Midtown Manhattan

I have a friend who is a lawyer who lives in midtown, and sometimes I make the pilgrimage uptown to the land above 23rd street to see how the other half lives. I love my friend's apartment in spite of its address. She lives with her boyfriend, who shares my taste for JWblack, and they have cradles that allow you to swing the bottle into the pour position without lifting it up. Last night after we quickly exhausted the midtown bar scene, we went home and played scrabble. None of us were spelling words with more than three letters at that point, except for my friend Jen, but she's a lawyer so she doesn't count.

I don't understand the midtown bar scene. If I worked in midtown, or, Mother Theresa forbid, lived in midtown, I would pay the cab fare to socialize below 14th street. First, we went to a place called

Public House:

To be fair, I was the youngest person in this...place? Bar? Lounge? House. I felt like Public House should have been renamed Circus of Complete Losers House because that's what it was. The menu options were similar to TGIFridays or Red Lobster. I'm not a food snob, I'll eat at Fridays, but Public House was charging about double. The highlight of my dinner was when the clock struck nine and the lights suddenly lowered and hip hop started bumping. To quote one of the best movies of all time, As if. At that point people started walking around like they were all important and perhaps even famous. All the little Morgan Stanleys were like "YEAH I SCORED A BIG STOCK" and all the little interior designer/HRho's were like "YEAH I USED TO MODEL WHEN I WAS 7." We had to leave because I was so depressed.


and that's all I have to say about midtown.