Here is the situation as it now stands: Ted Martinez has been walking around New York for a year with a missing tooth because his unemployment checks aren't enough to cover getting a replacement. Students who took out a "ferocious amount of debt" in order to attend fancy law schools and go work as well paid corporate law drones for life are now questioning whether that was the right decision, since they can't get jobs. The entrepreneurial fella who wants to put an upscale bar on LA's skid row to take advantage of the entertaining "people going back and forth" outside is being forced to rethink, because "residents" would rather have a "grocery store" or something. And food prices are going up.

All of which would be only mildly alarming in a fiscally responsible nation like, say, Botswana. But here in the USA we really don't need these distractions. We'll have $9 trillion in debt over the next decade. That is, like, a serious shitload of debt. Too much debt for someone like you, a product of the American educational system, to wrap your warped mind around. Allow us to put this into perspective for you:

9 trillion seconds ago was 285,000 years ago—before the Republican Party was even created.
A stack of $1,000 bills to equal $9 trillion would be 611 miles high—higher than the Eiffel Tower.
The US government collected almost exactly $1 trillion in income taxes in 2006. In order for the government to collect enough to pay off $9 trillion, your tax rate would have to rise by 900%—even higher than the current middle class tax rate.
In order to have the league's payroll add up to $9 trillion, every single player on every single Major League Baseball team would have to be paid nearly $8 billion per year—even more than Derek Jeter is paid.

Think about it.

[Pic of a mere $1 trillion via]

The ultimate in speakeasy mystification takes place at PDT (Please Don't Tell) on St. Marks Place in the East Village. Patrons have to enter through Crif Dogs, the hip hot dog place, then step into a phone booth and identify themselves by speaking into the receiver. A buzzer opens a secret door, revealing a strange, twilight world where artisanal cocktails are consumed under the watchful eyes of a stuffed jackelope and raccoon, and a bear wearing a bowler hat.

If you're cool enough to drink there, this is totally old news. Now you have to find a new, more secret place. If you're only learning about it now, it's just another painful reminder that you are unfit to drink anywhere worth writing about. Either way, just give up.
[NYT. Pic via]

It's in Murray Hill (hills! the world is full of amazing connections!), whose state flower is the blue button-up shirt and official drink is the Totally Fucked Up, Man slinger. As Heidi is exactly as sexy as an unclothed Barbie doll, expect lots of hot girls and cool-as-Spencer dudes to frequent the joint. [W]

despite being invited to a private party at the hudson hotel, and being +3 years over the legal drinking age, tonight I was denied entrance to the bar, and was threatened with having my drivers license cut up. however, the two (and i know this for a fact) underage blondes in front of me were able to get in without a problem, and have their "ids" scan just fine.

oh and try to ask for a concierge or a manager? yeah that draws out the scissors for your real id.

believe me, my brother and sisterinlaw are cancelling their reservations at this hotel and i will never give them my service again.

and yeah, i'll be that moderately in shape brunette raising a f***ing stink in the lobby tomorrow.

That bouncer should be careful, unless he wants to get stabbed about the face and neck.

At least there was a wall with amusing quotations to help us pass the time, like this one by Humphrey Bogart: "The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind."

My co-waiters in line also expressed shock and dismay at the fact there was even a line (We're told it's even worse at the Santa Monica venue). "This never happens!" explained the girl behind me to her friend. "This is so weird." Yes, it was weird, but then so is Father's Office. It's sort of communal in its set up—most of the seating was outside with large, wide wooden tables designed for either large groups or several couples who love to have intimate conversations while sitting next to total strangers.

My friend and I, meeting in person for the first time (we are internet buds) experienced this conundrum. Inside, it was standing room only, but then, voila!, a space opened up, next to a couple that seemed to be celebrating a birthday. They invited us to sit there, and it quickly became nearly impossible to talk, mostly because the guy half of the couple insisted on shouting and laughing at the top of his lungs. Then, a third person showed up—the actual birthday boy, and it just got worse from there.

We took advantage of an empty table opening up and moved over, not before noticing that one of our former table mates had raised her arms in a "touchdown!" victory pose. Nice passive aggressive move. At least in NYC, people are openly rude and tell you you can't sit there just 'cause they don't want you to.

The lure of Father's Office lies in the quality beer and the food. The beer menu is impressive—there's even a $72 bottle, which, though I am not a beer person, I was tempted to try to see if it was so good it could make me a beer person. Alas, my pockets are not that deep.

Instead, I got something pale and lemony, a Hefeweiss. It was nice and smooth and I swear, was spiked with something because I felt pretty loopy afterwards (I only had one!). My friend went with an India Pale Ale and a Red Ale.

As for the food, my friend reported: "This is a really good burger." It looked good, but I had already eaten.

The garlic-parsley fries were yum, just skinny enough, too. I don't know about you, but I hate fat fries.

I had the Sobresada appetizer—three tasty nuggets of spicy sausage, manchego cheese and shaved onion on pieces of bread. Perfect snack.

All in all, Father's Office is a pleasant, if a bit chaotic, experience (you have to go to the bar to order, get a number and take it to the table, which means that if you and your friends drink at different rates, you end up waiting for the other person a lot). Next time, I would not only go earlier, but I would also avoid the Friday night rush. And, of course, cross my fingers that there's no line.

