RIP Quizmaster 72: Ken Ober 1957-2009

Li’l Evan Kessler wasn’t like the other kids.  MTV mattered and not much else did.  Sure, I watched shows like Perfect Strangers, Family Ties, and Growing Pains, but between episodes of Pinwheel, You Can’t Do That on Television and network appointment TV, most of that broadcast space was filled in by one channel.  That channel was MTV.  As one of the first kids on my block to have access to Music Television, I was transfixed by the endless stream of videos that would forever retain classic status and satisfy my need for nostalgia nearly 30 years later. From pop music stalwarts like Talking Heads and Madonna to lesser known one hit wonders like Luis Cardenas, I loved it all.

While most of the airtime over the first couple of years on the fledgling, soon-t0-be- iconic pop culture network was reserved for a steady stream of videos, band interviews and bantering VJs; perhaps my favorite half-hour in early days of MTV was the game show known as Remote Control.

Featuring unassuming host Ken Ober, the gruff announcing voice of Brooklyn-native Colin Quinn, comely Kari Wuhrer and budding talents like Adam Sandler and Denis Leary; MTV’s first original non-musical program was reflective of the off-the-cuff attitude embodied by an idea as crazy as “Music Television” was at the time.  Whether contestants were choosing to answer questions from silly categories like “Dead or Canadian”  ( I swear I remember someone answer Canadian for Elvis Presley once) and “Leave Out The Beaver”; listening to character driven soliloquys from Stud Boy or just singing along with Colin; the show reflected the notion MTV was an experiment that didn’t take itself too seriously and was more concerned with celebrating popular culture than being it’s sole arbiter.

Remote Control was a shining example of the MTV I fell in love with.  Between the snack breaks and losing contestants being sent hurtling through the backdrop still attached to their la-z-boy chairs, there was a clumsy charm, a tongue in cheek sense of humor, and ultimately MUSIC VIDEOS!

The people weren’t all pretty, but they were having fun.  I’m not sure when the current, glossy, self-important sheen that’s depicted in shows like “The Hills” took over the network (though my semi-guess is when the sex and immaturity based humor of ‘The Jenny McCarthy Show’ took the place of actual humor produced by “The State”) and maybe with the vain nature of the pop star it was there all along. But for me early MTV’s devil-may-care attitude  never shone as brightly as it did in those 30 minute romps from 1987-1990 hosted by Ken Ober.  Sure there were plenty of great videos that came after and a few great shows as well, but Remote Control might just have been the program that showed me just how fun it could be to watch TV.  So when I heard last night that the host of my favorite late 80’s game show had passed on before his time, I didn’t shed a tear, but I certainly felt like a small part of my childhood had died with him.  Rest in peace Quizmaster 72. You will be missed.

31 With A Bullet

One week ago, the moderately sized house/person that Susan and Steve built (on a cold winter night in 1978) and eventually named Evan, celebrated the dawn of his 31st year on this earth. This person, me,  didn’t immediately tear the roof off the 2nd year of my 3rd decade on this earth.  Rather, I had a modest drinkapalooza at High Dive in Park Slope with a few select friends who were able to make Wednesday night one for alcohol and old age induced merriment. Several days later, I held an even bigger event to more officially ring in the new year, so to speak.

The days in between the two jubilees of insobriety were not marked by boredom.  Well, Thursday was largely marked by the resultant cruel apparatus of the night before known as “the hangover.” Having soldiered on through the pain I was able to pick myself up by my party bootstraps for a not-so-selfish celebration in honor of the 31st year of one Kate H, taking place at Prospect Heights own Soda Bar on Friday evening. The night air was relatively warm and the friendly vibes put out by the birthday girl and familiar faces of Jason, Deirdre, Marty, Goody, Chris, Cyrus, Alice and a few other friends certainly went a long way towards making my wagon feel welcome.

It had felt like too long of a time since I had been together with this motley bunch of collegiate comrades and an even longer time since I hadn’t felt so deterred by the confines of Soda Bar.  Occasionally I’ve enjoyed a few of my summer sojourns to this popular space, but lately the subpar service and the particular party atmosphere hadn’t piqued my fancy.  Everything felt AOK though as it seemed our crew had a handle on half of the backroom and the waitress that relieved our original server seemed to be on point.

The evening quickly progressed through a flurry of Blue Point Toasted Lager as we transitioned from Happy Hour revelry to late evening bacchanalia.  I wish I could recount the contents of most of the conversations but really it was just a healthy dose of hilarity and happiness to be with one another.  A night with friends that had to end.  I ended my evening sometime in the day’s 23rd hour…sufficiently full of what should maybe be termed the lager of laughter.

Saturday morning saw the dawn of big things.  I was hours away from my night to shine, but I wasn’t ready to rally until sufficiently later on.  A majority of my morning and afternoon were spent lazing around.  Perhaps I got some lunch or made myself a snack .  I zoned out on college football that I wasn’t quite interested in.  It wasn’t my actual birthday, so I didn’t feel the responsibility to make the daytime portion into something memorable.  I may have gone for a run though.  Who can remember these things days later…oh yeah…usually me.

In any case, I thought that despite it not being my actual special day I might as well have an especially filling dinner.  Andrew M accompanied me to La Taq.  He didn’t eat anything but I took in a hearty helping of Enchilada while he sipped a few beers and nipped at some chips.  We made small talk about the evening expectations and headed back to the old abode where we killed time til the evening festivities at the Fort Greene/Clinton Hill watering hole known as Rope.

Basset was watching The Godfather in her room and Andrew and I watched along for a bit before we got briefly ensconced in a conversation about how great “Comedy Tom Hanks” is.  This led to us looking up the rap music video from the 1987 film adaptation of Dragnet entitled “City of Crime” featuring Hanks and Dan Aykroyd (which my brother and I used to love).  Really priceless stuff.  Watch below, I think you’ll agree.  Notice Comedy Hanks in his high pitched comedy voice.

Soon after Hanks/Godfatherfest ‘09, our apartment had new visitors.  Former roommate Jenny C was on hand with her brother Eric who was visiting from I think North Carolina.  Eric immediately launched into movie talk with Andrew, effortlessly gliding into the social dynamic and snapping photos along the way.

Me and Jenny C-A

Jenny, Eric, Andrew, and Laura all got started with a few brews before heading out, but preferring to not get too soused in celebration early, I took a pass opting for Green Tea.  However, when the clock passed 9pm I was ready to take a car to the town of funville that resembled a bar spelled R-O-P-E.

Bassett, Andrew and I at Rope

Arriving at Rope just before 9:30pm we were greeted by Matt F slinging drinks along with a few friends from the previous night lined up at the far end bellied up to the bar.  Katey, Jason and Marty had all made it on the early side and I was delighted to see them.  Between the several of us already at the bar we established a few good spots to call our bar basecamp and work out of there all night, but by the end we had established that anyway.

