With Alex and the folks off to the Yankees game last night, Matt and I met up with John for Indian food in the East Village. One of the many benefits to spending an evening with two 23 year old guys is that I get insight into their mating habits, and I find it fascinating.
John approaches women on the street by stopping them, looking both ways and saying, "I've got to tell you, you are striking." He apparently does this with frequency and moderate success. After all, if she appears disinterested or frightened, he merely walks a block and finds another one.
Matt asks women out for water. This somehow works as well.
After dining at "The Taj Mahal", we swung by John's apartment, which he shares with Joe, the 96 year old artist he mansits. The apartment is amazing, filled with hundreds of paintings by all kinds of artists, many of whom are appallingly famous. Even better is Joe, who upon meeting me announced how much he liked my teeth.
After a spectacular tour of the roof overlooking all of Manhattan, we then hit a bar, apparently the oldest bar in the US, and found it packed with the most eclectic cast of characters I've ever seen. The walls were covered with dust and pictures of famous Catholics, the drink menu consists only of "light" and "dark", and there were hundreds of guys stacked in this tiny bar, the frat contingent overflowing onto the street. It was tremendous.
Matt hates crowds and John wanted to take us to some birthday party. It was time to go.
"Okay guys. I'm not going to a party. I need to actually sleep tonight."
"Uh, shut up. You know you're coming."
Apparently this party was being held at P.M., an uber trendy club in the meatpacking district. We stood behind the velvet rope and watched doormen in sunglasses usher in prostitutes and closeted gay men, completely ignoring us. Convinced my flip flops were the reason for our rejection, I soon realized, we were not getting in. Matt kept muttering, "This goes against everything I stand for. This blows. This totally blows."
We split and went across the street, finding an equally trendy and exceedingly expensive establishment to enjoy. I planned to stay for one drink, determined to leave at midnight. By 3am, we were upstairs, John and I armwrestling as Matt involved himself in a soap opera occurring one velvet couch over. I am still confused as to what exactly went down, but apparently, Matt felt that an attractive woman's advances were being ignored by her date and decided to intervene.
I too eventually started talking to this couch of freaks, convincing them I had recently left the military and was joining the police academy.
One of the millions of genius things about New York is that bars serve till 4am. This is basically when we left. We piled into a cab and after dropping John off at his apartment, headed back to the hotel. As our taxi whizzed by early morning action in Midtown, Matt looked over at me and said, "We're having a fucking good time in New York..."