Books, Bars and Nonsense

I do this anyway, you might as well read about it.

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High School Sucks

So I’m watching Easy A, which is a truly fabulous movie, and I’m thinking how glad I am to not be in high school anymore, which I’m sure pretty everyone sympathizes with. 

HOWEVER,

I suddenly realized that this is a totally FALSE sense of security. Lies, lies lies!

Because seriously, I’m just laying in bed checking Facebook, wearing a scarf that I’ve been wearing almost nonstop for 2 days, 

becaaaause,

one of my best friends who I unfortunately happen to love gave it to me the other night,

but…

[insert Taylor Swift song here]

he’s forcing himself to be with this other girl thats all wrong for him but of course we still hang out and have the best time and when she texts him too much I just throw his phone in a pizza box.

Also,

My parents still give me money so I can live, I’m unhappy with my body, and sometimes I sneak out of the house that I live in with a mother (not mine, my friend Mike’s) and get unhealthy yummy things from Sonic, which is very reminiscent of my teenage years.

So you see, the shittiness of high school doesn’t actually end. I mean, maybe it DOES actually prepare you for the real world…I feel like this is ground breaking, has anyone else had this bizarre and terrible epiphany?

Yeah, the only thing that changes is that college is cool cause its chill and you can study whatevers fun or practical, and also you have to get jobs with varying degrees of awfulness and support yourself.

The real moral of this story is that sleeping with a scarf on is actually fairly cozy. 

And now you know.

Here’s a picture of me being an idiot in high school. Because I guess Tumblr doesn’t work without pictures? 

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This is me when I write like I’m fancy…

I just sat down a couple months ago to see if I could still write properly, you know, instead of like a sarcastic asshole. I guess I can…?


If Summer was a deceptively seductive woman, infuriating us with treacherous days and luring us back to her with soft, lazy nights, then Autumn is girl with a mischievous fire in her eyes, grabbing us by the hand as she runs ahead into a cool, enthralling forrest of amber and ruby. But as we keep running, her hand pulls away, and she stretches farther and farther ahead, until at last she is just a dark shape disappearing among the trees…

As we are drawn deeper and deeper into the dark woods of winter, the northern sky grows more and more melancholy, the darkness closing tighter and tighter around us each new night. As I lie here, I can see the soft, pale purple light slowly giving way to dark blues and blacks through the odd gap in the blinds. 
Such a long night should be filled with the promise of potential, of the mere chance of adventure, of even the slightest flutter of something new and shining.
But I have been fooled often enough by nights like this- they strike a small match of hope somewhere in my chest and yes, sometimes the unexpected events fuel the small flame and I can feel myself outwardly glowing with the victory of something new and exciting…but these nights more frequently see me fade into sleep as a small pile of burnt scraps, too desperate to become something they could never be, drowned by a liquid fuel that comes in increasingly larger waves.
Thus, while my outside remains soft and moderately polished, my insides are eroding alarmingly quickly. Night after night they are bombarded by vengeful, corrosive tidal waves and too many fires, dying and turning to sticky, relentless ash just as quickly as they had flared into burning, passionate flames. 
Yes, for all the good that could truly come of steeling myself with a false-optimism and striding out into this chilly unknown, I might as well sit on my bed, eyes closed in determination, hand outstretched, waiting for something new to take it tightly in its own and lead me into a realm of new possibilities. However much like the fiery girl, Autumn, I would still expect it to eventually grow weary of traveling with me and fade away into its own newness, leaving me once again alone, in cold darkness, unwilling to lift my battered soul away from my bed near the window and out into the real world of limited possibilities. 

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The (super late) “Beautiful and Damned” Round 2 at Coopers NYC

Alright, its been a while. 
It didn’t actually take me this long to drink more and finish this book, it just took me a long time to sit down and write about it, but I promise it won’t take very long to read:
So as previously stated, 3/4 of the way through The Beautiful and Damned gets well depressing, typical, I hear, of all Fitz works. Its a little infuriating, but he goes through the trouble of making you care about Anthony and Gloria, see their character, forgive them their faults, but then he amplifies their faults, particularly Anthony’s, and you start to get pissed off. 
The “happy” ending is the most infuriating part and is very ironic— its like he’s revealing the moral of the story, but by revealing the fake moral of the story. 
So the moral of THIS story is that its a damn good book. 
“But I thought you just said it pissed you off…?” 
Yes, but thats the most basic way that you can tell its a damn good book: it triggers all sorts of passionate, emotional responses. 
Thats what makes writing art. 
Now for yummy things:
So I’d love to say that I did in fact finish reading at Coopers Craft & Kitchen (http://coopersnyc.com/?page_id=2), but I ended up talking and hanging out with my friend instead and I finished it the next day. But you’re going to deal with me talking about them anyway. 
Located in the center of the universe, and the setting for The Beautiful and Damned (see, it IS relevant!), Coopers is in New York City’s East Village. Its got a nice vibe, awesome local beers and get this: the bathroom sinks are in the hallway outside of the bathrooms. I thought that was pretty random and cool, albeit momentarily confusing when I exited the toilet stall. 
The other mind blowing thing I found there was the closest thing to Pimms and lemonade this side of the pond. Pimms and lemonade is a traditional British summer beverage consisting of Pimms, lemonade, and a variety of…stuff. Wikipedia to the rescue: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pimm’s . Anyways, I noticed that Coopers had a very similar signature cocktail called the Tom Thumb’s Pimms Cup. Once again, probably the only thing I could have found on a drink menu to keep me from ordering beer somehow turned up.
I still got a few beers though, and instead of trying several different ones I got stuck on the Brooklyner Weisse. 
Holy. Delicious. Weisse beer. Batman.
Insanely light and smooth going down, and then comes in with this zingy, tangy after taste that could honestly be described as a flavor explosion on your tongue. Sooooo good. Not quite like a traditional Bavarian weisse, but zero fucks were given by me. Seriously guys, get after that. 
They had several interesting items on the food menu, but we just split an appetizer of their fries, which I got with a side of tartar sauce, and they were rad. I would definitely go back here, and I will definitely have that Brooklyner Weisse again. 
Alright, THE END, told ya it’d be a quick one.
Cheers <3

