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A friend of a friend of ours is training to run the marathon, and she has singular plans for the event: since her apartment overlooks the route, her friends will be partying up there in her stead, pausing only briefly to cheer for her from the terrace when she passes (which apparently you can track remotely--there is, indeed, an app for that).
This story comes to mind as I prepare to handle PubNight for the month of November despite having been absent for a couple of months and in detox/diet/exercise/overwork mode for most of that time. I've honestly got to hand it to that lady: arranging for other people to revel drunkenly as you're behaving like a responsible adult is, shall we say, not something that comes naturally to me. For an encore perhaps I'll do some volunteer work at a soup kitchen or take up reading to the blind. (I kid! I am cleaning up my act entirely so that I can afford more frivolous luxuries and be thin enough to have sex more often and with more attractive people. Whatever my habits of the moment, my absolute self-absorbtion will always be your North Star.)
I'm told I have to put a bar choice somewhere in here. So be it. Triona's is better known to many of us as "that Irish place where Googie's used to be." And that's pretty much all I got. The space is great, in any event, and we can squint a little and pretend we're ten years younger. While we're at it we can pretend we weren't just around the corner for Chris's birthday last week. Sue me; I've got three PNs in this go and I'm gonna make 'em count.
See you there!
-Mike Benedetto and Carrie Nation