I'M NOT GOING TO THIS PARTY

I received the following party invite this morning from a friend.  I'm not going, and neither is my roommate, who would probably go if it was a party for John Mayer.  What is wrong with us?

...This Thursday is Ice T's birthday, and he's throwing a party/ performing at The Plumm.

His wife Cocco is also in playboy this month, and apparently that's also a reason for celebrating as well.

It's this Thursday with an open bar 10-11pm (invite attached)

Anyhoo, I just got a VIP (ew...) invite from the owners o' Plumm as a thanks for throwing down on Friday.

Dancers- I'm going to head down from rehearsal so if you want, you ARE ON!

Hit me up b/c I'm going to submit my vip list sooooon.

luv

x

And for the complete picture of this undoubtedly classy affair, here's the party flyer:

WEEKEND UPDATE

Friday night roll call: Botanica, Obivia, Murray Hill apartment party, and Plumm. Saturday, I spent the afternoon hanging out with my friend Rachel who dropped by the city briefly for the day from Princeton.

[Photos taken at the glamorous location of Penn Station.]

Earlier that day I loved that I was able to walk to the local deli without wearing a jacket for my breakfast sandwich aka hangover cure.  Is spring around the corner?  It can't arrive any sooner in my humble and cold opinion.

Later that night, I met up with my old friend Nick who I haven't seen in ages and a few of his fun and nice friends.  Went to some West Village Mexican restaurant, then dropped into the Riviera for a quick shot of whiskey (shudder), and finally ended up at McSorely's Ale House.

MROD CRASHES PRIVATE PARTY. OOPS.

After hanging out with my friend Rachel this afternoon on the gilded area of Fifth Avenue in Midtown, I came home.  On my way to McDonalds to get coffee (don't mock: the coffee there is great, at least at this location), I noticed that a cafe that was being built appeared to be open.  People were inside mingling and employees stationed behind the counter.  I walked in and something seemed off.  I must have looked very confused.  A woman behind the counter said nicely to me, "Hi.  We're having a private party." Apparently friends and family were celebrating the soon-to-open cafe and the three co-owners.  She, one of the owners, offered me a glass of wine, I nibbled on some of the food, and was thoroughly impressed with the cafe.  Also, she pointed out that they also had Clover coffee machine, a $11,000 coffee maker, that the New York Times recently featured.  Anyway, if you live in Park Slope, check out 3B (I think that's how it's spelled) in a week or two on 4th Avenue and Carroll Street.

WEEKEND UPDATE: PARTY TIME

Friday night was a combination of something new and something old, which both equaled fun in the end.  And that's all that matters. Despite the torrential rain storm, Chris and I still rallied and headed over to the Knitting Factory for some live music and endless bottles of free Bass Ale.  While waiting in the short line to confirm our RSVP and go inside, I ran into an old college buddy of mine who I haven't seen since then.  He had just finished performing and was on his way out.  He's an amazing musician who is making the permanent move to NYC from Providence soon so I'm looking forward to catching some of his shows in the future.  The first act was terrible, but the second band was amazing.  Not my cup of tea, but they just put on a rockin' good show.  Afterwards, we met up with some of Chris's friends at some terrible hookah place near NYU.  Nonetheless I still had a great time there.  Eventually came home and passed out.

Saturday night was an A+ night, right up until I came home and needed to do a prayer while kneeling in front of the toilet.  Allegedly.  These few photos below were taken by my friend there at the party.  I  did chuckle when I got to the club, a place I had never been to previously.  I laughed because I used to live about five buildings away from this club, or rather this location back in 2003, and always saw the most D list crowds outside of whatever club opened in this space.  I think it went through four different clubs before its current iteration.  If I had to do word association for it, the first thing that'd pop into my head is, "Miami Vice."

Nnamdi, Chris, and John keeping it real, and by real I mean "not smiling."

