A priest, a baker, and a mime walk into a bar...no wait...

My favorite film genre is comedy. I love to laugh. (And I'll be honest, I started loving it even more after learning laughter burns calories. lol) So one would imagine that going to a comedy club would be an ingenious idea. I've told you guys about seeing comedians Anjelah Johnson and Donald Glover at Comix, and since that was such a great experience, I thought I'd try seeing Johnson's hilarious opening act Erik Rivera at Gonzalez y Gonzalez.

Let's see, how do I say this? Rivera was funny as usual. His opening acts, on the other hand, were...not. They were actually excruciatingly awkward and since there were about 20 people at the venue, the laughs were few and far between. I'm not sure if it was the restaurant's poor promotion—when I called they couldn't even confirm that he was performing—or if Wednesday's just not a night everyone wants to go out, but I felt humiliated for them.

It's safe to say that the next time I go to a comedy show it'll be at a fairly large and established venue, and it'll be on a weekend.

But definitely check out Erik Rivera the next time he's in your city.

Fat Cat: Ping Pong & Scrabble

I love to Ping Pong.  I am the Ping Pong master!

Um ok, I've only Ping Ponged 3 times. The first time was on vacation with my brother in the Dominican Republic Junior year of college. We were animals. No one else in the resort cared for the game, so we dominated the table, and went at it until the beach beckoned...or our parents. The second time was last winter for my birthday. I had the brilliant idea to go to Fat Cat after my friend had her birthday there. Actually, she invited a ton of people and no one came because of the weather and the late hour, so we ended up playing a squirrely game of Chess (we forgot the rules, lol) and a clumsy game of pool (those sticks are impossibly long). The wait for the Ping Pong tables was tedious so we left early. But I made a mental note to return so I could see if I was only "vacation talented."

Fat Cat likes to brand its patrons.

December came around, I invited a few friends, we reserved a table and proceeded to...suck. Five girls who had no clue what they were doing and 1 guy, really just a saint of a guy, who patiently taught us not to wail on the ball or run from it like pansies. We all took turns for an hour, and none of us really felt victorious at the end, just sweaty and exhilarated from all of the embarrassed giggling.

I had a lot of fun that night, so I vowed to make it a summer staple. Whenever I'm in the village and looking for something to do besides go to the movies, I'd go to Fat Cat and beat a plastic ball into submission. Morayo, the girl who introduced me to Fat Cat, is visiting from Miami, so I thought it would be a perfect time to finally get a game in. Turns out she doesn't actually know how to play. lol And Alice, who went to my birthday celebration, still wasn't comfortable with a paddle.

So this Saturday we took turns humiliating ourselves in a corner of Fat Cat, squealing whenever a ball zipped past us, treating the metal ceiling lamps like gongs, and shamefully interrupting nearby games. But we had loads of fun.

Favorite memories were:
1) when Alice took a premature victory lap around the table when she was beating Morayo
2) when Morayo started doing Karate Kid moves because the jazz band started randomly playing Oriental music
3) when I got to referee Morayo and Alice's game

Oh yeah and when I won...four times! Honestly, I would've had fun either way. I've never needed to win in order to have fun. We only kept score so we'd know when to switch players. Otherwise, we would've just kept goofing off. A few of my karaoke friends want to battle us, so I'll definitely be going back soon.  

Fat Cat has several different games to occupy you while you wait for a Ping Pong table. My personal fave is Scrabble, but there's also Pool, Foosball, Chess, Checkers, Backgammon, Othello, and Go. Everything is relatively cheap. For 2 paddles and 1hr, we paid $13, and Scrabble is only $3 for as long as you want.

Fat Cat, 75 Christopher Street, NY, NY

SNAPSHOT: Parisian Skateboarders

One of the most shocking discoveries that I made during my travels through Europe was that there are skateboarders EVERYWHERE! I'm not sure why I thought the French were far too refined for such a thing. But I was glad, during my last weeks abroad, to see a familiar sight.

Karaoke Stage Fright

I can't live without my iPod. If Apple told me the only way I could get a new one would be to take 3 planes and a mule to Thailand, I would. It's like my life has a soundtrack. No matter where I am, I can use a song to lift my spirits, relax my nerves, or get in the zone. I have a playlist for songs I can't help but dance to and songs that I love to belt out…when I'm washing the dishes or in the shower. But being the shy, somewhat reserved, semi-hermit that I am, I've never felt the urge to take the stage and perform. When my mom volunteered me to be an altar server at my church, my heart raced for the entire mass. Ten years later, I still get a little nervous holding the bible, pouring the wine, and lifting the cross.

So when my friend Yedi told me she was the Karaoke Queen, having karaoked almost every night in high school, I thought it was my chance to rectify the debacle that was my 21st birthday. My friends took me to Second on Second, where I sipped a very strong Long Island Iced Tea and took the stage to sing Ricky Martin's "Living la vida loca." It was quick, it was nerve-racking, and the moment I was done, I bolted towards the door. This time had to be different. Three years had past. I had to be braver, right? I mean, I went to a foreign country and fended for myself for 4 months, why couldn't I get up in front of a few of Yedi's friends in a private room and sing a little ditty?

It wasn't until I got to Karaoke One 7 (29 West 17th Street) that Yedi told me that we were going to sit in the small section of the entrance and monopolize the bar. So basically we were going to sing in public. We would be the first thing people heard when they walked in. Greeeatttt! What was I supposed to say? I'm going to shit myself?

