Halloween parade just hours ago. Damn, it seems like all of New York turns out for this thing. With the crowd so large, we could hardly move. When we did, each hard-earned step incurred the wrath of an irrate she-devil or intoxicated spiderman. Good times.

We decided to decorate our bare wall with little kid-style pictures of pumpkins. To our surprise, a few people at the party decided to join in, creating a mural of sorts in our kitchen. 

More party madness.  

Party in full swing. Our apartment was so packed that people spilled into the hallway to escape the congestion. 

Decorations for our Halloween party last night. This is the hallway just outside our door. Since we are at the end of the hall, we were able to extend our reach a bit. 

Divine sandwich

If there is a God made of pastrami, He is served up daily at Katz Delicatessan. That's all.

"Do you act?"

Last night, a bunch of us law students went bowling to celebrate two separate birthdays. If you are anything like me, bowling normally induces painful, interminable boredom and you avoid it at all costs. But not this night. Because, rather than head to the standard neighborhood bowling alley, the birthday duo chose to host their party at the most famous bowling alley in New York City: Bowlmor.

To call this place a bowling alley in the first place is to do it a tremendous disservice. It is much more accurate to describe it thusly: Bowlmor is a snazzy multi-story club that serves expensive drinks (two shots for $21) and, incidentally, has a collection of bowling shoes, bowling balls, pins, and lanes. To my eyes, the bowling component of the whole experience seemed largely ancillary. Most people, including me, just drink and watch the bowling rather than actually participate. Ethan Hawke was there but I'm not sure which one of the two he chose.

After bowling, a majority of the people attending the celebration grabbed cabs to go to a club called Blvd in the Bowery. At this point, the b-day girl was wasted, so Brian and I stayed around for a bit to make sure that she was okay. Lucky for us, she had some friends from out-of-town that were ready and willing to take care of her. Freed from responsibility, we turned to the less difficult task of getting a cab.

While trying to hail a cab, we noticed two guys on the corner from Bowlmor and we asked if they were going to the club as well. They answered in the affirmative, so we all jumped in a cab together. On the way, we discusssed San Francisco because the taller guy was going to be there for a job on NYE. This is when my mind should have put two and two together but it didn't, and I continued to talk with them unaware that we were in a cab with Stretch Armstrong, a famous DJ in NYC who somehow knows the b-day girl.

This fact did eventually come to light when we were trying to gain entry to the club. Stretch simply walked up the bouncers, gave a high five or two, and the velvet rope moved aside instantly, allowing us to circumvent the huge line of people waiting outside. I find it always helps to befriend semi-famous people in these sort of circumstances. Unlike the rest of our posse who had already arrived, we even ended up with two stamps, which may or may not allowed us access to the VIP part of the club. Unfortunately, we will never know because we didn't try it out.

The club was packed to the brim with partying people, but the night turned out to be somewhat uneventful. Nevertheless, one interesting occurrence happened near the night's conclusion. As I was waiting in line to pick up my jacket from the coat check, I noticed two girls staring at me. When I looked over, one of them shook her head negatively, and they both turned away. With a good amount of alcohol in my system, I was more curious than usual so I asked them what they were talking about. In response to my interruption, one of the girls then said, "Do you act?"

Of course, faced with such a preposterous question, I had to make a dumb joke, so I said something like the following: "No, I would but I can't read lines."

(Noticeable lack of even the slightest bit of laughter)

"Oh, because you should. You look like someone famous. Do people tell you that?"

"Sometimes."

Here, as usual, I refuse to give them any ideas, and so they fish around, pulling out random names. One of them, however, did say manage to come up with the perennial favorite.

"You look exactly like Ed Norton."

Why does that happen so often? It is so far from true that it hurts. I guess if people can think that an uber-white guy is half-japanese, half-white (got that once last night), then I shouldn't be surprised that they mistake me for an actor whom I look nothing like.

Law School is time consuming.

Here's what I've done lately that is of interest (to no one but me):

- Had steak frites at Les Halles, the restaurant made famous by it's head chef, Anthony Bourdain, author of Kitchen Confidential and Food Channel host of "A Cook's Tour." For $15, the price is oh so right.

- Ate extraordinary ham sandwiches at Mario Batali's (also on Food Channel) Bar Jamon, which translates, not surprisingly, to 'Ham Bar'. Word to the wise: Thinly sliced ham, fresh bread and manchego cheese makes for good eats when accompanied by red wine from Spain. Also, it may seem bizarre, but cold poached egg with grilled artichoke and garlic-laden tomato paste is also a treat.

- Watched a video-taped interview that a classmate and I conducted for my lawyering class. Few things are more embarrassing than seeing yourself fidget and move about in discomfort for 38 minutes. Lucky for me and my frail ego, we are going to do it again later!!

- Saw Team America with Nathan Lane. Well, I wasn't exactly "with" him, but Chris and I were in the same theater. This I only know because his hearty guffaw was deafening to all those around him, which, in this context, included me even though I was at the other end of the theater. His laugh is LOUD.

Side note: Did you know that everyone's favorite radio host, Phil Hendrie, was the voice of the intelligence-gathering computer in Team America? Actually, unless you drive a truck cross-country and have XM radio, I bet you don't know who he is in the first place. Check out his radio show's website at www.philhendrieshow.com. He does funny voices that will make you laugh like Nathan Lane.

Line out the door for Gray's Papaya at approximately 3 o'clock AM. You can't argue with $2.75 for two hot dogs and a drink. Well, that is until the next morning when nausea sets in. 

Peter and my friend Brian at the Bowery Bar & Grill aka the B Bar. The oranges are as much a mystery to me as they are to everyone else. Note to self: stop pulling the labels off of beer bottles. 