Unlike the photo previous to this one, it's all about the smiles.  (Jeff, Nnamdi, and Lauren)

I call this photo that Nnamdi took, "Juxtaposition."  The thing that cracks me up about the pictures from this night is how serious Chris looks in all the photos, when he was actually just so happy all night.  Guess the camera adds 10 pounds for some and seriousness for others.

Just raising the glass for the birthday girl.  Look at the guy on the right in the black shirt just hatin'.  Just hatin'!

Jeff and Lucy the birthday girl (If you ever randomly read this: Thanks for such a rockin' party Lucy!).

Take one.  "Matt, you are blocking what people really want to see" says the male and sapphic customers of mrod.wordpress.com

Take two.  Better?  Sheesh.  Lauren and Lucy looking like the h07ne55.

My twin brother showed up and made fool of himself.  I don't condone such behavior because I usually like to just sip scotch and discuss the feasibility of the supposed power sharing that is suppose to take place in Russia in the post-Putin era, but theoretically I can see why attractive women dancing on tables is a good thing.

Put your hands up in the air, put your hands up in the air.

Like I said, put your hands up in the air, put your hands up in the air.

"Sometimes you just gotta cool your self by alternating between a very FULL glass of black label and a bottle of Fiji water."

"Yea thanks to all the hustlers, and most important to YOU, the customer."

Then we went to Ktown, got too much food, and Jeff gave the leftovers to a nearby table of drunk kids eating who thanked him for the food without a second thought.

ITINERARY

I haven't been to a party held above 14th Street in...months. Tonight: Nikki - Midtown. Prediction: Really awesome or really terrible.

Post party update:

Decision: Really awesome.

So hungover this a.m. Why?

Explanation: 3 bottles of Goose, 3 bottles of champagne, 1 bottle of Petron, and 1 bottle of Jack. And Koreatown post-drinking food isn't the best idea after all the above.

ITINERARY

FYI

I like this designer and this flyer.  Fighter helmets are so future looking.  In fifth grade my teacher, a former air force helicopter pilot, gave away a helmet.  I'm still bitter that I didn't win that or the MREs.

A CONVERSATION

Me: Yo, are you going to that party? B: Blackbook interns! They'll be there.

Me: That makes me indescribably happy.

BE ON A TIMES SQUARE BILLBOARD. YES, YOU. WELL, AN ANIMATED YOU.

Follow these easy steps and make like a CK underwear model. 1. Be in Manhattan.

2. Go to Chashama art gallery at 217 E. 42nd Street.

3. Go inside photobooth.

4. Push button inside photobooth.  Do CRAZYINSANEMODELY things immediately as the photobooth will take 30 pictures immediately.

5. You now have less than 15 minutes to walk to the Conde Nast building at 4 Times Square (Broadway between 42nd and 43rd).

6. Approximately 15 minutes after your "photo shoot," an animation from the 30 photos of you will be displayed for all the immobile Times Square tourists to gaze upon and ponder "how did this ugly mofo ever become a model?"  Whatever you do, do NOT use this occasion to write "Be my wifey?" on a piece of paper to propose to your girlfriend.

[via]

LAST NIGHT'S PARTY

This is from a pretty fun night a couple weekends ago, and all photos below are stolen from Chris, you know, the John Mayer fan. Because Chris and I were running late and walked into our subway stop just as the train was pulling away, we hailed a cab.  What we flagged down was essentially the 7 series of New York cabs: a brand new SUV cab fitted for handicapped people, which meant for us awesome leg room.  And a couple blocks before it dropped us off at our bar, another cabbie notified ours that he had his emergency lights on, which basically made us feel like minor VIPs what with our luxurious legroom and emergency lights.

Also, I'm really glad more and more cabs take credit/debit cards now.  It's about time.  And while I know a lot of cab drivers are against it (who doesn't prefer upfront cash?), they need to embrace it as it's an inevitable part of our technological progress.  And also, maybe it's me, but I've found myself now tipping a bit more as well in part to offset the delay the drivers see in contrast to cold hard cash tips.