From the moment we arrived a steady steam of friends flowed in.  Robert and Megan came bearing gifts from Jennie who couldn’t make it due to being under the weather.  However, she did provide an absolutely delicious chocolate cake to go with a bevy of cupcakes.  Bassett also supplied a host of delicious homemade treats and a delicious cake.  It was certainly the “sweetest” birthday on record.  I was pretty sure by the time I had sampled all of the chocolatey goodness I’d have to leave with a stomach ache and end the party.

Bassett's Dinosauriffic Cake!

Luckily that did happen and I was able to share plenty of drinks and plenty of good times with friends.  From Marie who praised me for wearing my “cute boy sweater” but criticized me for wearing a red undershirt (along with Robert) to Reva who had the misfortune of being repeatedly hit on by other drunken cohorts.  Rich, Lina, Suli, Kishore, Ajay, Arby, Rebecca, Marisa, Bess, Deena, Summer G and many many more.  Holy crap there were a lot of people to talk to and I think I talked to all of them at some point.

I didn’t think I’d have the wherewithal to make it through an entire evening but as the bar closed down myself, Marty and CS were still standing…and were pretty hungry.  We closed the evening out at the Purity Diner where I happily inhaled a grilled cheese with tomato, bacon, and a side of fries before heading home to sleep til my Sunday was solely utilized for the good lord’s restful intentions.

‘Twas an excellent celebratory birthday weekend…one that I unfortunately do not have enough pictures of.  I certainly remember having plenty of photos taken of me…so kindly hand them over.  I want more memories.

Evan Kessler’s Astrological Outlook for Year Number 31

There seems to have been a format shift in the way the New York Post’s Sally Brompton does her “If Today Is Your Birthday” Horoscope posts over the last year.  For one thing, they used to show the correct date.  I guess tough times call for less bold print lettering and a briefer yet less snappy title, in addition to not really caring whether the appropriate date is affixed to the article at hand.  That being said, I still look to the starry-eyed Miss Brompton for astrological guidance every time November 4th rolls around and why should this November 4th be any different?

Miss Brompton is right.  If there’s anything I feel fearful of at the tender old age of 31 it’s the future.  Three plus decades of ups and downs have the potential to turn a soul rather weary.  In spite of a rather steep nose dive that this ride we call life has taken the last couple of years and even over the last month, with the very real threat of financial ruin and sorry state of employment, I’ve nonetheless begun to feel some slight sense of vindication.  Prior to even reading the latter part of Sally’s birthday analysis, I’ve found myself looking at a glass that’s just reaching it’s half full mark.  I’m not sure if this is the product of new connections, or the recent spate of weddings that has shown me the absolute peak of  happiness in others, or maybe just the act of making new friends with the ability to make killer chalk portraits of me on tables.  All I know is that over the last few weeks, despite all that resembles fecal matter soaring towards rotating fan blades, I feel happier and more optimistic. While I think Ms. Brompton’s words to be obvious and pedestrian, that doesn’t make them untrue.

So here’s to year 31 and attempting to maintain an optimistic outlook throughout…or at least until it gets really cold in winter and I decide I don’t want to leave the house.

31 Today

Let’s Get Hallowed!

One of These Pumpkins Is Mine...Can You Guess Which One?

Evil spirits rose from the fiery pits of Hades, Sexy cops fled with reckless abandom from their sexy precinct, and Internet memes came to life, all to rendezvous at countless parties across the earth’s surface in celebration of All Hallow’s eve.  Although Pumpkins were carved and lit on Thursday evening the 29th, it was Saturday night when all of the party monsters came out to shovel haunted candy and frightening amounts of alcohol into their eerily adorned mouths.

Where was your kindly blog impresario when the ghouls and poorly costumed came out to play.  Well, as your kindly blog impresario, I’d like to think I was in the thick of it.  After a marathon such as Friday evening that included local watering holes, going away parties and ultimately karaoke; many revellers would’ve cowered in the face of another night on the town.  Instead I embraced it.  I took to the streets at a strange hour as children were scouring the neighborhood in search of sweets.  It was close to 3:30pm when I met Arby for lunch.  And as my companion said as we walked towards Press 195 for some halloween afternoon sustenance my meal companion remarked that  it was “like someone opened up the box of kids and dumped it out on 7th Ave.”

While 7th Avenue in Park Slope was littered with little ones transformed into their or their parents favorite fictional characters, 5th was slightly less inundated with miniature demons and princesses.  However, as Arby and I sat at the bar awaiting our late lunch a steady stream of kiddies filtered in demanding treats, as they most certainly were not looking for tricks, save for maybe the five-year-old dressed in a pimp outfit.  While most of the kids that crossed our path whilst eating were in the spirit, one mother brought in her two toddlers dressed in normal clothes carrying plastic bags.  I was sort of offended by the lack of effort.  The mother, who I’m pretty sure was an immigrant and possibly unaware of how seriously we take Halloween in this country was seemingly unaffected by the costumed tradition of the holiday, instead preferring that her children get hopped up on sugar rather than learn to exercise their creativity.

After finishing up our meal at Press 195 Arby and I split off.  I had to go home and fix up my costume.  I was going as a veiled insult/threat and in order to make as much sense as I could I was going to have to somehow conjure up a phrase that hinted at an insult to write on my plain white t-shirt.  I already figured that my threat shirt would read “My fist, your face.”

Rather than get straight to work on my evening party wear I pondered the phraseology for a bit before drifting off to dreamland.  I napped for about an hour and a half before procuring sharpies from my roommate’s room.  I immediately got to work on drawing up my threat which included the aforementioned phrase in addition to tracings of my fists.  For the veiled insult I decided on: “Your costume is so creative,” meant in a sarcastic manner.  Hopefully, people would see through my lacy veil I’d be clipping to my hair and draping over my person.  I wasn’t holding out hope and was sort of regretting I hadn’t conjured up a silly character to be, but the point of no return had passed. As I readied for the evening I began to sing the Monty Python “Lumberjack Song” and began to wish I had just gone as a lumberjack with “suspendies and a bra.”

It was 10pm when I finally left the house ready to party, candy in hand en route to get a six-pack.  There was another party I had originally planned going to on that night but I wasn’t going to be able to make it.  I texted my friend Jess who I had previously planned on meeting up with there.  Jess sent me a confused email that alerted me that I had missed the party, for it had been the previous evening.  Funnily enough, I had just seen the “Curb Your Enthusiasm” episode where Larry David pulls the going the day after to a party you don’t want to go to trick.  It’s not that I didn’t want to go and I didn’t plan on showing up the day after on purpose…but if I had done that it would’ve seemed like I had completely stolen that episode’s premise.

