Just a Jew. Named Mitch. Writing about his feelings.

Archive for May, 2010

Train Drinking

Posted by JewMitch on May 18, 2010

This weekend, I got invited on a beach/drinking weekend in Westport, CT. Which was amazing for about hundred reasons, but the highlight may have occurred on the train ride there. Note: one of the main benefits of living in NYC is being able to take the train for weekend trips, where you’re allowed to bring as much alcohol as you can carry on board.

My friend Nick and I got to Grand Central about 5 minutes before the train left, and the people we were traveling with, who we hadn’t met before, were already on the train.

“How will we find them?”

“Easy,” Nick said. “Just look for people drinking.”

Sure enough, a group of 5 people had taken over one of the double seats (where the seats face each other) and were getting into a 12 pack and a handle of vodka. This was definitely our crew.

Now, if you were a commuter on the train, and you just wanted a quiet place to read the newspaper, you probably wouldn’t choose to sit with a group of twenty-something weekend alcoholics, who are already drinking?  Right? Well obviously this one woman is retarded, because she sat down in the one remaining seat between us.

We did the only thing that we could in such a situation; drink and be loud and tell inappropriate stories. All the while, this large, mannish, angry woman (let’s call her “Hogbeast”) looked on in disgust. I guess I could feel bad for her; she’s probably a very nice person who just wanted to relax on the train ride home. But as there were other seats on the train, she really brought this on herself.

She hated us for the whole trip (at one point she shouted, “I think everyone in Westport can hear you already!”), but there were two moments that made her look up at us in utter disgust. The first was when I retold the Cowboys and Indians and Stripclub story in full.

But the second moment was truly classic. It turned out that I had met one of the girls on the trip before – and she began telling me about when she had come to flipcup after kickball, and I had tried to pick her up, but had been drinking, and wound up falling down during the process, and dropped her onto a table, and she had bruised her leg.

I apologized to her and responded: “I really wish that was the first time someone has told me a story like that — of meeting me, me trying to pick them up drunk, and falling down in the process, and someone getting hurt, — but it’s not.” At this point Hogbeast just looked over like at us like she was about to write her Congressman about the state of youth in America. It was an amazing start to the weekend.


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Floaters and Friendship

Posted by JewMitch on May 14, 2010

During my first year of law school, I used to live in a high rise that was literally two blocks from the school, so my law school friends would constantly come over for study breaks, lunch, etc. On one of these occasions, a girl we didn’t know very well came over (let’s call her Sara), and asked to use my bathroom, and accidently left a few floaters in the toilet (for those of you who don’t know what floaters are, they are small pieces of poo floating on the top of the toilet that somehow did not get flushed on the first go around).

This is the sort of situation where if I was a different type of guy, I would have just quietly flushed the toilet, and not said anything. But of course, I chose to call her out in front of all of my law school friends, who were eating tuna sandwiches in the main room at the time.

Me: “Hey Sara, did you leave something in the bathroom?”

Her: “No, I don’t think so…”

Me: “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that you left some floaters in there.  Did you want me to save those for you or something?”

Her: (embarrassment, followed by flushing).

Of course, she became one of our best friends in law school, and after graduation, we wound up going to a lot of bar conventions and all sorts of other professional events together. We’d meet lawyers, judges, my boss, etc. They’d ask how we met and instead of just saying “law school,” I would just recount the time that she left floaters in my toilet. Reading this over, this behavior comes off as kind of cruel, but trust me, it was hysterical at the time.

And amazingly, despite this behavior (of because of it?), Sara and I ended up dating for a few months. Despite what Hollywood tells you; never date your best friends. Because everything you ever did to them comes back to bite you in the ass:

“Hey, can you close the door?”

“Hey, remember when you told your boss that I left floaters in your toilet? Close it yourself.”

It’s probably for the best that we broke up though, because there’s really no way I could have not told the floater story at the wedding. (I mean, you have to tell people how you met, right?)

And for the record, this is the same ex from the Baltimore Wedding Fun entry. We don’t really talk anymore.

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The Dead Poet

Posted by JewMitch on May 10, 2010

One of my favorite bars in NYC is the Dead Poet (located on 81st and Amsterdam), and this is mainly because they serve free popcorn all the time, and they have created a wonderful concoction named “The Dead Poet.” It’s similar to a long island iced tea, in the sense that it’s made with 7 different types of liquor, but it tastes more like grape soda and comes in its own glass that’s yours to keep (one friend’s glassware collection is made up almost entirely of these). The bar claims to limit patrons to only 2 Dead Poets per night; although all of my friends have all had at least one 3 Dead Poet night before, and every once in a while, someone manages to drink 4 before vomiting.

The drink is also only $10, and since two will get you pretty toasted, this is a bargain in NYC. Over the years, this quiet UWS bar has become so ingrained in our drinking lives that two of my friends have been named “Customer of Month” and whenever we’re in the neighborhood, it seems necessary to stop in for at least one Dead Poet, no matter what we’re doing afterwards or how much we’ve drank before. It’s also become common practice to always have a dead poet before going on a first date or going to the movies.

So when a friend of a friend wanted to meet on the Upper West Side on Sunday morning to discuss a project he was working on for grad school (funny enough – he wanted to talk about the modern Jewish community in America; I can’t escape this stuff), I suggested that instead of meeting for coffee, we meet at the Dead Poet to talk. Of course, I ordered a Dead Poet and a popcorn to enjoy while we discussed Jew stuff.

I answered his questions and basically tried to explain how I am an atheist and almost anti-Semitic, but simultaneously am completely defined/shaped by Judaism, and afterwards still had half a dead poet to drink. I had brought a paper with me, so I decided to sit there, finish my popcorn and Dead Poet and read the paper for a bit. It was maybe 11am. At this point, a girl I had recently met through kickball walks in, sees me casually enjoying a Dead Poet and some popcorn, with the Sunday New York Times. As if this is what I do every Sunday instead of going to Starbucks. She either thinks I’m: A) An alcoholic, B) Awesome, or C) Both. I didn’t bother to explain the situation, and just said hello and continued reading the paper. It was actually a really great way to start off a Sunday.

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