Tromping through the wilds of Madison, WI, these past few weeks, I have learned that, aside from cheese, polka, and “Don’t ya know,” Middle America is a hotbed of stellar draft beers. While savoring Maddy’s local suds with names like Fat Squirrel and Spotted Cow, I can’t help but miss the frothy goodness of my own bar-away-from-home’s original brew, The Gaf in NYC. The Irish Amber at the same-named Gaelic go-to is a sure bet for casual locals or adventurous newcomers.

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There’s something liberating about legal public near-nakedness. Liberating in the physical sense—skin!—and liberating in the sense that it’s like you’re getting away with something that nobody else can get away with. Which is exactly how I felt when I ran the Nautica New York City Triathlon underwear run last weekend. Runners run through Central Park in essentially nothing all summer long, but striding along in actual under things is a whole different story. But my friend, who competed in the triathlon the next day in grand style, and I thought, What the hell? So we ran 1.7 miles through Central Park in our skivvies. In broad daylight. Completely sober.

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A group of New York City artists and socialites have put together Gala - a semi-monthly event combining an art show, a concert, and a party. Gala features upcoming talent to support New York City’s underdog artists. This particular show featured six artists and one screening. The six artists consisted of Felix Olivieri, Ryan Myers, Joshua Barash, Landen Brasseur, Kim Ibricevic, and Keila Diana Sone. All doused with talent…some more than others, and all of completely different mediums. From etching, sketching and skate board design, to artistic interpretation of pornography…this show will leave you wondering if these kids have made this their living or just their hobby…or maybe just an excuse to throw a party. Either way, between the $4 Bud Lights and the company of good-looking people you’ll find at Snitch EVERY Saturday night, I was managing to have a good time.

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As much as I love working with words, there comes a time when the right side of the brain—that quirky, creative, imaginative, artistic, deliciously un-logical hemisphere—needs a roll in the hay. We’re talkin’ some major stimulation. So I’m taking a drawing class at the School of Visual Arts, where, for three hours every Tuesday night, I sit in a cavernous studio with graffiti-covered walls and draw. Well, sketch, really, from a live model (which I’ve decided I definitely want to be one of these days, but that’s another story).

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If your friends are anything like mine, they love going to the sex stores to find that perfect gift - gag or personal. Some may find it an easy task to just waltz into a head shop, look point-blank into the eye of the most disgusting man you’ve ever laid your eyes on and say, “I need something to get me off .” Others resort to purchasing gifts online to avoid, at all costs, co-workers seeing them walk out of stores that are decked out in mirrored windows and black lights.

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Summer is the season of the rooftop in this fair city—balmy evening air, drinks with a view, easy living’ all around. So I’m happy to report that I found a new rooftop at a newly opened club called 230 Fifth (230 Fifth Avenue (at 27th Street), 212-725-4300), which was the site of a friend of a friend’s going away party. For more info and pictures, check out this article on Eater. The spot—actually, it’s more of an expanse than a spot—is made up of a penthouse lounge and (sigh) a massive rooftop with full-on views of pretty much every glittering skyscraper the Manhattan skyline has to offer.

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