Oh well.  I always think it’s better to go to one party than to try to go to too many parties and spread yourself too thin. So I got to my friend Andrea’s place in Prospect Heights at the very same point as my friends Lina and Maya.  I expected to know a good deal more people, but a lot of regulars were there. Kishore (as something), Suli (as “The More You Know” PSA),  Jes P ( as a heartbreaker/ripper) , Rich (as Inspector Gadget), Jeni L (as an Irish person, Summer (as a banana/plantain), Jason (as someone who was a little too fond of knitting), Enisha (as OG-Original Grandma/Gangsta), and Jennifer the downstairs neighbor (human skeleton) all made the scene along with plenty of people I didn’t know.

Kishore As Guy In A Shirt

Homemade Skeleton Girl

Halloween parties are weird for the sole fact that you may, in fact, know everyone there but behind all of the effort expended on disguising oneself, you could miss out on a few familiar faces.  That happened to me with a few people.  It took a while before I recognized Andrea’s friend Pete and then I just kept staring at people wondering who they were.

Jes Rips Hearts on Halloween And Dresses Like A Zombie on Valentine's Day

My favorite costumes of the evening were Andrea who came as Keyboard cat and the girl who came as a slug.  I didn’t really talk to her, but I heard that she kept putting gobs of purell on her hands and touching people with it.  That’s solid effort if I do say so myself.

Play Andrea Off Keyboard Cat

Side View of The Slug

The party was quite packed in for about an hour and a half before everyone decided to move out.  It may have been longer but the prospect of daylight savings time and moving the clock  back confused me. There were accidents involving spills and broken glass, but for the most part crises were averted, people danced, and everyone maintained a generally jovial mood.

Jes Consoles Me After Separating My Atria From My Ventricles

As the night came to a close somewhere around 4:30 or 3:30 or 5:30, it was just me, Kishore and Andrea hanging out talking about general life things as I finished my very last beer before heading home.   It made sense that Sunday was The Day of The Dead, because I might certainly use the D-word to describe the way I felt for the rest of the it.

Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers with Ralph Stanley and His Clinch Mountain Boys at Carnegie Hall

How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice!  Or if you’re Steve Martin, you get there by being one of the more talented human beings in nearly all facets encompassed by the arenas of stage, screen, and the written word in recent memory.  The ability to do a damn fine job finger-picking a banjo, can’t hurt either.

I’ve always had somewhat of a love/hate relationship with the work of Steve Martin.  The jealous part of me thinks he’s a total asshole for being so great at everything.  I only wish I could be as good at one thing  as he is at well…you name it, he’s probably an expert.  I bet he’s a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and a world class chef.

The other part of me finds the deft touch of wit and complete dedication he seems to put into everything to be totally admirable and absolutely endearing.  The latter, more positive part wins out 99.9% of the time.  So, it was with little to no hesitation that I accepted an invitation on Tuesday evening to attend Steve Martin in concert at Carnegie Hall accompanied by the North Carolina-based Steep Canyon Rangers with the legendary Ralph Stanley and His Clinch Mountain Boys slated to be the opening act.

To be as gifted as Steve Martin is to be allowed to display  at least a cursory amount of arrogance and for as long as I can remember Martin’s feigned air of superiority has been a staple of his humor repertoire.  While jabs at his own haughty superstardom would mark later banter in his performance, the perennially white-haired jack-of-all arts strolled on stage with his banjo at around 8pm and thankfully announced to the crowd that he had always dreamed of doing a Banjo show at Carnegie Hall.  He went on to inform the crowd that when it was suggested that the legendary Bluegrass performer Ralph Stanley be his opener, his response was, “Ralph Stanley doesn’t open for me.  I open for Ralph Stanley.”  And with that the show began, Martin picked his way through a short number influenced by several of his favorite banjo tunes growing up.  Following a generous round of applause Martin exited stage right and made way for Ralph Stanley and The Clinch Mountain Boys.

Bluegrass Legend Dr. Ralph Stanley

Clad in matching outfits suitable for a traditional bluegrass whoop up complete with cowboy hats and guitars, fiddles, banjos, and a standup bass accompanying them, the Clinch Mountain Boys sauntered out on stage followed by what appeared to be a tiny aged afterthought, shuffling to catch up with arms crossed.  The Clinch Mountain Boys launched into their opening number and the aged man still hung back from the microphone so as to patiently bide his time until it was his turn to make his voice heard.  As the opening instrumental came to a close, Bluegrass Legend Ralph Stanley stepped up to the microphone and gave a haunting rendition of “O Death,” a song more recently familiar to many music fans as a track on the acclaimed “O Brother Where Are Thou?” soundtrack.  After wresting complete attention from his band for that moment with his weathered, otherworldly wail; Stanley and company launched into the much beloved “Man of Constant Sorrow” which also enjoyed a resurgence from the aforementioned Coen Brothers soundtrack.

Steeped in 60 plus years of tradition, the hour and ten minute opening set by the legend and his cohorts rolled on like a steam train running on fuel made out of clawhammer guitar strumming and tunes played tighter than a parachute pack on a first time skydiver. The 82-year-old Stanley occasionally slowed things down with some stage banter; banter that made you realize just how young you were.  On several occasions he’d mention when he wrote songs, peppering in years like 1948, and 1954; probably long before many attendees were a gleam in their mama’s eyes. It was a family affair for old Ralph and the Clinch Mountain Boys as we learned that many of the players had been with him for upwards of around 16 years maybe even longer.  More than that though, they also featured Stanley’s actual 17-year old grandson on the guitar.  They let him sing a few too.

Perhaps the oddest moment of the entire evening came when Ralph Stanley invited his son, Ralph II out on stage to play a few tunes with him.  From the moment Two (Ralph Stanley II’s nickname) entered stage right, visions of Kenny Powers and many other of the world’s greatest black sheep bounced around the brains of the audience.  While everyone else was wearing more Bluegrass friendly garb, Stanley’s son separated himself wearing sunglasses, a dark designer outfit ,and a devil may care attitude accented by his cocky stroll to the microphone stand.

Ralph Stanley II

Just Kidding: This is Ralph II

Instead of thanking his father for having him up on stage, Two spouted off sales facts about his new album.  It debuted at number one, it’s been number one for a few weeks, and so on…  It was as if the former Clinch Mountain Boy was saying, “look at me dad, I can do this shit without you.  You may be a legend but you’re fucking out and I’m fucking in.”  While Two’s first song seemed like a stereotypical neo-country snooze fest, the second with his father and what seemed like the full compliment of the band, had a lot more life to it.

Overall, the full set performed by Ralph Stanley and the Clinch Mountain Boys was a solid outing with very few chinks in the armor.  While Stanley’s aged rasp didn’t necessarily travel that well through the Carnegie Hall sound system on occasion, he along with his band made you feel as though it were an honor and a privilege to be in the presence of such musical history and greatness.

