"Cocktalians" ruin drinking

Today's New York Times' Dining section is devoted to cocktails. As expected, it's an uptight, upper crusty examination of something that should be fun and messy: getting drunk. But no, the "Cocktalians" in this article don't drink to excess. Instead they spend hours making their own ice, vermouth and syrups, then bring them to establishments that cater to this particular brand of party pooper. Then they sit around and talk about cocktails.

I like a good cocktail or ten, but come on. Must everything be so fucking artisanal these days? I always thought ice was, you know, frozen water. If you want to filter the water, fine, but I mean how much can you really improve upon it? It's fucking ice!

STFU, cocktalians!

A Brotherhood Formed with Cocktails and Ice

Time to rock

My band is playing tonight. I have all of this nervous energy, so I am nursing beers and nicotine lozenges. Downloaded Iggy Pop's "Sixteen" so I can finally try to learn the real words instead of drunkenly bullshitting my way through.

This is our first full club set and I think a lot of people are coming down. Fuck it, we are going to totally rock. Now I just have to kill an hour, get over to the the equipment rental place (on fucking 10th Ave. and 38th St.) and get down to the club.

Do we rock? Do we suck? What will the semi-disinterested fans of the other bands think? Do the other bands have fans? Whatevs, bitch. We are going to kill it.