I have changed the site web address! You will automatically be redirected to www.guybrighton.com in 3 seconds. If your browser doesn't automatically load, click HERE. Guy Brighton's Wishful Thinking: FRIDAY 11th JUNE : DEAL THE CARDS



It should have been quite a quiet night. The boys were coming round for a game of cards in the garden and the Lady was off to the Hamptons with the girls. Of course after a few of hours of cards, beer and Real Rhapsody we got some knocking from the neightbours. We packed up. Phil lost again, I broke even, Sean was up.

We trotted into Meatpacking for some entertainment. We tried that bar that is hidden out of the back of the trendy burger bar on 9th near 15th... I must head my own warnings about Meatpacking at the weekend sometimes. The bars are full of guys who all dress and look the same and the girls all look a bit like this. I suppose the only good thing about the burger bar is that there's a pool room out back where you can apparently smoke.

What is truly wonderful is that the maddening crowd still hasn't managed to discover Passer By. Either it's too out of the way or the eclectic self-obsessed mix of music the shaggy haired DJs plays just puts the crowds off. You can't beat a floor with flashing squares, some abstract robotic 80s tune, your glass of Jack and Coke slipping through your fingers crashing to the floor and some little chap telling you to give his girlfriend extra room to dance. Of course, I obliged by stepping back and then dancing with her. He said something else but I had to ask him to talk to Phil and Sean. I was busy. Very.

The problem with small popular little bars and the New York summer is that the places get far too hot. We had to make a move elsewhere. Yes. We could have gone home but we had picked up on a roll.

From there we were tempted to go to the 323 we've heard all about but somehow we got dragged to this 'really great bar in Williamsburg where there's a party.' Yeah. Thanks Phil: So we left the thriving party spot and cabbed over to an empty Irish bar in Brooklyn. The Scottish manager didn't like English, no liquor for sale, the place was about to close but the DJ did have a good bunch of discs from the early 90s. We made the most of it; the manager decided to like our money even if he didn't like our accents and kept the bar open. You know the scene: bunch of misfits and stereotypes who should know better. Time slipped by and before I knew it, the sky was getting lighter. Already?

I resisted the invitation to go back to some girls' house that Phil had got to know. Sometimes you feel the urge to keep drinking drink but it's quite nice to be old enough to see all this before (when you were 17-31) and it's refreshing to be adult enough to make the right decision. ie. Taxi home and be sick in your own toilet.

June 15, 2004 in Diary, Night Life Adventures | Permalink


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