I was told today that the Peninsula Hotel in Chicago is offering a New Years Eve package, where you can book one of their suites for $3 million. THREE MILLION DOLLARS. Million. The package apparently includes jewelry (why wouldn’t it) and a Bentley (of course, it’s standard).

Needless to say, I booked it. For some reason I don’t think my credit card will run - but it’s booked. December 31, 2006: Mike Bridenstine goes $3 million in debt. But now, I will have jewelry, which I will wear, and a Bentley. I’ll have to park the Bentley on the street - probably around Lakeview High School. I’m sure it won’t get keyed or stolen. I’m sure a cop wouldn’t see it and love to give it the boot for pure ostentatiousness (is that a word?).

So in other words, it’s a horrible idea. One night - $3 million. Who would do that? Paul Allen? The Sultan of Brunei? It’s ridiculous. If you have truthfully booked that suite and you are reading this blog (and you undoubtably are); you are an asshole.

The Peninsula is the most ridiculous New Years “deal” I’ve heard. I don’t even know if it’s true. I couldn’t find this “deal” on their website, as I’m sure they wouldn’t post it to the viewing public. If they threw in dinosaur bones, a space rocket and a Honus Wagner baseball card - maybe. ‘Cause who needs more jewelry and Bentleys? But I would love to see any sort of confirmation on the subject.

But regardless, this time of year is when I get a bunch of phone calls or casual conversations about “what are you doing New Years?”. I hate it. Someboy always knows of some speacial little deal at some douche bag bar in Lincoln Park or in the Loop that’s all-you-can-drink $100 or something like that. It’s not just those areas either. The neighborhood bar I frequent in Lakeview is a quaint little corner bar called Toons. Not super nice, but not quite a dive. I like it because it’s close to my apartment, I can get a beer when I want and I can pee when I want. And it’s not pretentious. Man do I hate me pretentious bars. I love meat markets like Grand Central and Nick’s Uptown as much as the next person (not true), but Jesus Christ. Anyway, back to Toons. A few weeks ago, I noticed a flyer in their restroom that said “Ask Us About Our New Years Special”. So I did. I asked the owner what they were doing. I thought to myself “Hey - that would be nice to rent the back room or something, how easy it must be”. Here’s what the owner said to me;

“Yeah. We’re doing a special deal. Rent the whole place for the night - $10,000.”

Did you say “Ten Thousand Dollars”? Fucking what? He kept talking to me, so I knew he wasn’t kidding. “That’ll include drinks, turn the jukebox over to you, all the games’ll be free too”. I should have laughed in his face. But I didn’t. For some reason I felt the need to continue the conversation as if it was something I could afford and was considering doing. “Yeah. Cool. That sounds like something I might look into” or something idiotic like that. I don’t think he bought it because he said “You know, if you and a couple buddies want to do in on it…”

Yeah. I’ll do that math. Let me round up 100 people willing to spend $100. On Toons. That sounds doable. Not a problem at all. I once had $30 all-you-can-drink at a bar on my birthday and heard people bitch about THAT. Let me just ask those same people to spend $70 MORE and sell it because they get unlimited Golden Tee and fucking Coldplay on the Musicmatch. No offense, Toons - you’re still my gal, but come on. Not you too, Toons. Surely you’re not like the rest, Toons.

It’s the same story everywhere you ask. Which bar will I let rape me this year? I feel like getting bar raped to begin the ‘06. I get drunk every night I go out. And that’s, minimum, three nights a week. What is so goddam special about New Years? Because we have goddamn noise makers and glittery top hats and, at midnight, sing that song nobody knows the words too. Sign me the fuck up. Here’s all of my money. Take it. It’s yours.

Plus, nobody can agree on what they’re doing that night. Some broad always gets mad at me for some reason or another. Somebody gets punched in the face by some meathead for looking at his woman. Somebody cries. Somebody pukes. Et cetera, et cetera. I hate it. I fucking hate it. I’ve had so many bad New Years…

This year, you should go to Chucklebowl. You get a bejeweled Bentley. It’s going to be great.

11/12/2006
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