We met up with Chris's friends at Shebeen where a Breakfast at Tiffany's theme party was going on...and we were both in agreement that it was pretty awesome.  Then we walked to the Merc Bar.  Here I'm uh, pretending to reach for my pretend fruity drink instead of my uh, whiskey.  This fruity drink, "the Clementine" is hypothetically quite delicious.

Mike and his girlfriend and birthday girl Tori.  Happy birthday Tori!!!

Mike and Chris deep in conversation.

Haha.  Tori is stoked about turning 20 something.

This picture is titled "Life is beautiful."  I love it.  Haha.  Anyway: Tori's sister Sandra, Tori, and Mike!

Mike and the girls left and Chris and I elected to chill out at the bar for a bit longer.  Funny stuff happened and then we left.

Chris and I walk into the subway platform just as the train pulls up.  Sweet!!!  When this happens late at night it is the equivalent of winning a $50 scratch off lotto ticket.  Chris swipes his metrocard, and then I follow.  Bam!  I try to walk through, except the turnstile refuses to budge.  I look at the display and see this:

Doh!  Story of my life!!  My monthly metrocard expired that night!  Waiting another 30 minutes for the next train versus taking a cab, pay $15 bucks and be home in 20 minutes.  "Fuck it.  Lets take a cab.  I got it."

MROD AGENDA

1. 9pm ish: Botanica 2. 10:30ish: Cake Shop

3. Drop Off Service?

4. ??

5. Pizza.

6. More pizza.

7. Kimchi hot dog man (....Stop.  Act your age.  You people disgust me).

8. Cabbie wakes me up in front of my apartment OR I wake up on the last stop on the N train in Coney Island.  Both equal possibilities.

LAST NIGHT'S PARTY

Now that I no longer have a digital camera I have to rely on others so I can steal their photos. Actually I had a weird experience awhile ago of looking at a friend's photo album online of "artsy" photos and thinking "I feel like I've seen these photos before." Then I realized, "Wait a minute! Hold on a sec! Snag that nano! I took these photos." Anyway, these are some photos that friends took over this past long President's Day weekend.

Friday: Brazil Carnivale night at Sullivan Room. Pleasantly a great time. Tried to go to Merc Bar for nightcap drink but they had closed already. Went to deli near my apartment with Cy and we ate our breakfast sandwiches while standing near the deli doorway. Then I passed the f out, as the kids say nowadays.

Saturday: We went to club Prime. The photos below are courtesy of N.

J, Cyrus, and Gemma

Everyone's got their party faces on. I know I do: notice that glass of cranberry and tasty.

J pouring some of that tasty. Don't drink and drive, kids for those of you that don't live in NYC.

N and me looking stoic...or something.

Dancin. "No. You're awesome."

Haha. J loves that bottle.

Scoping out the scene for a girl with a nice personality to talk to about exportation of pollution to developing countries.

This one.

Sunday: Faluka.

Woa.

The Jack is too hot to handle.

N and couple of his friends (forgot your names, sorry!)

Haha.

Midriff girl. Awesome. Love it. Very fashionable and chic.

FORESHADOW

Wow.  This entry I wrote on Saturday afternoon ended up becoming quite an omen for what was to occur later that night.  Allegedly.

SUBWAY PHOTO

Broadway-Houston D, B, F, V subway stop.

It can be oh-so-difficult to keep the puke in the mouth sometimes, especially after 10 mixed drinks to celebrate a friend's new clerkship, or after an open bar party with body-painted girls, or a wedding reception with the Stepford Wives.  Allegedly.

PARTY LIST

Celebrate the true president on President's Day, Monday February 18.  This date also corresponds with Dr. Dre's birthday.  El presidente.  Word.  The president of hip hop...and rumor has it that Dre is also the one truly responsible for creating Huckabee. The peeps at LVHRD are having a party in his (Dre's that is, not Huckabee) honor along with free 40s from 10 pm to 4 am.

