Marcela channeling Margeeka

copycats:

You Can Call me Al by Dan Mills, Adam Podd, and Mark Goodell
originally by Paul Simon
(via thedailywhat)

A little light on the Chevy Chase, but awesomely amazing nonetheless.

***Yes, I started this post almost a month ago***

New Year’s Eve 2009 in New York City - Day 2 (1/1/2010)

Started the day off with a late breakfast at Madison Restaurant. Both Laine and I opted for gyros instead of the traditional breakfast fare. Then it was off to Central Park for the main event: Chelsea and Ryan exchanging their vows.

We walked into the park a ways until the happy couple found a nice rock outcropping. Conveniently, there happened to be a tree nearby that someone had already decorated with a snow heart. It had melted a bit, so Bob helped Ryan give it a touch up and then Chelsea joined Ryan at the makeshift altar.

Both sets of vows were beautiful and thoughtful, but Ryan’s a bit of a writer, so of course his were just amazing. I semi-joked that he should try to get them published, but he made the good point that they were personal and just for Chelsea and their good friends.

After a brief photo session, we headed over to MoMa to see the Tim Burton exhibit. It was an exhaustive look at his work and it was beautifully-curated, with a mix of old favorites and stuff I’d never seen before.

Dinner was supposed to be at The Redhead so that Laine could have her lucky New Year’s food: black eyed peas. They were closed, so we went to Les Halles instead. Almost everyone ordered steak frites, but I had to have the mussels (also served with french fries). They were amazing and I let everyone dip their fries in my broth. Not a euphemism.

After dinner, we were Brooklyn-bound. All day long, Bob had been talking about Barcade in the same way that a kid talks about Disney. Sure, we were all excited, but Bob was beside himself. We got off the subway and walked to Barcade, which was closed. It’s been a month, so my memory’s fuzzy, but I think Bob may have thrown a full-on tantrum.

Our contingency plan was some rowdy, hipster-filled bar with a fire pit out back, which would’ve been nice if it hadn’t started raining almost immediately after we stepped outside to enjoy it.

We ended the night on two awesome notes: Larry Lawrence, officially the “chillest” place I’ve ever been and a 3a.m. trip to the best Halal cart in Manhattan. We were told that a single portion of the “combo (lamb & chicken) over rice” would be enough for Adam and me to share.

To this day, I have the urge to punch said adviser in the face. It was pretty late, so we took our spoils back to the apartment where Adam and I placed the flimsy foil container on my sister’s coffee table and proceeded to fight over it like a couple of feral, rabid dogs; our forks and tempers clashing every few minutes. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that for at least two weeks after, Adam and I would give each other wistful glances and whisper “halal…” in a reverent tone.

So that was “Day 2,” of our NYE in NYC trip. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d already started a draft, I probably wouldn’t have even bothered. My only motivation was the guilt I felt every time I saw that blasted “Drafts (1)” on my dashboard. This does not bode well for recaps for days three and four.