How Far Down Does the Club Have to be in order to be Considered a Bunker?

What: Soft Opening for a club

Where: The Bunker Club, Meatpacking

Who: Amanda, Alex, Me

Welcome to Bunker, another sheik club that the meatpacking district can add to its repertoire. While I would normally not attend an overly buzzed about club because I don’t believe in lines on principal (there are 30 other clubs in a 5 block radius without lines) I went because a friend who works there put us on a list for a private party sponsored by Veuve Clicquot. No waiting and free alcohol? It was as though this friend knew my hopes and dreams…at least for the evening.

Virtually impossible to find Bunker is located beneath Bill’s Bar and Burger and right around the corner from 675; owned by the same group. I arrived to the club with my friends Amanda and Alex and were immediately prompted to specify which list we were on…apparently there were multiple. After finding the appropriate list and getting my ID checked twice we were ushered down a dingy stairwell to arrive in a very hip, well decorated club.

Once inside the club partygoers can gaze up at the arched stone ceiling dotted with skylights that are cast with shadows of passerby’s on the street. A giant disco ball spins over the small, but adequate dance floor in front of the DJ who is spinning an eclectic selection of classics intertwined with modern beats.

The walls are lined with tables for bottle service and further back past the dance floor is a wall of open glass doors leading to a semi-private bottle service area. The overly attractive waitresses and bartenders are quick, polite, and radiate just a hint of arrogance; a perfect combination of the service they provide and the slight power they have over guests.

Along the bar that spans almost half of this intimate nightclub one can grab a seat and enjoy nearly any cocktail their heart desires. At the very end of the bar stand two bookcases, relics of an old Saturday Night Live set, both a great talking piece and amply appropriate for the décor.

And while I enjoyed the free champagne and chocolate covered strawberries, my most entertaining part of the night had to be the people watching. Most of the people appeared to be models (a theory that was further proven by their refusal to eat food, smile and act as though they were having fun.) Scantily clad women hung off the arms of what appeared to be rich men and then the most enjoyable had to be the outrageously dressed fashionistas who spun on the dance floor before sulking at a table.

Goals Accomplished:

1) First invite to a trendy Meatpacking club

2) Momentarily uncomfortable by the clientel

3) Learned...free champagne=headache...and that people who want to be seen are as dreary as they appear

Starving Artist or Artistically Starved?

*Photo property of BMW

What: BMW Commercial Audtion
Where: Chelsea
Who: My brother and Me

Living in a city full of starving artists it occurred to me that I had never been on a commercial audition before (I do realize the irony in referring to actors who want to be in national commercials as 'starving artists'.) So I discussed this matter with a few of my actor friends and decided that the best (read: cheapest) route to go down was to rifle through the craigslist ads for open auditions.

After heavy sifting over many weeks I found one that actually struck me as legitimate. I implore anyone who uses craigslist for these types of services to be very scrupulous since many of them appear to be scams.

The ad I found was for an upcoming BMW campaign. The parameters for auditioning sounded simple enough, you had to be between the ages of 20 – 60 and have a brother who was willing to audition with you. Luckily for me my older brother, Tom, obliged my request to come into the city to participate in my newest adventure.

After sending in a silly bio and even sillier pictures of each of us we were invited to audition this past Saturday. The casting crew were unclear about compensation and other details, but it did not matter to me since I was not looking to score a gig, but rather have an experience…although my actor friends assured me that a national commercial pays big bucks. Of course when told this my mind dove into a series of possible futures including my celebrity status from the campaign (similar to the status of Flo for Geico or the guys for Free Credit Report.Com.)

Alas we arrived at the casting office Saturday morning at 10:00 AM to find that we were the first auditions of the day. At this office they disclosed to us some more details:

1) There would be six pairs of semi-finalists who would have portraits taken of them and “day in the life” webisodes would be made
2) Pairs of sisters could audition…although it sounded like they didn’t stand a chance
3) There would be compensation…and a lot of it
4) This would be a three year campaign for the winners
5) There were auditions in four cities: Paris, London, Berlin and New York

While Tom and I were slightly excited about the prospect of earning money
we assumed that some European pair with foreign charisma and charm would win.

During the on camera interview they made us walk from side to side (with a natural swagger of course), pose at different angles and do a full 360 degree turn. Finding this hilarious Tom and I could not help but laugh throughout the interview. Then we were asked rather brutal questions such as, “What is the worst quality in your brother?” or “Was there a time where you guys really didn’t get along?”

After getting through the interview, and still wanting to be brothers, they asked one final question, “Is there anything you two don’t agree on, see eye-to-eye on, or have different opinions about?”

Tom turned to me and said, “Go for it,” with a knowing look.
“Well, he likes women…and I don’t,” I said with a smile as we turned to leave.

Goals Accomplished:
1) First audition for a commercial
2) Uncomfortable whirling and twirling in front of a camera
3) Learned that foreigners have quite a sense of humor about sexuality

You're Invited

What: P.U.L.S.E. presents Insomnia

Where: Littlefield (Brooklyn, New York)

Who: Me

Slapping the title “New York Newbie” and writing a blog has awarded my first perk (other than an open forum for my mindless thoughts and blabberings.)

Last week I was invited to the first P.U.L.S.E. (People United by Lights, Sound and Energy) event, appropriately named Insomnia, here in New York City. It was hosted in a warehouse like club, Littlefield, in Brooklyn. I was told it was and Electric Music Party that would feature 5 DJs and a good time. Since it fit my criteria for an event (fun, new, and free) I decided to go.

After taking the G train, commonly called the Ghost train for its lack of consistency, two stops in the wrong direction I got out of the subway to take a cab. It was already midnight (past my bedtime) and I thought it best to get there as quickly as possible. Consequently, I had forgotten I was in Brooklyn, the land of black cabs that make their own rates. After several of these questionable cabs offered me fares I deemed too high I managed to flag down the one yellow cab in the area.

The driver took me to Littlefield where there were a couple dozen people loitering outside the discreetly marked building. Upon entering I was met with a wide array of patrons, from the girl wearing faux animal fur leggings and gloves that glowed to the skinny hipster boy wearing a backpack in the shape of a doll.

After walking past the bar and into the large backroom where all the DJs were performing it became immediately apparent what all of these people had in common, their love for music. There were five DJs lined up: Daddy Noomz, Tom Rogers, DJ Mass EffEft, DJ Stimp.E and Dj.DROID.

All of the DJs had an interesting and unique feel, but I would say the one that got the crowd the most excited and was the most interactive was DJ Mass EffEct. During his set, Mass EffEct wrote messages directed to the crowd on the display screen behind him, released balloons filled with lights, and then later unleashed a spider web that the crowd pulled across themselves and became intertwined in (a symbol of unity…and just plain old fun.) Along with interacting with the crowd I found Mass EffEct’s set the most fun, upbeat, and creative.

The event was full of electronic dance music and occasionally a top 40 beat was thrown in the mix. Party goers were full of energy, excitement, life and liquid courage. There were several attendees gloving, spinning lights on strings and dancing up a storm. The event itself appeared to be a success for the DJs and while attendance did not reach capacity, it was definitely full. Having never fully vested myself in this type of music in the past I can say one thing for sure; these people definitely know how to party (I left at 4:30 AM...a feat in and of itself for me.)

