Today's Proof post is observations of three different "parties" that some guy went to, and is about as engaging as the discarded notebook of a Detroit food critic. Here is the write-up, in full, of one of these crazy New York nights out:
We’d just attended the New York City premier of our pal’s movie, “The Alphabet Killer” in lower Manhattan and hopped my girlfriend’s car to meet at a Mexican restaurant near my old Soho digs for grub and nostalgia. A perfect gang of geeks and nerds cum zeitgeist progenitors of N.Y.C. pop culture: two cartoonists, a novelist, a film editor/photographer, a screenwriter/director, a researcher for “Late Night With Conan O’Brien,” a human resources director, an advertising executive,\ [sic] and a health clerk, congregated to wax poetic on post-apocalyptic ’80s movies. We toasted over a group love for “Night Train to Terror,” a truly awful, obscure horror film that only true blue, card-carrying film psychotronics adore.
The margarita was weak but the company was strong.
Well...aren't you all just fantastic. Like we wrote yesterday, it is completely unclear why this was published by the Times' website. Luckily for us, everyone in the comments section was equally unimpressed. What follows are just a few of the many unedited critiques:
-As a pro-bowl NYC drinker myself, this is a rather dull night out. ‘Zeitgeist Progenitors’? Methinks an amateur in the house.
-I have to agree with George, above. And let’s face it, you’re not really drinking if your out with your your “girl.” You’re just socializing.
-Really, why is this online? You weren’t even smoking; boring.
-Even here in Dhaka, Bangladesh, among the mudflats and stinking alleys, we do better that that. You can start before noon at the Raj era club with gin and tonics, to drive over to a lakeside house to guzzle Singapore beers, and end up late into the night and next morning on a rooftop party with whiskeys and vodka…
-Snore.
Back in my day, we would bar hop and intoxicate ourselves with anything at hand until we saw God.
Thankfully he would disappear in the morning.
That last one is especially awesome. We want to read about that guy's night out on the town. Dude sounds like he's got (or had) something interesting going on, unlike, remarkably, people who write for the NY Times.
We should probably just ignore Proof from now on, but it's so hard because it could be really fun/insightful/romantic/silly or any number of other adjectives that go hand in hand with booze, but so far, not so much. May we suggest for next time a stronger margarita?
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