the friend rapport, November 22nd

John and I are on the same wavelength. I could tell he wanted to have smart fun this weekend. We happened upon our inebriated friends first thing, once I got off the bus from the bean. He’s got this look he gives me when we both spot something unreasonable. The walk to Tiff’s place was meant for the kind of jackets you wear in Montana. Penn Station was particular about her cold this evening. The front desk greeted us in a black vest, white, collared shirt, and thin line of a mouth. The expression added gravity I didn’t show I felt. I lift the mood. John mocking nerves, mumbled about friends and their answering habits, as he said, “You know what, let’s just call Tiffany.” I told the man at the desk I liked his music as I walked away. His word of thanks broke his tough exterior, for only a moment.

Let me begin by highlighting the nuance, a key for any aimed at the visual arts. Not all fun is made or enjoyed equally. Smart fun, seems like it’s something for everyone, a G-Rated film made classic by the sands of time, like Shrek. Dumb fun, I’m sure you’ll find, is not the one for you and me. Smart fun is mindful, thoughtful enjoyment and leisure. Perhaps, you read a novel before you watch the film adaptation. Dumb fun is careless, haphazard hi-jinx justified as “fun”. Sniffing Pepsi (or coke) off the toilet tank after tipping the bathroom attendant fits this category. Instead of walking to the historic delicatessen down the street, you aim to return to a venue from which you were almost removed for disorderly misconduct.

Smart fun isn’t some edict by the Fun Police to stop good times in its tracks. It’s the spirit of indulgence within reason. Dumb fun is the reckless, young adult who just entered college as a freshman. Wanna play? Sure, go ahead. Play in traffic? Not so much. Dumb feels like… well, dumb. If you even so much as notice personnel within the restroom, you can throw going two-to-a-stall and “skiing the slopes”. Granted you have a room with a balcony, but it’s cold out, dumb is the insistence everyone has to go out there to party.

I think it boils down to who was trying to maximize over satisfice.


John voiced reason over the loud music and harebrained schemes. He suggested we play games, like cards.


Mcgeary’s tall stature belies his calm approach. “It’s 11, I don’t need an espresso.”


Nick could not be convinced to refuse a second trip to the bar. He would later on lament hooking up with a woman who looked like Ann Coulter.


Dempske… You poor fool. Just because we’re in a posh neighborhood in LES doesn’t mean you can snort lines in the bathroom!


Platkin enabled Dempske, shirked clean-up and managed to weasel into every smoke session somehow. The epitome of maximizing, he is.


Licata, seen here, more aptly captured below, made good by leaving before lunacy took us all over. A bottle of Barefoot was good enough for the boy.


Post Summary:

  • Smart fun is mindful with little extra cost. Dumb fun is mindless, trading care for kicks.
  • My friends this weekend, based on the fun they had, might be a mix of satis and maxis.
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