Our expansive kitchen. Note our ingenius solution to the lack of counter space, i.e., the placement of the dish drying rack. The pictures on the fridge were not - I repeat, NOT - my idea. 

Hopped on the L...

And by some miracle of modern engineering ended up in Brooklyn. Quite an accomplishment for someone who hasn't gone any farther north than 20th St. In fact, this was just my second time on the subway since I have been here. It was also the first time I have left the security blanket that is Manhattan.

So, why would I put myself at the risk of whatever criminal activity goes down in Brooklyn? To see RJD2 and Diplo, of course. Both of these guys are DJs - RJD2's style is most similar to that of the instrumental king, DJ Shadow, and Diplo is a party DJ who is co-pilot of the group Hollertronix. Come to think of it, I'm not so sure that description helps at all. Suffice it say both are talented musicians, even if their primary instrument is a turntable rather than a guitar.

RJD2 and I go way back. In fact, I suffer from the I-found-him-first superiority that afflicts so many hip hop listeners. You know, the syndrome that causes otherwise sane fans to falsely believe that they have some ownership over an artist and to be wary of any album put out by said artist if it garners them mass recognition and/or critical acclaim. My affinity for Diplo, who I just recently discovered on the 'net, is in part based on the fact that his name is a shortened version of Diplodocus, a 90-foot long, late jurassic saurapod (for those who weren't dorks when they were kids: that's a big ass dinosaur). To prove his dedication to archaeology and terrible lizards, he even has a tattoo of one on his forearm. Now that's hardcore.

Diplo impressed the audience by mixing songs that wouldn't normally be caught dead associating with one another. Try Dead Prez's "Hell Yeah" with the Postal Service's "The District Sleeps Tonight." Even if I wanted to, I couldn't even begin to dissect his performance to determine all the songs that played but I recall samplings from the Pixies, Outkast, Little Flip, the Cure, Weezer, Fat Joe, Radiohead, and a bunch of down south "crunk" songs.

RJD2, on the other hand, stuck to his own stuff, faithfully reproducing hits from Deadringer, Since We Last Spoke, Soul Positions albums, and even The Horror. Like DJ Shadow, RJ builds songs from samples culled from obscure records, typically of the soul and funk variety. This particular mix of his songs and many others, which lasted almost an hour and a half, was superb and vfull of energy. So much so, in fact, that he had to take a break in the middle to play "give out free shit," a game in which he donated various pieces of fruit to the audience for correctly guessing a mystery song. Spurred by the audience, he even treated us to an encore, although not of the variety that one would expect at a hip hop show. Rather than jump back on the four turntables and sampler, he picked up a guitar and sang the song about the telephone off his new album , which some reviews have called a "jingle." Despite the song's similarities to an AT&T ad, it turned out to be the perfect end to a great show.

Here are two shitty camera-phone pictures from the show:





Afterwards, we ducked into Sea Thai Bistro, the restaurant used in the beginning of Garden State. There isn't much more I can say about this place than "WOW!" Only pictures, not mere words, would do it justice. Maybe I should have brought that camera I always complain about not using. Damn...

It's worthless if I don't use it

I need to take more pictures.

Before moving out of my apartment, I bought this nifty digital camera, small enough to fit in my pocket but, unlike my camera phone, capable of taking pictures of more than 120 pixels. Since I got it, I've taken quite a few pictures - some in Vegas, some in San Francisco, on fishing trips, and of random debauchery in Menlo and Palo Alto - but since being in New York, I've hardly even removed it from the drawer where it resides. Those three pictures that I posted represent my entire catalog of NY photos.

Any requests?

Dave's wins again

Today for lunch, me and a few guys ate at the legendary West Village restaurant, Corner Bistro. If you aren't familiar with the place, it's a neighborhood bar that serves burgers considered by many, including a large number of food critics, as among the best in the city. Here's a link to a typical review: http://gonyc.about.com/cs/restaurants/gr/rr_cornerbistro.htm.

This was my second Corner Bistro visit since I have been here. My first meal was tarnished by the unthinkable: my burger was cooked all the way to well done and beyond. Accordingly, it was, for the most part, tasteless. Because of that debacle, I abstained from passing final judgment. Maybe it was a one-time mistake and the chef would be fired as soon as I left. I couldn't be sure. The only thing I was certain of was that countless people had insisted that the burgers there were amazingly good. As lame as this sounds, I didn't want to be the one guy who doesn't like a restaurant that everyone else believes in their heart of hearts is divine. And, yes, if you are wondering, I would jump off a bridge if it was trendy.

This time, I made sure to specify that I desired a medium rare burger (in retrospect, I should have gone all out and demanded rare) so I could make a more accurate evaluation of its goodness. Thankfully, the request was passed along until it reached the chef, and I received exactly what I asked for.

While I am willing to admit the famous 'bistro burger' was good and is, for New York, an excellent value, I must say that I would be disappointed if it represents the best this city has to offer, as countless Citysearch members purport in their reviews. If not for the stack of bacon atop my burger, I might even be tempted to to go so far as say it was just above average, which would make the situation even more troubling. Dave's Giant Hamburgers in Fairfield serves up much better burgers and that place, like I said, is in FAIRFIELD. How can a burger shack in Fairfield, run by a ex-convict be superior to one of the best burger joints in NYC? Well, there is that thing about how he laces the cheese and mayo with crack. Still, that's just a rumor.

Hate to say it, but I must be wrong; my usually dependable tastebuds must be missing something. The review I posted above awarded the place 4 and half stars out of 5. If I'm not mistaken, that is a great score. Now, I don't know what training this woman has that gives her the authority to hand out ratings to restaurants, but she writes for a commercial website and, presumably, is paid to do it, so she must know something. Right?