File this under things I should have known: the Long Island Railroad, from Long Island, on Saturday night, is filled with youngsters headed into the city to, as they say, get their party on. And that train is a scene. The youth of Brooklyn seem to pride themselves on being deliberately underdressed (which is maybe why I'm so comfortable here). All Bklyn gals look like they're trying to pass as old women and all males are dressed like lumberjacks. Long Islanders are a breath of fresh air. They're dressed to the nines: towering heels, tiny skirts, and lots of argyle for the menfolk.
James and I boarded just after nine and sat next to a party of five girls who, in our hour ride together, poured booze into 20oz bottles of Dr. Pepper, estimated that intensive care cost about $50,000 a day, debated what is appropriate for a guy to re-tweet, and uttered the phrase, Poor Snookie.
And here's a question: who starts their night at 10:00 pm? And this has nothing to do with having a kid or getting older. There was no point in my life where I wanted to start my night after 9. In winter months. It's been dark for five hours. What are you doing up until that point? I mean, if you're just hanging around at 6 pm, why not just go out then? What are people doing all that time? And don't say drinking, because I was there; they were drinking on the train.