I’m going to have to break up writing about my time in New York City because quite a lot occurred in five days.
So let’s start with one of my favorite things I encountered while there: BARS!
Yes, I had taken a sabbatical from any drinking whatsoever for months, but I’ve never felt more called to drink delicious beers than when scrounging about these bars.
The first night in the city, my fellow media students and I went to McHale’s, an Irish pub. Of course, usually, I’d never be caught dead schmoozing it up in Irish culture and listening to those fucked accents, but it was a week of exceptions.
That Guinness, dear sweet baby Jesus and all His holy shit.
Carefully poured Guinness on tap: so creamy, so smooth, so rich and slightly chocolaty. I sipped on it for two hours. How could you chug down something so pure? It was like Schrodinger’s cat in a glass; both life and death swirled within that liquid.
The next night I was anticipating my editor’s favorite place, Duff’s.
Duff’s is a metal bar in Brooklyn with pretty great music (although I got a little sick of the Metallica jag, but that seemed to be a part of the atmosphere). It was coated in gleaming band memorabilia, horror aesthetics, and BDSM accouterments.
And a wee bit too much Satan.
I liked it and all, I was very pleased, but no thank you Satan.
Also, porn. Lots of porn played. I’m convinced a sick fairy godmother “pinged” up a magic hour giving way to porn, which abounded from all TV’s.
I ain’t complaining really, but at the time I was literally surrounded by bros from my school, so yeah. Slightly awkward. Ahem.
There is a numbered wheel at Duff’s, and for three bucks per spin you can win prizes from an array of drinks and shots, or get forced to eat a dog biscuit. Or get locked up in the gimp cage. Or drink a creamy white shot from a condom.
Guess what I got?
Condom all the way, yo. Which is also my blog’s new profile pic. As it should be.
(Confused, scared, and realizing it’s actually quite delicious)
Our last night I went all out for drinking. It wasn’t one or two beers here and there. I had a mission and it was to get obliterated by beer. Hell yeah. Why not?
And where better than a punky rock bar, just my cup of bloody tea.
Double Down Saloon was perfectly low-key, garage punk playing fiercely, and had beer for three bucks. I was sold. I sat at the bar and people-watched.
They had pool and Galaga. GALAGA! I actually forgot they had Galaga as soon as I discovered it, but still.
I watched an awesome gay guy get shit-talked by some douche. I kind of wanted a bar fight to ensue. I would have totally taken out this bro with a bar chair. Bitch, don’t talk to that nice man like that. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Let gay men enjoy punk too.
Also, porn again. Midget porn, too.
For the last hour of all bars open in the area, we crawled across the street to a little shut-in place called The Library.
Man, had we known about that place we would have hung out there the whole damn night.
Edgar Allen Poe and Emily Dickinson were painted across the red walls, books were stacked on shelves everywhere, and instead of porn Beetlejuice played on the back wall.
Noice. Nerd porn.
The music there was even more to my liking. In short, this joint was the shit.
But my favorite place to drink after all that was outside the hotel, on cement steps, sucking down hot Modelos til 7 AM. I saw the sunrise in New York City.
P.S. The Modelos were found in Central Park the day before. Just found and taken by newspaper staff.
Life is pretty fucking astounding.