The End

I've had a vision. A vision of destruction and mayhem. Of mass insanity and hysteria dissolving the fabric of our society. Language becomes meaningless, hoardes of people throw themselves at each other in unrestrained fits of carnal rage and desire. The id rules and drives the world to an imploding apocalypse out of which no man can claw. I have seen it. I have lived it. Happy Hour will be the end of us all.

It's not so much Happy Hour that's the problem, it's that it usually seems to become Happy Nine Hours. Two for one margaritas and a slice of pizza suddenly gets appended with a trip to three other bars, 10 beers, some free sample of a most repugnant unpalatableness, and something red a nice boy from L.A. buys for you. Suddenly it's 2:30 a.m. and you're walking down Christopher St. with a charming Jewish lawyer wondering "What the hell am I going to wear to work in the morning?"

Always the knowledge-seeker, I learned some important things last night:

1. Just because it's free doesn't mean you should take it, be it an alcoholic beverage or the AM New York.
2. Vodka is not kosher for Passover, but apparently the wandering Jews had gin and beer because those are okay.
3. Laundry will not do itself while you are at the bar. It's rather sad really.
4. Everyone in New York City is a Jewish lawyer. Everyone.

Oh, and I'd like to tell you about a most charming man I met early in the evening. Stuart went to the restroom and immediately I was accosted by this stranger. He was clearly attractive in his youth, but smoking and the tragic neglect to moisturize has stripped him of his frail beauty. Nice bone structure, unhealthy complexion. Cute shirt. Anyway, he came up to me and said, in the way of a greeting, "Wow, you look like a 10-year-old!"
"I.... what?"
"You're adorable, you look like you're 10."
I raised my eyebrows. "You like 10-year-olds?"
"No, well. I'm just saying you're cute."
"Ah. Indeed."

This was perhaps not the most gracious way to accept his compliment(?) but it's what came out. It was followed by a silence so awkward it made my neck stiff. Luckily, he was bold enough to continue the conversation. It was brief small talk, unimportant, and it fizzled quickly, at which point he said "God, I could just rape you right now."
"Excuse me!?!"
"Oh, I just said--"
"I heard what you said. And I look like I'm 10. Wow. That's really not the way -- don't touch me -- to win me over. Please leave."

He didn't get it, but Stuart came back. What the hell? Is everybody on this earth very very stupid? I'm pretty sure this man is not a pedophile sex offender, so why would he want to be perceived as such? Fine, so maybe he didn't make the connection. But "I could just rape you right now"? That's not a come-on, that's a threat! Whatever happened to a good "Are your legs tired?" or "Nice pants, but they'd look better on my bedroom floor"? Romance is truly dead.