Steve Martin and The Steep Canyon Rangers

If Ralph and Co. were as tight as a snare drum, Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers performance had about as regimented a feel as elementary school recess.  Martin’s original compositions were pleasant to the ear and full of toe-tapping, knee-slapping splendor, but they also had an airy, loose feel that was quite apparent from the get-go.  Throughout it all Martin kept the audience smiling and laughing with trademark witty banter.  He warned his bandmates not to be too talky as that was his job and threw wrenches in the conventional stage discourse reserved for expounding on song backstory.  At one point Martin was about to wax informational about the inspiration behind a particular ditty, launching into…”this song…” and letting the words hang in the air before actually playing it. He also told the crowd that the tour fulfilled a life long dream of his to go on the road with handsome men, referencing his bandmates in the Steep Canyon Rangers.

Martin again proved a modest host early on in his set, leaving the stage for his bandmates, allowing the audience some quality time to get acquainted with the music they play when not in the presence of such a superstar.  The Steep Canyon Rangers certainly impressed with the vocal harmonies on their Gospel award nominated track “Be Still Moses” and another song.

Martin soon returned to the stage and the loose atmosphere persisted even through a turn at more traditional songs.  He only provided vocals on two or three of his own songs with his bandmates picking up singing duties on the other non instrumentals.  Even the more poignant songs had a dash of humor as Martin introduced “Daddy Played The Banjo” as a song he wrote while attempting bad poetry, which he thought made for a good country song.

Even in the midst of delivering his blend of bad poetry, the crowd was never left wanting for someone more talented.Having such an adept comedian deliver  in the midst of such a fine setlist of quality music seems like a nearly once in a life time opportunity.  Martin’s songs off The Crow: New Songs for The Five-String Banjo may or may not leave an indelible mark on the Bluegrass community but seeing this undeniable talent’s combination of skills in action certainly left one in my mind.

In a fitting end to the evening after an encore or two, Martin called out all of the night’s performers to join in on the bluegrass standard Orange Blossom Special…and as Martin traded lyrics with the legendary Ralph Stanley, he made sure to throw in a “King Tut” just to make everyone remember from whence he came.

Think Globally, Wed Locally

The merry peal of wedding bells echoed along the tree-lined streets and off the distinguished brownstone facades of Park Slope this past weekend.  Friday night brought the long awaited nuptials of my good friends Matt and Jenny.  As far as I’m concerned, Matt and Jenny have been married since I’ve known them, which is to say I don’t know anything other than them existing as a couple.  They’re also one of the more pleasant couples to be around  as they’ve never given an off that overly attached vibe.  While they complete each other, they’re also equally as wonderful in an individual sense.  I suppose that last fact makes their union even more charmed, as you couldn’t wish a better mate for two lovelier people.

I remember the day several months back at Rope in Fort Greene when Matt announced to me and Arby his honorable intentions.  He was so sure of himself and so excited to be reaching this grown up chapter in his life.  It was as if he developed tunnel vision staring directly at his wedding day, knowing exactly what it would be like down to every last detail on the wedding ring.

I was a little taken aback by the short span of their engagement since usually you get more time to digest these stages, but I suppose when a couple has been together as long as the couple in question, throwing a year in between calling yourself engaged or husband and wife is just additional time best left for other things.

As I walked towards the Brooklyn Botanic Garden on an absolutely beautiful Friday evening in the fall, I had the feeling that I was walking into a storybook.  The perfect couple, the perfect place on a perfect night.  Unfortunately, I forgot to pick the perfect place to enter the ceremonial grounds.

Minutes before shipping myself off to the wedding site, I had been offered a ride with Arby, Megan, Robert and Courtney to the grounds.  I declined figuring it was the perfect night to walk and I’d really only have to walk between five to ten minutes down the road.  Passing by the Grand Army Arch and Brooklyn Public Library along Eastern Parkway, I came to the entrance of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.  There were several ticket windows open.  I walked up to one of them and notified the worker that I was there for the wedding.  The worker waved me in neglecting to tell me that the wedding was on an entirely different side of the park.  I spent the next ten minutes or so aimlessly wandering the premises trying to figure out where everyone was.  Part of me figured that I must be early, while the other part of me knew that I was a long way from witnessing any wedded bliss.

After a spate of back and forth calls with Arby, I came to the realization that I had used an entrance on another side of the Garden.  I quickly reversed field leaving from whence I came and walking a shorter distance than expected to the Washington Avenue entrance to the brilliantly welcoming garden grounds.  Upon my entry I was immediately directed to the whereabouts of the reception.  I was ensured that I was in the correct place when Jeff G emerged from the area where the ceremony would be taking place with a brief flash of the finger guns.

Just like that I was immersed in a sea of friendly faces dressed to the nines for the special occasion.  Arby, Robert, Courtney, Abbi, Zak, Emma, Andrew P, Alix, and many others were enjoying their first sweet taste of wedding bliss as shaped by a champagne flute.  Rather than jump directly into the land of alcoholic indulgence I decided to pace myself with a splash of sparkling water.  I didn’t want to get myself in trouble too early.  It had been a few days since I’d tempted a rise in my blood alcohol content on account of an illness the result of either a 48 hour bug or food poisoning seemingly kicked only  minutes before departure.

Somewhere during my glass of Pellegrino the wedding planner beckoned the guests t0 please take their seats as Matt’s bandmate Rich coolly played some Steely Dan songs throughout the process of getting everyone situated.  Arby and I took to the back row as we had many times before in Music industry classes back in Syracuse University, though this time we were not armed with pencils and crosswords, just a desire to not be too front and center.

The wedding party entry seemed to happen rather fast.  Matt seemed to cruise non chalantly down to the wonderful willow tree reserved as scenic mark of matrimony, the “I do” spot if you will (and you will).  Next came Marie (from what I can recall), the maid of honor and Jenny with her father to give her away.

Here Comes The Bride

Lovely Setting For A Wedding

Doing the officiating was their friend Dan, who though not a religious minister of any sort had gone through the necessary pains to be ordained and have authority invested in him by the state of New York.  Dan read from a thankfully non-religious, but nonetheless lovely nuptial script, though a good deal of his dialogue and the couple’s mimicry of his orders got lost in the sounds of whipping autumn wind through the trees.  Adding to the proceedings, Matt’s sister Brooke read a poem, as did Jeff G.  Jeff’s poem struck me funny as it was mostly romantic, but the first line of “now you are mine” was read in almost a terroristic sense, like a film villain declaring that he’s finally got his arch nemesis exactly where he wants him.

The Newlyweds Make Their Way Up The Aisle As Man and Wife

Nothing, however, could mar the setting and the reason we were there though as two excellent people that I think the world of ultimately tethered themselves to one another with the bond of marriage.  Once that was done, all bets were off.  It was time to celebrate.