Goals Accomplished:

1) First time to a warehouse/rave type party

2) Uncomfortable getting lost in Brooklyn...and then felt slightly out of place in the crowd

3) Learned that these people party hard

The Apartment Hunt

*photo property of brooklynnynews.com

What: Apartment Hunting
Where: Midtown East/West, Hell's Kitchen, Greenwich Village, West Village, Bushwick
Who: Carson and Me

“It will all work out.” A lovely sentiment from friends and those I encountered while apartment hunting in New York City, but since their bum was not between a rock and hard place their words were lost on me.

Growing up I had apartment/condo/house hunted on multiple occasions with my parents. The main difference between then and now was that there was no dire need to move, no end point at which we had to vacate our current premises, no landlord banging down the door, and definitely no management company threatening to withhold a security deposit.

Last month there were all of those things and more. Brokers missed appointments, other brokers showed Carson and me the same apartment, even worse brokers showed us apartments that were already rented, and the very worst brokers tried to bait and switch us.

With eight days left in our lease Carson found an apartment on his own. Feeling slightly more screwed than before I panicked and reached out to a few friends whose couches I proposed a rental fee for.

Then, with four days left, Carson found out that there was an opening in the apartment he was going to sign for. However, when I found out there were no windows in the room I had to turn down the offer. The past year without windows dubbed me Harry Potter (I should also mentioned that I literally lived under a staircase) among my friends and I feared that another year would dub me Smegal.

I now reside in Bushwick (or far East Williamsburg if you are speaking to someone trying to fool themselves) for the next two months until I sign a new lease with a friend in Manhattan. Supposedly an “up and coming” section of Brooklyn, Bushwick has piqued my interest more than I could have anticipated. There is a version of Costco with products that are unrecognizable, a JFK Fried Chicken that serves seafood 24 hours a day and gunshots are simply the crickets of the neighborhood. The commute to work is the same, eating out is cheaper, groceries are basically free, oh and my rent is less than half…why didn’t I try this sooner?

Goals Accomplished:
1) First time I have had to apartment hunt, when I moved down I was offered a spot
2) More uncomfortable with fried chicken and fish than with the crickets
3) Learned the cost saving lifestyle attainable in Brooklyn

The Brooklyn Bridge Takes Me Where?

What: Walking the Brooklyn Bridge

Where: Brooklyn Bridge

Who: Jason and Me

Walking the Brooklyn Bridge has been on my bucket list since the first time I visited to New York, but for some reason or another I had never done it…up until last week that is.

A friend of mine, Jason, asked me to meet him in Dumbo. When I asked, “Why?” he told me that it was ‘ridiculous’ that I have yet to walk over the bridge, a fact made truer since I work downtown.

I found Dumbo to be pretty awesome, it is trendy and fun like Williamsburg, but without all the hipsters. Sadly, the rents are the same as Manhattan.

Walking against traffic (read: walking back towards Manhattan at 6 PM) over the bridge turned out to be slightly difficult even though there are clearly two walking lanes. People walking with the majority found it appropriate to edge Jason and me into the bike lane so their commute could go quicker.

Traffic jams aside the view from the bridge is amazing. While I have seen pictures of and from the bridge for years, it was a whole new experience to see these images firsthand. The city lights look brighter, the buildings bigger, the arches on the bridge taller and the tourists more plentiful.

However, I did have a heart attack when one girl thought it would be fun to pose on a ledge for a photo. There was nothing to catch this girl from falling into the speeding cars below and I can only hope the picture was worth it. Having a weak stomach I turned away before her friend snapped the photo or she fell to her death, an outcome that will haunt me forever.

This experience, while short, was invigorating; it reminds you of all the possibilities that lay before you in the city.

Goals Accomplished:

1) First time walking the Brooklyn Bridge

2) Not uncomfortable, but worried about the girl that may or may not have a picture of herself

3) Did not learn much, other than I waited too long to do this

"Ms. Stoeger, my plastic surgeon doesn't want me doing any activity where balls fly at my nose." - Clueless

*image property of http://www.porhomme.com/

What: Dodgeball
Where: PS 87 (Upper West Side)
Who: Shake That Bear


Much to my delight my roommate, Carson, invited me to play dodgeball with his office on a Zog sports team. Having passed on their basketball team last season due to a lack of hand-eye coordination I figured that it would be pretty hard to screw up a sport intended for 12 year olds.

Almost immediately I realized that my assumption was wrong. Not only is dodgeball harder than I remember, but the stakes are raised when it is an adult game. Apparently it is socially acceptable to lose at a real sport like soccer or baseball, but the idea of losing at a children’s game makes men nearing midlife crisis age even more competitive.

I arrived at PS87 at 6:00 PM for a warm-up with my team, Shake That Bear. The team name eluded me and if the meaning escapes you as well count yourself lucky. One of my teammates brought his son who coincidentally had played dodgeball earlier in the week at school. The 11 year old boy very quickly put me to shame (although I would argue he had the advantage by being small.)

After the first game I started to get the hang of it and learned not to close my eyes while trying to catch a ball…I realize most of you reading this probably would have figured this out beforehand, but I assure you it is exceedingly hard to do when balls are flying at your face.

By the fourth and final game I was definitely in the better half of the pack. A new feeling, one I did not experience at the ripe old age of 12, arose; feeling badly for aiming at the girls. A few girls on the opposing teams were scared of the balls and hitting them felt wrong, which makes me a wimp or a victim of their highly tactical head game.

I did however derive great pleasure from pegging a guy who screamed “Who’s your Daddy?” every time he got someone out. Needless to say I shouted his catch phrase as he sidled off the court.

All in all our team turned out to be pretty awesome and won all four games. It was a super fun thing to do and an added bonus that all the money raised by member fees goes to charity.

Our celebration? Shake Shack…but that institution deserves a whole other post.

Goals Accomplished:
1) First Zog sports experience
2) Not uncomfortable...just embarrassed
3) Learned that children's sports can be for adults too...but to be weary of the competitiveness of balding men

Why am I Arched Up During Downward Dog?

*Image property of www.trek2befit.com

What: Yoga
Where: 24 Hour Fitness
Who: Strangers and Me

Yoga seemed to be all the rage over the past few years (and probably before then, but unbeknownst to me) so I decided it was time to take my first class. I thought it best to start out low key (read: free) at the 24 Hour Fitness I belong too.

This time would not be like my spin class, I would be prepared. So I gathered my water bottle and towel and made my way to the gym on a recent Saturday. I showed up at the class five minutes early to find myself standing entirely with women. Not terribly surprised, I waited with them until the previous class finished.

Fearful of being in the front of them room I grabbed a spot towards the back with the matt that my gym had provided (this would be a good idea until the teacher would make us turn around during certain positions.)

The teacher arrived moments later and I really don’t think there is a way not to sound stereotypical. She had wavy (or free as she would describe) hair, spandex pants, and spoke in a calming voice that she would refer to as wind throw the willows, although I am quite sure that no wind ever uttered the words “downward dog.”

