Miss(ed) Manners

March 30, 2007

Like All Things Spanish, It is Dangerous

Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 10:15 am

My friend Jonathan sent this to me.

Fucking BRILLIANT.

March 29, 2007

WMC Recap Part 3

Filed under: WMC — missedmanners @ 1:11 pm

Ah the final 36 hours of my stay in Miami were definitely a good time. If you remember from yesterday, I left off just as my boy, John and I were headed to Sin for the Sullivan Room party.

Sullivan Room is a great space here in the city on Sullivan between Bleeker and West 3rd. Up until recently I wasn’t the biggest fan of the place because it was cramped, dingy and just poorly laid out. A little over a month and a half ago they redid the place entirely and I’ve been spending about a night per week there since. So when I heard they were putting on a party down in Miami (also featuring my favorite DJ in the whole wide world, Hector Romero, who is the resident DJ for our White Party at my apartment) I was locked in for the evening.

Armed to the fucking gills with favors galore we rolled in around 11 and gathered around a bottle laid out for us so nicely by the staff. The locals (meaning NYC locals) we playing in a little duplex area off and above us, while I just proceeded to get seven shades of faded. Never leave a bottle of any type of vodka and a bucket of ice in front of me, ever.

I got the type of drunk where I started to think that a go-go girl had the hots for me. HA! That’s clubber newbie mistake #507.

Anyway, around this time my friend and boss over at Rhythmism.com, Brian, shows up with a banner. Now we were partially sponsors of this party. By partial sponsors we said, “sure you can put our name on the party and we’ll send out a mailer.” The benefits of this are kind of impossible to quantify. We have this great cloth banner, but we’re too lazy to show up before the party to hang it up and WAY too lazy to hang around afterwards to take it home. So at the Buck 15 party I’d suggested that we just bring it anyway and wave it around and be silly.

Well, somehow I got it in my mind to tie two of the ends together around my neck and wear that shit like a cape, thus creating the character who would be name, Captain Rhythm. I’ve only got one picture so far, but there’s a video out there and at least twenty other pictures that I know of, so once I track them down I’ll post em.

captain-rhythm.jpg

Classy, huh?

So I danced around in that thing for about six hours. Overall the party was a fucking blast. Great times hanging with Hector who, besides being a world caliber DJ and packing gigantic venues all over the world, is among the nicest and most humble people I know. He also posed for the cover of Pacha Magazine looking like he was posing for Tiger Beat. No shit, check it out:

colleen-and-hec.jpg

Hahahahahaha! I gave him no end of shit for that, he’s sooooooo cute there! The cutie on the left is my friend, Colleen, who is one of the best party favors you can have around, very good people.

Around 6 or 7 in the morning myself, Eileen, Elisa and Leks headed out to the fabled Sunday School for Degenerates party at Pawn Shop in downtown Miami. Before we left we had to walk about ten blocks to get something from the hotel room and take a cab (which took forever to find).

On a positive note, I walked the entire ten blocks as a reaaaaally drunk Captain Rhythm. I made Ei and Elisa flap my cape like I was flying.

By the time we finally arrived I think we were all a little burnt out. I’d been going for over 50 hours straight, mostly on adrenaline and alcohol, which as many can tell you, is NOT a great stimulant. Not to mention I was only on the list +2 which meant that since Ei and Elisa are fancy ladies, poor Leks had to pay to get in.

Now let me explain to you what the location Pawn Shop is all about, because it’s kind of hard to picture. The place is ginormous. There are three music locations, two inside and one outside. Inside the front hall there is a hollowed out school bus and trailer that have been converted to crackhead seating. It’s kind of like a playground for the mentally handicapped, because after a night of partying at conference, if you’re not mentally handicapped at 7am, something is seriously wrong with your party ethic.

Around 8 or 9 our other friends (who’d taken much of the night off to get some needed sleep) started arriving. We spent most of our time outside dancing away to some ridiculous tunes. I was trying desperately to pull together but I actually just would wander around aimlessly in a barely conscious trance. Despite this, I had an excellent time. Ran into some kids I haven’t seen for years, even though we live in the same city.

Here are a few pics from the party:

dave-and-joel.jpg

That’s me and Joel. He rocks harder than if AC/DC and Metallica merged via that mutagen stuff from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

dave-brad-toni.jpg
This is myself, Toni, Brad, Zack and Patrick, inside, where it was dark, and safe from that horrid yellow disk of pain in the sky.
At about 11:00am I died, well my mind did anyway.