It still took me a while to morph into celebration mode.  Still feeling a bit uneasy about my physical state I first cautiously nipped at the hors d’oeuvres with ginger ale in hand before upping the ante to champagne.  Caution thrown into the wind, and the wind certainly blowing the night got off to a more relaxed than rollicking start.  After moving the festivities to the lovely reception room the food was delivered in rapid fire succession in the midst of a few speeches and first dances.  Matt didn’t let his first dance with his new bride go by without one of his trademark leg kicks. That was followed by the best man speech delivered by Pete and a Maid of Honor speech delivered by Marie.

First Dance Pre Leg Kick

Just after the former and before the latter I was making a comment to slight bag of nerves that was Marie as she was about to get up to give her speech.  While erratically grabbing my champagne glass I managed to fumble my drink sending a wave of bubbly over my face and some splashing on the soon to be speaking maid of honor.  The entire absurdity of the brief happening seemed to loosen Marie up and pave the way for a more than memorable speech.  Not to shine a light on my clumsiness, but I was glad I could help.

Jenny Dances With Her Dad

Matt As Mama's Boy

After a good period of culinary fulfillment featuring the likes of Cornish Game Hen  conversation with my stellar tablemates  about the artistic musical format known as the LP gave way to an all out 80’s dance party, with a few classic oldies thrown in for good measure.  The youthful contingent jumped onto the dancefloor and made sure the evening was a lively one.  I assume Matt had a big hand in putting the music playlist together because there was not a bad song in the lot.  Megan and I had a nice, yet mournful slow dance moment as we paid tribute to the fallen Patrick Swayze during Unchained Melody.

Marie and Aleks in the Throes of Dance Party 2009!

One unfortunate hiccup befell the party during this jolly portion of the evening.  Marie notified the crowd that the karaoke guy that had been secured for the post-reception entertainment had to cancel due to a death in the family.  While we understood, we were also extremely disappointed.

Negative news aside, there was a welcome break from the frenetic dance pace as  Matt helped answer the somewhat existential question of…”if you have a band…and you get married, does your band play at the wedding?”  The answer…Yes.  Matt and his bandmates in Mahogany took to the floor and banged out several stellar songs much to the delight of the audience.  Ever the showman, he groom did his share of on his knees writhing so as to ensure the audience that this indeed was still  his day.

Mahogany: All Dressed Up

While Mahogany’s performance seemed to spell the near end of the festivities the party was to rage on downstairs at Union Hall.  Splitting several cars to the bar on Union Street, we all met ready to continue our merrymaking ways, but with little in the way of organized entertainment.  While Karaoke would’ve given us our second wind, the party without it seemed to be a futile slog through the evening save for an extremely lovely tribute to the couple Arby edited together that we were able to show on the screen of the venue.

Having refrained from hardcore boozing for a large portion of the night, I wasn’t quite where everyone was.  People were very tipsy to say the least.  I could tell the night was winding down solely on the lack of balance displayed by some of the revellers.  This was the sign of a successful wedding.  Smiling faces and a worrisome wobble.  The night would soon come to an end and I wandered the few blocks home after a pleasant evening experiencing another blissful union.

The rest of the weekend wasn’t so eventful.  I ditched out on a baby shower on Saturday on account of feeling under the weather and I watched football Sunday.  I didn’t feel like I missed anything either.  Nothing would’ve compared to such a perfect Friday evening.

Birthdays, Baby Pickpockets and Brunches, Oh My!

My apologies for bringing you this weekend recap on the cusp of the next weekend.   I’ve been a tad bit ill this week and thus have left most of my wholly irrelevant personal blogging duties at the mercy of my aching bones and all too unhappy stomach.  Despite a few lingering effects I’m pledging to press on with the task at hand through occasional fluid replenishing breaks to tell you just how packed with activity this past weekend was.

Then let’s get right to it shall we?  Indeed we shall.  After somewhat of a mentally grating week the specter of a little Hakuna Matata (it means no worries) time seemed to linger in the distance until the clock read oh, I don’t know, 6:45 pm on Friday.  All dressed up with someplace to go, I traveled from Point A in Park Slope to  Point B, a.k.a Blossom, a Vegan restaurant in the Chelsea area of Manhattan with a pit stop at Flight 151 to meet up with Arby, Jeff, and Alix along the way.  My only previous experience with the herbivore’s and synthetic carnivore’s dilemma was a semi-disastrous one which left me jonesin’ for a burger.  Though seeing as said previous restaurant seemed to get the Vegan lashing of disapproval, I came into my Blossom experience with an open mind.

Elegant Table Settings

More importantly than the intake of pseudo-food, was the reason we were gathered together at this lovely space in Chelsea.  We were celebrating the 30th year of our beloved Marie L who like a Communist dictator handing out propaganda A)Is always there for us and B)Always has  the best interest of her friends and colleagues in mind and C)Does not intern minorities at special “camps” know matter what you may have heard.

Thanks to stellar planning by Robert, all the right people were on hand for a loving tribute to dear leader.  There were affectionate recollections, admiring speeches, many heartfelt toasts, and plenty of wine imbibed as we dined the night away.  While I’d sooner dine on upholstery foam than order Seitan again, the food was probably the least vital part to the evening, though my ravioli appetizers and the birthday cake were quite good.

Fake Steak

Contemplating A Wish Worthy of 30 Years

Not all of those who participated in the birthday dinner continued to dance the evening away.  A fairly generous contingent of us ended up taking their evening’s back to Park Slope’s Royale.  Matt, Jenny, Courtney, Arby and I hopped a cab back from Chelsea and first stopped at Commonwealth, which was our original plan of attack.  There we met up with Pete R before heading over to the more lively bar across the street.  The birthday girl, accompanied by Abbi, Robert, and others were enjoying the dance music while I rustled myself up a High Life.  When I went to the dance area I noticed a weird Egyptian themed birthday party going on.

Courtney, Marie, and Jenny on the Danceflo' (though not exactly dancing)

Later on while hanging outside with the smokers we became entrenched in a strange conversation with a female Brit from said party, who was quick to point out my Judaic ancestry.  It was a little odd and led to a confusing conversation which Matt took as semi-offensive and I took as a misguided attempt at drunken flirting with two guys standing outside. Either way, the night would soon draw to it’s logical end as alcohol, white people, and cutting a rug most certainly do mix…but they often combine to create exhaustion and embarrassment.

Saturday morning I awoke with no immediate plans, but upon checking my email I noticed Kayvalyn had sent out some feelers to see if anyone felt like going to the Ft. Greene Flea Market.  Normally one to keep my Saturday afternoon for lazier dealings, I instead threw caution into the wind and decided to join her, Jason,  her cousin Ruthie and her husband George at the outdoor market for an afternoon of commerce or at least browsing.

