This past weekend Becca and I went to New York. On Saturday night we put on dresses that were way too nice for what we were planning to do, drank a different drink at every bar we went to, danced at every bar we went to and ended up at a place name Schiller’s on the corner of Norfolk and something else, which looked like an old school malt shop.
But was a bar.
Naturally.
We ordered some jameson on the rocks and proceeded to make fun of the two kids next to us who were drinking frilly drinks in martini glasses.
Because, you know, we wore pretty dresses and were drinking whiskey and that meant we were waaaaay cooler than anyone in that bar.
They took this as a sign to talk to us and only to us for the remainder of our stay.
They also ordered beers next.
(gotta love an easily molded mind)
One of them turned out to be that kid that starred in the movie version of “Running with scissors” and was last seen as a serial killer in the (tolerable) Diane Lane vehicle “Untraceable” (I checked).
He was 22 and looked 18.
He also took my face in his hands and told me I was “very pretty” and kissed my cheek.
Then their very hairy, very drunk, very unbuttoned friend named Olaf (from Sweden, naturally) sauntered over, kissed our hands and invited us to his hotel on the Upper East Side.
It was 4 am.
We just left.
This story has nothing to do with the song I picked, aside from the fact that it is so delightfully descriptive of a “weekend in NY” experience and I wanted to tell it somewhere.
So I told it here.
The song I pick is about being pretty though, and it is a (Psycheldelic furs) cover (we’ve been kind of cover heavy in this column, I know) but that dude from the National has such a silky baritone that you can just imagine him taking your face into his hands and singing to you.
And you probably would not leave.
Even if it was 4 am.
And he had a vaguely scary friend named Olaf in tow.
Melt with it:
listen here:
download here:
National “pretty in pink” MP3
