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This week I'm taking you all, willingly or not, to a high-concept (mostly) gay bar in Hell's Kitchen.
Why? Because it's my birth-day, my buh-buh-buh, buh-buh-buh, birth-day. I will be twenty-eight on Thursday, at which point I will no longer be able to classify myself as in my mid-twenties under any scheme known to man or Dick Clark. (Yet, again, I will still be just slightly younger than Dan, and that's something.) Under the circumstances I think a little professional help is called for: hence, Therapy. It's pretty, it's silly, it's got great food and better drinks, and it's probably going to be a weird-ass but highly entertaining PubNight. If you get there before my hour's up, you may see me have a breakthrough and burst into tears over some guy. Probably John Edwards.
To the heterosexual PubNight majority: the same rules regarding gay bars apply as at Hell, except given the local demographics, you are probably more likely to end up in a compromising position with Jon Breedlove than Barry Drabin-Gray. I've seen the way he looks at me. Oh yeah. He wants it.
From the ombudsman: it came to my attention about five minutes after sending last week's missive that I referred to PNer Marna Bunger as Marna BAUMer. How frightfully embarrassing. I knew a MarnIE Baumer once, and as the difference amounts to one consonant and two vowels, it whooshed right out of my fingertips. Forgive me, Marna -- I'm getting old, and my memory is not what it used to be.
See you there!
-Mike, Kris, Jay, Petro and TK