Work can be a pleasure, and some time pleasure takes work.

So it was nice to mix a little business and pleasure the other night when two colleagues and I decided to meet up for drinks, and a show at Carnegie Hall.

L.S. and L.B., and I are all agents in the entertainment business. Although business is something we rarely talk about after hours. We all work in what I would consider the (classical) music distract (e.g. the area that centers’ around Carnegie Hall, just down the street from Lincoln Center).

Lauren’s firm represents a brilliant, young, and gorgeous Violinist by the name of Mayuko Kamio; Lauren invited Lindsay and I for drinks before going to check out this young virtuoso.

Only blocks apart we all walk toward each other on our cells phones deciding to meet up at “Quality Meats” on 58^th and 6^th Ave. I know that the name is a bit off putting, but it is a lush, warm, (but very business) restaurant. The host takes our jackets at the door, and the owner ushers us over toward the bar.

The lighting is exquisite and as is the wine, and the girls and I order a cheese tray, settling into the corner leather booth to drink Pinot Grigio and to talk about business, er, boys.

It never ceases to amaze me that three business minded women with diversified backgrounds, career jobs, and multi-faceted talents will still end up on the topic of men.

We all took turns giving he sum up of our current affairs.

L.B.- happy, continent, in love, but slight irritated by your garden variety long term relationship issues.

L.S.- interesting new prospects, but utterly happy about her independence and freedom (how very 4^th of July of her)

Me- wink, smile, (censored) so, very, very good.

After our chat we walk down the street to Carnegie Hall. We sit and listen to Mayuko play a program of Szymanowki, Beethoven, Franck, and Tchaikovsky. Utterly beautiful.

Club nights are fantastic, but sometimes it’s nice to diversify your night/love/lust life.

Do it.

Photo by Kate Attardo

This past Friday was a leap year. That day doesn’t particularly hold any significance for me except that it gave me extra day before I had to pay rent, and apparently it’s the only acceptable day of this every four year event where women can propose to a man. The only proposal that I knew I would instigate was asking if four of my girlfriends wanted to go and kick back a few cocktails at Happy Hour.

I am proud to say that they all answered ‘yes.'

As I am a ‘mix business with pleasure’ type gal, I had to run an errand for work before going to the bar with Virginie in tow. As I negotiated with some sound engineers at Gotham Sound, Virginie gave some of the male workers there a tutorial on how to properly play Nintendo Wii Bowling. With her Jean Paul Gautier bag in one hand, and a Nintendo Wii stick in the other she showed them how to get a strike, “See zat is how you play.” She said with her French accent. “Maya, we go meet Chris now.”

We met up with my girlfriends, Chris, and a few of his co-workers at the Irish bar Stout on 33^rd street.

Stout is not ordinarily a bar I would go to, Virginie seconded my emotion, “Maya, what is ziss place?” Virginie said looking around. Virginie and I like atmosphere. That is why we enjoy places like the Hotel QT Bar, The Chambers hotel lobby area by the fireplace, Gansevoort Hotels’ rooftop, Jean Georges’ central park west restaurant, on and on. Telling her to relax her inner snob, ‘a cocktail is a cocktail darling, we’ll have fun here.’ We were immediately greeted by a warm hug from Chris, who was in matchmaker mode that evening (as stated before, this is normal my job).

I was greeted by a talk drink of water from Ireland (who could be Vince Vaughn’s doppelganger, before VV became blotted). He was also one of Chris’ co-workers. Needless to say I was immediately attracted as there was a copious amount of hair flipping on my end. He was a perfect gentleman with story (or two) to tell.

We all left Stout to go to a bar named ‘The Stoned Crow’ in the West Village. It’s another bar that I wouldn’t have sought out ordinarily, but it had warm authentic feel. The place is covered head to toe in film posters, and the owner Betty sits in the back pool room in a wooden chair that says ‘owner, Betty.’

Betty knew the Irish man well as apparently last time he was the ultimate pool shark. ‘You need to play on our bar team’ she said with a smile. Flattered, he laughed, and modestly said ‘Well, I think about it.’

The Irish man rolled out a few more stories for my (and his friends) entertainment, before I knew it, it was two in the morning, and a light snow had begun to blanket the city. It was a very nice way to end February. I am ready for March to unroll it’s self, and I hope warmer weather, and to see blooms on trees again. beso- Maya Contreras

Happy hour at Hotel QT usually involves donning a two piece bathing suit and swimming to the bar for a cocktail.