I am slightly hesitant to say the class itself was rather easy, although I did not find it greatly challenging. What I found more challenging was concentrating, there were just so many things in the classroom to look at: the crack in the floor at the front of the room, the punching bag swaying slightly, the mirror that reflected everyone’s twisted faces. All of these distractions made it hard to imagine myself in the green pastures of Thailand or some other country she continually referred too.

However, I will pride myself on only laughing twice. The first being on downward dog (do I really need to explain further?) and the second being when a girl who quickly deemed herself as the teachers pet toppled over, try not to judge me too much (after all the Germans created a word for this so it can’t be all bad; schadenfreude.)

My cousin has invited me to partake in Vinyasa yoga at a studio in the East Village…this time I am actually fearful after looking it up, but then again…it will be something new.

Goals Accomplished:
1) First time going to a Yoga class
2) Some of the positions were uncomfortable
3) Learned that not all Yogis (is that a word?) are hippies, names for positions don't always make sense, and it can actually be kind of fun

Personal Assistant or Dog Walker? Doesn't Matter if You're in the Hamptons!

*Walli "enjoying'" the beach

What: Weekend Trip
Where: The Hamptons (Amagansett)
Who: My cousin, Walli, Myself...and a few fun encounters

The Hamptons, what felt like an elusive getaway for me, but a regular excursion for many of the elite. Having grown up in New England friends would go there over the summers. However, I had never been there myself…until recently.

My old boss who I was a ‘personal assistant’ for (read: glorified dog walker) informed me that Walli, his golden retriever, “needed” to go to the beach for the weekend. While I am not a person that treats dogs like humans, I am a poor recent college graduate who believes in treating the likes of me as a celebrity.

Without hesitation I jumped at the opportunity to dog sit in Amagansett with my cousin, Jess, who would be accompanying me. Not only would we be weekending there, we would get to take his SUV (read: environment killer) there. This allowed us to avoid the Jitney, which I was slightly sad about since I have heard so much about it and I am sure would be a new experience all in itself.

Jess, Walli, and I drove the three hours to the beach for what turned into quite the memorable weekend. A fun fact that my prior boss and Jess managed to leave out was that his neighbor was a celebrity and friend of theirs; Sarah Jessica Parker.

Trying not to be too eager about meeting her I pretended not to be disappointed when I missed her the first time we stopped by her house. Luckily on round two I caught her off guard and was the strange cousin of her friend. Immensely excited, I tried to hide it by casually greeting hello.

The house we stayed at was wonderful and only twenty short feet to the private beach. Swimming twice a day was great (once during the day and then again at night.) However, it was disconcerting to actually be able to see the stars for the first time in a few months.

To top off the weekend we got a surprise visitor, another friend of my cousins and my old boss, Matthew Morrison. This has become a namedropping post, my apologies; I am more trying to lay out the weekend than boast about my dumb luck…not really luck if you don’t care about celebrities.

Overall, it was a great weekend, but I see why only “the super rich can afford it,” as said by Robin Leach.

Goals Accomplished:
1) First time going to the Hamptons
2) Mostly comfortable, but nervous around for celebrities (this must have been instilled by society because by the looks of it they are human)
3) Having the "right" friends can have benefits

It's Not a Bar Fight When it's on a Boat

*photo: property of www.theyoungandthehungry.com

What: Bar Fight
Where: The Frying Pan
Who: My roommates, myself, miscellaneous rowdy men

I find it remarkable that I have been in New York City for months and just recently saw my first bar fight; or rather I saw a ‘boat fight.’ On Saturday night I went to the Frying Pan as a send off for one of my roommates who is leaving for London.

Located on the Hudson, the Frying Pan, is a boat that is permanently docked and serves as a bar in the warmer months. There are two smaller side boats, the first of which has dancing down below at the base of the ship.

After having one drunken jock approach me, initiating a fight, on my walk through the dock to the ship I realized I had entered a rowdy location. I made my way over to the further side boat and found my friends seated around a large table.

Within ten minutes my attention turned to the party of thirty next to us. One man at the table next to us was shouting at a guy on the main boat, which could not have been more than three feet away. The guy on the main boat was urinating off the side of the main boat into the direction of the side boat. A shouting match ensued when the party next to us proceeded to take an innocent picture of themselves and the Pisser accused them of trying to snap a photo of his ‘piece.’ (Definition number 7 in the link)

One of the girls at the party turned out to be a quite a firecracker and started throwing bottles at the Pisser and one broke upon hitting him. The Pissers friends started shouting and in return the guys at the Party table decided to take action. Instead of walking twenty feet down the side boat to dock back onto the main boat they decided to take a scene straight out of a pirate movie. Five of the guys in the Party climbed up the railing of the side boat and jumped to the railing of the main boat and scaled up the side.

Moments later the Pisser was in a chokehold and one of his friends was being punched in the face. Fists were thrown and men were falling to the ground. At least ten people were taking part in this fight; the guys from the Party outnumbering the Pisser’s friends exponentially.

One female bartender tried to shout to stop the fight while her male counterpart continued serving drinks. Without adequate security at this location the fight was not broken up. Instead it continued with punches being thrown, men rolling on the floor, and violent words until the Pisser and his friends retreated.

Just when I thought I had witnessed a great fight, the girl who threw the bottle that smashed over the Pisser proceeded to go onto the main boat and retrieve the Pisser’s food which had been delivered and left untouched. Needless to say this girl is now my hero.

Goals Accomplished:
1) First New York Bar Fight
2) Not terribly uncomfortable...there were no bottles aimed at me
3) The firecracker girl taught me that you truly can have your cake and eat it too...and if you want to have a successful bar fight without any arrests, do it at a place like the Frying Pan where security is lacking

Is That Your Third Cheeseburger?

What: Charity Event
Where: 230 Fifth, Rooftop
Who: Phil, his friends, me

A friend of mine recently invited me to a charity event. Struck at the idea that someone thought I had anything to give intrigued me. I became even more intrigued when said friend told me that he does marketing for the company supplying the liquor and that they would be footing the bill for our tickets.

Now that I had become charity too, I agreed to go. The liquor company he was promoting, Rokk Vodka, is a new brand that is directly trying to compete with Svedka. While I found Rokk’s packaging tacky, ripping off Svedka’s, I found their willingness to contribute to charity for me more than compensatory.

All of the money raised was going to the GLAAD (Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation)foundation. I was told that countless ‘C’ list celebrities would be there in support as well as free food and drinks. With more of my focus on food than the nameless faces I arrived at 230 Fifth at 7:00 PM; right when the event was starting.

After meeting up with my friend, Phil, and his three friends we went upstairs to the top floor where there was a red carpet and paparazzi snapping photos of who I can only assume were celebrities. Instead of waiting around to find out who they were I scurried up the stairs to the rooftop in the hopes of getting Rokk’s contribution worth in food.

On the rooftop there were more people than I had anticipated and moving around was difficult. Among the crowd were at least a dozen young men walking around in bathing suits, something that did not strike me as particularly unusual for a gay event. However, the clipboards in their hand did. In fact, they were part of a silent auction; their bathing suits were being sold to the highest bidder. As someone who has a hard enough time rationalizing a new $60 bathing suit I could not fathom paying for a dirty one.

