Quantumas

Teach spoke the truest words of the evening. "You can't explain this night to anyone. They'll always look at you like you're retarded. The whole thing sounds really strange. And pretty gay."

The High Holy Days snuck up on me this year. The Tri-Birthday (now Sex-Birthday) had been a blast, but now it was time for the drunkening of Quantumas, where Quantum dies from scurvy and his friends gather to tell stories and give gifts in celebration of the man's life. Dressed completely in black, I arrived at Teach's place to find Uber, T, and Kodez already digging in to the libations and snack foods as provided by brother Teach, our host for the early part of the evening. Soon Quantum appeared, wearing what appeared at first to be curtains but on further inspection turned out to be not one but two Hawaiian shirts. He also had a ridiculous sparkly hat, the type that is really only appropriate on New Year's, and then only marginally so.

We realized we had only an hour and a half before we had to leave for our dinner reservation in Harlem, so we set to drinking with a more hurried pace than is likely advisable. Before heading out, we made time for the Quantumas traditions, such as T getting screwed and the presentation of the gifts. T was actually mugged while walking to the first Quantumas two years ago, thus beginning the tradition of him getting screwed on Quantumas, but this year he gleefully announced that his girlfriend had been the only one to screw him that day. To help Quantum in the afterlife and beyond, we always give him gifts that are actually of questionable value in this life. Gifts this year included "Liver Aid," the usefulness of which should be fairly obvious, the traditional raw broccoli (this time doused with beer and used to anoint the faithful Catholic-style), an absentee ballot application for Massachusetts, Portabello mushrooms, and a flashing tiara with "Bitch" written across the front in prominent red lettering. It was noted that this gift made the whole gathering more of a bachelorette party and also more gay. Last year, I had given Quantum a rock "that he may smite his enemies in the afterlife." This year, I gave him the mightiest weapon of all, my grading pen, which has already shattered the egos of countless teenagers and can be used to smite enemies or fill out absentee ballot applications.

Close to 8:30, we headed out to the bus. Yes, we had elected to take the M60 bus across the Triborough on a Saturday night while quite drunk. The whole crew totaled, I believe, nine people at this point, so we made quite a scene as drunken black-clad wanderers loudly roaming the streets of Astoria. When we arrived at the bus stop, there was some commotion at 31st St. A stretch Hummer limo had a flat tire right in the middle of the intersection under the N train, causing havoc with the traffic there. A tow truck was just clearing the accident, its own tires pretty well flattened by the weight of the behemoth it was carrying. A policeman had blocked the intersection to allow the truck to clear it but people were getting impatient. It was at this point that Uber decided that he would help out.

We all know Uber's track record when it comes to helping people out. Now I am of the opinion that, when one is drunk and with a loud group of people who are also drunk, one should not voluntarily approach an officer of the law. Uber clearly does not think likewise. He bounded over to the accident scene, where two tires remained in the middle of the road, and offered to help in their removal. The policeman declined. Undaunted, Uber bounded back to us at the bus stop to report that the situation was "being taken care of" and that his help was not needed after all. We acknowledged this fact with varying degrees of interest.

As had been predicted, we took over the M60 bus. Some sitting, some standing, we were a force to be reckoned with. Hubris for some reason (probably hubris, come to think of it) started explaining the idea of Quantumas to a random kid on the bus, who looked at him like he was retarded. The bus cleared out substantially by the time we got off. We had a vague idea that this restaurant was near the end of the line for the bus, but it took a random wireless signal and my iPod to confirm the location. We wandered off down 125th St.

Dinosaur BBQ is an interesting place indeed. It's actually under the Riverside Dr. overpass, about as far on the west side of Harlem as you can get. I realized that I knew the neighborhood from cycling up the West Side Highway and down Broadway. I had passed this restaurant many times and not even realized it. There were tables set up outside and people were actually seated there, despite the February temperatures. Inside was packed. We had a reservation for almost 20 and our party was more like 11, but we still got our table in a timely fashion. The decision was made to get a shitload of meat for the entire table (except the small but vocal vegetarian section) and just dig in. At one point, I had a large amount of hot sauce poured onto a place in front of me that I seem to recall I was supposed to eat, but that didn't end up happening. The food at this place was fantastic. Everything stuck to the insides of your ribs and caused arterial stress at first sight. It's the kind of meal that everyone should have once in a while but no one should attempt to consume twice on consecutive days. It was the perfect meal for our purposes.

Dinner done, we headed downtown on the 1 train, losing some of our party to the night and arriving at Irish Rogue and (quickly thereafter) Bull Moose. Hubris offered up a round of shots for the surviving team members. I myself headed for home soon afterwards, fielding a phone call from SecondLaw along the way. Compared to Quantumases past, this one had fewer felonies, more food, less drooling, and more varied modes of transportation. The amount of broccoli remained constant.