Not only did I die, but everything ON me died. My phone died and my WATCH died. What are the fucking odds? I went from partying it up to being a caveman, barely capable of speech in about 2.5 seconds. As I felt the dewy shroud of sleep closing in on me from all sides I split, headed back to the hotel room (which was now upgraded to a suite and very empty) and passed out for the next 10 hours. I woke up to Joel and Coll coming back from a day of exuberant partying.

We turned on the Jacuzzi and relaxed for a bit, I was headed for an 11am flight the next day and was going to be gracious for all the sleep I could get.

And that’s really the cliff notes recap of my first WMC, all in all a fucking blast. I’m definitely planning on going back in the future, and doing maybe slightly differently. My work schedule around now is just SO fucking hectic that I don’t think I could ever really get down there for more than a few days, but damnit I’m going to try.

Oh, by the way, I had another awesome flight on the way home. I was seated right in front of a REALLY loud kid who was kicking my seat the entire way, despite me telling him and his mother to stop. Right after the first time I yelled at his mother… the kid puked ALL over his sister. No joke.

I think I’m taking a train down next year.

March 28, 2007

WMC Recap Part 2

Filed under: Humor,WMC — missedmanners @ 2:53 pm

So I laid down and tried to get a little sleep, but it really wasn’t happening. I was fitful, to say the least.

After a little while I got a call from my recently made former girlfriend, Eileen, asking if I wanted to grab some breakfast. She’d been down there since Wednesday night, also out on her first WMC excursion. Now, I’d just grabbed a little bacon egg and cheese on the way home from Nocturnal, but I was surprisingly ravenous and just a little too excited to just lay around. Plus it’d been a while since we’d hung out and I figured a little time in the sun would do me worlds of good.

I’m a huge fan of making nice with all my former relations. Some take longer than others, but this one seems to be going well. We’d actually gone out for a sum total of three years, so at this point I consider her one of my best friends. She’s also really pretty, so just hanging out with her is always at least cosmetically enjoyable.

We grabbed a seat at Cafeteria, which has GREAT food. I ate fruit for the first time in like six years (I’m not really a fan of non-animal produce) and I got to hear all about her week at WMC so far. As with all male/female conversations, I mainly listened šŸ˜† and asked her questions about her. I did get asked how I was liking my fruit salad though. šŸ˜†

Once we were sated, we ended up heading over to the Ritz Carlton for what were supposed to be, as my roommate, Spoony, promised, the World’s Greatest Pina Colodas. He was right. Check these bad boys out!

pina-coladas.jpg

Most amazing drink ever. Not only do they taste excellent, but the location that you drink them at is excellent. You’re far away from the madness of Conference. You’re not near any crackheads except yourself. You’re looking out over the beautiful beach and beautiful people. Simply a joyful experience.

From there we headed off to the Beach Plaza hotel rooftop for my friends’ Sleepy and Boo’s party. They basically have run of the entire hotel and throw parties in the garden area and on the roof. They booked some SICK talent there this year. Unfortunately, it started to rain intermittently. Regardless, I actually got a lot of good sun up there. This would be very important in keeping up the illusion that I was in Miami and not stuffed into the corner of some megaclub the entire time. A fact that would keep my bosses happy, I hoped.

Unfortunately, because of the wind and rain, we didn’t get a chance to really dance around. I started drinking in earnest and after meeting up with some of the crew, and a few long lost friends, I gathered up a crew and headed off to pick up supplies for the long long long night ahead of us.

So this is where the day gets hazy.

Foolishly, I combined nearly a dozen drinks of all kinds, what was now a sun burn and an illicit substance that I’m normally very fond of. I wont say its name direKtly, but I’m sure you may know what I’m talking about. Nothing super messy, just as we were walking back to the hotel I sunk about 50 feet underground and lost major speech functions.

Describing a hole to someone who’s never been in one is kind of pointless. I happen to enjoy the experience recreationally, but when you’ve got to get shit done, like get showered, dressed and ready to go, it can be a bit of a pain. Since you’ve lost all ability to think clearly you’re sort of operating on instinct alone. Fortunately for me I’ve got these awesome instincts that allowed me to do the following without falling on my ass and/or cracking my head open:

  • Take a shower
  • Wash my hair
  • Wash my balls
  • Get dressed
  • Drink a glass of water
  • Convince people that I’m not retarded

These were all VERY difficult in my condition, yet somehow they just happened. By the time I completed the tasks, everyone but my group-appointed caretaker, Dale, had left for happy hour drinks. After sitting around for a little while, losing stuff, finding it and then losing it and finding it again, we headed out as well.

I started getting really punchy at this point. As is evidenced by this picture:

dave-on-a-bike-being-gay.jpg

Awesome right?

