New Year's Eve: When Douchebags Everywhere Come Out Of The Woodwork.
Thought it might be high-time for some good-old original writing, since I've been sprinkling my entries with so many forwards. I guess I could rant about the deafening $75-a-head, 300-person New Year's (read: fraternity) party I attended in Soho, but let's talk about my trip home, since that was more eventful.
I knew it would happen, but the transportation stars aligned in the worst possible way. It's hard enough to get a cab on New Year's Eve. Add a Saturday night. Mix in some bad weather. And what you have, my friends, is a mathematical certainty that you're not getting a cab. Not without a fistfight, anyway. At 2:30am, I counted around 10 people at every intersection with their arms up in Hitler-fashion, somehow believing that a taxi would actually stop for them.
So I took the L/R. The left/right. Okay, I walked. That joke works better when you slap your quadriceps as you say it.
Anyway, I don't think I was two blocks from the party on Greene Street, when I saw yet another person who was clearly drunk, actually fall on his face. We use the expression "falling on your face" metiphorically, but this guy really did it. It was a bloody mess. Some people rushed over to help him, while I stayed busy nearly puking all over myself from seeing what was left of his forehead. I wouldn't make a good doctor.
At left, the normal human brain. At right, severe microcephaly, common in 20- and 30-somethings, and brought on by New Year's Eve in Manhattan.
Then things got interesting. Have you ever heard the crunch of bones? Sure you have. Think back to the last time you ate lobster. At 9th Street by the PATH station, two guys and a girl got out of a cab. The girl must have put her left foot down a bit too close to the rear wheel as she got out. She was drunk. The cab driver wasn't paying attention. He pulls away. Her foot doesn't. You can imagine what happens next. Screaming. Yelling. Honking. Girl laying on ground. Boot stuck under tire. Men helpless as usual. Me nauseous again.
The thing is, I'm sure this sort of stuff happens every New Year's Eve. Heck, every day. But I couldn't believe the number of girls I saw on my walk home who were crying, wiping mascara off their faces in every conceivable direction. The number of couples who were screaming at each other. The number of people who were stumbling in the streets. Not to mention the ample minefields of barf. I know New Year's Eve is an emotional time for some reason, but let me ask this question: what the FUCK? Why do people have such a hard time getting a grip? It reminded me of Saint Patrick's Day or the Puerto Rican Day Parade; two of the messiest, most violent events in the city. I'd rather chew off one of my own legs than be here on either of those days. Anyone with me?
For six of the last seven years, my 'New Year's crew' and I have hosted our own New Year's party. And they're always good. A few people even came up to me at the party on Saturday and said our parties were better. So I guess in a way I've been sheltered from all this shit.
They say "The best defense is a good offense". Maybe I'll keep throwing those parties.
I knew it would happen, but the transportation stars aligned in the worst possible way. It's hard enough to get a cab on New Year's Eve. Add a Saturday night. Mix in some bad weather. And what you have, my friends, is a mathematical certainty that you're not getting a cab. Not without a fistfight, anyway. At 2:30am, I counted around 10 people at every intersection with their arms up in Hitler-fashion, somehow believing that a taxi would actually stop for them.
So I took the L/R. The left/right. Okay, I walked. That joke works better when you slap your quadriceps as you say it.
Anyway, I don't think I was two blocks from the party on Greene Street, when I saw yet another person who was clearly drunk, actually fall on his face. We use the expression "falling on your face" metiphorically, but this guy really did it. It was a bloody mess. Some people rushed over to help him, while I stayed busy nearly puking all over myself from seeing what was left of his forehead. I wouldn't make a good doctor.
At left, the normal human brain. At right, severe microcephaly, common in 20- and 30-somethings, and brought on by New Year's Eve in Manhattan.
Then things got interesting. Have you ever heard the crunch of bones? Sure you have. Think back to the last time you ate lobster. At 9th Street by the PATH station, two guys and a girl got out of a cab. The girl must have put her left foot down a bit too close to the rear wheel as she got out. She was drunk. The cab driver wasn't paying attention. He pulls away. Her foot doesn't. You can imagine what happens next. Screaming. Yelling. Honking. Girl laying on ground. Boot stuck under tire. Men helpless as usual. Me nauseous again.
The thing is, I'm sure this sort of stuff happens every New Year's Eve. Heck, every day. But I couldn't believe the number of girls I saw on my walk home who were crying, wiping mascara off their faces in every conceivable direction. The number of couples who were screaming at each other. The number of people who were stumbling in the streets. Not to mention the ample minefields of barf. I know New Year's Eve is an emotional time for some reason, but let me ask this question: what the FUCK? Why do people have such a hard time getting a grip? It reminded me of Saint Patrick's Day or the Puerto Rican Day Parade; two of the messiest, most violent events in the city. I'd rather chew off one of my own legs than be here on either of those days. Anyone with me?
For six of the last seven years, my 'New Year's crew' and I have hosted our own New Year's party. And they're always good. A few people even came up to me at the party on Saturday and said our parties were better. So I guess in a way I've been sheltered from all this shit.
They say "The best defense is a good offense". Maybe I'll keep throwing those parties.
posted by Mark Feigenson at 11:05 PM
2 Comments:
Yeah, you made the wrong choice.
We had a quiet New Year's at Rebecca's watching some new films from Play Cole. Those guys are brilliant.
mark, sorry to hear you didn't have your annual bash and that your new year started off in such a bloodbath. I did actually wonder how things were going at your gala from where I was in Paris - where I was celebrating the new year by watching some films by Play Cole. Those guys are brilliant.
Post a Comment
<< Home