Saturday Night Live

Gym nights

Michael Diskin — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 23:06:00 GMT

Adventures in going out, staying in, and acting up I need to get my ass to the gym. I’ve done nothing this week but work, drink, and eat. Fortunately (or unfortunately) for me, my job enables a slovenly lifestyle. Covering Boston’s nightlife is fun, but the excesses are many: a lunch meeting with a chef who wants you to try everything on his new menu; several glasses of red wine paired with a near-inappropriate inability to stop eating cheese chunks at an art gallery opening; a...

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The Yah Dude Problem

Michael Diskin — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 16:49:00 GMT

Okay, let’s play a little game. Let’s try to figure out if my new neighbor reads this column. I realize this seems way more entertaining for me than it does for you, but stick with me— there’s a method to my madness. So I think my new neighbor is an asshole. Once again, he’s managed to wake me up in the middle of the night. It’s 3:30 in the morning and I’m lying in bed listening to him and his friends attempt to kick in the front door of his apartment. It seems he’s had himself a wide variety...

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Birthdaying Vicariously

Michael Diskin — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 21:57:00 GMT

Adventures in going out, staying in, and acting up When it comes to birthdays, I believe most people fall into one of two categories: those who celebrate them, and those who don’t. I’m firmly in the latter category. I’ve never been a big fan of tooting my own horn — a statement I’m sure you find hard to believe, considering that I force you folks to read this self-serving crap every other week (and all too often include a photo of myself as well). TOOT! TOOT! But seriously, I hate being the...

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Nuclear differences

Michael Diskin — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 03:28:00 GMT

I'm the weirdo of my family — that’s for sure. They love me; they just don’t get me. It seems they have a hard time understanding what it is that makes me tick. I like to put Tabasco sauce on my baked potato; I wear sneakers with a suit; and I’m a 38-year-old man with an increasingly-more-salt-than-pepper faux hawk. Put it this way: in the biannual Diskin family Christmas photograph, I’m way easier to find than Waldo. (No, not the guy in the hat and striped sweater; my Uncle Waldo....

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Your turn

Michael Diskin — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 21:08:00 GMT

It’s a gorgeous Saturday night and I have absolutely nothing to do. Normally I wouldn’t care, but, as we all know, the town clown has a job to do. The villagers must be entertained. I’m expected to eat something foul, drink way too much, or end up reflecting on life in a place I’d most likely rather not be. Hmm ... I suppose I could just write about staying in, but I’ve done that before and quite honestly, it sucked the first time around. I think I want the night off. If this were a sexual...

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The Lingerie Fashion Show

Michael Diskin — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 18:41:00 GMT

Before I tell you what I’m doing tonight, I need you to promise you won’t hate on me. I need you to say, “Mike, we realize your job forces you to work on weekends and quite often requires you to attend elaborate events that sometimes you would rather not have to.” I want to hear you say, “No, really! We understand you are a simple man who craves a simple life, but for the enjoyment of your loyal readers, you put yourself in difficult situations so that we can be entertained while sitting on the...

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The importance of hobbies

Michael Diskin — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 21:06:00 GMT

So, show of hands: who here has a hobby? You know, something you do during your personal time that you find enjoyable. And no, I’m sorry: for the sake of this conversation, masturbation does not count. (Ha! Look at all you fareaks lowering your hands. I love my readers.) I think having a hobby is an important thing, especially if you live in the city. It’s a release and a great way to reduce stress. For example: want to stab a guy for stealing your parking spot? Build a model of a 1978 Camaro...

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North End Newbie

Michael Diskin — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 02:00:00 GMT

I move more than an overly caffeinated epileptic on roller skates. It’s as if I get off on the smell of a UHaul truck. Ah, yes, breathe it in. it smells of sofa farts and sweat, doesn’t it? That distinctive odor can only mean one thing: it’s September, that magical time of year when discarded furniture can be found on nearly every city block and oversized moving trucks can be found wedged under nearly every overpass on Storrow Drive. So this Saturday night I’m going to explore my new...

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Brunch

Michael Diskin — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 21:32:00 GMT

Last night I took it easy. I had a fun but extremely low-key evening. So when I wake up this morning, I feel great. My exemplary Saturdaynight behavior has been rewarded. The allknowing hangover gods looked down upon me and said, “Let this man have a Sunday free of sinus headaches and latenightgarbageeating indigestion. Let him go forth and be productive on this glorious midsummer weekend day. For he has earned this right by showing us he can be an intelligent and responsible young man.” I’m...

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Fight Night

Michael Diskin — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 19:30:00 GMT

Tonight I'm watching two grown men beat the snot out of each other. It’s a bit ridiculous. These guys are well into their 30s; they’re dressed professionally; they’re drinking in a fairly respectable establishment; and they’re pitching fists at each other as if it were fourth-grade recess. I’m not really sure how it started, but if I had to guess I would say it has something to do with the woman now standing in the middle of this fracas screaming, “Go fuck yourself, Tim! This has...

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Suiting up

Michael Diskin — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 17:41:00 GMT

I love to dress up. Calm down, pervert — not in that way. I’m talking about putting on a nice suit or a classic tux for a night out on the town. Now, you financial boys are like, “Dude, I wear a fucking suit to work every day and I hate it.” Well, guess what? I don’t. I’m usually dressed like an out-of-work college kid. A pair of white Chucks, over-washed green army pants, and a plain T-shirt are my go-to work outfit — an outfit that is quite often asked to make the all-important...

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Figawi

Michael Diskin — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 19:00:00 GMT

This week I’m hanging out in the land of crabs and bad fashion. No, silly, I’m not stage-side at the Squire; I’m on Nantucket for Figawi. (That’s an ancient nautical word that means “Shit! I just dumped my Bloody Mary on my sky-blue Lobster-print pants. I hope it doesn’t stain. Can you pass me some soda water?” I’m not kidding.) Besides being a good excuse to get your first summer drunk on, Figawi is also an annual boat race that brings hundreds of sailors to traverse the waters between...

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VIP?

Michael Diskin — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 18:02:00 GMT

I’m a VIP. Or so I’m told. I get invited to all sorts of openings, charity events, and other soirées. I’m given wristbands that get me into the “real” party; I’m often given free drinks when I walk up to a bar; and yes, I’m the guy you hate who walks to the front of a line, shakes a few hands, and strolls right into the place that you’ve been waiting all night to get into. I’d fucking hate me too. I sound like a first-class, egotistical, social-climbing asshole. So do I even try to argue the...

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The art of manscaping

Michael Diskin — Fri, 30 May 2008 21:38:00 GMT

Tonight I’m staying home to shave my junk. How’s that for an opening line? Did it capture your attention? It sure as hell captured mine. I mean, how could it not? I’m standing here with my pants around my ankles and a razor in my hand. Clarity, people. Absolute and total clarity. So tonight I’m manscaping. You know, tending to my body hair in a way that sounds slightly gay but is just manly enough that I’m actually willing to admit that I do it. Summer is just around the corner, and I need to...

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An un-adult barbeque

Michael Diskin — Mon, 19 May 2008 20:10:00 GMT

(UM, MY Saturday night kinda sucked, so let’s talk about Friday night, okay? Cool.) It’s 7 p.m. on Friday night and the temperature is 75 degrees. Fucking fantastic. Is there really anything better than that first warm weekend night after a long, cold winter? The car windows go down, the skirts climb up, and the annual migration of ill-suited financial dudes, with Blackberries holstered to their hips, makes its way from office buildings across Atlantic Avenue, looking to mate at Tia’s. Ah yes,...

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