Anyway, we grabbed some drinks, which took, I swear, no less than 45 minutes to be made. They were also served by a super queen with BLEACHED eyebrows, or the most fashionable albinism I’ve ever seen. I grabbed some food (realizing that I wouldn’t be eating for quite some time after that) and then we headed off to meet up with some friends of ours from New York that were throwing a party at a little place called Buck 15.

It was hard to find and it was on the second floor above a Chinese restaurant so instantly this party reminded us of home. There were super cheap vodka drinks and you could smoke inside so I was feeling like why go anywhere else. A ton of New York kids showed up and we chilled out for a while. We boogied around, got nice and toasty drunk before my boy John and I headed off to the next party that he was throwing at a place called, of all things, Sin. First we had to stop by his swank hotel room and get cleaned up and say hi to his marvelous wife, Jen.

Walking around during Conference is apparently a group activity, because within five minutes a straggling drunk girl joined up with us out of nowhere. Her name was Victoria or Vivian or something, it’s not important. What IS important is that we saved her from walking into moving traffic at least eight times. When we got her safely to Collins she split off heading south and possibly was run over by a truck.

One other notable happening from that portion of the evening was John open palm slapping me for using the word, “Wife” which is, and I’ve checked, in clear violation of Guy Code.

So I’ll stop there as the next twelve hours sort of run together. Things to look forward to: A Caped Captain Rhythm, sunlit dancing and a luddite field.

March 27, 2007

WMC Recap Part 1

Filed under: WMC — missedmanners @ 11:09 am

Oof.

What a weekend.

For those of you who are uninitiated WMC stands for Winter Music Conference. It’s basically a week long party in Miami Beach where everyone involved in electronic music gather to try and destroy themselves. Beautiful women, boatloads of drugs and beer that’s been marked up 300% are the hallmarks of this event.

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve never been able to go before. This year I decided to make it down for a few days, if only so that I can stop having to explain why I’ve never been to every one of my friends. Overall, I had a complete blast. I was fortunate enough to luck into a great group of my friends who were partying together down there and they let me tag along. When you’re in a strange climate with strange goings on it’s definitely the people who make the party.

As with all parties there’s always the requisite breakdown, the whiner, the cry baby, the drama the whatever. We’ll get to that later of course, but let’s start with a quick bullet pointed recap:

Friday 4:00 pm

I head off from my office Newark Airport. It’s amazingly easy to get to this airport from anywhere in New York. A billion times easier than La Guardia or Kennedy. It’s also usually cheaper. With this in mind I booked my flight to Miami from there and checked in.

Four hours late. Instead of getting in at 9:00 pm and heading over to my Uncle Carl’s place in Pompano Beach for a night of relaxation I was now arriving at 1:00 am. This problem was two fold. I had originally planned only to be in South Beach from Saturday morning to Sunday night, completely erasing the need for a hotel room. Now I was in town for three days and needed a couch to crash on. In a matter of minutes I went from hardcore partier to mooching schlep. I hate that.

Fortunately I have some awesome fucking friends. A couple minutes on the phone and I was all set up with places to stay, a press pass for the night’s party and a group of excellent kids. My people for the weekend would include: Joel, Colleen, Saisha, Dale, Karen, Leks and Elisa. Not sure if I’ve ever mentioned these kids before but they’re the nicest, most accommodating people you could ever have the honor of meeting. I had snagged a piece of carpet to crash on, check. Party on.

With that settled I got ready to hang out at the airport for a while (read: get drunk). The only place to do this was at a TGI Friday’s. So there I was, instead of being on my way to a bohemian weekend in Miami, I was sipping beers in a chain restaurant watching ESPN. I felt more than a little pedestrian. Fortunately a friend of mine was more than willing to engage with me in some heated texting, :lol:. Made me feel at least 75% less lame.

Finally, at 9:00 with a great beer buzz in head, I boarded the plane. We sat on the tarmac for the next hour and I passed the hell out. I was seated next to one of those big guys. You know the type, not HUGE but big enough to slightly annoy you for the next three hours. One of them. I have the absolute WORST luck with flights. Four hours late and seated next to a big sweaty dude pressing thigh the entire way. I considered Purel-ing my jeans.

Fortunately because of my delay I ended up landing at about the same time as my friends, Saisha and Dale. These kids are fucking ridiculously cool. Dale is one of the only guys I know who loves to drink for the same perverted and wrong reasons I do. We made successive plans to steal the following: A car, an alligator, a baby and a gnome table. None of this happened.

We hopped into a cab together and headed off to our friends’ hotel room at the Essex House. It was 2am and we started drinking, heavily. Within 30 minutes we were freshened up and off to the AM Only party on the terrace of Nocturnal, a club in downtown Miami.

