not yet finished…

———————————————————————–

Over the course of the day, I had received information about a secret place.  The specifications were these:

  • It was a hot dog joint in Manhattan.
  • This hot dog joint had a “secret bar” located within it.
  • To access this “secret bar” you had to enter a phone booth and pick up the receiver to enter.
  • The location I was texted stated: 113 St Marks Pl

Here’s where my hubris caused an issue (and maybe drinking… maybe).  I thought I understood the lay the island, and I took the location to mean “113 St. @ Marks Place”… not what it said.  And the little torn brochure map I carried with me cut off around 110 St. at the the top, so how could I be wrong?  Birthday boy Mike passed out at Tim’s place (near East Village), and Steve, Tim, and I made our drunken way out to the fictional 113 St. and Marks Place.

The taxi driver didn’t even correct us, and brought us to 113 St. and Broadway, way up on the west end.  As I approached the waterfront, I stumbled into a closing bakery.

“Excuse me, do you know where Marks Place is?”

The confused baker answered, “He probably lives down by the river.”

As we brewed and stewed and reviewed my mistake, something caught my eye down the road.  It wasn’t a wasted trip after all!  This is where we had a late night burger before returning to home base (to pass out in our dirty Snuggies in a queen-size bed):

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"Doo doo doo doo, doo doo-doo-doo..." - Suzanne Vega / "Tippy toes, tippy toes, tippy toes!" - George Costanza