dynatrite :: the new kid on the blog

The night started so strong, but like some many others, ended with me in bed with my shoes on (which is grounds for drawing a dick on somebody's face with a felt-tip pen, if I remember college correctly). When and where precisely did it all go wrong? A lot of places probably. Was it when the a random girl at Filthy's flipped her lid when Vipul took her picture? We took her image AND her soul (her words, not mine). Was it when the guy guarding the Surface Hotel told us we could go up to take pictures only if we could explain what an F stop was, and I pointed to the Delancey St. station? Was it when we took a picture with Naked Guy, and we were kind of...I don't know...psyched? Who knows.

Dens (godfather o' blogs), Ngoc, and I all met up at dusk in front of Ngoc's store Vo on Ludlow St. to see what the night had in store. So far, so good...meaning we wouldn't go home without a picture of us with a girl. [Ed. note - Minutes later, Ngoc got separated from Dens and Grellan. She assures Dynatrite this was merely an 'accident'.]

Simultaneously, two drum circles broke out on Ludlow (curiously no deadheads though) - one down on Ludlow and Stanton (pictured here) and another in front of Le Pere Pinard, next door to Vo. Highlight of this scene was a natty Brit randomly telling us to "Live It. Love It. Leave It...only honey, you can't leave tonight!" Queer Eye for the Straight Blackout, or something like that.

This was the scene of the other, and better, drum circle. At first, the owner of Le Pere Pinard put out some elaborate candle setup, and plied everybody with alcohol, which obviously drew a crowd. But a short while later, some guy broke out the drums and it was seconds before the onions started shaking.

I tried repeatedly to take a picture of a girl who was grinding up on a fire escape above the party, but the lighting situation was all askew, so I did the next best thing - took a picture of the crowd ogling her. Lest you think the hip Ludlow crowd was much too cool to hit Cancun during their college days, the multiple Guy-Right-Behind-Brooke-Burke-Wild-On yells betrayed them.

To be honest, this really was one of the better nights I've in New York, and by the smell of things, it was a good night for a lot of others. Name another night you could not only drink in the middle of a street on a weeknight, but spill it on yourself and nobody could tell. College, that's when. (FYI - NYU starts Monday.)

Speaking of college...to use a hopefully short-lived cliche, the good times on Ludlow "jumped the shark" when I turned around to see a WASHINGTON AND LEE T-SHIRT! An Intramural Champions t-shirt no less (Full Disclosure: I have that exact same t-shirt. Basketball Champions in '95 and '96. Suck it.) No offense to my alma mater, but we have no business advertising at hipster ground-zero. Someone get that guy a Rheingold tank top. As soon as I saw that tee, it was only a matter of minutes before...

...Johnny Law decided to fire up the cruiser and take a closer look. For most of the night, Johnny would just drive up, smell the fumes and throw it into reverse, but by this point, he'd seen enough mesh caps to call in backup. As bad as the cops moving in was, it paled in comparison to listening to the guy (holding skateboard in photo) yelling "Skateboarding is not a crime!". Even worse was Dens yelling "Either is snowboarding!!" Cue awkward hi-five. Just disgraceful. (To be honest, I am not sure that actually happened, but it shows how exactly how I feel about Dens and skateboarders.)

With Ludlow St. shut down, Vipul (friend we met randomly on Ludlow), Dens and I decided to upstage 'hood blogger Lockhart Steele with blackout photos from the top of the controversial Surface Hotel. Thinking we would run into large, but unsavvy guards out front of the construction entrance, we ran into a a 150 lb. guy who actually wanted to debate the finer points of photography before he would let us up. He swore if we could prove we were "actual photogs", he'd let one of us up. We failed miserably (Dens, you were awful under pressure!). So we did the next best thing - took really lame, bad quality pictures of ourselves.

Licking our wounds from the Surface debacle, we headed north of Houston. We dipped in to 2A to find the bar closing, but the wounds freshly opened. No lights + glass bottles + flip flops = bloody feet. Dens immediately sensed an opportunity, and did his best Dr. Dens, Medicine Jackass. As in keeping with the theme of the night, the girls were having none of his chivalry. Dens was crushed. I was drunk. I told him, we still had plenty to redeem ourselves, "Hey man, no good deed goes unpublished."

Apparently, no good dude goes unpunished either. As soon as we left 2A, we went across and ran into Naked Guy (which is exactly how he introduced himself). He was about as serene as a naked guy in the middle of a blackout can be. Just said that the nude thing was his gig, and tonight seemed like as good a night as any to let it all hang out. And hang it did. In the interest of all of Dynatrite's grade-school readers, I cropped judiciously, but he was more than excited to meet Dr. Dens, Medicine Jackass. And Dens was more than happy to show how he would 'handle' Naked Guy.

Broken dreams. The stench of failure. Having set out with grand plans (Blackout Orgies!!!) for the night, we would have settled for a warm slice at this point. But we couldn't even score that. The streets were quiet, the beer was completely warm and we had absolutely nothing to show for Blackout '03.

Ludlow St. at 2:00 am. Hours earlier this was the epicenter of LES Blackout '03. Now it was Dens and I looking for Ngoc on an empty street. This was the last thing recorded, either on my cerebellum or flash card, before I woke up fully clothed, shoes tied.