The night itself was nothing out of the ordinary, it was a free party with men walking around in practically nothing, a few celebrity faces I recognized and could not place (until I Googled them later), and a ton of free food and alcohol. Some of the more interesting Google results were as follows: Bethenny Frankel (Real Housewives of New York and host of the party), Thomas Roberts (MSNBC anchor), and Johnny Weir (Olympic Gold Medalist.)

The only difference between this and the launch party I attended was that the crowd was bitchier. Various people negatively commented on others attire or asked if eating that fourth cheeseburger was a good idea.

Person X (wearing a pink and white plaid shirt): Is that your third cheeseburger?
Me: Fourth actually.
Person X: Are you sure you need that?
Me: This coming from the guy wearing a tablecloth as a shirt?

Within moments the gentleman had taken the cheeseburger from my hand and thrown it off the roof deck.

I can only imagine who it fell on below and what lucky rodent got to eat my delicious burger.

Goals Accomplished:
1) First charity event
2) Closest I got to being uncomfortable was being called out for eating so much
3) Learned that it is important to hold tightly onto your free food

5 AM?! Why Wouldn't I be at a Concert in Central Park?

What: Summer Concert Series: Usher

Where: Central Park

Who: Erica and Me

When a friend emailed me with an invitation to attend Good Morning America’s Summer Concert Series in the Central Park I accepted not realizing the repercussions of such an agreement.

At 5:30 AM on Friday morning my alarm told me that I was already ten minutes late. I was to meet my friend, Erica, in 15 minutes near the park. I stumbled out of bed and into, what can only be described as, the night. Upon meeting Erica in the Upper East Side we walked to the 72nd Street entrance of Central Park.

There we waited in the wrong line for twenty minutes. Upon reaching the front of the line we were told that those with VIP tickets had to wait in a separate line, so we took our seemingly wonderful VIP tickets and waited another ten minutes in a line that awarded us a bracelet that signified our status.

We were then led past the crowd and into a gated area right in front of the stage where we would wait for the next two hours. The performer was supposed to be Rihanna, but much to my dismay she cancelled and Usher would be performing instead. The twelve year old girls and their mothers did not seem to share my disdain. Instead they hailed posters, screamed, and occasionally lifted their shirts in the hopes that they would be like one of the lucky thousands of girls before them to make it backstage.

Usher appeared thirty minutes later to have a stagehand walk him through his performance. The instructions he was given were interrupted by the prepubescent girls and their mothers screaming for his attention.

Not terribly engaged in Usher’s ability to follow the stagehand around I geared my attention to the two women who had started a fight. One could only guess what they were fighting about, but I hoped that at least one of the following scenarios had ensued:

1) One of the females referred to Usher as “her man”
2) One had accidentally bumped into the other
3) One had stolen the other’s boyfriend years ago, became pregnant, and this was the first time they had seen each other since

Regardless of the reasoning behind the fight, the visual of the two women, with their hair standing up and their clothes slightly torn, was enough for me. Others attempted to compete with this excitement, the girl that passed out, the woman who used Erica as an armrest, the girl that lied down on the pavement and put her legs between mine, but none of them came close to the intensity of the fight.

Another hour of scanning the crowd for a fight and Usher finally came on after being presented by Robin Roberts and George Stephanopoulos, both of whom left something to be desired. Their pasted on smiles and raised eyebrows may have translated well on TV, but were fairly creepy in person.

Usher performed, or rather danced, his way through two songs, neither of which I knew. His vocals could hardly be heard over the music, but his constant hip thrusts at dancers wearing their weight in make-up were evident.

It was an amusing performance that was made more enticing by the common belief among that crowd that each and every one of them was his biggest fan.

Upon finishing his second set, Erica and I bolted from the stage area and ran to the outskirts of the park to avoid any chaos that would ensue. Waiting three hours to hear two songs we could only assume that other concert goers had pent up energy. If this post sounds like a lot of buildup only to be let down, well then you now share my sentiment about the performance.

Goals Accomplished:
1) First time going to a concert in the morning and seeing Usher perform (safe to say the last as well)

2) Uncomfortable being around the massive amounts of estrogen
3) Learned VIP means standing in two lines

Ridin' Solo

*Picture from www.wired.com (one of my favorite publications)

What: Bicycling (Manhattan-Style)
Where: Midtown down to the World Financial Center
Who: Me

About a month ago I became dead set on the idea of riding my bike to work. And then, approximately two weeks ago, I summoned up the courage to do so. Having absolutely no idea how far it was from Midtown East down to the World Financial Center I assumed it must be a short distance, in my mind, with Manhattan being a tiny island, I thought a mile tops (probably something I should not be openly admitting). But when put into Google Maps, one can find the actual distance of 6 miles, not an epic feat, but a fair ride for 8 AM.

The route seemed simple enough; all I had to do was to get from the East Side (Lexington Avenue) over to the West Side and then I could take the bike path that runs along the West Side Highway all the way to my office.

Taking the bicycle down the stairs of my apartment (a feat in and of itself) and arriving on the street, immediately I realized that I was not in Connecticut anymore and the chances of being hit by a car grew hunredfold. Buckling my helmet and throwing caution to the wind I mounted the bicycle and headed East on Lexington to eventually go down one block so that I could go West. It was at this moment that I decided not to be a bike that went the wrong way down one-ways.

90% scared and 10% euphoric (for not having to ride the subway) I peddled down Lexington and then took a right to make it over to the West Side. It was going smoothly until I was stuck in traffic due to a red light and could not decide if I wanted to ride up the side of the cars to the front of the line; something I have seen many bikers do. While I started to edge towards the front of the line I ran into a series of obstacles: cars tried to pull out, taxi passengers were opening their doors, and people were j-walking. Having to swerve every 3 seconds to avoid inevitable death I decided to wait until traffic began to move.

I thought I had beat all the obstacles when I hit 8th Avenue until a fellow biker, a delivery man of sorts, was coming towards me going the wrong way down a one-way. Not only was he going the wrong direction, he proceeded to edge me out into the road so that I could not ride next to the parked cars. Disgusted I looked back to see if I was going to be hit, luckily I was not, but it took every ounce of effort for me not to casually reach out and knock the man off his bike as he passed (something I cannot promise will be done in the future.)

Finally, making it to the path on the West Side Highway I rode leisurely down to my office where I parked in the garage and was ushered into the freight elevator to go upstairs. Not realizing that I could not stop in the bathroom before the elevator I showed up on the floor of my building sweating profusely in a tank top and shorts (read: not the best way to get ahead in the ‘finance world.’)

After running into the bathroom to change I realized I had made the second mistake of the day, I had put all of my belongings into my roommates ‘Glee’ bag and had to proceed to carry that around the office for the day. The ridicule between wearing a ‘beater’ and carrying a ‘Glee’ bag that ensued for the rest of the day was quite humorous…for the rest of the office.

I plan on riding in at least once a week.

