War Of Words Heats Up

I've often felt that just about everyone likes to be dramatic. Those whom we consider drama queens or drama addicts are the ones who just take things to a ridiculous degree, but few people are sincerely and wholeheartedly against the drama.

>> Read more . . .

Blog Appraisal

Occasional commenter Wall found a site that will compute the worth of any Web site. It turns out if I'm desperate for eleven hundred bucks, I could sell this tiresome thing:

My site is worth $1175.3.
How much is yours worth?

While I'm at it, my photography site is also available for purchase:

My site is worth $876.
How much is yours worth?

Review: SlyDial.com

For work Thursday, I had to review SlyDial.com, a tool that lets you call friends without really calling them.

Confused? Then check this out.

Awful Commercial

I wish television commercials did a better job of depicting reality. I mean, some sentences have just never been spoken.

One commercial that has been making the rounds has a suburban mom pulling up to her house, rounding up her kids and telling them, "Come on; let's go for a ride in the new Dodge Caravan."

Review: Weekend Of Debauchery

Old friends visited from Louisville this weekend, and thanks to that bluegrass connection, we got taken care of very nicely at Elettaria, an opened-this-year joint in the village that occupies a West 8th Street address once home to a club at which Jimi Hendrix played.

Our boy Eric knows the chef there, Akhtar, also a Louisville native. Our table of four started with three appetizers and I think we got five. All were excellent, but I especially recommend the scallops (celery root puree, oxtail, lemon, cilantro) and the fried quail (pomegranate molasses, bacon, fried egg).

The entrees were just as memorable. Everyone but me shared a little; I tried a bite of the duck (tender, flavorful) and the bavette (my least favorite, though not bad). I, however, had the pork loin, which by nature is obviously a semi-salty meat. But prepared a little on the sweet side Friday made it the best dinner I'd had in quite some time.

These accomplishments were created in a wide-open kitchen at the back of the restaurant. Between it and the front door, all booths and tables were full less than 30 minutes after we were seated for our 8 p.m. reservation.

The atmosphere was excellent, and the crowd seemed a good mix of city pretties and more savvy restaurant veterans. Isn't that always the case?

I was so caught up in the good food and conversation with old buds that I don't even remember if they played music. The expensive bottles of wine Eric and Tim bought probably played a small role as well.

After this face-feeding session, it was off to the Bowery Bar, PJ Clarke's and the Auction House. My friend Diane and some of her girls were out and were good sports, especially once Tim assured them finish-line tickets at next year's Derby.

There's not much to say about Saturday. We hit the Yankees game, which really was the purpose of the visit for these friends. First pitch: 1 o'clock. Temperature: officially, hot as hell.

We did our part to hydrate; that's for sure. And we spilled over to a bar across the street from the stadium once the ninth inning ended in a tie. Extra innings, my ass.

And then here's how the rest of the day went: Came back, picked up pizza, fell asleep, woke up, showered and then Pat, Eric and Tim went out. I was staying in.

For an hour.

So I caught back up with them and we hit the bars at both W hotels, then of course the Coffee Shop for last call. At the second W (The Living Room Lounge),, the four of us had an awkwardly boring exchange with four gals out on a bachelorette party.

Have you ever met someone and before you ask where she's from, you just have a feeling she calls Connecticut home? Well, that's what happened at this place, and it was as comfortable as a Michael Scott pep talk. I actually liked it, watching the dainty priss squirm with her BFFs. Dude, it's OK to say hello. Not everyone is hitting on you.

Perhaps worse than that moment was one round earlier, in the basement of some overcrowded joint, where we wondered what was taking Eric so long to get us drinks at the bar. So I tightened the chinstrap and went in, finding Eric finalizing the payment for four filled-to-the-rim martini glasses. Only these martinis were pink. That's right, four guys out on the town, drinking cosmopolitans, pinkies raised and everything. "Dorks And The City," coming to a theater near you this summer.

We capped off a good weekend of partying by picking up some very late Hot & Crusty and cramming it on the roof. The neighbor with no blinds across the street wasn't yet home.

Catching Up

Thanks to social networking, I got an email from an old college roommate whom I haven't been in touch with in at least 10 years. I Facebooked him, he accepted, then sent a short note that only had this:

"Hi John. How's NY? I golfed with nobody the other day. It was great."

Seriously. Getting paired up with other a-holes sucks.

More All-Star Weakness

I used to think ESPN celebrated itself far too much, but this is ridiculous. MLB has given itself an erection about its great players, past and present. Do we really need nearly 40 minutes of introductions?

Anyway, these current and former baseball greats participated in a -- you guessed it, lengthy -- parade up Sixth Avenue Tuesday afternoon. My pictures are at the bottom of this story on MyFoxNY.com.

All-Star Lame

I can't get over all the hoopla over a meaningless July baseball game up here in New York.

"The last All-Star game ever to be played at Yankee Stadium," is what we've been hearing all about for at least a week now. Who cares?

In its 85-year-history, tonight's Midsummer Classic is only the fourth one to be played at what surely is one of the more famous sporting facilities around the world. But baseball's all-star game is weak, and really all all-star exhibitions are stupid.

Now if the Yankees make it to the World Series and they're playing a Game 7 in the Bronx come October, by all means, give the House That Ruth Built a proper sendoff.

But for now, enough with the hyperbole, perhaps best -- or worst -- expressed by none other than Gay-Rod himself, he of the perfect hair and orange face: "It's truly magical." Magical is what PR people and losers with no originality say when they want to overstate something's worth.

Catching Up...New Blog

Hello. Sorry for the lengthy absence, but as you know, all PAE staffers at each of our nine worldwide offices get two weeks off in the beginning of summer.

Also, I've been working on a fairly daunting politics project at work. I started writing a new politics blog, and I'd really like you to read today's entry.

Your feedback would be appreciated.