The Toast(ed) of New York

I was a little insulted when my friend Caroline (for whose blog I'd make a hyperlink except she abandoned it five months ago) sent me a link to this article that ran in the New York Times regarding New Yorkers being total boozehounds in the summer. My immediate response was, "well, as for me, I liquor it up pretty much all 13 months out of the year." And then it was, "how dare you imply that I'm an alocoholic." Caroline noted that she was only concerned that I was drinking just as much as the rest of 'em.

Yet it all rings true... the article notes how, in the summer, NYC heavily resembles a carefree college campus: girls walk around without bras, casual flings seem to be so in vogue, there is never an inch of available grass on which to sit or play in the parks, weekends are typically three days long, and the alcohol flows in bachae-ic abundance. BYOB events are EVERYWHERE, particularly (and funnily enough) in open, public spaces where liquor isn't really allowed. When I think about my own alcoholic track record for this past season, I consider the fact that each week I have been drunk about three nights out of the seven, and have imbibed at least some sort of alcoholic unit on SIX of those nights. Isn't that, like, excessive? Shouldn't my liver be turning in a resignation notice? I just recently "won" my first open bar party of the season (thank you Porky's for adopting Snitch's tired but gracious old tradition), which I'm having serious misgivings about. Mainly because these past few weeks I have also been spending a collective 3 days a week in my own apartment. By that I mean spending 4 nights a week OUTSIDE of it. Seriously kids, I have a duffel bag in my office. This past Monday I went to see the Philharmonic and fireworks in Central Park, and after I polished off (more than) a whole bottle of wine, I actually let my friend drunk dial my parents. I've never had so many hangovers in one month.

.... and now this post is no longer about New Yorkers' seasonal alcohol consumption and more about my growing addiction. Aces, Katelyn, you keep livin the dream.

PS: Regardless of my shameless indulgence, I will never be as big of a tool as this douche who monopolizes the middle of the lawn and runs a friggin daquiri stand for his friends at the Bryant Park film festival:

Arthur Golden served up his signature frozen strawberry daiquiris in the center of the lawn, where 20-odd blankets were spread out for his friends.

“I always bring 12 bags of frozen mix, because that’s the capacity of my freezer,” said Mr. Golden, who is 41 and works in real estate development.

There was an array of rums to choose from, too: light, dark and coconut. Mr. Golden mixed the daiquiris using a potato masher, churning the strawberry slush with rum in a plastic container, and offered the end product to all takers.

Mr. Golden and his friends have been going to movie nights in Bryant Park since he was in his late 20s and have the sequencing of the night’s cocktails down to a science.

“Elisha brings sangria, Ian brings margaritas and David brings prosecco,” he said.

...? Whatever dude. Just get hammered on your fruity drinks and watch another episode of Frasier.