Luckily, my friend Morayo was visiting from Miami and she's always game for everything. I said I would sing if she sang with me. It took me a quarter of a Mai Tai (I never finish drinks) and an hour so I could get up the nerve to nauseously mumble through Madonna's "Holiday" with the microphone a bit too far from my mouth. As I was singing, I slowly realized I never really knew the words to the song. Actually, I was surprised by the unfamiliar lyrics running across the flat screens and the amount of rhythm changes in all four songs that I sang. Singing is hard. lol

I think being a singer is the coolest job. I have no aspirations to be one, but I think it would be one of the most incredible highs I could ever experience…especially if I knew the words. After it was over, I was glad to hand the mic to the next brave soul. Morayo and I agreed that we couldn't really hear ourselves. At first we thought it was just a result of being nervous or audio feedback, but it turns out you have to put the mic right near your lips and cup it to isolate the sound.

Knowing that, Morayo eagerly looked through the "By Artist" binder and stopped on The Fugees' "Killing me softly." When she said the title, I was immediately transported back to 4th grade, when me and my bff of the time Erica wrote all the words out in our school notebook and proceeded to master all the pitch changes by repeatedly singing it for weeks. I blurted out, "I wanna sing that!!!" Just in time too because one of Yedi's other friends had intended to sing it as well. Fortunately she was gracious enough to leave the wailing to me and Morayo. I was genuinely excited to see if my voice would crack and to see if I knew all the words still, Plus, my stomach wasn't churning as much as before and I had the mic etiquette down.

Once it was our turn again and that familiar melody began, I choked that mic like I was holding on for dear life. I guess I hit the high note. I couldn't really tell. But Morayo said I didn't sound bad, which to me meant I was amazing. lol We didn't crack. That's all I cared about.

It was getting late and the bar was getting packed. More and more people were starting to sign up for songs and the wait time was getting longer. So we agreed that we'd all get one last song in before it hit 11pm cause we were starving—we'd been there since 7pm. Yedi was dying to do Justin Bieber's "Baby" so she could rap the Ludacris part and Morayo and I settled on doing Michael Jackson's "Bad," so I handed the bartender $4 for two song slips and jotted down the code numbers.

Okay so while I was way less nervous and just eager to get out of there and grab some food since I hadn't eaten in 9 hours, I was a little all over the place. Bieber's song is actually a lot faster than I thought it was. lol There was no way in hell I was going to pull off Ludacris's mid-verse Speedy Gonzalez rhythm, so I handed the mic to Yedi's friend Adrienne who was the only one willing to do any rap songs. As soon as the song was over, I rushed over to Morayo to sing "Who's Bad?" only to discover that there are A LOT of words in that song. lol I seriously just resorted to screaming "WHO'S BAD?," cause that night, we were.

Fear = Dominated!

Photo by myuibe

FLASHBACK: Real Madrid game

The first sporting event I've ever been to was a Yankee game. Like most Americans, I'm a baseball fan. But I've always found soccer fascinating. Probably because I'm athletically challenged and the thought of me running and kicking simultaneously is laughable. Since NYU in Madrid was 1 block from the famous Santiago Bernabeu stadium, my soccer-playing roommate wanted to go to the adjoined mall and buy souvenirs. I tagged along out of boredom. Don't get me wrong. Madrid wasn't boring. The day had been filled with classes and I was in need of excitement. Once we got in the store, my eyes were flooded with how many possible things a brand could put their symbol on. Thongs. There are Real Madrid thongs! I avoided the racy section and bought a drawstring backsack and a water bottle-sized, cylinder-shaped purse for the tiny objects that get lost in my tote. She bought…a lot. Almost 300 euros worth, which apparently gets you 4 free tickets to a game.

Of course, I immediately started begging to be one of the lucky ones since there was five us in the house. Fortunately, one of my other roommates had an admirer who opted to tag along and buy her a ticket as well. (In theory, romantic, but in retrospect, the beginning of a very long, unwarranted and unreciprocated obsession.) We were set! Two Americans, 1 Dominican Black American, 1 Chinese American, 1 Chinese Peruvian American, and 1 Peruvian were about to have an adrenaline-fueled culture shock: a Spaniard soccer game.

Ok technically, it was just me. My four roommates were so busy taking pictures and trying to spot Beckham, they barely watched the game. And my roommate's Peruvian paramore was so busy staring at her and acting like he invented the game, he was barely paying attention. I, on the other hand, was immersed.

The Madrileños were pumped, singing lyrics I couldn't make out, swilling beers, and operatically declaring "GOOOAAAAALLLLL" whenever we scored. Think of a volume meter that goes from 1 to 10. Baseball is a 5. Soccer is a 10. Everything gets turned up. Cheering, jeering, and drinking. It was so intense that every time I heard British voices, fans of the opposing team, I froze, fearing that nearby Madrileños would catapult them off the stands.

The energy was addictive. Other students were at that game too and the next day, most of the student body was talking about meeting up at Retiro park, the Central Park of Madrid, and kicking a ball around. I was tempted. But I had homework and I was exhausted from weekend travel, so I couldn't. Plus, I didn't want to make an ass out of myself, so I passed. But I heard their amateur game was awesome. Madrileños joined in, and my sorority-girl friend Sam scraped her knees to the point of limping the next day, but even she said it was a memory worth making.

Now with the World Cup dominating Facebook, Twitter, and ESPN2, I'm starting to get the itch again. I'd love to go to Central Park with a few friends and kick the ball around, but…I'm trying to avoid any major medical bills. ;)