I GOT YOU FOR TWO DAYS, BENDER

:: QUEENS->EAST VILLAGE, NY - Aug. 23, 2003 ::

If I were a British DJ, I'd have to say that Friday night was "mega." (Note: Hi-Fi NY has exclusive rights to Friday.) Waking up to half-filled king cans of Bud (thanks, JTB), a random PS2 in my living room and thankfully no shoes on my feet (just flip-flops), I detected the ethers of an impending bender. My beak was spot on.

A night like Friday has the tendency to make one ask a few questions about one's life. And a cursory evaluation of said life found some real issues, not the least of which was that the hipster cubbyhole had been completely ransacked. Quickest solution? Head to PS/1 in Queens for a refill of premium wannabes and designer drugs.

We arrived to PS/1 a little late, but in plenty of time to see Williamsburg get their wiggle on to some of the most mediocre techno around. When we first arrived it was all hip-hop MC'd by uber-hipster Harold Hunter of Zoo York fame, but once the 'proper' DJs took over it all went to pieces. I might not know my way around the Technics, but I do know techno is best left to clubs after dark or weekenders in Denmark. House music would have made much more sense.

Whatever the Deej was spinning, it apparently sent one grade-schooler into a tizzy. The dancefloor got deferential as it cleared to let this girl shake her lunchmoney-maker like nothing most had ever seen. Not only did she bring the funk out the trunk, she did it in front of one of New York's toughest crowds. This girl had all of PS/1 in her hand, and then...

...it got all Lolita, fast. Moving from straight-up dance moves, she abruptly whipped some Cinemax out from her lunchbox. Words escape me as to how to describe it, but rest assured she earned her Showgirls Brownie Badge. At first the crowd was loudly applauding, then just clapping, then golf clapping, then a collective run to Brooklyn Beer taps as everybody, myself included, pretended we missed the whole thing. (And what was girl that young doing there in the first place?)

Two Brooklyn Weisses and a tour of the museum later, I decided to wade into the sea of tight tees again (Aside: My vote for best shirt - "Free Donald Trump". Actually there was no such shirt, but there should be). It was there I found my best friend. Look behind me. See that guy in the middle? The one wearing a PS/1 tee...to PS/1!!!! Awful. Just awful. Same as wearing the band tee to the band's concert. But we need guys like him. He's the hipster equivalent of the really fat kid with broken glasses when it came time to pick playground football teams. Without that guy, I would've been picked last at PS/1. Thank you dude, thank you.

Later on we met up with Stacy and Molly of Weinstein Party fame. Stacy and Molly had gotten there early, rented the de rigeur PS/1 chairs for the de rigeur PS/1 sandpit. But at PS/1 the early byrds don't get the worm, they get drunk. Hopped up on contraband Mike's Hard Lemonade and just plain contraband, the pie-eyed pirates had all three sails hoisted by the time we met them. Hence the 5pm 'ireallyloveyouyouremybestfriend' hugs. Save it for after sundown, ladies.

Speaking of saving it for after sundown, Dens and Molly decided to reminisce about the dance party at Delft a month ago, where being good people, they waited for after dark. Waited for what? Waited for this DYNATRITE EXCLUSIVE.

Bless Dens' heart. Not content with just Molly, Dens tries to buy Stacy's affections with some counterfeit comp PS/1 drink tickets. Stacy, to her credit, said she couldn't be bought with illegal goods and showed her disgust with Dens by passing out in the sand minutes later.

Dens and I headed home for a pitstop to wipe the stench of pubescent grind and sand off our pasty bodies, and then quickly headed out of pit lane to Joey's in the East Village for Carol's Going-Away Party. We got there only to find Carol and Ben (Andy's soon-to-be roomie) looking on like Scientologists at a Travolta Retrospective, as they were told to leave their seats to make room for Nicole Kidman and her entourage.*

To protest such an egregious (albeit socially logical) move by Joey's, we decided to have loud beer races. It was a Yuengling rout every time. Fat Red Stripes are barely good enough for drinking, much less racing. Of course, where I'm from, rubbing is racing...

...and rub they did back at Randy's rooftop patio for the completely, unnecessary post party. Nicole and Kath decided to make a Dens sandwich - vegetarian of course - while we listened to Randy butcher every song with his DJ Trackster software. Who scratches The Who's 'The Seeker'?

You can only take so many Outkast songs mixed right into an obscure Matador-label band (redundant?) before people turn on themselves. Dens and Mike dealt with it like any dude knee deep in a bender - by slapping themselves silly, just like they had the night before. Nobody bothered to stop them.

* - While about eight of us sat out back at Joey's (12th and Ave. B), we noticed a little buzz about the crowd. Turns out Nicole Kidman had just walked by and walked back into the main bar area. Not content to have the A-list mingling with the pedestrians, Joey's crack staff went into action. After trying to pester us into submission with too many rapid-fire inquiries of "need anything else?", the staff had enough of our unintentional obstinance and told us they were closing the back area. The bar seating equivalent of "sorry, private party." Not so surprisingly, only our group was "closing". So being the D-listers we were, we took our relegation and liked it. As soon as we went into main bar area to continue the frivolity, Nicole's entourage whisked past us into the fable Joey's catbird seat. So be it. I should also mention that Tom Cruise dumped Nicole Kidman. I went to the same high school as Tom Cruise.

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