To call the place packed would be an understatement of the largest order. Fortunately our friends were throwing the party and a VERY frazzled Jen came out and walked all six of us in. Within minutes we were upstairs dancing in the cool night air the very banging sounds of Mistress Barbara.

Drinks and drugs followed and it would be a total waste of my time and your time recounting every little detail. I will mention that I fell completely in love with this one girl and made the most idiotic mistake of not getting her number. I’ve literally kicked myself every hour on the hour since. šŸ˜† All I’ve got is a first name, location and hometown. *kicks self again*

I danced like a maniac for about six hours. We jumped around, hooted and hollered and had an absolute blast. Once the sun started coming up around 7 I realized I had made what would be my first of many n00bish mistakes of the Conference. I’d forgotten my sunglasses.


This is the scene. In the background, that girlie blond mop, that’s Richie Hawtin and his homotechnoemo hair. But damn can he throw down some records.
As everyone around me suited up and partied away in the sun light I was left cowering in a corner like Nosferatu. It was not pretty. Around 9am, our supplies limited and after making the decision to get some sleep and rally for a big Saturday, we headed home. We had a short, abortive attempt at grabbing some early morning beach time, but the wind was so fierce that we just decided to crash.

There would be no sleep for me as I was about to head off for day 2.

Continued tomorrow.

March 26, 2007

Winter Music Conference: A Fly By Night Comedy of Errors

Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 1:35 pm

This is a compilation of my three part piece on my first trip to WMC in Miami.

Oof.

What a weekend.

For those of you who are uninitiated WMC stands for Winter Music Conference. It’s basically a week long party in Miami Beach where everyone involved in electronic music gather to try and destroy themselves. Beautiful women, boatloads of drugs and beer that’s been marked up 300% are the hallmarks of this event.

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve never been able to go before. This year I decided to make it down for a few days, if only so that I can stop having to explain why I’ve never been to every one of my friends. Overall, I had a complete blast. I was fortunate enough to luck into a great group of my friends who were partying together down there and they let me tag along. When you’re in a strange climate with strange goings on it’s definitely the people who make the party.

As with all parties there’s always the requisite breakdown, the whiner, the cry baby, the drama the whatever. We’ll get to that later of course, but let’s start with a quick bullet pointed recap:

Friday 4:00 pm

I head off from my office Newark Airport. It’s amazingly easy to get to this airport from anywhere in New York. A billion times easier than La Guardia or Kennedy. It’s also usually cheaper. With this in mind I booked my flight to Miami from there and checked in.

Four hours late. Instead of getting in at 9:00 pm and heading over to my Uncle Carl’s place in Pompano Beach for a night of relaxation I was now arriving at 1:00 am. This problem was two fold. I had originally planned only to be in South Beach from Saturday morning to Sunday night, completely erasing the need for a hotel room. Now I was in town for three days and needed a couch to crash on. In a matter of minutes I went from hardcore partier to mooching schlep. I hate that.

Fortunately I have some awesome fucking friends. A couple minutes on the phone and I was all set up with places to stay, a press pass for the night’s party and a group of excellent kids. My people for the weekend would include: Joel, Colleen, Saisha, Dale, Karen, Leks and Elisa. Not sure if I’ve ever mentioned these kids before but they’re the nicest, most accommodating people you could ever have the honor of meeting. I had snagged a piece of carpet to crash on, check. Party on.

With that settled I got ready to hang out at the airport for a while (read: get drunk). The only place to do this was at a TGI Friday’s. So there I was, instead of being on my way to a bohemian weekend in Miami, I was sipping beers in a chain restaurant watching ESPN. I felt more than a little pedestrian. Fortunately a friend of mine was more than willing to engage with me in some heated texting, :lol:. Made me feel at least 75% less lame.

Finally, at 9:00 with a great beer buzz in head, I boarded the plane. We sat on the tarmac for the next hour and I passed the hell out. I was seated next to one of those big guys. You know the type, not HUGE but big enough to slightly annoy you for the next three hours. One of them. I have the absolute WORST luck with flights. Four hours late and seated next to a big sweaty dude pressing thigh the entire way. I considered Purel-ing my jeans.

Fortunately because of my delay I ended up landing at about the same time as my friends, Saisha and Dale. These kids are fucking ridiculously cool. Dale is one of the only guys I know who loves to drink for the same perverted and wrong reasons I do. We made successive plans to steal the following: A car, an alligator, a baby and a gnome table. None of this happened.

We hopped into a cab together and headed off to our friends’ hotel room at the Essex House. It was 2am and we started drinking, heavily. Within 30 minutes we were freshened up and off to the AM Only party on the terrace of Nocturnal, a club in downtown Miami.