When I arrived at the market site a little after 1pm, I noticed everyone waiting on line at the mexican food vendor.  Originally, I wasn’t feeling super hungry, but once asked if I wanted anything I felt a rush of non-existent peer pressure to partake in culinary delight.  Jason and Kayvalyn looked to be getting Flautas, which seemed to be really huge.  To counteract the hugeness of their choice and to be more in keeping with my hunger level, I decided to order a quesadilla, because those things are never that big when I get them.  It’s a good thing I had plenty of room in my stomach though, because when Jason emerged from the front of the line with what he told me was a quesadilla, my eyes nearly shot out of my head like something out of a Looney Tune.  This “quesadilla” needed two paper plates to encompass it’s massiveness.  Originally intimidated, I settled down and got on with the task of destroying my midday meal.

Kayvalyn Goes For The Corn

In the midst of our mexican fiesta mode,  as sauces were dripping from our folded tortillas to the concrete below, we were met by Andrea, Enisha, Summer, and her friend Hermano.  Once our feasts were done, we decided to take a walk through the crowd of knick knacks, wearibles, and edibles.  I ran into my Syracuse friend Josh M. (who I would run into again days later) and had a lengthy discussion about work and general life stuff before I decided to catch up with everyone else.  We were also joined in our wanderings by Kishore.

I didn’t end up buying anything save for some extremely rich and tasty Earl Grey hot chocolate, but other than that, it was just a great day to be outside.  Not everyone was so spendthrift as Jayvalyn ended up purchasing a lamp -type thing that we would eventually leave at Kishore’s before heading our separate ways.

After a brief trip home to make sure my roommate’s cats were fed, the next order of the late afternoon/early evening was an uncharacteristic trip uptown.  My old roommate Matt from the Bleecker St. days was in town for his girlfriend’s doctorate program graduation party and despite me having never met her, invited me to come along anyway.

It was relatively easy to get to the site of the party up on 90th street on the west side from Park Slope.  All I had to do was jump on the 2-3 train and coast up to about 72nd before switching to the one train.  That’s just what I did, but by the time I had switched to the one train I was pressed up in tight quarters holding my self upright by asserting my grip on the bar above.  When the subway pulled into 86th street I had to fight my way through a crowd to make it through the door as Tom Waits’ “Step Right Up” blared into my ears via my iPod.  As I passed a baby stroller I noticed that my headphones had become entangled on said stroller and I worked to pry them loose. After managing to do so, I emerged onto the platform with no music blaring into my ears on account of the disconnect that had occured while entangled.  I reached into my pocket to reestablish contact between my headphones and my musical lifeline when I noticed that something may be missing, though I wasn’t completely sure.  Rather than take the chance that my iPod was in my pocket and I just hadn’t managed to fish it out yet, I hopped back on the train to make sure it hadn’t fallen.

The first place my eyes went to was the ground.  There was nothing there.  And then my quickly scanned the people to see if there was any acknowledgement of my loss, and then finally to the stroller with which had previously complicated my escape.  That’s when I saw it.  The baby in the stroller was playing with an iPod.  It was an odd site.  If the iPod had fallen out of my pocket the way I was leaving, it didn’t seem feasible that the thing coudl just fall ever so gently into this baby’s hands.  The part that I found most suspicious was that the child’s parents had not reacted to the fact that their baby was now brandishing 80GB of sweet tunes spanning the last 5 or 6 decades in it’s hands.  They just went about their business of staring into their own laps.  Their lack of interest was confusing.  Maybe the baby was playing with their iPod and mine was still somewhere on the floor.  I felt the brief sting of indecision and quickly tossed it aside snatching the iPod from the child’s hands and narrowly escaping through the closing doors.  I’d never felt as though I had stolen anything from a baby before, but there was something ever-so odd and wrong about grabbing something from a stroller-bound child.  As I made a phantom-like exit from the car, a lone “wow” hung up in the air from a fellow straphanger who had apparently been taking in the entire scene but felt none too compelled to alert me of the goings on.  Maybe he was in on it with the parents.  Maybe they had trained their baby to pick shiny objects out of people’s pockets hence the lack of response.

Relieved to have come to the rescue of music collection, I slipped my player out of the casing to make sure it was indeed mine.  But as I glanced down to check the song now playing, I noticed a cut on my finger.  I’m not sure what this swift action caused me to brush up against, but the whole odd sequence of events and the subsequent bloody finger lent an ominous air to the night, like something described by a certain Phil Collins song.

Mysterious goings on or not, I had made it to my destination. I stopped at a local Duane Reade to pick up some beers and subsequently be chatted up by a manager who wanted to talk to me about the Brooklyn Cyclones for ten minutes.  That’s the whole problem with wearing clothing, if you don’t stick with solid colors or simple designs something on a shirt or a hat my spark a conversation you don’t want to have.  So let this be a lesson to you.  If you’re going to be so bold as to wear a shirt or hat with a logo, be prepared to have a relevant conversation even if you don’t want to.

Once I had procured some budweiser and paid for it…I made my way up to the Matt’s girlfriend’s party spot.  After a few knocks I just sucked it up and opened the door.  There were no familiar faces and I was briefly introduced to a few people whose names would basically elude me for the remainder of my stay, though it didn’t prevent me from having enjoyable conversations with them. It was good to see Matt and excellent to meet his girlfriend who seemed like a total sweetheart.  Coincidentally, this has to be the first time I’ve ever used the words “total” and “sweetheart” together in the history of this site.  I stuck around for a few hours catching up with Matt and making inane yet enjoyable conversation about how much time one could go between drinks in the span of one night.  I had a brunch to go to the next morning and didn’t want to overdo it on the alcohol end.

My trip back to Park Slope was without incident, but when I arrived home I called Jason and Kayvalyn to see what they were up to.  Earlier in the day I told them that I might catch up with them when I got back if they were doing something.  Lo and behold they were.

Despite my previous stance on the evening’s alcohol intake I wound up at our friend Erika’s sister Siska’s apartment party Along with most of the folks from the flea market stint other familiar faces on hand included Ahmerika, and Liv, to go along with plenty of new, fun people enjoy a few beers and laughs, to go along with unsavory odors  invading via the bathroom.  I’m not sure how long we hung out there, but we eventually ended up at Soda Bar where we were met by Andrea’s roommate and her friend Pete.  After one beer there and several food orders, the night was called.

Sunday morning began necessarily early.  My alarm went off at 10:30am .  I realized nothing required as much preparation as I was requiring of myself on this particular morning that had been reserved for a special brunch in honor of Matt and Jenny’s wedding, which would be taking place less than a week later.  After making a wake up call to Arby I sat around for a few before showering, freshening up, and dressing up for the lovely event.  The only negative about the brunch at Best Man Pete’s apartment building, was that the Giants were scheduled to play at 1pm and this event was in direct conflict.

