Tag Archives: New York City

Crappy New Year, or Tip Your Bartenders Tonight

Tonight I’ll be partaking of a longstanding holiday tradition and working through New Year’s Eve. By choice.

Since gleefully reentering the food service world after years as a narcoleptic office rat in late 2010, I’ve made it a point, in the week leading up to Thanksgiving, to mention to my employer that if anyone is needed to bar-tend, serve, or stand around looking official on New Year’s Eve, I’m their girl. Because New Year’s Eve sucks. It is the worst holiday in the modern cannon. If I can’t peaceably hang out at home and watch The Twilight Zone, I’m gonna be making some money.

Part of this comes from too many years living in New York City, where my already crowded and overpriced town becomes, for one special night, four or five times more crowded and infinitely more expensive. Hordes from Connecticut, from the Island, from the far, far reaches of rural Jersey, from the midwest, from the deep south, from Philly and DMV, even Bostoners descend. As if every other place in the world had conspired to dump its worst people on us to fill the streets with shouting and vomit. Due to supply and demand, every nightlife establishment right down to your friendly neighborhood dive bar tacks a $20+ charge just to get through the door, and a mandatory prix-fixe of food you wouldn’t normally eat, just ’cause. It’s impossible to do anything, and impossible not to. Because it’s New Year’s Eve, and our culture and crappy, crappy movies have brainwashed us into thinking that if we don’t have fun in a crowded room full of awful strangers tonight, of all nights, what hope do we have for the rest of the year?  Continue reading


Quick! Post the Anti-Paddies’ Day Guide!

I wish I thought of this sooner, I could have gotten paid for it!  Or at least, paid in readership, as these things often are.Tardi-tardi-tar!  It’s Saint Paddies’ day in New York!  The largest confluence of voluntary ethnic stereotyping since Columbus Day! I.  Fecking. Hate this day. It’s just like New Year’s: suddenly, the world has converged on your home and is using it to throw a KEGGER.

I don’t know about y’all, but I can celebrate my genetic alcoholism any ol’ day of the week.  Sure, I’m “proud” of my 1/4 Irishness, but prefer to think of it as a deep personal pride I maintain by reading Beckett, listening to Primordial and never, ever talking about my feelings. So while I spend the celebration of one of Christianity’s few bloodless conversions doing that, here are some things you can do that won’t get you ambushed by pasty meatheads from Long Island on a break from humanity in the name of partial heritage.

Activity 1: Watch the dignified old Irish dudes in the parade. Wear rainbows, in solidarity. Go home early, make some colcannon and raise a glass or Murphy’s while watching Once. Or that movie with the adorable kids and Djaimon Honsu.  Screw all’a’y’all. I love that movie.

Activity 2: Go to work (if that’s your thing), and afterward treat yourself at one of these fine establishments likely to be ignored by the faux-Eire baffoonery.

Ethiopian Food followed by German Beer.
Currywurst followed by French Wine.
Australian hamburgers followed by Zyweic
Soul Food and Jazz
Bahn Mi and plum brandy.

This year, I personally have a party to go to.  A lovely couple, of German and French origin, are moving to Africa, and throwing themselves a farewell.  Tardi-tardi-tor to you all.