To call the place packed would be an understatement of the largest order. Fortunately our friends were throwing the party and a VERY frazzled Jen came out and walked all six of us in. Within minutes we were upstairs dancing in the cool night air the very banging sounds of Mistress Barbara.

Drinks and drugs followed and it would be a total waste of my time and your time recounting every little detail. I will mention that I fell completely in love with this one girl and made the most idiotic mistake of not getting her number. I’ve literally kicked myself every hour on the hour since. šŸ˜† All I’ve got is a first name, location and hometown. *kicks self again*

I danced like a maniac for about six hours. We jumped around, hooted and hollered and had an absolute blast. Once the sun started coming up around 7 I realized I had made what would be my first of many n00bish mistakes of the Conference. I’d forgotten my sunglasses.


This is the scene. In the background, that girlie blond mop, that’s Richie Hawtin and his homotechnoemo hair. But damn can he throw down some records.
As everyone around me suited up and partied away in the sun light I was left cowering in a corner like Nosferatu. It was not pretty. Around 9am, our supplies limited and after making the decision to get some sleep and rally for a big Saturday, we headed home. We had a short, abortive attempt at grabbing some early morning beach time, but the wind was so fierce that we just decided to crash.

There would be no sleep for me as I was about to head off for day 2.

Continued tomorrow.

Part 2:

So I laid down and tried to get a little sleep, but it really wasn’t happening. I was fitful, to say the least.

After a little while I got a call from my recently made former girlfriend, Eileen, asking if I wanted to grab some breakfast. She’d been down there since Wednesday night, also out on her first WMC excursion. Now, I’d just grabbed a little bacon egg and cheese on the way home from Nocturnal, but I was surprisingly ravenous and just a little too excited to just lay around. Plus it’d been a while since we’d hung out and I figured a little time in the sun would do me worlds of good.

I’m a huge fan of making nice with all my former relations. Some take longer than others, but this one seems to be going well. We’d actually gone out for a sum total of three years, so at this point I consider her one of my best friends. She’s also really pretty, so just hanging out with her is always at least cosmetically enjoyable.

We grabbed a seat at Cafeteria, which has GREAT food. I ate fruit for the first time in like six years (I’m not really a fan of non-animal produce) and I got to hear all about her week at WMC so far. As with all male/female conversations, I mainly listened šŸ˜† and asked her questions about her. I did get asked how I was liking my fruit salad though. šŸ˜†

Once we were sated, we ended up heading over to the Ritz Carlton for what were supposed to be, as my roommate, Spoony, promised, the World’s Greatest Pina Colodas. He was right. Check these bad boys out!

pina-coladas.jpg

Most amazing drink ever. Not only do they taste excellent, but the location that you drink them at is excellent. You’re far away from the madness of Conference. You’re not near any crackheads except yourself. You’re looking out over the beautiful beach and beautiful people. Simply a joyful experience.

From there we headed off to the Beach Plaza hotel rooftop for my friends’ Sleepy and Boo’s party. They basically have run of the entire hotel and throw parties in the garden area and on the roof. They booked some SICK talent there this year. Unfortunately, it started to rain intermittently. Regardless, I actually got a lot of good sun up there. This would be very important in keeping up the illusion that I was in Miami and not stuffed into the corner of some megaclub the entire time. A fact that would keep my bosses happy, I hoped.

Unfortunately, because of the wind and rain, we didn’t get a chance to really dance around. I started drinking in earnest and after meeting up with some of the crew, and a few long lost friends, I gathered up a crew and headed off to pick up supplies for the long long long night ahead of us.

So this is where the day gets hazy.

Foolishly, I combined nearly a dozen drinks of all kinds, what was now a sun burn and an illicit substance that I’m normally very fond of. I wont say its name direKtly, but I’m sure you may know what I’m talking about. Nothing super messy, just as we were walking back to the hotel I sunk about 50 feet underground and lost major speech functions.

Describing a hole to someone who’s never been in one is kind of pointless. I happen to enjoy the experience recreationally, but when you’ve got to get shit done, like get showered, dressed and ready to go, it can be a bit of a pain. Since you’ve lost all ability to think clearly you’re sort of operating on instinct alone. Fortunately for me I’ve got these awesome instincts that allowed me to do the following without falling on my ass and/or cracking my head open:

  • Take a shower
  • Wash my hair
  • Wash my balls
  • Get dressed
  • Drink a glass of water
  • Convince people that I’m not retarded

These were all VERY difficult in my condition, yet somehow they just happened. By the time I completed the tasks, everyone but my group-appointed caretaker, Dale, had left for happy hour drinks. After sitting around for a little while, losing stuff, finding it and then losing it and finding it again, we headed out as well.

