Ah, the open bar. As much a part of New York nightlife as the end-of-the-night pizza slice. For those of us counting quarters (and most do in New York) it’s the best way to jump-start a night out. If you keep your standards low, you’ll be partying like a true New Yorker in no time.
Magazines and record labels love to get people drunk. Why, just this Tuesday, Anne and I hit yet another Vice magazine party. Apparently they can afford to souse a good portion of the hipster community since they don’t often pay their writers. Anyway, the Vice party was in celebration of their record release for post-millennium jam band, Vietnam (who’s drummer, Mike, was photographed in the Times article discussed below in “Stick a fork in it…”). Shockingly, the ubiquitous Vice Rheingolds ran dry before 7:30 pm, but thankfully an emergency load of Amstel Lights was brought in by 7:45 pm. Vietnam played a short set – a single 10 minute song –giving me barely enough time to grab two cold ones before Julia insisted we squeeze in some shopping. We stumbled into the sale at Otto Tootsie Plohound. Afterwards Anne and I charged on and headed to another record release party on Christie Street. This one was for the release of lost Bill Cosby, Quincy Jones recordings. We got pins that asked “Do you Hicky Burr?” Well, after two free Red Stripes, yes I do Hicky Burr, thank-you. Suprisingly, the PR party lost its charm quickly. Anne and I stumbled on out of there only to face a terrible dilemma. Both the Leopard Lounge and Happy Ending were pouring free-of-charge from 10 to 11. Where to go next? We chose Happy Ending, where the dependably sweaty, slutty crowd wank-danced to something ironic. Fun times of course, but we’d been out since 6:30 and, it was a school night. Nearing the midnight hour, Anne hailed us a cab (after she found the first cab unsuitable, then ran across 8 rows of traffic) and we sped towards Brooklyn—both of us having spent under $10 and feeling quite victorious.

No plans for Saturday night? Check out the finest devil-worshipping Jersey-parody metal band in the land at Bowery Ballroom! (Warning: sound.)

It’s not the content of this article that’s disturbing — it’s high time Courtney took a rubber-walled vacation. It’s the accompanying picture. She’s just completely lost it.

If you needed any further proof that karaoke had gone from dorky to cool and back around to dorky, the Times wants to help you out with that, viz. this article on it. I like the heavy-metal karaoke at Arlene’s Grocery, and nothing beats the Silhouette Lounge for unintentional hilarity (…what’s with the drummer?), but I feel like karaoke is over, at least as a hipster activity.
Of course, what I know about hipster activities wouldn’t fill a thimble, but it’s usually a good rule of thumb that once the Times writes a quizzical “kids today”-toned piece about something, it’s no longer The In Thing.

I graduated from a lovely upstate institution of higher learning called Vassar College, which is a) yes, where Meryl Streep went to college and b) no, not still a girls’ school and hasn’t been for thirty-five years, but thanks for asking. So when I flip open the online newspaper this morning and am met with profoundly disturbing news about what Vassar is allowing on its campus these days, it just plain makes me sad. Y’all? He ruined From Justin to Kelly. Ruined it!
In other news, sometimes New York theater makes the right decisions after all. Cram it, Mango. Cram it forever.

According to engadget, NYC taxis are talking about equipping cabbies with GPS. Now I won’t get kicked out a cab, cuz my driver doesn’t know where Williamsburg is.

Fear Factor is shooting an ep in NYC; the Times thinks, and I agree, that it’s almost beside the point. Given a choice between snacking on maggots or crossing the Goethals in a driving rain in the middle of the night on a spare tire — maggots, please. Extra hot sauce.
I’m hoping this article inspires the producers of The Amazing Race to set an entire season just in the five boroughs. I can just see these poor contestants ripping open the clues all, “Hmm, ‘take the G train.’ Well, that sounds easy,” and then a series of time-lapse fades as the hours and days pass. They’re taking cabs down Broadway on a Friday night; they’re punching Metrocard machines; they’re barfing into Ziploc bags on the B61; I think it’s brilliant.

Jason Zinoman discusses the slow mutation of Shakespeare in the Park into the theatrical equivalent of a corporate booze cruise. I’ve never gone to SitP — I’m just not a Billy fan — but it does seem like sending everyone at Skadden Arps to it on a field trip isn’t exactly in the spirit of the thing.

Love is lamming it in NYC, reports Yahoo! Entertainment News. Leaving aside the fact that I cannot BELIEVE she hasn’t been confined to a mental ward yet — do you think they’ll catch her? Do you think she’ll resist?
Do you think she’ll survive the year? Because this is not a well woman.

I just linked to it yesterday, I think, or the day before, but New Partisan’s O’Keeffe just posted the first of a two-parter on the effects of the smoking ban on NYC bars and restaurants. I ranted about the ban a year and a half ago so I won’t repeat myself, but my preferences aside, I don’t think it’s the right solution — not least because of sidewalk traffic, noise complaints, and litter problems proceeding from it. And I’d rather see the money spent enforcing it go to, oh, I don’t know, schools, or fixing that Pangaea pothole on the westbound BQE that I almost died in yesterday.