I have never felt so refreshed going into work, it was probably the combination of the fresh air by the water, not being in the subway, and the constant fear that I might die at any moment.

Goals Accomplished:

1) First time riding a bike "Manhattan-Style"
2) Wildly uncomfortable riding close to cars

3) Learned that other bikers can be worse than the cars on the road

Wanna Flip?

What: Launch Party

Where: Kimberly Hotel
Who: Myself, Carson, Amanda, Alex, and Courtney

Last week I attended a launch party for the new company “FlipMe.” And while my feelings about the company itself are less than desirable, the party itself was not. Then again I must take into account the fact that I am easily pleased with free food and free alcohol.

The company is a new dating site that also has an in-person component. Anyone can sign up to make a dating profile on the site (if you pay the $24.99 fee...which only gets you thirty dating cards), however in order to let anyone view your profile you must give them a “flipme card” in person. Therefore, profiles cannot be searched and browsed. To top it off, the company seemed to be oblivious to the fact that "flipping" is a commonly used term in the gay community. For those who are unfamiliar with the term, I will not go into specifics, but it usually takes place in the bedroom.

My roommate brought it to the attention of many that it would be viewed as wimpy for a guy to go up to a girl and give her a flipme card rather than his number. Personally, I agree, it is an unnecessary step in the dating process. People should either date online or in person. One point that one of the two founders brought up was that it would be good for people who want to cheat…whoever said New York City doesn’t have any morals?

Regardless, the party was definitely entertaining. It was held on the roof deck of the Kimberly Hotel, a fairly unknown gem in Midtown East. The glass ceiling and walls open to create a spectacular view of the city lights.

There was a variety of media, people from the Wall Street Journal, The New York Insider, and others. A mini red carpet was laid out and many people attempted to pose with Miss New York.
Employees of FlipMe ran around explaining the product and showing people the cards. Most were stupefied when asked what they would do if handed a card by someone and it made the evening more enjoyable.

The only thing more enjoyable than the unprepared staff was when my roommate decided to ‘wingman’ for me.

Roommate: Don’t take offense to this, but do you sleep with chics or dudes? My roommate thinks you’re cute.
Cute Guy: I sleep with chics.
Roommate: Really? You look gay.
Cute Guy: What??!! Why?!
Roommate: Your facial hair is too well maintained.
Cute Guy: But I don’t do anything to it!
Roommate: Well maybe you should so it looks like you don’t.

Goals Accomplished:
1) My first launch party

2) My roommate definitely made me uncomfortable flirting with a straight guy (it should be noted that my roommate is also straight)
3) I learned that a surprising number of people want to be photographed in the hopes of ending up online or in magazines

Love the Glove

*Above is jStar gloving at a birthday party

What: Gloving
Where: The BK (Brooklyn)
Who: Myself and jStar

Never having been a person who enjoys raves or the drugs that accompany them I was ignorant when a good friend of mine, stage name: jStar, told me he was a “glover.”

A “glover” he said, as though this was a noun that should already be in my vocabulary, even after having worked at nightclubs this word was still beyond my realm of understanding.

“You’re a what?” I asked.

“I glove,” he responded.

Turning the noun into a verb made it no more recognizable to me, but apparently now it was thing you could ‘be’ as well as ‘do.’

jStar then went on to explain to me exactly what he meant. The performer (the glover) wears a pair of gloves that contain lights in each of the finger tips (well they insert the lights themselves, but that is neither here nor there). There is also the option of having a ‘palm’ light which, as I am sure you guessed, goes in the palm of the glove.

These gloves are worn mainly to DJ events that take place in clubs or at festivals. Then the performer/glover moves their hands to the music. With the surroundings dark this gives the effect of floating lights and creates a spectacle that is mesmerizing. Most glovers give individual shows to people, and occasionally do group ones, but the people have to be close enough together because these light shows are meant to take place directly in front of your face.

jStar then offered to perform a private glove show for me in his room. With the shades drawn to block out any street light, he played one of his favorite trance tracks. He then proceeded to move his hands in precise, exquisite motions in front of me. Each movement was thought out, prepared, practiced. The end result being a story of lights in front of me, the story was happy when the music was happy and sad when the music was sad.

It was entrancing and though I was skeptical I will now say I am converted. While this group of people (glovers) may be considered dorky at the surface level, the actual act itself is pretty cool.

I can only imagine what the people who do drugs at these clubs and raves see as the lights move, but even for the sober folk like me it is an awesome experience.

Webster Hall hosts a party every Saturday night called Circus that often times have glovers if you want to see this in action. My next step in this world is to attend one of these, anyone want to join?

There is also the Electric Daisy Carnival (EDC) later this month in L.A. This two day festival is guaranteed to score you more glovers than you can handle.

Other various DJ events attract glovers as well, you just have to dig a little bit to find the right event.

Or if none of these options appeal to you, just click here and get ready to be gloved…if one in fact can be “gloved.”

Goals Accomplished:

1) I had never seen a glove show before, let alone had a private one

2) Hmm I might have missed the boat on being uncomfortable...but maybe when I go to a massive venue I will be

3) I learned what gloving meant and that there is quite the following for it

The Only Six Packs Allowed are Beneath Your Shirt

What: Beach Day
Where: Fire Island

Who: Myself, Justin, Dan, Matt, and thousands of other gay men

A couple weeks ago Justin invited me to join him and two of his friends (a couple – Dan and Matt) to go to Fire Island for Memorial Day Weekend. After looking at the outrageous prices for hotel rooms (you must book 3 nights on a holiday weekend anywhere on the island with the lowest rate being $350 per night) we decided to make it a day trip.

Early Sunday morning we caught the LIRR (transferred twice) to Sayville where we hopped on a ferry to The Pines, one of the gay sections of the island. The other gay resort area is Cherry Grove. As we got nearer to our destination more and more people around us were gay, as though proximity played a key role in the number of gay persons.

As suspected each of us ran into at least one person we knew before we even got to the island (where we ran into several more). When the ferry docked we immediately headed for the opposite side of the island, a short walk, to lie out on the beach. Being the brave souls we are, we attempted to go into the water, but only Matt and I made it.

Much to my surprise and dismay the undertow stole my bathing suit, much like I assume a many of the old men on the island might try. Since I thought that coming out of the water nude would be an ‘open invitation’ (see number 6 on the previous link) I stayed in the water until I was able to locate said bathing suit. Humorous to Justin, Dan, and Matt…scary for me.

Past that excitement it was a regular day on the beach, only there were more men and six packs (on stomachs) than most other places in the world. It is quite literally Spring Break for gay men. Everyone can sunbathe and drink all day and party all night. I knew that I had seen this behavior before and remembered that there was a youtube video made by 5 gay men last year on the island to a certain Miley Cyrus song.

Overall it was a great time, full of frisbee and volleyball I had a blast. Sun, the beach, cocktails, could anyone ask for more?...Well there were beautiful men too, so if that does it for you, then I encourage you to go. Even the men on steroids here seemed to be friendlier than the ones on the island of Manhattan (probably because all of their hard work could now be on display).

