The past few days have been a drunken parade of bars with days spent recooping, shaking off hangovers before bringing the parade to some new streets, to your town. Last night alone involved five different bars. It is so funny and excessive when I think back on these past nights. Last night, I can giggle about so many things thinking back on it. Text messages I sent, Wyatt falling on his face, giddy conversations with strangers on the street, man.
It started off at the new Opaline all the way up on 39th Street for their two hour open bar with a giant pack of people, so many faces from Sarasota, it is funny being in such a large group. There was Ben, Solomon, Robyn, Sasha, Kate, Cristy, Audrey, and Wyatt. A lot of us and all of us supposedly on some list. And bitchy door people thinking they are running Studio 54 rather than some second tier club attended by a bunch of Bridge and Tunnelers and dorky homos. There was so much drama and tension at the door, behind the motherfucking velvet rope (vomit) because we weren't on the list and they were trying to charge us five dollars (yes only five dollars, but still!), and then the various door goons consulting with each other when we said we weren't paying and were about to leave. And there was all this confusion as to whether we had to pay and then when a couple of us walked away, the door guy started yelling at us, telling us not to be bitches, and saying there was going to be a fight if we didn't go inside.
This door guy was so out of line and I was a little sad that half the group was already inside because I really just wanted to leave and not support a place where promoters think that type of thing is acceptable, or that being a jerk to people trying to get in makes your place cooler than it is. You can dish as much attitude as you want at the door, but even that still can't save your pathetic ass club from the lameness in every motherfucking corner and that occasionaly even comes out the soundsystem, blaring electroclash hits from 2001: Peaches and Fischerspooner. Come on, what about some WIT and ARE Weapons while you are at it? Can you see that I hate Opaline? Anyway, so many drinks were consumed there, a cartoonish amount of strong drinks downed like mad and the group split in two - most people going to some party and Wyatt, Ben, Solomon and I milking the open bar until it closed before we rode the train, found out the L was being screwy, and got in a cab courtesy of Wyatt. The cab got in an accident with another cab. We made it to Williamsburg to hit up the open bar at Capone's but were led astray by Wyatt to Trash where I had to leave fast before I punched people. I convinced Solomon to leave with me to go to Capone's, thank god. Trash is everything I hate about New York, and more specifically Brooklyn, and even more specifically Williamsburg all encapsulated in this simple bar.
I don't hate hipsters, that is not what I want to say, what I hate are a certain breed of them who don't have any of the artistic sensibilities that redeem most people classified as hipsters - rather these are people who adopt that aesthetic and care about nothing other than looking cool. I really hate class voyeurism and the ironic appropriation of "white trash" by rich, bougie assholes, which is exactly what the design of Trash is. The barseats are car seats. PBR is popular, of course. And they serve tatter tots there. I hate how contrived this trashy aesthetic is. Man, what other bars can I shit talk today?
Also there was this boy Ron there who I gave my number to and who has been calling me recently and who I've never called back, so yeah - Solomon and I dipped quickly and made it to Capone's, which is a bar I really do love. It's a really nicely desinged bar, fairly gimmick free and just laid back people out for some drinks and dancing. It's so not a scene and it is so nice for that reason. If I can go into a bar and not feel the urge to punch people or not have to think about how class and wealth are being flaunted, then that is an all right bar.
I drank two Red Stripes, danced a little and soon Ben and Wyatt showed up. Unsurprisingly, Wyatt again corraled us into going somewhere else and we headed toward Royal Oak, but thankfully stopped at Wyatt's to get stoned. And I mean not that things already weren't blurring by that point with so much rum and beer in me, but this is the point where the details of the night become more blurry as we march from place to place for some reason under the directions of Wyatt wanting to meet up with his pretty friends, one of whom was the Ron boy I really was trying to avoid. Royal Oak is another nicely designed bar with a good setup and lots of nooks to hang out in. The hip level is definitely a lot higher than at Capone's but luckily the bar has a nice enough atmosphere (read not Trash) where those things are not glaringly visible. Surely, me being stoned probably helped also.
A march to Supreme Trading and then a march back toward Royal Oak, but we left Wyatt before getting there and went to the McCarren Park pool, Ben and I sneaking in, me getting cut up. And I went to bed at five totally drunk still and somehow woke up at nine thirty and am somehow still going. I am going to crash sometime soon, just collapse from this pace of heavy partying that does not seem like it is going to let up at least for the next couple of days.
And oh yeah, I didn't get that job at the porn shop and oh yeah, I need a job like all hell and oh yeah, I have no money, and oh yeah, I think I have to ask my mom for money for the first time in about four years and oh yeah, that sort of makes me feel totally like shit when I think about how I am 24 and too old to do that and oh yeah, maybe that's why I get really excited about not thinking about that and going out to bars, and oh yeah.