Snow, Dancing, Beer, a Cab

Two nights ago it snowed like mad in NYC. Which, for me, means one thing -- snowball fights and snow angles. So that's two things -- who's counting?

The evening started with sparkling wine and making crafty Christmas tree ornaments with some of my key people. Around midnight we set out for a park, snow flying everywhere, about 8 inches of blowing white powder covering the ground. Visibility was low. We were crossing a street, when a cab crawled by. His passenger window was open.

"Hi!" I said, smiling as he wind whipped snowflakes into my eyes.

"Hi!" he said back, smiling.

"You and your cabbies," my friend and bandmate -- hey, we've had 3 practice sessions, doubters! -- Tara joked.

Then we continued to the park, made snow angles, snow devils (snow angels face first), started two snowball fights with unsuspecting -- yet very willing -- groups, planned to recruit more snowballers in a Greenpoint bar, and ultimately succeeded in having a lot to drink and dancing until 4 a.m.

An incredible success of a snowy night.

Story: Puking on chicks gets you nowhere

John Faulk’s story as a passenger: I’m from Long Island, and I’m Irish. It was the disco years, and I was out in New York with my Italian friends. And was 20 years old and drunk. We were at a club, and they were so smooth with the chics. When they were 12, they would hit on your mother. I was not smooth, but at this club I actually started up a great conversation with this cute brunette. And she was Irish, too!

She invited me back to Jersey, saying let’s get a cab. I was just so drunk, and in the cab, we started making out. I really liked her. And then I just projectile vomited on her as we went into the Holland Tunnel. It was bad. The driver had to turn around inside the tunnel. It was so awkward.

We went back to the club, and my friends – who were really happy for me – were outside of the club with their dates. They all had giant 80s hair. And they see her covered in vomit. It was so bad, they didn’t even bother teasing me.

I gave the cabbie money to take her home and clean up the puke. And then I went to Penn Station alone and went home. I never heard from her again, but if she reads this, I want to say that I’m so sorry.

(photo by Antonin Kratochvil)