Go ahead and laugh at our east coast earthquake

Yesterday's 5.8 magnitude earthquake may be considered mild to most west coasters, but here, in NYC, a few weeks away from the 10th anniversary of 9/11, a shaking building was not something we were psyched about. You must remember, that we folks aren't used to "feeling the earth...move...under our feet..."

It wasn't until I got home last night, that I discovered my own personal casualties of this beast:

That is my totally awsome, large, and uber flattering mirror. In pieces and laying on top of part of my wine collection. My first thought was, "Shit! I lost some of my GOOD wine!". This was quickly followed by, "Oh crap. Where are the cats???!!!". That's when I saw the bloody paw prints dotted on my tile floor, in a perfectly straight line from the pile of glass and red wine to my bedroom. Investigating all sixteen paws took a few minutes, and finally, I discovered that Caleb's rear paw was a yucky bloody mess.

Now, I ask you this: How easy do you think it was for me to herd 3 cats into the bedroom, while holding 22-lb Caleb in one arm, with his bloody paw dripping, all the while trying NOT to step in the thousands of teeny, weeny, shattered glass bits? Answer: It totally sucked. [It was also dinner time (read: kibbles) and the cats were not an angelic example of patience.]

After 3 hours of cleaning, sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, (drinking), rinsing & disinfecting said bloody paw, I was dripping with sweat and nicely covered in a layer of cat fur.

So, to add to your list of jokes (you Californians) here's my list of casualties from the 2011 East Coast Earthquake:

• 1 mirror (I'm assuming this comes with a  decade of bad luck, at the very least)
• 2 bottles of nice red wine
• 1 cat spa station (don't ask)
• 1 stained floor
• 1 cat toe claw
• roughly 500 calories

I must thank KK for her kickass neighborly ways. She literally ran to the apartment to help me with the mess and tend to Oosle's paw. Some unbroken wine, and spicy Thai on me, was the very least I could do.

And, in case you are concerned, I think Caleb will be ok. It appears that his claw was sliced clean off, which is going to be pretty sore for the big guy, but he'll survive! All the excitement was too much for him to handle, so after getting cleaned up and fed, and given lots o' love, he went belly up.

Welcome to New York. Allow me to introduce you to my favorite dive bar.

NYC can be a funny place to party. Whilst wining and dining out-of-towners on business, it seems apropos to show them the beat of the city. The rooftop bars, the nightlight swimming pools, the red ropes, the "dope shit" if you will. And yet, when fully immersed in this realm, I am never fully satisfied. Someone is always looking at you kinda funny. There is always a line just a little too long. A drink just a little too weak, or too expensive. A waitress trying a little too hard, or a doorman just a tad too aloof. Are these the factors that define kewl?

We all live on the same planet, no?
Don't we all eat, piss, and padoodle on similar ceramic comfort stations?
Is there a reason why we feel this inherent need to take guests to places we never frequent?
Is there a bottle of Skyy vodka that truly is worth $350 buckaroos just to have the honor of sitting at a crappy-ass carpeted-seat-stained table?

Don't get me wrong, there is definitely something luxurious about a visit to the Standard Hotel's Boom Boom Room. A 360° view of Manhattan in all it's gorgeous nighttime glory. At the very least go for the bathroom. Try to focus on the task at hand, and not space out at the amazing view, the High Line, the people walking below, or your own reflection blurred within the Empire State building's spire.

I guess my major issue is that the places we think ought to impress people, are often the places that totally blow. So, next time you have guests in town and you decide to show them a good time, how about you bring them to your local haunts? The divey dive bars, the little pizza joints, the subway (that's always a sure fire way to give them the real NYC experience), your local bodega, the fruit stand man, and of course, Duane Reade (no one outside the city understands the "Doo-ah-nay Ray-ah-day" way).

Onwards and upwards fellow hosts!