I started getting really punchy at this point. As is evidenced by this picture:

dave-on-a-bike-being-gay.jpg

Awesome right?

Anyway, we grabbed some drinks, which took, I swear, no less than 45 minutes to be made. They were also served by a super queen with BLEACHED eyebrows, or the most fashionable albinism I’ve ever seen. I grabbed some food (realizing that I wouldn’t be eating for quite some time after that) and then we headed off to meet up with some friends of ours from New York that were throwing a party at a little place called Buck 15.

It was hard to find and it was on the second floor above a Chinese restaurant so instantly this party reminded us of home. There were super cheap vodka drinks and you could smoke inside so I was feeling like why go anywhere else. A ton of New York kids showed up and we chilled out for a while. We boogied around, got nice and toasty drunk before my boy John and I headed off to the next party that he was throwing at a place called, of all things, Sin. First we had to stop by his swank hotel room and get cleaned up and say hi to his marvelous wife, Jen.

Walking around during Conference is apparently a group activity, because within five minutes a straggling drunk girl joined up with us out of nowhere. Her name was Victoria or Vivian or something, it’s not important. What IS important is that we saved her from walking into moving traffic at least eight times. When we got her safely to Collins she split off heading south and possibly was run over by a truck.

One other notable happening from that portion of the evening was John open palm slapping me for using the word, “Wife” which is, and I’ve checked, in clear violation of Guy Code.

So I’ll stop there as the next twelve hours sort of run together. Things to look forward to: A Caped Captain Rhythm, sunlit dancing and a luddite field.

Part 3:

Ah the final 36 hours of my stay in Miami were definitely a good time. If you remember from yesterday, I left off just as my boy, John and I were headed to Sin for the Sullivan Room party.

Sullivan Room is a great space here in the city on Sullivan between Bleeker and West 3rd. Up until recently I wasn’t the biggest fan of the place because it was cramped, dingy and just poorly laid out. A little over a month and a half ago they redid the place entirely and I’ve been spending about a night per week there since. So when I heard they were putting on a party down in Miami (also featuring my favorite DJ in the whole wide world, Hector Romero, who is the resident DJ for our White Party at my apartment) I was locked in for the evening.

Armed to the fucking gills with favors galore we rolled in around 11 and gathered around a bottle laid out for us so nicely by the staff. The locals (meaning NYC locals) we playing in a little duplex area off and above us, while I just proceeded to get seven shades of faded. Never leave a bottle of any type of vodka and a bucket of ice in front of me, ever.

I got the type of drunk where I started to think that a go-go girl had the hots for me. HA! That’s clubber newbie mistake #507.

Anyway, around this time my friend and boss over at Rhythmism.com, Brian, shows up with a banner. Now we were partially sponsors of this party. By partial sponsors we said, “sure you can put our name on the party and we’ll send out a mailer.” The benefits of this are kind of impossible to quantify. We have this great cloth banner, but we’re too lazy to show up before the party to hang it up and WAY too lazy to hang around afterwards to take it home. So at the Buck 15 party I’d suggested that we just bring it anyway and wave it around and be silly.

Well, somehow I got it in my mind to tie two of the ends together around my neck and wear that shit like a cape, thus creating the character who would be name, Captain Rhythm. I’ve only got one picture so far, but there’s a video out there and at least twenty other pictures that I know of, so once I track them down I’ll post em.

captain-rhythm.jpg

Classy, huh?

So I danced around in that thing for about six hours. Overall the party was a fucking blast. Great times hanging with Hector who, besides being a world caliber DJ and packing gigantic venues all over the world, is among the nicest and most humble people I know. He also posed for the cover of Pacha Magazine looking like he was posing for Tiger Beat. No shit, check it out:

colleen-and-hec.jpg

Hahahahahaha! I gave him no end of shit for that, he’s sooooooo cute there! The cutie on the left is my friend, Colleen, who is one of the best party favors you can have around, very good people.

Around 6 or 7 in the morning myself, Eileen, Elisa and Leks headed out to the fabled Sunday School for Degenerates party at Pawn Shop in downtown Miami. Before we left we had to walk about ten blocks to get something from the hotel room and take a cab (which took forever to find).

On a positive note, I walked the entire ten blocks as a reaaaaally drunk Captain Rhythm. I made Ei and Elisa flap my cape like I was flying.

By the time we finally arrived I think we were all a little burnt out. I’d been going for over 50 hours straight, mostly on adrenaline and alcohol, which as many can tell you, is NOT a great stimulant. Not to mention I was only on the list +2 which meant that since Ei and Elisa are fancy ladies, poor Leks had to pay to get in.

