Have you ever heard of that dive bar in the East Village that lets you drink all that you can stomach if it’s your birthday? Well that’s where I began yesterday. Sitting on a wooden stool, leaning over a sticky wooden bar, dressed in a blue and white cordlane suit like I’m attending Dubai’s World Cup, I stare into my 6th Stoli on the rocks as the Sledge Sisters insist that these are the good times. A one armed man with a long white beard is to my left, wishing me a happy birthday as he spills his beer. There’s a college basketball three point contest on the flatscreen, an air hockey puck is being slammed back and forth, darts are hitting the wall. Seems like everyone is missing their marks tonight.
There goes my phone again, buzzing away. So far I’ve missed 19 calls, mostly from family or friends wanting to wish me a happy birthday. I disappear sometimes and today just happens to be one of those times. As much as I want to remain a matter of question to anyone I can, it’s Scallywag’s publicist Sabrina Chapman calling, and it’s time to go to 1Oak for a Genart film festival party. It’s funny how none of the people in Cheap Shots would ever get into 1Oak, and how none of the people in 1Oak would ever bother with Cheap Shots. Well, no one but me. Goodwill ambassador that I am, bridger of gaps, from alleys to boulevards, I can barely see straight, but I can still walk, and well, that’s a good start.