Arby and I attempted to split from the Slope around 11:30, but were delayed twice due to our foolish contention that we might be able to get champagne in Brooklyn prior to hopping on the train.  It took our brains too long to realize that every liquor store was closed until Noon by law.  Eventually, this popped into our umbrella-protected heads and we just headed for the Subway.

Once getting out of the train on Chambers street we  peered down unfamiliar streets searching for liquor stores.  Before we found one Arby and I were stopped by young tourist girls looking to be directed to Little Italy.  One of the girls noticed that Arby was carrying a lavender umbrella and asked if he wanted to trade.  Despite the fact that she was carrying an accessory of much higher quality, she made the switch and Arby had gained a more masculine and certainly more able umbrella in the process.

We weren’t the first ones to the brunch party, but we certainly weren’t the last.  That honor fell to Marie, but that was fine.  Anyone enjoying their birthday week deserves a force field from scorn.  And really, there’s really no scorn necessary in being a little late for brunch on account of crappy train service.  With everyone on hand a tasty bagel brunch complete with mimosas, cranberry scones, chocolate cake, and fruit salad began.  It went on for about a half hour before the focus changed from food to Football.  Seeing as a large portion of the revelers were men, and one of the ladies was a big Giants fan, we turned the room into a home theater of sport.

Brunch In Motion

Seeing as we weren’t in Pete’s apartment, but in a room reserved in the building, we couldn’t stay and watch the game forever.  The room reservation ran out at 3pm which prompted us to go on a hunt for the perfect sports bar.  We found that perfect sports bar to be Warren 77.  We sat through the end of the Giant blowout of Tampa Bay and the Jet win over Miami, and probably most of the first half of the doubleheader game before everyone started to split.  The party moved on with Matt, Arby, and Chris V…but rather than rage on through the night, I capped off my afternoon with a burger and headed home to atone for my sins with a stomach full of grade A beef that would have to last me through to the next evening.

Living Out My Fantasies: Week 2-Role Reversal

Last Sunday the fearsome foursome of Fantasy Football squads run by Evan Kessler hit the gridiron with one thing on their non-existent fantasy brains…Revenge.  Instead of being doormats of the fantasy lands they occupied on Yahoo and CBS Sportsline they were eyeing 100% domination.  While the previous week hadn’t brought complete failure on account of a victory by the now named Hillside Honda of the God Bless Football Sundays league, the three seasoned lineups and one newly auto-drafted faction of unparalleled digital athletes were out for pixelated plasma.  Two would be looking for a role reversal, turning themselves from losers to winners and subsequent enjoyers of chicken dinner.  One would attempt to maintain steadfast dominance, and finally a fourth would attempt to set a dominant tone out of the starting gate.

So how did it all work out?

Well, let’s just say there were more positives than negatives and a close call in between.  Who Favre-ted of the Kazahkstan West league came out with Wide Receivers and newly-minted marquee names a blazin’.  Thanks to an impressive performance by Darren Sproles and consistent work by Larry Fitzgerald and Percy Harvin , my team led by 25.90 points heading into Monday night.  I felt like this one was all wrapped up until I realized my opponent had Miami RB and regular wildcat Ronnie Brown in his lineup.  I didn’t think Ronnie could rack up 26 pts versus the Colts, but there was always the possibility.  As I took in the game a large part of my evening was spent staring in disbelief at the ease with which Miami’s offense could operate and eat up the clock.  Ronnie Brown had brought his team the lead in the actual game with his frequent touches and knack for moving the ball and as Peyton Manning and his team got the ball back with a chance to win the game in the final 3 plus minutes, Brown had brought my opponent within a point  of my score.  I hoped for a lengthy, clock killing game winning drive by Indy, but instead I got an immediate score that put Peyton and company in front of the fish with plenty of time to spare. Knowing full well that the dolphins needed a touchdown I held out hope that Pennington would be passing the ball frequently and none of those passes would go to the player who held the fate of my matchup in his hands.

Ronnie Brown: Bringing Me To The Brink of Defeat

The Dolphins last drive was nothing if not poorly managed.  Around the third play they handed the ball off to my nemesis.  The carry brought the game within three tenths of a point…and when the clock hit the zeros and the colts had won, that’s where it stood.  Who Favre-ted had preserved a close call by the score of 121.86 to 121.56

The other games were not so tense.   In the God Bless Football Sundays league, in a pronouncement of league dominance, Hillside Honda coasted to a 130.03-67.07 victory behind the dominant trio of Fred Jackson, Frank Gore, and Matt Ryan.  The Gay Fish in the US vs. Australia made it look equally as easy in it’s debut by dominating a feeble opponent from down under by the laughable score of 98-68, egged on by stellar performances from Phillip Rivers, Cedric Benson, and Marques Colston.

Unfortunately, that’s where the dominance ends.  Instead of putting the nail in the coffin of a perfect 4-0 football weekend there had to be a downside.  The Philadelphia Beagles of the by far more competitive and trash talk heavy NYTVW League took a hit for the 2nd consecutive week as they received a proper shellacking to the tune of 139.5-107.  The score may have been a lot closer had I decided to start Matt Schaub at QB, who happened to nearly literally explode against the Tennessee Titans, but in truth, I still wouldn’t have won.  The blame for the loss once again goes on my running game that more closely resembles an NFL leper colony.

None too pleased with the output of the four-headed backup-caliber monster known as Willie Parker, Lendale White, Ahmad Bradshaw, and the injured LaDainian Tomlinson I decided to make a move.  Unfortunately, that move required ridding my team of someone who didn’t resemble a diseased heap of rotting flesh…because you can’t really trade a diseased heap of rotting flesh.  So in order to gain a quality runner, I had to split with the self-proclaimed “interesting one,”  Chad “Esteban” Ochocinco.

Ochocinco, You Will Be Missed

It was painful to part with the “Hard Knocks” star, but it netted me New York Giants Running Back Brandon Jacobs, who has an absolutely sick schedule coming up, and a serviceable receiver in Jerricho Cotchery.  While this move doesn’t guarantee me a win heading into week 3, it’ll have to do in the meantime if this team is going to go to undergo a role reversal from zero to hero.

Brandon Jacobs (a.ka. The New Kid In Town)

So two weeks down,  14 more to go before champions or crowned or left out in the cold.  It’s just getting fun…until it gets unfun and losses start happening more than wins.  That being said, after 2 weeks, I’m at 4-3.  Not a horrible place to be.