So when my friend Will sent me an invite that he was DJing and there was an open bar, I thought:

‘to swim or not to swim’ I chose the former, but I brought a gang of girls with me to enjoy the open bar.

I think there is something dangerous about an open bar and two dozen pool swimming New Yorkers, but everyone looked like they were keeping themselves in check. The music was banging, but the drinks where something less to be desired. When you’re willing to pay for a $14 dirty martini over the free booze you know that the swag is less then desirable. The open bar was ‘Honey’ Vodka. Something that seems delicious in theory, but tastes much the way licking the back of a band-aid tastes. However it was no surprise to me that people still lined up to take full advantage of the open bar. Ordering drink after free drink.

My cousin was once again flocked by a bunch of men spilling less than stellar lines, “Yeah, I’m in the music business. So you know, I’m pretty connected if you need any tickets to concerts….”

Little did these men know that my cousin’s phone overflows with numbers from the who’s who in the R&B business to NBA vip players numbers. She ain’t buying what your selling buddy.

The hotel its self is cozy, warm, and lovely. The happy hour was truly that, the crowd was cute, music was great, maybe next I will actually bring my bathing suit.

I was walking through Time Square with some friends one evening not too long ago when one of them commented, “New York is too clean now, too safe.” He had been living in New York since the days of Tunnel and Limelight, when the Lower East Side was a place you didn’t journey to after 7:00pm, and Time Square was filled with Porn Joints, Strip Clubs, and lots o’hookers. “I miss the seediness, and the danger,” he said as we walked the Chamber’s hotel for a drink and a seat by their fireplace.

Make no mistake; while New York is statistically safer after Giuliani’s late 90’s scrub down, it’s still a place to watch your back and to pay attention to your surroundings. That reminder was never clearer to me then what happened to my former boss this past Friday.

Like most industries, the one I work in (music industry) requires constant bank wires, your typical commerce transactions in order to expedite the tours, pay the artist salaries, and additional transportation costs. This time, my former boss had to actually withdrawal a large amount to pay the orchestra directly. He was mugged, pistol wiped (the gun apparently went off) and he was robbed…of $149,000 in broad daylight on 56^th and Broadway. Witnesses watched it happened and did nothing (a few said they thought it looked like a film was being shot).

http://gothamist.com/2008/02/23/police_search_f_5.php 

When you’re coming home drunk from a nightclub don’t walk home by yourself (you shouldn’t do that anyway). Ladies look out for your girlfriends when they are trying to get home, make sure you look after getting them into a cab, and if you can, go with them and make sure they are get home safely. Of course most of you know not to get into hail a livery cab (e.g. those cars that look like mini limos), only accredited yellow cabs are allowed to be hailed in the city.

So ladies and gentlemen be safe out there. Maya

Lolita

Lolita is not only a book by Nabokov about an old man by the name of Humbert Humbert becoming sexually obsessed with a twelve-year-old girl named Dolores Haze, but it’s also a adorable little bar on the corner of Broom and Allen in the Lower East Side.

With a few inches of fresh snow on the ground this past Friday night, it’s becomes increasing difficult to motivate to go out. After a new friend invited me to come out and meet him at Lolita, I realized it would only be laziness keeping from going out (Lolita is only six blocks from my house) and so me and the lovely Sophie trekked the six blocks.

I’ve been wary of the LES on Friday and Saturday nights as some of the even divest bars (e.g. some of my favorite bars) have been overwhelmed with Wallstreet personas, or those sporting Gotti Jr. hair do’s (e.g. a bottle of gel applied and spiked sky high) stripped shirts and frat boy attitudes. It feels a little bit like out of towners who have heard about this quaint little ‘downtown scene’ and want to find out what it’s about. Either way it’s not exactly a sexy crowd. I warned Sophie that it might be the same at Lolita.

With Sophie looking like a black version of the sexy French actress Bridget Bardot there was no shortage of attention for her. “People are really friendly at this bar.” She said with her charming French accent. She is still blissfully unaware of the attention she commands. She orders us a round of their signature drink “The Lolita” (passion fruit and vodka) and we join my friends and a group of his friends and co-workers.

We were pleasantly surprised that the crowd was not what we suspected. It was instead ranging from indie rock to LES regulars, with a little downtown business mixed in. My friends’ friends were a mix of film editors, successful clothing designers, and record label associates, and music managers. It was an accomplished crowd, but unpretentious.

It was the perfect way to unwind on a snowy Friday night.