Partying on the Lower East Side
(Picture by Shanna Ravindra)
I’m going to keep my posts short from now on, as that’s what you’re supposed to do.
Plus the UK hates me, and I don’t want to lose the people that check out my site from Moldava. I get tons of hits from there. It whacks me out.
Here’s what happened Friday night. I went out with some of my mofos to kick-it big time at McSorley’s Ale House. After that we went to a place called Planet Rose. It’s a karaoke bar on Avenue A and 13th Street. It was nice.
That’s the end of this post.
P.S. Will one of the mofos from Moldava, please email me? You people must be cool as hell. Email: firstname.lastname@example.org
P.P.S.S. – Okay, I hope the BlogGod doesn’t mind, but I have a little more to tell you about Friday night. My lady friend didn’t go, and neither did the pizza or Chinese delivery guys(aka num and nums).
Nothing extraordinary happened. Just your average bar fun, shooting the breeze, watching the Yankees host the METIES at The Stadium, and some wacky singing at Planet Rose.
Did you see the play at the end of the game? I felt bad for Luis Castillo even though I root for the Yanks and they won—
Barney who was all dressed in his METS regalia was really bummed out. He and I were taking pot shots at each other all night. I can’t remember what he said though I know his lips were moving.
I was in a winsome mood, and hit Barney with stuff like “The METS are to baseball, like what karaoke is to singing. . . The METS are to NYC, like what the Dodgers(‘Dem Bums’) were to Brooklyn.”
I was laughing my head off, and Barney was making whiny faces like George from Seinfeld, saying “you’re killing me, you’re killing me . . .”
It was good to see Louie Trips, who’s a travel agent and has been living in Hilton Head, SC. He was telling me how he fools his ninety year old mom into believing that Hilton Head is really the Canarsie section of Brooklyn. When she sees crocodiles in the front yard, he said it can get a little difficult.
Dizzy D really needed the night out. Lehman Brothers, the company he used to work for went out of business, and he lost a lot of money. (I worked at Lehman, too.) Now he’s at Barclays Bank, where they have him teaching people in India all he knows about his IT job. He said once he’s done they’ll can his ass.
Polar Bear Dave and I seriously talked about how we needed to write tunes for BaldPunk.com. I did at least, and he yessed me to death.
Btw, I’m like Flea on the bass guitar–not really, but I can play pretty good with my fingers. Polar Bear Dave plays the drums, guitar, keyboards, and sings. We’re gonna write songs for you. They will be awesome. If they ain’t, blame him, because the bass part I write will be super duper.
I wish you could meet my buddy, the film editor guy. He’s a good man.
He works on one of the most popular prime time TV shows out now. On his phone, he had a picture of him and a couple of blonde chicks from the show. How cool is that!
His job basically involves him and other mofos sitting in a dark room from seven to eleven at night, cutting down the footage shot that day for the director to see the next morning.
But only one day out of the year does he get to party with the blonde chicks. It drives his wife nutso.
Anyway, in total honesty, the night out was kinda fun but not great-great. Maybe I should see a doctor and get a prescription to help me through such nights. I know “that guy that lives on your block has the remedy–”
–Ha! Ha! Ha! You remember this post? I told you I hate drugs.
Friday night I was a little bummed because my lady friend wasn’t with me. When she’s around, I almost don’t mind num and nuts stepping on my tail. She’s so cool, everyone loves her. Plus she does the impossible, she makes me look even better!
I’ll put it up a little later.
Bye for now,
Baldie in the punkalicious Big Apple
Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Ten – June 2009 (Mofos Night Only)
THE SOUNDS WE MAKE (Short Story)