had to be there

Busy weekend. Good and busy. How about you?

After multiple kids' birthday parties on Saturday, I started Sunday off with what is currently my favorite menu item: the Tuscan Platter at Le Pain Quotidien. Share it with a pal.

Meanwhile, BJL and Joe Monkeyweb were attending the big town meeting. In case you missed this story, apparently our douchey landlords might owe us all a lot of money. Joe anticipates 50 grand or so for himself. Here he is chewing out his Maybach dealer for fucking up the size of the HDTV screens in the backseats.

I'm having a hard time believing we'll ever see a dime. Things like this just don't happen to schmucks like us. I'll consider it a whale of a victory if our rent gets lowered substantially moving forward. I still tip my cap to the folks who've been fighting the good fight -- Tishman and Speyer are probably shivering in their Cristal-filled jacuzzis right now.

Anyway, the meeting sounded productive: a couple of witches got burned, some tribal elders spoke, coupons redeemable towards future high fives were issued.

To celebrate our impending fortunes, the three of us sat down for a few rounds of Guinness at the brightly-lit-but-still-somehow-depressing Paddy McGuire's bar on 3rd avenue.


With our average age of approximately 37.6, we were the spring chickens of the bar. This guy was about 46, and represented the median. He just sat there for like three hours silently and calmly drinking. Sometimes that's all you can do.

At one point BJL tried to outstare me. I think he's still there in this exact position. Does that mean he wins?

Things we didn't talk about: The Yankees. The Mets. The Recession. The Old Days. Moustaches.

Things we did talk about: Softball. College. Kids. The Incident. Facebook.

We came up with a facebook app called forgivebook, where you reach out to old acquaintances and they give you closure for the terrible things you did to them years ago. I could use that. So could BJL.

Soon our respective ladies wanted to know where in the hell we were. We weren't at the bar that long, but it adds up.

We were probably drunker than we realized as we left the bar. BJL found a corner and belted out some of the loneliest Irish Doo Wop that 3rd Avenue's ever heard.

Then he went Hulk on this poor garbage can.

Then I went grocery shopping for like an hour. By the time I got home, I think I was hungover, and I still had to put the kid to bed.

I woke up Monday with a cold.