The End of Something That Never Really Started

:: EAST VILLAGE, NY - Aug. 30, 2003 ::

The Dynatrite Editorial board didn't have to think long or hard about the 125 Stanton Retrospective Commemorative Issue. We'd do it just like 125 Stanton - short and sweet. No pandering essays by guest bloggers, no slideshows of parties past, no top ten lists of greatest moments, no teary good-byes. Just a quick summary of a 125 Stanton night like any other on the LES: big time ambitions->fortified by Rheingold->mowed down by reality. Latest review: "...reads like a retrospective that was involved in a horrific crash at the intersection of Uninteresting and Bad Syntax..." We'd have to agree. Of course, we're barely in this retrospective.

Dynatrite is a big believer, like most New Yorkers, in getting out of the city on long weekends. Weekends are that much longer, albeit in a bad way, when you are in New York. But without a Hampton enclave or a Jersey hut to 'summer' at - or even a friend who has one (god, we need new friends), we were stuck. To help cope, we brought in Dynatrite graphic designer Treat from DC. You have Treat to thank for the great Dynatrite 'brand'. You know things like the header image on Dynatrite.com or the logo you see splashed across downtown bar bathrooms. You don't? Actually, either do we. He promised them in a drunken stupor in Philadelphia a few months ago, but promised them nonetheless. [Ed. note: Jason - if we don't get the graphics by Sept. 15, your Match.com profile becomes a Dynatrite Exclusive.]

Teendrama saw my DC Treat, and raised me a DC Mike. Mike, being a legislative ace and not one to waste time, promptly filibusted the chair that held his ass aloft. The moment was ripe for a "your ass is so fat..." rip, but Dens assured me that his mom takes care of that everytime she sees Mike. That might have been the most embarrassing moment at No Malice Palace, but the bouncer, not one to be outdone, decided to "shhhhhhhhh" the crowd out back every few minutes. Yep. You read that right. Some bouncers break up fights, this guy "shhhh"s. Check please.

Heading out of No Malice Palace on our way to 2A, we had a good laugh at Mike...except Treat of course. He was the picture of stern. How serious was he? Take a look at the black shirt. He hasn't worn black since Phish broke up, and even then it was a fleece (FYI, he wore a Got Harry Hood shirt with Fukengruven hat when Phish got back together). He wasn't about to let a broken chair turn the night fratty just yet.

Jason, being the noir-cloaked lothario that he is - or more likely knowing I'd never bring girls - didn't come empty-handed. He brought in fellow DC-refugee Julia. Together they sported black and just generally bemoaned the prevalence of domestic beer downtown while wondering where they put their Wallpaper magazine. Julia's a fellow graphic artist (maybe she can take over Dynatrite branding?), and just moved to the East Village.* She plays her cards right, she just might make the Dynatrite starting lineup.

Remember when you were in kindergarten and you'd play a memory game? You'd look at one photo, then look at a similar photo, but point out the minor differences.** Well, no need for the other photo to go with this one. Pretty much EVERYTHING is wrong with this photo. Let's start from left-to-right: Andy's Dag Nasty tee. Self-explanatory. My too tight Le Tigre shirt. Anybody rocking a tight Le Tigre shirt is either in his or her 6th grade class photo or just gay. I know where most Dynatrite readers come down on this issue. Luckily for us, Wendy, author of New York definitive dive bar book and advisory board member of Dynatrite, gives the photo a little class.

Apparently our sartorial flaws weren't missed by all, especially by Julia and Treat. The barbs started flying. Some missed the target (I think one insult included the phrase "dodge and burn"...wtf?), but a few landed flush. Andy did what he does best when cornered - he gave the finger (after doing the obligatory "can you hear this? let me turn it up!" Just when you thought he rock bottom, he started digging.). Julia, obviously shocked and intimidated, tried to lick the finger.

Feeling the need to show off the power of all garb black, Julia and Treat decided to hook up. It was what Kenneth Cole would have wanted. I had nothing to offer in response. Andy screamed "PDA!". Dens hearing "PDA!", turned around and yelled "I used to work for Vindigo. What apps you got!". I offered a bottle to Wendy to break over my head. Endmynightmare.exe. (Note: Jason in this photos seems to be keeping score of scoring. I think he gave Julia a 7 for artistic interpretation, but a 5 for bad breaff. Jason is half-Russian.) I'd love to cut to the chase. But that is the chase, or lackthereof. We drank some more. Hung out some more. Night over. Moved on.

*Julia moved in with another girl, Meredith. And shock of all shocks, my ex-roommate and I have actually met and spoken to Meredith. Not shock of all shocks, Meredith doesn't remember meeting us at all. It might have been Andy's "The quesadillas here are great." or my "G-r-e-l-...actually just call me 'Vitamin G'" comments, but regardless, it seems we gave her plenty to forget about.

**I think this is one of the games on those bar video screens you've seen in finer establishments like Filthy McNasty's. As if to prove how cool getting older is, instead of pointing out the different color tire on a fire truck, you now get to point out the different color nip on Sheri. Sweet.

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