After living in New York City for the past six-years, I still have trouble monitoring my money. There are weekends (like last weekend) where I blow through two weeks worth of money forcing me to come up with creative ways to find money (like this week). It's impossible to complain about the cost of living because the bottom line is I know the score. This is one of the most expensive cities in the world to call home. Another problem is the fact that a lot of kids already have money. They don't have to worry about making loan payments or rent. They have something to lean on. Thankfully, mom let's me lean on her every so often, but it's not for big purchases. Just last night she helped me pay for a stack of porn to send Trevor who can't seem to find any titty magazines in Iraq. Anyway, the point of this story is that sometimes I feel like the man in Pulp's "Common People." Though I'm a bit more fortunate then the character painted by Cocker's lyrical strokes, I can relate to him on many levels.

But like The Beatles; I get by with a little help from my friends.

So last night began with me putting together the aforementioned mailing for Trevor. It was funny walking into my regular magazine shop to get advice on raunchy porn and hip hop publications from Al. Then I took the gear over to my mailbox joint, and the old lady opened the bag despite my warning. When she pulled out the magazines a Club was on top with two (plastic) beauties ready for action. She said if he's overseas, he deserves it. Pretty funny commentary since it came from a lady who is definitely in her mid-to-late 60's. Once I was back home, a series of welcomed interruptions prevented me from getting the necessary work done. Katie stopped by for a quick hang before she had to hit work. Then Kyle came in talking about some record oasis on Rivington and Norfolk. We hustled down the street only to later find out the records were all shitty hip hop singles we'd never heard. Then Noah came in carrying the issue of Teen People that contains some Sam Champion action. Finally Builder showed up which meant it was time for us to take off.

Builder and I met Jin at Café Colonial for some amazing dinner and drinks. Have you ever had a frozen pear mojito? As your attorney, I highly advise you stopping by this establishment to check it out. It's an orgy for your mouth. We finished our coffee, bid farewell to Builder, ran into Glenn and hopped over to Groupe 16sur20 for a party celebrating the release of Made in Sheffield which is a documentary about (obviously) the music scene in the U.K. town, (featuring acts like Pulp and Human League). As we cruised back to the bar we were greeted by the likes of Juliet, Megan, Marc and some other kats. Hawkins met us back by the dj booth and we talked shop while slugging cold Red Stripe. Groupe is such a rad party spot. It's located on Elizabeth Street just south of Houston so it's really accessible. All the employees / owners are super cool, and even though someone like me can't really afford boutique prices, I can say they have some fit clothing. Have I mentioned they always have a classic car on display, (see picture). Just make sure you don't use it as a bar. They don't appreciate it.
Drunkenness crept up on me like a sister's birthday. I wasn't prepared, but I was kind of excited. Jin and I walked back over to the neighborhood and said our goodbyes. After a trip to the Hanger Bar in an effort to catch Natalka, I returned home unsuccessful and promptly passed out. A quick note: I'm certain many of you have seen this week's edition of the Village Voice, but what you many not know is that Kyle was quoted in the cover story. Check it out here.

Finally, don't forget to check out the Loose Events page for a killer party this Saturday.