The only quam I found, other than running into every gay person I had ever met, was the sex on the beach. The gay male population has been known for promiscuity and this seemed to be no exception, whether it was out on the sand or in the meat racks (the wooden pathway that connects The Pines and Cherry Grove). And while I am all for freedom of expression, next time try to go inside boys…no one wants to see that.

Goals Accomplished:
1) I had never been to Fire Island (Spring Break for gay adult men...and the women that accompany them)
2) Uncomfortable when my bathing suit slipped...and occasionally next to the men on steroids
3) Learned this is a literal meat market...and that traveling in numbers is your best bet

I'm Not Sweating...I'm Glistening

*Image belongs to www.chasmiller.com

What: GLSEN Gala

Where: Gotham Hall (Manhattan)

Who: Myself, Erica, and quite a few others

On Monday night I had the pleasure (yes that is the world I shall use) of attending the GLSEN (pronounced ‘glisten’) Gala at Gotham Hall. GLSEN promotes respect for everyone both in the gay community and those who are not. They recognize individuals and companies that have helped in the effort to create respect for all. The company I work for is one of the bigger sponsors of the event and offered tickets to a few employees.

I had never been to a Gala before and was unsure what to expect. When I arrived at the venue I saw a small red carpet, which I was not asked to walk on (a shock I know) and then a check in tent. After meeting up with my friend and coworker Erica we checked in and entered the cocktail portion of the evening.

First things first, if you are a male attending this event do not wear any color shirt other than white. While this is probably a fair obvious statement for most, it eluded me the way letter ‘r’ does for those who are from Boston. Instead I wore a bright blue shirt (keep in mind without a coat, another ‘no no’…so I made it a point to tell my other coworkers that I had checked my coat earlier in the night). Having already made two faux pas I decided it was time to get cocktails. While standing with the presidents of several companies (all sponsors) I found myself sweating from the walk over...rather than trying cover it up or pat away the sweat with a cocktail napkin I decided to point it out thinking that would be the least awkward thing to do...wrong. In a failed attempt at making a joke I recall using the phrase "I'm not sweating, I'm glistening." Needless to say the joke fell shorter than Shakira (is this yet another failed joke).

The venue was large and beautiful, it was full of people, mostly men, mingling and talking. And while many try to avoid stating stereotypes, it was hard not to notice how well dressed most of the attendees were.

Our company had two tables, one up front and center and one on the balcony. The one in the front was designated to the higher ups at the company and it was yet another surprise when they did not invite Erica and me to the front.

There were awards given to many interesting people. Chely Wright (country singer who recently came out on the cover of People Magazine) spoke as well as Cyndi Lauper. The latter had her unique crazy look about her (hair bigger than her head should be able to support), something always enjoyable to view. Both were fairly moving, but some of the more moving speeches came from personal hardships people had to deal with. There was a girl whose brother committed suicide due to being harassed for being gay and another girl who was banned from her prom for wanting to bring her girlfriend.

The least interesting and most obnoxious speech came from Reichen Lehmkuhl. For those of you who do not know who he is (and by all means you should not) he is the first gay person to win the Amazing Race. After he told the audience about winning the race (probably as a means to identify him) he went on to say that he will always be remembered as that, even if he DID write a book (his pathetic attempt at plugging it). He went on to try to plug other successes of his, but did so unsuccessfully. After his aspirations fell short he went on to tell the audience that he was a “fame whore”, a fact that had already been made painfully obvious.

On the plus side I got two dinners since Erica was a picky eater and then I drank one too many vodkas. Since I ate most of her dinner I gave her my bread…which did not help the vodka settle. Remembering I was at a work event…kind of…I decided not to attend the after party in this state. However, looking back I think I was one of the more sober attendees.

The dinner and speeches overall were beautiful, it was nice to recognize people who do ‘good’ in the world. However, next year maybe they should work harder to keep the “fame whores” out.

Goals Accomplished:

1) I had never been to a Gala

2) Became uncomfortable due to my two faux pas

3) Learned about the struggles of others and the struggle for others to want to be known as famous

Me Talk Pretty to David Sedaris

What: David Sedaris Live
Where: Torrington, Connecticut
Who: My Father and Me

I have heard many times that Connecticut is a stopover between New York and Boston. And while in many cases that may be true, every now and then there can be something fantastic there. Case in point being that David Sedaris made a stop on his recent tour there (while skipping New York City all together). However, he will be in New York City at the Apollo Theater on November 1st.

And while I have read three of his books (currently on the fourth), I had never heard him live. Many of my friends and family members make fun of me because I have a talent crush on him. He never ceases to amaze me the way he can string thoughts and feelings together with humor so seamlessly. However, I will be the first to say that I do not appreciate all of his work, some of it is not quite my humor.

On April 8th I took the train from Grand Central to New Haven, where I was picked up by my father (he got me the tickets for Christmas) and we drove about an hour to Torrington, Connecticut, where David Sedaris was performing a the Warner Theatre.

After a quick cocktail we filed in to the sixth row with hundreds of other NPR listeners. This is one of the things I admire so much about Mr. Sedaris, his ability to make astute observations about humans, more often than not in a crass way, while making the entirety of National Public Radio’s audience laugh. Older men and women who would never dream of laughing at Kathy Griffin or Chris Rock do find this author quite funny.

Mr. Sedaris is slightly on the shorter side, middle-aged, with blonde hair. When speaking candidly he appears slightly timid, but as soon as he starts to tell a story or read a piece aloud it is as though another being has taken control of his body. He is charismatic, witty, and wildly entertaining. The quality of his voice, that can be lost in his books, is in full force.

He read excerpts from his journal, new essays he was working on, and works by another author. The latter was lacking in humor to me and I personally enjoyed his work. The term “motha fucka” was uttered at least two dozen times and Mr. Sedaris saying it is humorous enough, let alone all of the upper-middle class middle aged men and women rolling on the floor laughing at it. He talks of food being labeled with odd English terms in foreign countries as though they opened up an English Dictionary and pointed to the first two words they saw instead of looking up the term for Game Hen.

Afterwards, David (let's call him that as though we are friends) waited until every single person received an autograph. I was the last person since I had gone to the bar next door with my father to kill time. Two hours late I met him and his partner Hugh (who he often writes about – usually about all the skills Hugh has and he wonders how he ever managed to end up with him). They were delightful and while I am sure they talked to everyone for as long as they spoke to me for (a solid 7 minutes), I secretly hoped we had became good friends. I stumbled and stuttered to try to have a good conversation, of which I am sure I failed miserably. He knows my father bought me the tickets, that I live in New York City where I work in Finance, and that I want to be a writer. All things I am sure would make us the best of friends, but I am not so sure he will agree too. Since, I know so much about him (via his books) it seemed only natural that he should know the essentials about me.

I also hoped that he will see this blog (a hard feat for someone who does not own a computer).

So I implore you to go, see David Sedaris and laugh with him.

I also implore you to go to Connecticut where there is grass, real live animals, and the price of everything is relatively free. It makes you hate people just a little bit less than you do when you are in the city for too long.