Upper Crust

This weekend EvanKessler.com joined the upper crust of society or at least mingled in a few different types of social settings worthy of fine, fine people.  The royal we did not hurry into the leisurely fray of what the Spanish refer to as “la Fin de Semana”  instead opting for easy entry via a laid back Friday evening of mexican food at La Taq with my roommate Laura and her brother Andy. It wasn’t an early night by any means although it was not one of late evening revelry.  The setting was much more intimate.  I didn’t end up falling asleep until 5am on account of my desire to catch several shows on Hulu in the privacy of my own bedroom, not the least of which was Megan Fox’s appearance on Conan O’Brien.

You see, as someone who has not seen either of the Transformers movies, I’ve more or less limited my exposure to the starlet du jour to commercial advertisements and magazine covers walked encountered at the newstand.  Therefore I have yet to form any opinion on her existence…not that her presence in the pop culture stratosphere is crying out for my opinion on her being, it’s just that sometimes I am curious to see what all of the fuss is about.  In any case, I watched the episode of Conan and I came to a few conclusions:

1) Megan Fox is sexually attractive (but we all knew that).

2) It doesn’t really matter for me in the long run and she’s not a sparkling enough personality that I’d go see any movie just because she’s in it.  Not to say that I’d avoid a movie because she is in it, but seeing Megan Fox anywhere probably will never be a priority. I go to see movies for three reasons: they look  good (The Informant), horrendously bad (Rambo), or I’m in the suburbs and have nothing better to do to  kill some time (Boys and Girls), not because I’ll get to mentally masturbate for 90 minutes.  Sorry if that sounds snobby and forgive me for not seeing Basic Instinct 2 for Sharon Stone’s Vagina’s repeat performance.

I ended up sitting through the entire Conan episode as well, because Louis C.K. was also on and I think he’s one of the few guys worth watching do stand-up.  I also watched the new NBC show “Community” which had a promising debut highlighted by a pretty solid cast.  When my early morning hour media critique was over I put my head on my pillow for several hours with my eyes closed.

When I woke up it was Saturday afternoon around 1pm.  I didn’t really have any immediate plans.  I balked at the idea of going for a run and mostly just hung around until after 3pm when I met up with Arby for lunch at Press 195.  I was trying to live on the cheap by not going out to lunch but I could taste that #23 lemon chicken sandwich on the tip of my tongue at the mere mention of grabbing a bite.

Awaiting Lemony Goodness @ Press

After inhaling that treat I took a little time to ready myself for the next item on the mid-afternoon/early-evening docket.  Andrew M came over at 5:45pm and we headed over to a new bar in Prospect Heights called  The Way Station.  The bar had yet to officially open, but they got a liquor license for one day to host a pre-opening.  From what I could tell it was going to be a pretty nice joint.  With cozy red, booths and plenty a spacious layout, not to mention a stage for the different varieties of performance that would most certainly be taking place on site, this could be a new local hangout to get acquainted with.

Andrew’s brother Bill had a large stake in the bar business as he was going to be it’s general manager.  While the three of us sat around and talked about the future of the space, Bill asked if Andrew and I might be interested in running a quiz night at said establishment.  Our response was a resounding, “yes.”  Hopefully, this offer is not forgotten as it would definitely be something extremely fun to look forward to. We also spent the early hours talking to Bill’s girlfriend, Burlesque performer Gigi La Femme who we offered some quality monikers for other aspiring burlesque performers.  She was more in favor of my suggestion of “Carroll Gardens” than “Chesty A. Arthur”…but the latter could probably benefit an aspiring drag queen.

Soon Andrew and I were joined by my roommate Laura B, her brother Andy, and Laura R in our red booth overlooking the floor. It was a diverse array of partygoers.  Along with the usual dudes and chicks in jeans and t-shirts was an element of Steam Punk people.  Now, I really had no idea that there was such a culture as Steam Punk, but I think that’s a scene that this bar will cater to.  Steampunk apparently involves people dressing as though they were from the era when steam power was still used…which is to say it’s sort of Victorian, but punky.  I think I was confused because there were also burlesque performers around and I just mistook the steampunk people for people who would be doing burlesque or go-go dancing that evening.  I guess I was off.

Semi Revealage of Byoobage Going On

Laura, Andrew, and Andy Look On

That being said there was some go=go dancing being performed by the likes of Miss Coney Island and GiGi La Femme, but after awhile it just started to fade in the background thanks to the growing crowd and lack of a proper sound system.  The Lauras and Andy B dispersed after a little while and soon new friends joined Andrew and I in our comfy red booth.  We socialized with strangers and downed a few more beers before eventually staggering back from Prospect Heights at what seemed like a reasonable hour.

The Front of the Esteemed Montauk Club

Sunday morning carried with it a certain level of excitement as there were big things afoot.  Maureen was in town for good ol’ birthday #31 and as such, classy plans were at hand.  The afternoon called for a dress up brunch at the exclusive Montauk Club, just around the corner from our apartment.  The Montauk Club is private so you need to be a member to get in, unless you have a member with you.  Luckily, Dan F is just audacious enough to be a card holding member flaunting such high society swagger. A group of 9 or 10 of us followed him in wearing out Sunday best for a scrumptious brunch in our very own private room complete with balcony and American flag.

Dan and Maureen Mid-Brunch Emmy Talk

The conversation was lively, the food delicious; Myself, Andrew M, Trish, Laura R, Dan, Maureen, Trish, Stephen, Katie, Robin, Laura B, and Andy B more or less did the textbook definition of “whooping it up” if that could be applied to such an upper crust establishment where people weren’t accustomed to such behavior.  We were certainly engaged in loud and unorthodox  dialogue for that joint and the waiter duly noted the viciousness with which we ridiculed one another.  It was all in good fun and all in dapper attire though as we inhaled delectable delights of the culinary persuasion whilst imbibing mimomas, bloody marys and extremely flavorful coffee.

The Other Side of The Table

After we finished eating we took a few moments to appreciate our surroundings, sitting out on the balcony and posing near the American flag in the corner of the room.  Once we departed from the premises we took a few moments to take some photos on the steps.

Andrew Morton: The American Portrait Collection

Evan Kessler: The American Portrait Collection

Not satisfied to let the afternoon come to an end, the party continued with drinks and dinner at our apartment.  A few additional folks made their presence felt. Laura  B cooked an excellent meal and when it got dark out, Maureen was presented with her rich, chocolate-y birthday cake with candles a blazin’.

Maureen Preps To Extinguish the Big 3-1

Once the birthday cake madness was done though, it was time for me to split from the proceedings. I had plans with Matt, Jenny, and Arby to take in the Giants Sunday night showdown with the Dallas Cowboys.  Unbeknownst to me, I was also being served dinner that Jenny was cooking up.  It was sort of an unintentional food score, but by the time I finished I was regretting it as my stomach felt entirely too full.  My stomach being at a more full capacity than the new Cowboys stadium aside, I was thrilled as the Giants drove down and won the game in the 4th quarter bringing their record to 2-0 and ending my weekend on a joyous note.