This year, New Year’s Eve was not spent in New Brunswick, but rather in Hoboken, at Jessica’s place. Mike and Phil came as well, providing some excellent humourous background noise for what was, in many ways, a strange night. But highly amusing. Highly.
A hilarious poll, brought to us via crooksandliars.com, shows that George W. Bush is the top villain of 2006. I wholeheartedly agree.
Watch the video here
As usual, these are awesome. I’ll let you read the list for yourself, but here is one of my favourites:
A 49-year-old San Francisco stockbroker, who “totally zoned when he ran,” accidentally jogged off a 100-foot-high cliff on his daily run.
For the first time, I think ever, my family decided to open the presents, and such, on Christmas Eve, rather than the following morning. While the pragmatic excuse is simply to accommodate Mischa and her ultra-bizarre work schedule, I kinda think we all agreed just so we could get on with our lives and have a normal night-followed-by-morning, free to be spent anywhere.
And so I fled to Joaquin’s house, where I arrived right in the middle of their opening of presents, and such, which they do every year of Christmas Eve. Joaquin and I sat down for a while and recorded an episode of twentyhood, which will be uploaded soon, I promise.
Good times. Note, these photos are a bit our of order, but I can’t be bothered right now.
At Scott Richardson’s pad for the First Annual Cheesy Holiday Sweater Cocktail Party. Not much else to say about it. Oh wait, actually I’ve got about two hours worth of shit to say over on twentyhood.com where we podcasted a bit of a marathon episode with a number of random co-hosts.
Here’s a few photos to get you through those long winter nights.
Out at Dave and Busters to celebrate the 26th annual of Meaghan Hislop. Always one to travel with an entourage, Meg brought with her the usual rabble of high school chums and random folk who are generally friendly and placid. Of course I too rolled with a few high school mates and 1st-degree-of-separation buds, namely Dave Frankel, Mike Rogoff and Phil (last name unknown).
On nights like this, I remember how much I hate 42nd St.
Check out Mike playing Dance Dance revolution – trying to keep up with that dude who clearly practices A LOT!
Out for a night to celebrate the birthday of Max Darwin. We found ourselves first at Schiller’s on the corner of Norfolk and Rivington. Later, when it because far too crowded and everyone had finished eating, we headed down the block to The Back Room.
Now, this is what I call a speakeasy. Not to blow the great secret, but The Back Room is actually a back room. From the street, you pass a small metal gate labeled “The Lower East Side Toy Company” and guarded by a large black man. If he feels like, he lets you in, and you descend some steps and emerge in an alley. Up another set of stairs and there you are in this Victorian-style parlor where everyone drinks cocktails out of tea cups. I’m half-surprised they weren’t serving Absinthe.
Pretty cool night, all around, although there was a bit of that Hoboken-esque vibe where I fell like everyone knows one another, and no one knows me. Except this was less of a frat party than HBKN.