Goals Accomplished:
1) Never heard an author speak
2) Not really uncomfortable...just when the word "Motha Fucka" was on repeat and I was sitting next to my father
3) Learned that even NPR listeners can enjoy crudeness

Brooklyn: We Go Hard

*This image is courtesy of TigerPony.Org

What: Day Trip to Brooklyn
Where: Bushwick and Park Slope
Who: Justin and Me

Going to Brooklyn had never been high on my ‘to do’ list. It was teetering in between having my teeth cleaned and signing up for a colonoscopy. Once or twice I had made the mistake of taking the subway too far, seeing daylight stream in through the windows (an odd sensation when it had been dark a moment before) and immediately got off at the next stop to turn around. Beyond this my knowledge of Brooklyn could be attributed to a few Jay-Z songs and various newspaper articles that I had read in passing.

However, my good friend Justin has been recently pressuring to visit this outer borough and discover all of the greatness he sees in it. So on Saturday morning I got up bright and early to prepare for my journey. After almost an hour and one subway transfer later I arrived on Myrtle Avenue in Bushwick. After seeing Justin’s large, two floor, two bedroom, two bathroom, two balcony, washer/dryer apartment that costs less than mine, we decided to go to Park Slope (or the gem of Brooklyn).

First we went to Blue Sky Bakery, which has some of the best muffins I have ever tasted. I got a blueberry cream cheese muffin (and now currently suffer from a muffin top). Afterwards we went to an open market right outside the entrance of Prospect Park (Brooklyn’s version of Central Park). The market was great, full of various foods, drinks, and plants, all of which seemed healthier and more natural than the ones you encounter in Manhattan. I am told that Prospect Park is twice the size of Central Park and the layout is much better. The little bit that I saw of it was beautiful, and their biking route seemed pretty cool. The only difference I could identify was the number of hipsters (at least triple that of Central Park).

We rounded out our day at The Chocolate Room where I got one of my favorite treats: Frozen Hot Chocolate. It was amazing; they use dark chocolate and the best ingredients. Although to be honest, I think Justin makes a better and healthier version of this.

My conclusion: Brooklyn is great for enjoying life and terrible for watching your weight.

We did also stop by the Target store, which I know is not exciting, but when you see the prices, you can’t help but get a little giddy. Compared to the borough of Manhattan, everything there seemed free. I was introduced to the phrase “Free 99”, which felt pretty accurate there.

So while living in Brooklyn is probably not for me, it is definitely a great day trip. With tons of cool shops, restaurants, and bars, it is a must see (just watch out for the hipsters!...sorry I had too).

Goals Accomplished:
1) Never been to Brooklyn
2) Only slightly uncomfortable learning how to get there
3) Learned that other boroughs are actually cool (despite the popular Manahattan opinion)

Sweat Baby, Sweat

What: Spin Class
Where: 24 Fitness
Who: Me (and other more experienced members)


Whether I decided to endure such a painful workout because: my roommate is a semi-pro cyclist, I had just recently broken up with someone and wanted to lose weight, or because I had just read about the Bike Snob, I am unsure. Regardless of the reasoning, I decided to sign up for my first spin class a few weeks ago.

I would consider myself in good shape, I work out 5-6 times a week and regularly use the elliptical (because of asthma and a bum knee, otherwise I would run). And at the very least I had assumed that there would be a few attractive men in my class. When I entered the room and there were only 3 other men I should have immediately walked out. When the instructor asked if this was anyone else’s first time and only one other person rose their hand I should have ran out.

The instructor failed to see my hand, which I took to mean I would have to step up my game: become a real pro in a matter of minutes. Within two minutes I realized I could not fake having done this before. I was dripping with sweat; droplets were plummeting onto my arms, the bike, and the ground. My sweat towel had become useless in a matter of minutes since it had become sopping wet. And being the wise old man I am definitely not, I had forgotten to bring a water bottle. Being the cheap (and environmentally friendly) guy that I am, I refused to buy a bottle of water.

The instructor was great, he was excellent at encouraging us and occasionally making us laugh, even during a 14 minute climb. And while he reiterated “You only get out as much as you put in,” there were times I was going slower than he wanted, or turned the resistance down…almost off. And then got snide looks from the girl next to me who was not cheating herself, I undermined her arrogance my trying to aim my sweat droplets in her direction.

It was more of a workout than I had anticipated. And I was counting down the minutes until it was over. There was a clock staring me in the face, which was hard to look away from. The class before us had ended 8 minutes early, I thought ours would too and was extremely disappointed when I looked up at the clock and saw 5 minutes left.

What??? We were supposed to end 3 minutes ago!

But I made it, I did not walk out (even though I wanted to after 10 minutes and half of what kept me on my bike was that I was all the way across the room from the door). The instructor gave me a high five and told me I had done a good job, he must have known that for me to ever come back I would need the encouragement.

Dripping with sweat, red in the face, legs burning in pain, and carry a soaking towel I walked out with my head held slightly higher than before I waddled very slowly up the steps to the exit.



Goals Accomplished:
1) Spinning is new
2) Comfortable was never a thought I had during it
3) Learned that most women can kick my ass at cycling

How to Not Make It in America: Be an Extra on the Show

What: Playing Club Member 27469418389032 on How to Make it In America
Where: 1Oak
Who: Hundreds of aspiring actors and a few paid ones

During this stint to try new things I made the terrible mistake of applying to be an extra on the new television show, How to Make it In America. This was prior to having a full time job and I had the notion that this would “mix it up” a bit. Having no understanding of the process that goes into making a television show I thought it would be a fun and exciting experience.

Wrong…I was so wrong.

After applying through Craigslist, I received several phone calls telling me where and when to meet. I was required to bring two outfits for a night club scene.

I showed up to a holding area at 11AM and waited in the thirty person line to have my outfits checked for approval. There were over one hundred extras, all of whom appeared to be in their twenties. I sat at a table with several other twenty something’s where I found out that they were all actors, or actors in the making. Each one of them told me about other shows they had done (Gossip Girl, CSI, Law and Order). Some had moved to LA for a while, couldn’t make it there and moved back.

After an hour of waiting in the holding room I found a few other people who were not dead set on becoming actors. There were a couple laid off investment bankers and a few unemployed young adults who had just graduated college.

Finally, they told us it was time to go to 1Oak, a popular nightclub that was a few blocks away. I hesitate to use the word popular since I have only witnessed tools and late night fist pumpers frequent this establishment. The drinks are overpriced, the people are going to be looked at, and the overall environment is not that appealing.

All one hundred of us walked down the street to the entrance of the club where we were paired up with a member of the opposite sex (apparently homosexuals do not frequent this club or are in this show). I got paired up with a lovely girl who had dark Italian features and absolutely interest in being an actor either.

Once inside the club all of the ‘actors’ were vying to be in the front near the paid actors of the show, Lake Bell and Jason Pendergraft. My partner and I steered clear of the commotion and tried to get to the back of the club so we could sit at a booth. Naturally, the director picked us to be in the front of the scene where we would be on camera. We rolled our eyes at each other dreading this. It became increasingly worse when we realized we were going to be required to dance the entire time. Not only did we have to dance, but in order to shoot the scene there cannot be music, so we were dancing to silence, I have never felt like more a fool. To top it off, all the extras glared at us for being chosen to dance in front. They knew we had no interest in the industry and apparently were not shy to resent us for our ‘luck.’

