What We Did This Weekend

We started with our hopes high, because this was the weekend that the fine Hollywood feature, Beerfest, was to be released. In case you haven’t heard of this little film, it’s about a beer contest; first they have to train (by drinking), then they have to compete in said contest (by drinking). Liz predicted that it would be the Half Baked of drinking.

We decided to maximize this experience by planning an illegal double-feature, and what better companion, we figured, than the OutKast vehicle Idlewild, which promised not only to be a lavish musical and period piece, but to prominently feature a rapping flask.

Alas, our fatal mistake was to schedule our evening so that we would see Beerfest second, to ensure that our spiked six-dollar sodas would have time to take effect. We figured that only a few, crappy movies ever make the third floor screens. But thanks to the dastardly administrators at the Regal Union Square Stadium 14 theater, who had their henchmen expertly placed at both the elevator and secret rear staircase, our plans did not come to fruition. It was as if they knew to separate the good movies bewtween floors to avoid sneaky kids like us from taking advantage of an illicit two-for-one, though they neglected to separate Beerfest from Snakes on a Plane, so who knows.

Long story short, we only got to see Idlewild. I’d like to tell you that we concocted a devilish scheme to distract those flashy vest-wearing minimum-wage dream-crushers while we rode past on the escalator behind a cardboard cutout advertising The Santa Clause 3 : The Escape Clause. Really, we just went home and watched Killer Bud. But we swear, we’ll see Beerfest as soon as we can scrape up eight hundred dollars to go to the movies again.

On Saturday, we’d hoped to go to the fabulous Governor’s Island to enjoy a day of fun and learning. But Tropical Storm Ernesto had other ideas. So instead we headed out for a rainy adventure in Williamsburg. Liz wore her stylish raincoat with little frogs printed on the inside. We pre-gamed with forties of Colt 45 at the home of that darling of the Billyburg Glitterati, model/documentarian Claudia Lopez, then headed to a stylish loft party.

Right away we noticed something odd about this party. Despite its fabulous loft space and irreverent, youthful “we won’t even bother to clean up these scraps of wood” vibe, the clientele was a bit, as the French say, underaged. This was comically made clear by our saga-like attempt to secure a beverage, which involved finding a guy with a red shirt to sell us cups, pushing through a surging, beer-jostling crowd to locate the keg, discovering the keg was tapped, etc., etc.. And just when we would settle in and attempt to listen to the adorable band whose name we didn’t catch, we’d have to start the process all over because the cups only held like six ounces of beer. Despite the circumstances, we managed to get sloppy drunk and offend many subway commuters on the stumble home.

Sunday was a wash (see “The Morning After, or, The Worst Hangover I Ever Had” by Liz), but luckily, Labor Day granted us an extra day to recover. Thank god for Labor.