So, if you could have any hors d'oeuvres, what would it be? I choose those marinated shrimps on a stick that you dip in sweet chilli sauce. At the Pink Elephant (again! this one was actually before the Dems' victory booty-jumpin' celebration) we got ourselves into a strategic sweet-spot on the stairs that narrowed the waiters into a funnel of moving food. The event was some sort of hedge fund soiree, so the fare was pretty good - no sausage rolls here! Actually I've just looked at a review of the club by an unhappy patron; I think it's worth repeating...
"One faithful night approximately two weeks ago, I went to meet some friends and was cometeply ignored at the door. I was head-to-toe Marc Jacobs and extremely friendly and a gentleman with an Austrialian accent completely ignored me, like I didn't exist. The head of the table had to come out and personally escort me in, which was extremely embarrassing for someone like myself. And what was even
more frustrating, is that I saw young women with low-quality standards being let in immediately. That night my friend spent $1,000 on his table so I feel as though, I should have been treated better. I probably wouldn't go back unless I myself purchased the table or I am walking in with those who have purchased the table. I cannot risk additional insult at the hands of that gentleman with the Australian accent."Damn Aussies, didn't even recognize a quality sheila.
By 9pm when the bar closed we were pretty stuffed full of shrimps etc - me, D and R, the two guys who actually had an affiliation with the event.
After we signed off on myriad important deals (like, I'll swap my teriyaki chicken for your prawn dumpling), on to Rocktober Fest at BB King's bar, which is a grand, huge place where you can imagine jazz legends crooning before an audience wearing tailored black clothes and smoking cigars. Not tonight though. Tonight was a skinny white guy howling out 70s and 80s pop, but with a full band backing him - brass and strings, the works. Not very impressive, and definitely not BB King cool, but then R informs me that the members are all hedge fund managers brought together from different firms across the city...and I forgave every one of them right there. It's about expectations, and for a bunch of disparate finance guys, they were pretty damn good.
The BEST bit by far was when random women started jumping on stage, then took off their tops to reveal matching white singlets underneath, and began the Britney moves, synchronised and all. D christianed them The Hedgettes. The event was raising money for something.... I have a t-shirt somewhere with logos tucked away in my pyjama drawer....
We were inspired + we were also a bit drunk = we went to kareoke in a tuk-tuk.
Yes ladies, this is the standard for tuk-tuk drivers in New York. I'll leave the bus drivers to your imaginations.
ANYWAY...kareoke. D started us off with 'Dancing with myself' and R did a very brave and interesting version of Prince's 'Kiss', falsetto and all. Phew.
I did Madonna, Killers and Guns in Roses. Madonna cos it's gonna be easy to sing. Killers because I love them. And Guns n Roses because that way the whole bar can join in...kareoke gives me a lot more respect for singers - they can't give up near the end when you just don't feel like singing anymore.
R fell asleep on the stair railing, and our spots were taken by some large women with professional attitudes who began singing Carpenters songs earnestly, so we decided to call it a night.
I'm trying to think of something philosophical, because when I left the kareoke club with my two friends and stumbled out onto the early morning streets, it felt like the end of a mini adventure. But the best I can think of is that NYC must be becoming more like home, because I also recall the feeling of being snuggled up in bed after the cab ride home in the rain, and being a very happy camper indeed.
2 comments:
i was just resting my eyes . . .
and exercising your snoring chords?
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