Marco: Part 1

December 29th 2012


Calling all weirdos.


The situation was this.


They were back.


They were all back.


Al, Hallie, Brandon and Penny were once again standing at my doorstep for round 2 in attempts to top our New Years Eve Madness that had occurred just 1 year before.And throughout this whirlwind of a year we made the executive decision to expand the group. But who…who could keep up with our lawless ways? Our ridiculous shenanigans? Our copious amounts of unwarranted decisions? The homeless man who sells cheese popcorn on 87th street? For sure. But snack bribes and questionable hygiene already made him an overqualified candidate. Perhaps the turkey burger guy from down the street? No…I hate him…Hmm..what about people we’re actually friends with?




After extensive interview processes and treats that came in many forms of candy and cash (a.k.a. the only people willing to shell out money for a ticket to NY) we recruited the final 2 additions to our N.Y.E. family.


Meet Claire:


Hey Claire.



One second she’s smiling up a storm and taking glamour shots like this ^


And the next she’s frantically ordering drunk calzones at 3 a.m. with 8 follow-up calls in a span of 10 minutes saying “OH COME ON WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?!?!?” whilst exchanging humorous secrets with a couch like this:


Leather couches, get me every time.

An exceptionally hilarious couch



And then there’s Lark

What's good, Lark?

What’s good, Lark?



When he isn’t doing professional things in business suits, he’s brainstorming ideas for his co-owned food truck with Al and pounding drinks through festive decorations such as this:


Well, that’s one way to chug a cranberry vodka.



With the new crew carefully selected we were now officially ready to take on the 3 day New Years Eve Fest…Part 2.


And the story goes like this:


There we were, ready to get rowdy as we sipped our sugary mocktails at “The Cafeteria Restaurant” down in Chelsea, Manhattan, confident with our group member decisions, planning exclusive activities for the lot of us. Thrilled! That we had hand selected such a perfect pack of people to encompass this very holiday. Overjoyed! That after so much time apart we would finally have the opportunity to spend time together and only toget”


Buzz Buzz.


Twas a text:




False news.

This was never discussed. Kwesi mentioned to me once or thrice that he would be in town on tour once again, perhaps the next day. But not this day. And later texts confessed to me that he was bringing along another one of our friends. And then the kicker, “I’m also bringing my back up singer. Can he crash in your kitchen?”


Party on.


The 7 of us shuffled back to the apartment, initially prepared for a party of 7 that quickly escalated to a gang of 10. Guitars were dropped off. Tambourines were laid to rest. Introductions were made. BUS (Back up singer) made himself at home next to my stove. And after discovering a set of drawings consisting of  bears drinking martinis on Kwesi’s set list:

A man of many artistic hats.

A man of many artistic hats.



And ripping a few shots per Brandon, Penny and Claire’s request:

Your wish is my command...

Your wish is my command…



We were on our way to Kwesi’s  show located in the trendy  “Ella Lounge” hot spot located in alphabet city.

And he played well.

He played really well.


A job well done.

Hey, nice playing



We jived along accordingly while we snapped family photos such as these:

Lookin fresh, gang.

Lookin fresh, gang.



And then he heard it.


In the midst of our conversation involving Manatees and mojitos, Lark immediately looked to the left and saw her on stage.


She was the 2nd act that night.


Went by the wild name of  “Sara Lewis”


And we listened and watched as her melodious voice floated into the air, through his ears and into his pants.





At about track 3 Lark’s eyes were reminiscent of small saucer cups with a bite size brownie on each.


This relationship is Hallie approved.

This relationship is Hallie approved.


And right before her grand finale we noticed Lark went from fellow family member lounging by the couch – to 3 inches away from Sara Lewis’ face.


She prefaced her last song with a story that told us that she had met a man. (Cue in the heartbreak) Named Marco. (Hence the title) Who really loved her music once. Wanted to do business with her. So she said yes. And they had Skype conversations. Strictly for business, at least at first. But somewhere down the line, they fell in love and well, this next song goes out to him.




Lark listened to the last track as his heart satirically melted with every beat, bound and determined to relay his most recent and unintentional feelings at the last stroke of her guitar string.


Cue in the last stroke.


He waltzed up to her ever so cautiously, partially as a joke…and partially not…and said “I…I can be your Marco…I…I like you more than just a friend.”


She looked uP from her guitar as she clutched the microphone stand, stared him straight in the brownie bite eyes and said


“…I do too…”

“Oh…fuck…this took a weird turn…I was just…kidding…”

“Oh shit..oh…me too…”




Realizing that this was no longer a jovial joke.


We peaced the fuck out.


(P.S. Sara Lewis makes awesome music that you should more than likely check out)


The gang was getting restless and hungry. Earlier that evening we exchanged banter about how nice it felt to be real adults. With real money. Who can afford the nicer things in life. Perhaps we should go to wine and dine! Go to the pricey mart down the way and cook up a homemade meal!


For sure went to the Remedy Diner.

Nothing but class.

Nothing but class.



Requested a table for 10 and proceeded to peer over their menu that ranged from anything from your classic grilled cheese to your standard Norwegian salmon salad.


The waiter approached the table. We requested their finest batch of homemade sangria. He then asked us if “a blend of their leftover red wines combined with whatever fruits they could find in the back would do?”


“…we’ll take 3 pitchers.”

Classy times at....remedy diner...

Classy times at….remedy diner…



This seems....fresh...

This seems….fresh…



There we were. A pack of 10 pounding late night omelets, bagels, and norwegian salads, cheersing with a round of stella’s and questionable sangria to an evening of 1. inexplicable romance thus far and 2. and to even more strangeness to come.






Cheers again!

Cheers again!



Okay that's enough.

Okay that’s enough.



Overjoyed to inexplicably join my college reunion, BUS implemented bonding tactics that included doing impressions of Morgan Freeman for the table.

Al to the left. Bus to the right.

Al to the left. Bus to the right. (chuckling drummer in the back)



And stand up impressions of Johnny Depp

Causing a ruckus.

Causing a ruckus.



Which swiftly after warranted us an invitation to leave the establishment.

And so we did.

Hailed a cab

Get over here.

Get over here.



And promptly requested we be taken to “The corner of 48th street and 1st ave please!”

It’s karaoke time.

Now. I’m no karaoke newbie. As you should know from my serenade I did just one year prior with the bloods and the crips. 



But this was different. Much different. Sake bomb. Ripped my stockings. Threw lemon wedges across the room. Broke a couch….Different.


Fast forward.


The next morning the gang and I woke up at roughly 1…30pm. Victims of bed hair, desperate for Gatorade, dreaming of carbs, when Penny grabbed her camera as we joked about the drunken follies that occurred the previous night. Some involving awkward romances between Lark and Act 2, others involving roaming the karaoke premises and inviting strangers to join our room…which they did…and speaking of… “Hey what the hell happened at Karaoke night last night. I remember taking some pictures…and breaking a couch…something about sake bombs…should we…look…?”

Power camera on:


Karaoke recruitment went rather well…




If only I could remember which song evoked this much man joy.





In case you were wondering when Brandon’s deodorant stopped working.





Good news, the best quarter of my face made it into this photo.





A normal side effect when “Walking On Broken Glass” is chosen.




Broken couch mystery? Officially solved.

Broken couch mystery? Officially solved.




We take shots very seriously here.

We take shots very seriously here.




I don't drink.

I don’t drink.




Such a metaphorical end to our night.

Such a metaphorical end to our night.



Power down camera.


“I think we did it” I told Penny.


“…Shit’s just getting started, isn’t it?”


You better fucking believe it.


Night 1 of our NYE trilogy? Success.


Stayed tuned.