• Father's Office

An Ad Age survey of in-house bars at agencies reveals that—much like alcoholics themselves—they run the gamut from classy to trashy. A condensed highlight version:

The Homeless Drunk Beggar

Too cheap to afford a real bar, Digitas in Chicago satisfies staff with a travelling beer cart. "It's operated by Digitas staffers who walk from desk to desk offering a selection of Miller beers (Digitas is Miller's interactive shop), water, soda, popcorn and occasional specialty drinks." In brown paper bags, presumably.

The Frat Boy With A Burgeoning Problem

TBWA/CHIAT/DAY in LA has a "Surf Bar" made of castoff surfboards in its office, where the agency throws keg parties. Yea.

The Sad Hipster Drunk

Rivet in St. Louis has a bar called "The Bar." It has a ping-pong table, and "it's stocked with Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, a client, as well as wine and other basic drinks." So, so sad.

The Rich Alcoholic

JWT in New York has a 50-foot-long, plush, futuristic-looking in-house bar with white decor. It's brand new, and all the Diageo liquor is subsidized, along with bar food. As JWT staffers leave their elegant parties they toss a few coins at Digitas staffers to buy something from their beer cart.

[Ad Age]

"Siberia was the kind of place you went to drink to forget. 'It's where I went to forget that earlier that day I showed up to cover a party for Freddie Prinze Jr. and Freddie Prinze Jr.'s publicist told me that he wasn't doing interviews,' offered Spiegelman.

"But some memories remain: 'One time [owner] Tracy [Westmoreland] interrupted our conversation to go throw some guy in a Dumpster and then returned to our conversation,' says former 'Page Six' scribe and current Maxim editor Chris Wilson. One of his fondest recollections of the bar is the night he did shots with CNN's Lou Dobbs.

"Another is the time when, just for fun, Westmoreland ordered his clients to hurl his entire inventory — several thousand dollars worth of alcohol — against the wall. 'I put it up in the pantheon with Max's Kansas City, CBGB, Mudd Club," said Wilson. 'I think they all occupy the same shadow of awesomeness.'

"''The first time I went down into the basement I thought, How can there not be a body down there?' said author and book publicist Sloane Crosley. 'It looked like Silence of the Lambs.'" [NYM]

"Well, I simply adore this writeup, but let me make a tiny clarification: While I am indeed crazy, if I'm drunk, it's only from the caffeine in Diet Coke!

"Also, 'At least they have a hobby'? Honey, it's my job!!!

"And as for a full update: We actually hit 12 bars and clubs that night! We graced Mansion, the Eagle, Hudson Bar & Books, Chi-Chiz, Gym Bar, G Lounge, XES, Barracuda, Splash, Pieces, Marie's Crisis, and Pop Rocks. If I was on anything other than soda, would I be able to remember all that? Now on to lucky 13!"
[La Daily Musto]

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Did you think the Union Hall stroller ban was real? It was a marketing ploy by Park Slope real estate agents. All press is good press.

Off the top of my head, people hate park slope because of stroller wielding nazi-moms that clip your ankles and baby talk their children about how rude you are to be in their way... People hate on park slope because they post stupid questions about why they should have to pay for their nanny's ticket to Europe, after all, she would never be able to go to Europe without them, shouldn't she be chipping in? People hate on park slope because there is a MINORITY there that seem to have lost touch with reality, and they do stupid things as a result.

I feel like people are "buying" themseslves some sort of caché by moving into a neighborhood that was once made great by funky, young, artistic or gay types. It is CONSUMERISM. By saying they live in the slope they are wearing a "progressive" bumper sticker or something. But investment bankers took over Soho and wanted some of that coolness to rub off on them in the 80s. [ Brooklynian]

It's the kind of place where the neighborhood's aggressively coupled recent transplants can forget about astronomical housing prices and in vitro fertilization for a few hours while nibbling on chocolates from Dean & DeLuca or watching a mixologist squeeze fresh juice for a Blackberry Caipirinha. The sole beer is Grimbergen, served in a snifter. On this night, a student with a messenger bag peeked inside, then promptly left.

"I want to attract an international crowd," said Asio Highsmith, a model and one of the owners, adding, "This bar could be anywhere."

Like... HELL.

A TONY staffer sent a query to his coworkers earlier today asking him to help map out which bars in the city are best for tracking down the elusive lusty older lady. The subject line: "Where have all the cougars gone?" The writer received a message from a self-described "attractive cougar in [her] early 40s, thirsting for some young blood." She wanted to know which bars provided the highest ratio of hot young dudes to "catty, female 20-somethings traveling in packs."

"I have a feeling some of you have also spied cougars on the prowl out and about," our TONY stafffer insinuates. "What watering holes do they frequent?" Yes, readers, which bars would those be? Let's all help enforce societal double standards about sexuality!

[H]e thinks the club will remain in the same dank, subterranean space on 40th Street and Ninth Ave., but whatever happens, it will definitely be in Hell's Kitchen. "We're not straying from our roots. Siberia's always been in Hell's Kitchen and it works. There have been some shit holes in Hell's Kitchen, and that's basically what we're looking for.

Julius Closed, Seized For Nonpayment of Taxes [Eater]