Ringmaster

The elephant cruelty protesters didn't stop me from bum rushing box seats at Madison Square Garden for the circus. Still, between sips of free Bud from the packed mini fridge, I cringed when I heard whip cracks from the cat cage amplified. Being high above the screaming crowd and safe from clowns was plush, but I sort of missed the sawdust, sweat and scares of sitting under the tightrope walkers, not looking down at them. Still, the big top is magic and luxury always makes me loony. Gorging on five dollar foot long hot dogs made me giddy, then sick. I'm not a kid anymore, but still people shooting out of canons sends shivers. If "there's a sucker born every minute" -P.T. Barnum, count me one.





















-Royal
Photos: Amanda Segur

This One's On Us

New York was unaffordable long before disaster hit Wall Street. Before real estate moguls bought out blocks of the ghetto, charged thrice the rent and called it “East Williamsburg,” us trust fund-less folk were struggling.

The expense of almost everything in New York impinges on how much there is to do. I often get the absurd feeling I’m missing out when I go to bed before 3 a.m. on a Tuesday night. I’m usually right.

Here are some ways you can spend your weekend out and about, without breaking bank.

Friday
5:00 p.m. Free Fridays at MoMA

Entrance to the ever-so-classy MoMA is always free with a college ID. The museum also waives admission for all pseudo-intellectuals every Friday from 4-8 p.m. Although I am somewhat befuddled by modern art, I seem to “get it” a bit more when it’s free.



6:30 p.m. Modern Art makes me crave free beer

After my high culture MoMA experience, I downgraded to frat boy territory: Free Beer Fridays at Town Tavern on W. 3rd. The rowdy college crowd was in sync with the lame music (Creed, followed by Christina Aguilera, anyone?), but I can’t complain about the draft beer, which flows freely from 6-8 p.m. every Friday.



Saturday
12 a.m. PBR and Elvis Presley

The Hot Rocks party at The Delancey was an unexpectedly amazing free experience. I entered the upstairs bar unaware of where the soiree was, greeted with the usual snootiness The Delancey is known for. But once I found the basement, I entered a whole new world.




Michael, the bartender wore an X-Men T-shirt and cheerful smile. He was also super liberal with the PBR. I ordered two at a time and he didn’t scoff once.




The crowd was euphorically dancing to Buddy Holly and The Beatles while downing brew like there was no tomorrow. I did the twist with several strangers before meeting up with Suhatcha, and rocking out to “Maybelline.”

2 a.m. Moving through the Centuries

I didn’t know so many people shared my love for ‘50s music. New friendships led to an awesome car ride over to Galapagos (I still refuse to call Public Assembly.



As you can tell from the above photo, my camera for the night was awesomely ghetto. For this reason, the smashing gentleman below, Sidney Oolongo, gets all Galapagos photo credit. And also hat credit.



There was free admission with two awesome floors. The only free-dom Galapagos lacked was an open bar, but with our PBR buzz still in full force, we didn’t really care.

Sunday
10 p.m. What open bar?

After watching The Lodger, quite possibly the worst movie of all time, Daniel and I headed to Bowery Electric for the weekly Art Fag party.



Supposedly hosted by Ryan McGinley, the party bore no resemblance to one or to anything photography related. The staff also had no idea about an open bar, when we first showed up.

Around 10:45, they started serving free well vodka and Budweiser. Vodka-cran was a nice departure from all the beer I’d been drinking.

I just wish that the bartender didn’t hate on us without provocation. Free liquor is far from a bartender’s wet dream, and that is understandable, but it is no excuse to be mean (especially when you’re getting tipped anyway).

All in all, a weekend well spent. Especially since I didn’t spend a dime.

-Hannah Miet

Obamanator

After my sweaty second behind the black voting booth curtain, I hopped on the L train to escape Manhattan. I headed for the emptier streets off Lorimer Street. I was on my way to the Union Docs (www.uniondocs.org) community house, a non-profit documentary artscollaborative and the home of a friend. I hoped this would be the site of a triumph I could almost taste.

Before most of the guests even arrived, Pennsylvania and Ohio had already been Obamanated, and the popping of balloons seemed to signify last gasps of air escaping from the war hero's wounded campaign. As the anticipation mounted and the smiles broadened, visitors donned candidate masks to enjoy the arm wrestling table--Palin imposters won most of the bouts. The line at the makeshift bar lengthened. For $2, you could get an "Obama Mama," a pineapple and rum concoction, or the "Cindy McCain Special," a good ole can of Budweiser, served with a fistful of painkillers for an extra $0.50. Just kidding!



When change officially swept over Union Ave, the dangling Bush pinata was promptly destroyed, while "Na Na Na Na, Hey Hey Hey, Goodbye" and "Signed Sealed Delivered" exploded from house band The Weight. We shook the building with dancing that would have summoned the cops on any other night.






Drained and elated, I jabbered to my Spanish speaking cab driver about the new man in the White House. Whether he understood my words I don't know, but with a huge smile he declared, "It's very good.”

Well said amigo.

-Jake Englander