Manhattan Transfer

Dropped by Otto last night to share some wine with Laren and her blistfully blogless friend, who is also the cutest rabbi I have ever met. Brilliant, piercing eyes; tangled curls; and an easy, comforting laugh. She is, of course, totally taken. Not just taken, but taken by a guy who has written a blog for the past year about their engagement and obviously will publish a book about being a groom in the near future.

I was hoping the blog would suck because I’m not such a nice person and I often wish the worst for others. It doesn’t, of course. I’m still catching up—-there’s a lot there. Start with this entry about his bachelor party:

A few months ago, when talking about plans for my bachelor party to an acquaintaince, I was practically ordered to go to a strip club. 'Dude,' this acquaintance said, 'you have to go.' Really? Is strip club attendance mandatory for all grooms-to-be? Do Las Vegas airport officials not let you on the plane home unless you can prove you saw a naked breast during your trip? My acquaintance explained the reasoning behind his insistance: 'Dude, you have to say goodbye to all that.' Say goodbye to all what? Breast implants, bleach-bottle dye jobs and sequined G-strings? When have I ever said hello to any of that? If I really needed to say goodbye to something, I'd go to a bar on the Upper East Side of Manhattan and get rejected by short, curly haired girls carrying Kate Spade bags."

Almost makes me wish I spent time on the Upper East Side, just to witness the horror. What do I have to say goodbye to? Tattooed piercelings smoking dust on Avenue C rooftops?