It started off with the Jets Kickoff at the South Street Seaport after work Friday. I'm not really a Jets fan (except for Mark Sanchez, who, for obvious reasons, I am a HUGE fan of), but I met up with some friends, and strangely, Good Charlotte was there (click on the image below (or just look at it and be impressed by the wannabe BAMFness) to see some of the show, thanks to Big Ant. Thanks buddy, for being hardcore enough to record Good Charlotte and post it to YouTube).
I was quite the little Good Charlotte fan back in the day. I actually found my Good Charlotte buttons and hat last weekend when I was in Ohio, and made the life-changing decision not to bring them back to NYC with me. Ah, well. Anyway, I was amused that the band finished with "Lifestyles of the Rich and the Famous," which was a big hit back in my crowd-surfing days. I also really enjoyed all the jaded Jets fans who just wanted Good Charlotte to shut the hell up.
After the Seaport it was to Little Italy for dinner, where our (not at all Italian) server explained in broken English about how the streets in Little Italy are shut down every weekend. I still don't think this is true, but we'll have to agree to disagree. While we were down there, I obvs had to run to Ten Ren to get a btea (read: bubble tea, to you n00bs) from what I am convinced is the best btea place in the U.S.
Post-dinner, we headed to Union Square for Trader Joe's Wine Shop. As my friends were leaving to head back to the Isle (good god I can't believe you got me to start saying that), we caught a show by that dude who makes a big spectacle out of jumping over people and panhandling in Union Square. He only actually jumps twice, but it takes a long effing time. And people actually stay to watch. This man has amazing entertainment power.
After the show, I ended up going three avenues out of my way (and then having to walk them back) on the walk to St. Mark's to meet up with some others. There was bar hopping (one of the bars was playing Star Wars on the wall!!!) and we ended up at the Sing Sing, of course. A couple rowdy ballads and a few spilled beers later, most of the group headed to bufu Queens, while my friend and I made our own cotton candy at a cutesy bai ren (translation: not for Asian people) type Japanese place. We each paid a dollar for enough sugar to make about 5 sticks of cotton candy. There's nothing not to love about spinning your own 3am post-karaoke cotton candy, while making ironic friends with scenesters.
My Saturday afternoon was an exploration of Riverbank Park. Turns out it's huge. Who knew? We walked probably 50 blocks down (and back later), but it's a really cool park; it has court space for every kind of sport you can think of, including ones on broomsticks. Juuust kidding, the Quidditch (yes, this team is actually called "The Group that Shall Not Be Named") players don't have a real playing area, and they are stuck playing in an untreed grassy patch.
They don't seem to mind, though. Because there are no official Quidditch pitch boundaries, the Snitch has more places to hide. For this practice, the Snitch was a girl running around with a gold cape, due to the lack of semi-conscious flying golden balls in reality. This is one of the many downfalls of playing a fictional magical game in real life, others being those pesky high designer broomstick prices and complete lack of non-Quidditch friends.
We ended up talking to the coach-type man for awhile (at least, I think he was a coach. He had a whistle and acted important, but with Quidditch players, you never really know). Two of my favorite questions we asked him:
Me: So, these designer broomsticks, are they functional, too?and
Quidditch coach guy: What do you mean?
Me: Like, to sweep things.
My friend: When you have formal matches, do the players wear robes?I'm still chuckling.
Tomorrow is my friend's birthday (the same friend from the cotton candy on Friday), so after the park I met her for shabu shabu at Quickly (probably my number two place for btea in Ctown). If you haven't had shabu shabu, that sucks. Your life is not as amazing as it could be.
You get your own pot of boiling broth, and a mammoth pile of your chosen raw meats/veggies/noodles to throw in it. There's a station for you to make your own crazy sauces (or you can do as I do and have your Asian friends make them for you). At Quickly, you also get a btea with your shabu shabu; I've heard of hot pot buffets where they actually have tapioca and various teas at the buffet, too (aka HEAVEN).
Stuffed with delic food, we went to celebrate her birthday at KTV. Obviously. Where else can you play Chinese drinking games, get completely obliterated, stuff your face, scream your heart out, shamelessly belt out some Taylor Swift, and totally destroy the room (with the approval -- and help -- of the establishment's owner)?
Two nights of karaoke in a row, you ask? My friends, do not doubt me. Put a microphone in my hand, and I am instant diva. I even had my full voice today. Is there such thing as a professional karaoke singer? I may be no William Hung, but I can hold my own.
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