The scene involved Lake and Jason having taken ecstasy and Jason kissing two other “featured extras”, one of whom turned out to be a male…so I guess some homosexuality crept into this club. The director went around looking at the extras through the camera and when he got to me said, “Bad face.” A few foul words came to mind, but I refrained (something rare for me). The other extras assured me it was my skin tone paired with the lighting. Regardless of what he meant, I’m not offended, although I do have a few thoughts on his show that are about as positive as his comment.

Lake was somewhat peppy and telling all the extras “Good job, you’re doing great!” It appeared to be her way of talking down to everyone rather than building them up…at least in this extras mind. She incessantly gave the directors tips on how to shoot the scene which I found wildly amusing. Last I checked she is an actor (at least by the standard that she is paid to speak words), not a director. After the 8th take, the director said “I think you are getting the hang of it,” to Lake, Jason, and the two featured extras.

Getting the hang of it??!! I thought, it has been 8 takes, what the hell? Aren’t you supposed to be professional actors? This is ridiculous.

The only thing that turned out to be more ridiculous than the acting was the food they served at lunch. It was the equivalent to a high school cafeteria, one that Jamie Oliver should make healthier on his new Food Revolution television show.

After a brief lunch we were required to go dance again for a total of 8 hours. Eight hours of dancing, while a great cardio workout was terrible. My feet ached, I was sweating profusely, and I was exhausted. At this point they asked who would be willing to shoot another scene of everyone lined up outside the club…I ducked under a table…no really.

Finally I was free to run for my life. Never again will I be an extra, never. The show aired on HBO a couple weeks ago (it is episode 5), I am in the scene twice for half a second each, and while it was short lived, my face looked fine, good even. The entire scene itself could not have lasted more than a minute; even though it took over 8 hours to shoot…Maybe they weren’t getting the hang of it? And the outside of the club was never shown, those poor extras that stayed.

A new thing I just recently did was shot a pilot for a reality show series. I will blog about that when I am not under contract to not discuss. Seriously, what am I thinking?

Goals Accomplished:
1) Being filmed for television is new
2) Aching feet, sweat, and glaring eyes are not comfortable
3) Learned that I never want to be an extra or act for that matter

Dinner at DBGB and a Semi-Date (But not really)

What: Dinner
Where: DBGB Kitchen and Bar
Who: Me and my Ex


Tonight was a list of firsts. It was the first time my bosses told me to go out to dinner and expense it to the company (as a thank you for the work I do…both kind and surprising). It was the first time I went out to a fancy restaurant in New York. It was the first time I had ham hock. And it was the very first time I went out with an ex (something I usually dread more than if the dentist, the eye doctor, and my physician wanted to infiltrate my being at the same time).

The atmosphere in DBGB (owned by the famous chef Daniel Bouldon) is fantastic. The mirrored walls are lined with writing: definitions of French words, names of cocktails, and any other food or beverage related item you can think of. We sat in the front room by the window on a bench (next to each other). In theory this sounds surprisingly awkward, but it was quite pleasant, that is unless, of course you detest the person you are with.

Against all odds, I do not detest my ex in the least; rather I enjoy him very much. I asked him to accompany me to dinner because he is the only person I know in the city that enjoys food as much as I do. Throwing our cares about calories to the wind we ordered the ham hock for an appetizer. It was delicious, our server told us it was part the shoulder of a pig, but upon further investigation I found it was part of the leg.

I ordered the duck, and it was the first time I had duck that was not oozing with oil (and yes I have had duck in Paris, not that I am an expert by any means). It had the consistency of a soft steak and was delicious. My ex ordered what they are famous for, a dish with sausage that was fantastic as well.

I knew I had picked the right person to fine dine with when he insisted on ordering dessert and lattes; the fatties within both of us bonded. We had dark chocolate ice cream with homemade cookies in it. It was amazing.

The food, combined with the wine and the atmosphere made one of the best evenings I have had thus far in New York. And yes, I will give credit to my ex where it is due, he is a superb conversationalist.

And while I am not a food snob (you can often times find me at McDonalds (http://www.mcdonalds.com/ - yes this deserves a link too) at 2 in the morning after a night of cocktails and dancing) I have to give this restaurant a definite “go there”. I do not believe in stars or any other silly thing like that. Telling me a place as two, three, or four stars does not make me want to eat there. Telling me that I should “go there” does. So go, indulge, throw your diet to the wind and have a wonderful evening.

*And lastly, since I can safely assume my sister is reading this, Yes I went to dinner with him, we can talk about it later. Love you.

Goals Accomplished:
1) I have never been to a nice restaurant in NYC or gone out with an ex of mine to dinner
2) I think I missed the mark on this one, but if I want to grasp at straws I was nervous to go out with my ex
3) I like duck more than I thought, this restaurant is fantastic, and oh yeah - my ex is pretty cool (consider this last one a rediscovery)

When You Turn 26 You Become 'Sir'

What: Frisbee
Where: Central Park
Who: Me, a few of my friends, a few strangers

Even though I have lived in New York twice before for 3 months at a time over the summers between college I had never been to Central Park. One time I had tried to find this small, elusive park, but when I reached the East 60’s I followed signs that said “Park”, thinking it would lead me to the landmark, and instead found several, partially empty, parking garages.

Now that I live a mere six blocks from the park, I figured there would be no way I could miss it. On a particularly warm Friday after work a few friends and I decided to play Frisbee in the park.

They told me to meet them at “Sheep’s Meadow.” Finding the park was a breeze since I realized it is across from the Apple store I used to frequent when I was dating my ex. However, finding Sheep’s Meadow without the aid of a Smartphone proved more difficult. But after stumbling through a few green pastures that turned out to be nothing more than playgrounds for squirrels I found the meadow.

Much to our dismay it was still closed for the season. But being the BAMF’s that we are (Google BAMF+Dane Cook if there is any confusion with the term), we decided to hop the fence and pass the Frisbee.

It only took 30 minutes to get kicked out the first time, but an hour and a half to get kicked out the second.

This little piece of land in the middle of the city is an oasis all its own. It takes you out of the city, slows everything down, and makes nature seem real again. The city skyline in the background reminds you that you are still close to the hustle bustle, but far enough away not to care.

I was amazed at how few people were in the park. For a city with a population creeping up to 9 million, I did not understand where they all were. Granted I had not been to this park before, but now I couldn’t understand why.

We made a few friends and tossed with them. These friends did not come from the Bramble, which I am told to steer clear of if I value my belongings and my innocence. But they definitely had interesting personalities. The two were young hipsters that approached us from the other side of the meadow.

"Sir?" asked the girl to my roommate (a mere 26 years old). "Can we play with you?"

As I almost doubled over in laughter, he obliged them to join our group.

He later told me he has never felt older than that moment. I found it refreshing to be referred to with wisdom.

This time was cardio in the park, next time a picinic...with wine.

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Goals Accomplished:

1) I have never been to Central Park

2) Making friends with strangers is always uneasy for me

3) Found an oasis in the city...and to never enter into the Bramble