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First One! The Beautiful and Damned @ Sap Suckers

Hello all: I came to the realization the other day that a big bulk of my Instagram photos are me showing the world that I am yet again reading a book at a bar in the afternoon.  I decided to turn this questionable habit into something productive and meaningful, so here goes!
I am very pleased that the first book you have to hear me ramble on about is by the incomparable Mr. F. Scott Fitzgerald., and fortunately its not The Great Gatsby. Don’t be fooled- I could go on for HOURS about Gatsby, but its the most common read as far as Fitz is concerned, and about a week ago I decided I needed to branch out. 
The Beautiful and Damned has actually been sort of an ongoing, time-killing-in-Barnes & Nobles-before-a-movie device for me for a couple years now, but I finally made myself purchase it and get past page 41. Its similar to all other Fitzgerald works in the sense that it takes place in or around New York in the 1920’s and is fucking brilliant. What I mean to say is that not only does he demonstrate remarkable insight into human nature on the subjects of aging, sadness and love, but he does it with the most beautifully crafted imagery and emotion. 
This story in particular follows the relationship of Anthony Patch and Gloria Gilbert, and you can really feel the mood of the book change as their lives do. It begins innocently and happily, with the excitement of being a twenty-something in the year 20 something, living off wealthy relatives, New York City for a playground, and falling in love for the first time. It follows very accurately the first year of their marriage, when they are still young, with no need or desire to provide for themselves, and slowly realizing the infuriating and endearing habits in each other. The tone of things slowly gets more serious as time goes on- they’re still holding on to their shiny lifestyle, but starting to worry about money, jealousy, and Gloria in particular starts to feel trapped within the life she’s created with Anthony. 
The real talent in the writing of this book is that Fitzgerald makes you feel the whole range of emotions that comes in a life- the excited delusion of love, the hilarity of your friend’s sarcastic quips, the unbearable feeling of being trapped in a life you suddenly don’t want, and the hopelessness the comes from realizing you can’t actually support yourself and might be slowly losing everything you love in your world.
Seriously, if you periodically stop and think either “HOLY SHIT THESE WORDS?! HOW DOES HE DO IT?!?” or “…fuck…this is very real and very depressing and I don’t know if I believe in love or true happiness right now…” then you’re doing it right.
I reached a particularly depressing part a couple days ago, and as such haven’t finished the book yet, so now we can switch gears.
Let me tell you something about the glory that is Sap Suckers in Huntington: its glorious.
http://sapsuckersli.com/?ni 
Their big thing is a constantly changing array of craft beers, local or not, and delicious food. Really, the food is amazing, and it always takes me forever to order something because I’m torn between getting something I’ve had before or trying something new. I decided today was a branching out day and I got the “veggie burger,” properly named Woody’s Vegetable Burger, but its nothing like a burger patty. The bulk of it is sautéed spinach, mushrooms, pepper and onions, topped with a thick slice of tomato, and all of it topped with yummy, melty fontina cheese. If that wasn’t perfect enough, there’s a little bit of that phenomenal humus spread on the giant, buttery bun. Obviously if you don’t like vegetables this isn’t for you, but if you’re into them at all, this is the way to eat them. 
Now for the beverage- normally I’m a beer person, especially at Sap Suckers because they always have interesting and fantastic beers. HOWEVER, by some weird miracle I noticed that their house pinot noir was in fact my favorite pinot noir to date. Its Underwood Cellars, from Oregon, and thats the only place I’ve ever had it. I even tried to find it in Georgia (which is where I’m actually from) but to no avail. So this was pretty much the only possible circumstance that would have made me order something other than beer Sap Suckers, and it happened, so I had to. 
Soooo…I’ll end on this, possibly my favorite quote from this book so far:
This is Gloria explaining to Anthony why you can’t really preserve old places or relics:
“Beautiful things grow to a certain height and then they fail and fade off, breathing out memories as they decay. And just as any period decays in our minds, the things of that period should decay too, and in that way they’re preserved for a while in the few hearts that react to them, like mine…trying to preserve a century by keeping its relics up to date is like keeping a dying man alive by stimulants” (Fitzgerald 1922, 166-167)
She was saying this in reaction to the fact that General Lee’s house was turned into a museum, and it infuriated her that it was filled with children littering it with peanut shells and everything was set up as a display, meant to look how it did, but obviously it could never have the same feeling and she saw no point in pretending that it did. 
Any thoughts on this? I think its interesting, but I’m not sure if I totally agree. Should I try to foster literary discussion? Should I not give a fuck? How about both.