A REGULAR NIGHT IN THE LIFE OF LENNY KRAVITZ

A writer, who describes himself in his own words as a "journalist with bad breath, bad teeth, bad hair, and bad debt" is assigned to hang out with and write a profile on Lenny Kravitz for Spin Magazine. What follows is an experience in sensory overload that can barely be comprehended by this reporter, while for Lenny Kravitz the entire night seems to be as nonchalantly normal as a night at the local pub is for the rest of you pathetic normals. The sum of the article can be described thusly: Lenny is a god at clubs filled with countless gorgeous, exotic, and delicious smelling models (the sexy models and not the weird looking ones) who want to sit next to him, dance for him, get with him. If he's occupied or unavailable and you are sitting next to him, then countless gorgeous, exotic, and delicious smelling models will want to dance for you, at the very least.

"You like this place?" shouts Kravitz.

"I feel like I'm in Saudi Arabia!" I reply, happily. I'm no longer insecure, but I'm tipsy with a rock star in the kind of club I've never been to before, and Cameron Diaz is dancing again, and she's not even the prettiest girl around.

And the girls come and go -- models and actresses from Brazil, the Netherlands, Denmark, Russia, Japan, France, and New Jersey. Some of them sit and talk with Lenny, and if the girls come in pairs, then one of them talks to me. They'd rather be talking with Lenny, but I must be his friend, they reason, so I must have something to offer.

At some point, I meet a girl with a name that sounds like Samitra, and so I cry out, "Nice to meetcha, Samitra!" and Lenny laughs. Then a Russian girl is doing some kind of amazing belly dance really close to him, and her stomach is exposed, and her rear is a thing of beauty, and Lenny is dancing in his seat, and then she switches to me and is putting that rear right in front of my chin, and Lenny laughs again and says, "What's that look on your face?"

"It's my bachelor-party look," I scream. "Where I act like I'm really cool, but I'm really not! This girl is amazing!" She looks over her shoulder at me and smiles and keeps rotating her rear, mimicking the movements of the earth and the sun, all the things that spiral and are infinite, like the swirl of a beautiful girl's fingerprint on a martini glass which she puts down just before kissing you.

This is about on par for most of my nights out. At times while reading this article, I had to think "Wait, when did I hang out with this reporter?." Serious deja vu. Anyway, you can read the rest here.

SUBWAY NAP

Thursday, 9 pm -- last car on the D train from Rockefeller to Union St.

FREE POLICE TICKETS

I once got a ticket from the police.  That sucked.  What wouldn't suck however is getting tickets for The Police, especially if the tickets are free, which is exactly what happened to two girls sitting in front of me in Union Square yesterday. After work yesterday I met up with Munibhen for some post-work people watching on the steps of Union Square.  It was uneventful except for the two, yes two, soft ice cream cones I had (oink oink) and unrelatedly, getting kicked in the side by a precocious child.  Literally.  I was talking to Munira and suddenly I felt this incredibly sharp jab in my side.  I yelled "ouch" and looked over.  This kid was hanging on swinging on the railing and decided to fucking kick me.  He then said, "What's your name?"  Cute kid, but I was pissed.  I responded "I'm not telling you!  You just fucking kicked me!"  I scared him away.

In case you're wondering: I'm actually amazing with kids.

Some point later, this nondescript guy walks over to the two girls sitting in front of us.  He hands them a pair of tickets and says these are for the Police reunion concert that night at Madison Square Garden.  "My girlfriend and I can't go" he said.  The girls looked stunned as were we.  I think I kept mumbling, "Hey!  I like the Police too!"  As he walked away, he said "Those are in Row B."

FUNNY NO RETURN SIGN

I had to stop by a hardware store the other day and I noticed this sign by the register.  I thought it was hysterical.  Why?

UGLY OUTFITS LIVE IN NYC TOO.

It's not all fashionistas and vogueing in New York.  Ugly outfits live here too.  But then again, who's to say what's "good" or "bad," "fashionable" or "ugly," "light" or "heavy?"  For me, it's both extremes and everything in between that makes me love NYC so much.