You Do Know This Is an Office Party, Right?

Some of my friends work in fabulous industries where going to parties all the time isn’t just a perk, it’s part of the job, whether it’s being seen, being the coordinator, or just registering people at the door, parties are par for the course.

Not this kid.

Our company is so cheap, they feel it’s better to put on a summer “staff party” than a traditional holiday party. Right, because they care. Anyway, because the firm had a really, really good year (Hooray for corporate scandal and internal investigations!) us peons got the annual part-tay stepped up.

So the other day found us at Cipriani 23. For those of you who are not quite up on these things, it is the latest crown jewel in the Cipriani empire. The place is pretty nice and swanky, it radiates an air of class straight out of the Gilded Age. In other words, it makes the banquet hall where your cousin had her wedding look like an International House of Pancakes.

 

The food was plentiful and tasty, but impressively light. I mean, I ate constantly and consistently but did not ever get that “Oh God, my intestines just split” feeling that you get at say, Old Country Buffet. The cold seafood buffet was quality. Not a false note, I have to say. One of these days, when I make my millions from self-help book “So You Think You Got Problems?!” (with co-author Garden Salad Joe) and my nightly talk show “This Is What I Got To Say”, I may even have a dinner there.

More importantly (to me, and to your alcoholic heart), nothing says class like a place where you don’t have to ask for top-shelf liquor. That’s right, no Well Whiskey Fridays here, my friend. Gin and tonic meant Bombay Sapphire and Tonic. Automatically. Which is why the probably why the bartenders could barely hide their sneering at mail-room guys who asked for Grey Goose by name. As if they would give you Georgi without telling you. What do you think this, a club?

Well, some guys did think it was a club. On the dance floor, one guy was giving my poor female co-worker the old “I’m going to lean in really close to your ear, pretend to engage you in real conversation, and then bam! I seductively proposition you with something like, ‘You look good in that dress, but I’ll bet you don’t need it!’ or ‘So, you wanna go upstairs to the balcony and do a l’il sumthin’ sumthin’?’ ” I’ve never seen her sprint so fast. Unbelievable.

All in all, it was a great venue and a great setting, and if you’ve got mad cash around, it’s a great place to have a party. Until I write my book, I’ll be continue to get my swank on at the San Loco on North 4th in Williamsburg, where they take care of you too, but you have to request the Goose by name. Someday Cipriani 23 (or its other fabulous locations), we will meet again.

 

 

I Told You The NBA Was Fixed!

Well, I was in denial for a long time, much like David Stern. But the signs are too apparent. But you knew that already.

Actually, I’m not sure I really believe Tim Donaghy a bit. After all, he is a convicted felon trying to get his sentence reduced, and I actually feel like if this kind of league-wide conspiracy was going on, it would have been exposed already. There are too many people involved, too much money is at stake, and quite frankly, too many sports reporters out there who would eventually get the dirt. That an league fixes its matches through the referees? The reporter(s) who broke that would be the Woodward and Bernstein of sports, journalistic legends. Think that doesn’t beat sitting around and screaming on “Around The Horn?”

What this really points out is that David Stern’s failure to take the perception of his league’s refereeing and it’s actual refereeing seriously has finally come back to bite him in the ass. I mean NBA diehards pretty openly say stuff like, “I’m sure they’ll extend the series by putting Bennett Salvatore on the case” and then he actually shows up for Game 3 of the finals, and then the Lakers get the free throws they need in order to stay alive. Stern simply brushes this off. Hopefully the attention Donaghy received will make him finally rethink that.

One of the reasons I kind of have lost full-time interest in NBA basketball is that in just too many NBA games, I feel like the refereeing was a deciding factor in the game. This should be unacceptable for any sport with integrity, but that’s just the way it is in the NBA. And its accepted by fans, but it’s kind of hard for others to take you seriously. I’ve been into this Finals series partly because I’m not worried that the league will favor one of these teams to win the title, they’re good either way. Not like 2006, where I felt like the league was out to create a new star in Dwyane Wade, and so he seemed to get the benefit of every call possible.

And I know these games aren’t fixed. It’s too impossible. But the fact that I walk away convinced is problem enough. It’s time for the NBA to get serious about making its referees invisible, they way they’re supposed to be. A plan that puts in place, the consistent calling of fouls no matter the crowd, the team, the style of play, who’s handling the ball, and how much time is left on the clock. If David Stern had been trying to get that in place instead of simply pooh-poohing and laughing off the conspiracy crowd, people wouldn’t be taking a convicted felon so seriously. Until Stern and his league takes these steps toward taking the integrity of the sport seriously, I’ll keep saying it:

Look, I’m not saying the NBA is fixed. But the NBA is fixed.

 

They Told Me The Hearing Would Be The First Thing To Go

Well, the first sign of age has come to Well Whiskey Friday…namely, I was walking up Third Avenue on my way to work Monday morning when, all of a sudden, my back muscles, apparently, tired of carrying my slouching body, screamed out in pain and left me walking around pretty gingerly for the rest of the day.

The only way for my back not to hurt at this point is to walk straight, with my shoulders pinned back. 

I suppose in some sense, that’s a good thing, because slouching sends the wrong message to society and kind of negates any advantages you get from lifting weights looks-wise. On the other hand, I am not used to walking straight all the time, so I don’t do it all the time. Hence, I have spent most nights this week holed up in my bedroom with the AC on. 

So, is this a sign of aging, or has my back decided to take over my body in order for me to straighten up and fly right? Maybe next it’ll force me to sit still long enough to think about my future. Or come up with useful ways to get dates. My back appears to be an ambitious and motivated creature.

Ow! Caught slouching again….