I like bars that charge a $10 cover and then have an open bar, top shelf, all night long. They rule.
Also another thing that rules: The Stepford Wives. Go see it right fucking now. I am not even kidding.
The final component in my triptych of things that rule: Shabu-Shabu. Go there. 10th St between 1st and 2nd Ave, south side of the street. Meat, vegetables, boiling water, simplest food you can imagine, but one ends up with this broth that is the best-tasting liquid that has ever crossed my lips.
Also, I forgot a word. It is a word that means when you see someone, and they are doing something intensely embarrassing, and then you feel embarrassed for them. Like the way you felt when you watched that kid doing his Star Wars lightsaber routine with a broomstick. Or possibly the way you might feel while you watch this. The word is not schadenfreude, or empathy, or something like that. I know there is a special word for it. Unless, of course, I dreamt it, which I feel is unlikely. Please, for the love of all that is good and right in the world, please tell me what this word is.
Speaking of dreams, I had another dream regarding an oven last night. Except this time I was not beating a villain's head against one. I was scrubbing an oven with a soapy sponge, and then turning the flames on high to burn the excess foam away. Any theories on my current subconscious fixation with ovens? Because I have no idea.