Now let me explain to you what the location Pawn Shop is all about, because it’s kind of hard to picture. The place is ginormous. There are three music locations, two inside and one outside. Inside the front hall there is a hollowed out school bus and trailer that have been converted to crackhead seating. It’s kind of like a playground for the mentally handicapped, because after a night of partying at conference, if you’re not mentally handicapped at 7am, something is seriously wrong with your party ethic.

Around 8 or 9 our other friends (who’d taken much of the night off to get some needed sleep) started arriving. We spent most of our time outside dancing away to some ridiculous tunes. I was trying desperately to pull together but I actually just would wander around aimlessly in a barely conscious trance. Despite this, I had an excellent time. Ran into some kids I haven’t seen for years, even though we live in the same city.

Here are a few pics from the party:

dave-and-joel.jpg

That’s me and Joel. He rocks harder than if AC/DC and Metallica merged via that mutagen stuff from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

dave-brad-toni.jpg
This is myself, Toni, Brad, Zack and Patrick, inside, where it was dark, and safe from that horrid yellow disk of pain in the sky.
At about 11:00am I died, well my mind did anyway.

Not only did I die, but everything ON me died. My phone died and my WATCH died. What are the fucking odds? I went from partying it up to being a caveman, barely capable of speech in about 2.5 seconds. As I felt the dewy shroud of sleep closing in on me from all sides I split, headed back to the hotel room (which was now upgraded to a suite and very empty) and passed out for the next 10 hours. I woke up to Joel and Coll coming back from a day of exuberant partying.

We turned on the Jacuzzi and relaxed for a bit, I was headed for an 11am flight the next day and was going to be gracious for all the sleep I could get.

And that’s really the cliff notes recap of my first WMC, all in all a fucking blast. I’m definitely planning on going back in the future, and doing maybe slightly differently. My work schedule around now is just SO fucking hectic that I don’t think I could ever really get down there for more than a few days, but damnit I’m going to try.

Oh, by the way, I had another awesome flight on the way home. I was seated right in front of a REALLY loud kid who was kicking my seat the entire way, despite me telling him and his mother to stop. Right after the first time I yelled at his mother… the kid puked ALL over his sister. No joke.

I think I’m taking a train down next year.

March 23, 2007

After Hours

Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 9:26 am

I’m leaving for Miami today. Considering all the shit that’s been going on I figured a couple days of sun, music and sexndrugsnrocknroll would do me good. I’m heading down to the Winter Music Conference, centered mainly around South Beach. I’ve never been able to go before because this is such a busy time of year for me. However, when my bosses found out about my splitting with my girlfriend a few months back they bought me my tickets on company miles. Either out of pity or some sort of deranged parting gift.

The reason I’ve never been able to go is simple. I work at a small company with a very seasonal schedule. I basically live my life behind a desk until the end of May. This wouldn’t be so much of a problem if it weren’t for us being so small a business. Those of you who work the same way I do understand. Instead of working a fixed schedule and having to wear a tie and being a slave to some white collar bottom line, I come to work when I want, wear what I want, do what I want. We’re focused on personal responsibility. Unfortunately for me, the entire responsibility of everything that the company does around this time is mine alone. Every minute I’m not here during this time of year is a minute that another pound of guilt and worry gets laid on my shoulders. So taking a vacation around now is just not usually in the cards.

Regardless, I’m going, and I figured the only way my conscience would be clean enough to partake in all the barely legal fun would be to work for about 128 hours straight. Nine to Nine every day for the last week. I’ve gotten a butt load done and feel fantastic, however it’s introduced me to the odd goings on of the office building after dark.

In the other offices we’ve had through the years it’s always just been us. Me, my coworkers and my boss’s dog. Staying late meant turning up the music and smoking at my desk. I’ve been known to canter around butt nekkid and dance to whatever happens to surface in my music collection.

You can’t really do that here. First of all we’ve got cleaning guys that just wander in, unannounced to vacuum. Loudly. Now I know that’s the plot outline to about four thousand pornos, but I’m just not into older men from the Caribbean. Nope, no nude dancing for me, which, if you know me at all, is quite a downer.

Everything changes at night here. At five thirty the central air shuts down. This means that at 5:45 you’re working in an oven and everything starts to smell like old shoes.

Since we’re surrounded on all sides by the kind of idiot small corporate stooges that I despise this makes sense. If you work in the financial district for some sort of underwriting hedge fund completely pointless job or whatever it is you do, you never stay past 5:00. So pointless is your day that it’s basically over at 2:00 anyway, so you just sit around talking about Lost for three hours until you can hurdle the cubicle wall on the way out get a drink and try to restore a little bit of the soul you sold to get corporate discounts at Crate and Barrel.

