So, I like, fo reals had a ridic rad assignment all lined up for Super Snoop Sunday, which was to infiltrate the neo-golf subculture couched within some Aussie dude’s Superbowl party in the West Village and report back to my peeps at AMR. My homegirl Ellie’s ex/not-ex boyf who she like just kicked out of her pad is now crashing with the Aussie-partydude, so it seemed all drama and whatevs, but eff it. There’s gonna be golfers there??? Weird. The only golfers I know are like my dad and my gramps, so I was all set to find out what was the color a la mode for polo shirts. Collars popped up? Have golf shoes become hip like bowling shoes, informing street shoes, informing golf shoes, informing Fashion Week? Is it still all about plaid and argyle, or are they mixin it up with metallic leggings or neon harem pants? Has Tiger Woods made golfing sexy? Are these golfers gonna be total scrotties? Back when I was a teenager, my grandpa was all about trying to get me to pimp myself out to pro golfers. We’d be watching a game on the tube, and he’d point out some sideline slutz all decked out in Ralph Lauren visors and shorts and biz, and he’d say, “You know, you should really just go hang out at these tournaments like those gals… pick up a nice young pro. There’s big money in golf!” So like, I know the whole Tiger Woods shiz is totes played out (SCOOPED!!!), but I’m just gonna throw in my op to the ed, and say that it probably wasn’t Tiger’s libido that got all caaarrraaaaaazzzzy OOC. He was just trying to make all those ladies’ grandpas happy!

Ya, but so anyway, these clearly weren’t pro golfers we were dealing with because #1, they said we could only come if we were ladies, and #2, we had to bring some sort of 7-layer dip nonsense. Pro golfers would not care if we were ladies or not, because they’d be knee deep in beeatches anyway, and pro golfers would’ve had that shiz mad catered with like, sashimi florets riding on ten-foot tall swans carved out of ice. 7-layer dip???!!!! Eff that noise, Ellie and I only had enuf scratch for about one layer each, so we didn’t go. Instead we just stayed at her place and shared a Brooklyn Brewery Monster Ale (10% alc by volume!), and drank all her roommate’s BB Winter Ale, which was not nearly as delightful as the Monster Ale, which, according to the bottle, was brewed in the style of barley wine and best enjoyed from a goblet. We improvised and enjoyed it out of chilled Crate and Barrel stemless wine glasses. The stolen beer was enjoyed straight from the bottle, as stolen beer should be. Class! We’d decided to root for The Saints, so occasionally we’d look up and boo about them being behind, and then in like ten seconds they were ahead. Yay!

So then Elli decided to break out the credit card to order us sushi and Japanese pickles, and I boiled frozen stringbeans and edamame to mix with soy sauce, rice vinegar, and chili paste, and it was effing awesome, so then we decided we needed vodka mixed with Rose’s lime juice and Sprite Zero (so we wouldn’t get fat), but that made The Who’s performance even grosser, but NEwayz it didn’t matter much because I was too busy trying to find out if their drummer was this dude I’d gotten bizzy with like forevs ago. But that dude’s name was Morgan and even though he was a drummer, he was not Ringo Starr’s son, so whatevs. That rocker hairdo makes all rockers look the same. If I were one of America’s Most Wanted, I’d totes go get a rocker hairdo and hide out as a roadie for The Who. Hopefully they’d take me to Europe and then I’d sneak off to Switzerland and just board and yodel for the rest of my life. WTF, now The Saints have 23 points? When did that happen???!!! Suddenly everyone’s stoked and pouring ice everywhere, and WTF!!! What’s wrong with that baby???!!!

Then there were puppies running around everywhere because it was PUPPY BOWL, and finally we landed on the Korean channel and got sucked into a confusing Korean Soap opera that seemed a little like Romeo and Juliet, only nobody died. I think the young couple just didn’t want to live with their annoying, track-suit wearing family (Korean Mafia?), and the parents were so upset they got drunk, tried to fight each other, and scrubbed the floor really well. The show kind of ended with the girl getting tricked by a fake contest with a fake laptop as a prize, and then suddenly she understood things and called her boyfriend’s dad and everyone was crying and then the credits exploded, and it looked like we’d been watching a hilarious sitcom, not a soap opera. Maybe it needed a laugh track??

Okay, so the case is totes closed on Superbowl Sunday (raddest ever!), but totes open on the neo-golf subculture and Korean television programming.

Lates!

TPD

Tight Pantsy Drew Zines:
Tight Pantsy Mystery no. 1 – L Hath No Fury
Tight Pantsy Drew Mystery Zine no. 2 – D.I.Y. or DIE
Tight Pantsy Mystery no. 3 – Flickr’d Out

• nyc zine fest ’09
• Tight Pantsy Drew Snoop Scoop: The Folk Underground
• RACHEL RABBIT’S BOURGIE NIGHTMARE: FAKE GLASSES