Happy Fourth

Believe it or not, there actually are ways to have fun on July 4th weekend that don't entail selling your soul to the Hamptons or trekking to the Jersey Shore.

Friday afternoon I finally met the lovely and talented Leslie for a few drinks at Zum Schneider and On the C. It was a blast to actually meet a fellow blogger, although the girl has a mean poker face - I couldn't tell if I was making a decent impression or if she thought I was an ass, and given my predilection for general tomfoolery, I think it's probably safe to go with the latter.

Friday night found us celebrating Scotty's last weekend in town for what could be up to six months (damn you, med school), as we stopped by Sahara East briefly and capped the night off at Cellar, which I am now close enough to urinate on from my window. That may or may not be a blatant lie, but you get the idea.

Saturday afternoon I laid out in Stuy Town's fantastic Oval (eat it, Great Lawn), trekked out to Coney Island for some much-needed Nathan's hot dogs, mini golf (I won despite shooting 15 over par) and go karts. We then returned to ST for some Home Run Derby, which also found me emerging victorious as I clubbed 11 dingers. Saturday night we mostly took it easy, given that we knew we had to rise early the next morning for Jones Beach.

Sunday was beautiful but windy, and as much as I love the beach and would be more than happy spending all of eternity residing in a dumpster on the sand, the wind made Jones not quite as much fun as it usually is. Additionally, not that Jones is well-known for being particularly attractive, but on Sunday it was filled with absolutely hideous people. There was maybe one cute female in all of field 6. Weak.

But at least the beach was redeemed by an awesome barbeque at Scotty's place, filled with steak and an elaborate plan to produce a Broadway play entitled "He's Peeing," based entirely on an inside joke involving Petey, his bladder, a mattress, rats smeared in cream cheese and a toilet bowl utterly confused about its lot in life. If that sounds weird as hell, just wait until we actually launch this beast.

Sunday evening found us setting up shop at Cheap Shots, as we partook in their Sunday night picture-drawing extravaganza in which the bartender selects his three favorite drunken works of art and awards the responsible parties varying amounts of free beer later in the week. We must've submitted well over 50 entries, and if we end up winning I will hopefully obtain a scan of said picture.

Monday I returned to the ST Oval for some more fun in the sun, watched a ridiculous Yankees-Orioles game, took a jog around Stuy Town, developed some film from a roll I finished six months ago and eventually headed over to Goldberg's place to catch the fireworks. Goldie lives about as close to the East River as you can get, and I had arguably the best view in Manhattan.

I haven't been that jazzed about the fireworks over the past few years, but I really enjoyed them this year (although it's fucking impossible to photograph fireworks - that picture above is like the only good one out of more than 50 I snapped). I guess that's what happens as you get older - seemingly trivial events like fireworks begin to take on new meaning. Either way, it was yet another terrific weekend, and I really wish there was some way to fucking bottle these up and save 'em, but writing about 'em will have to suffice for the time being.