After 6:00, I can say with about 90% assurance that it is only myself and the maintenance crew working which is why seeing someone unexpected is so weird. We’ve got one of those shared bathrooms for the entire floor. It’s weird enough having to walk in there and create a zone of isolation around yourself so you can coax your urine out of you like teaching a five year old how to dive. Take that and multiply it times a billion when it’s 10:30 and you wander in to the bathroom and see a half catatonic form propped against the urinal like he just stopped there at the closing bell.

Also, apparently if you’re around after 6:00 and you happen to share an elevator with someone else, all bets are off. It was 11 last night and I was finally going home, content that I’m far enough along to finally be able to get into some trouble this weekend, guilt free, and I hopped onto the lift. Much to my surprise there was someone already in there.

He wasn’t just in there, he was in bike shorts. And not bike shorts as in part of a whole cycling outfit. He was in bike shorts and an Oxford style button up blue shirt. Spandex and Egyptian cotton.

Obviously there was a large portion of the story I was missing, but I guess he’d been hedging his bets as I was, assuming that he wouldn’t be seeing anyone until he wedged those oversized spandex clad ham hocks onto his bike seat. I just stared intently at the ceiling, hoping not to have to see anything too damaging.

This was not to be the case. As soon as the doors closed he started talking about the weather. About how hot it was supposed to be on Friday, like he was trying to convince me that it was cool he was wearing short shorts. I pulled the usual “oh, haha, yep, nice weather, sure, okay, have a nice weekend” routine.
As soon as we hit the ground floor I took off running like a scared gazelle. I miss my old exposed brick wall 14 foot tall ceiling hard wood floor full length windowed office šŸ˜¦ .

March 20, 2007

More CSI: Miami Silliness

Filed under: CSI: Miami — missedmanners @ 4:16 pm

So user VictoriaE77 posted this in a comment below check it out apparently even the pie guys are in on the Caruso joke.

http://www.weebls-stuff.com/wab/CSI/

Brilliant I say. Thanks for the find, Victoria!

The Riches

Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 12:21 pm

Oh my goodness!

What an awesome new show!

the-riches.jpg

For cereal now. If you haven’t heard anything about this show, get on it, I implore you. Eddie Izzard, a comic who should be canonized as far as I’m concerned, plays the head of a family of “Travelers.” Travelers are basically American Gypsies. They travel around pulling small cons here and there and they have this cool little camp where they meet up sometimes out in the Mississippi forest.

Minnie Driver plays Seabiscuit. Ha, kidding. Nay, the equine British beauty plays his wife, Dahlia, who’s apparently just out of jail, recovering from a Heroin addiction and some sort of Gypsy royalty. They luck into a dead family’s life and move into their McMansion in Louisiana.

I won’t spoil the plot line, but the writing is amazing, the performances are amazing. I laughed I cried I sneezed and then when it was over I napped.

Watch this.

Now.

Yes, leave your office, go home and watch it.

March 19, 2007

Drama!

Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 3:21 pm

Ooh weee.

I won’t get into details, mainly because you people would have NO idea what I was talking about… but this ENTIRE weekend was fraught with dramarama. Saturday and into Sunday and finally today.

It’s so draining. I haven’t been able to get any work done, my palms are all sweaty (and not in the good way) and I’m just generally all worn out.

I’m officially planning a month off this summer to live inside a mountain or something.

EDIT:Ā  A good friend of mine just said that drama is like a disease, it drains you utterly, and then he said that I’d caught a case of Drama, should be set back two days. Then he went and found an emulator for Oregon Trail.

March 15, 2007

This May Come Across as a Little Racialist…

Filed under: Sanjaya — missedmanners @ 9:41 am

But I think that this dude:

sanjaya_malakar.jpg

Is going to win American Idol.

Recently some of my friends and I have started getting nice and drunk and watching Tivo’dĀ  American Idol.Ā  If you’ve got any sort of self respect you haven’t gotten as wrapped up in it as we have. We’re loud, obnoxious and opinionated.

So last night, we first watched the performance episode from Tuesday night. The WORST of all the performers was this guy pictured above, Sanjaya. It was a brutal butchering of the classic “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” A song that you may remember as the “everything’s cool now between the black and white football players” from Remember the Titans.

Obviously everyone was assuming this dude was going home to wherever he’s from. However, for the second week in a row, after being the absolute worst I’ve ever seen on this show, he made it through.

Okay. Here’s my theory. You know how you can call or text in votes?

Where in the world are there like billions of call centers?

Eh?

Wink?

Nudge?

Say more?

Fine. Wouldn’t it be awesome if like the entire population of the Indian subcontinent got all motivated and voted this guy through based solely on their world leading position as a telephone support out-sourcing solution? What a coup!

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