-To me, summer in New York City is like going through puberty.  Beforehand, you’re both apprehensive and excited about what lies ahead.  Then, you don’t even realize it’s underway until halfway through when you start breaking out and can’t stop thinking about girls.  And when it’s all over, your memory of what actually happened is fuzzy, the frequent awkward moments replaced forever in your mind with sporadic instances of glory.  The summer is a time when twentysomethings are on a voracious prowl for all things new – that bigger apartment, that sweeter job and, of course, that next piece of ass.  Hell, it’s August and even Kobe Bryant and Harry Potter can’t keep their hands to themselves.  Summer of Love?  No way.  It’s the Summer of Lust.

-Guys on the streets of New York this summer are not looking or peeking or glancing or gazing at women, they are full-out gawking.  I don’t know if it’s because we’re horny or because your thong is showing, but ladies, I’ll be the first to admit it – we have lost all semblance of self-control.  If it wasn’t for the hordes of yellow-shirted Greenpeace volunteers clogging the sidewalks, I swear we’d be running around unchecked, accosting every blonde with a pulse and a low-riding terrycloth sweatsuit.

-Meeting women this summer has taken on an additional twist.  The fact that college kids two years younger than me just graduated, combined with the fact that there are tons of summer interns in the city right now has produced one very weird experience: hanging out with my friends’ younger sisters.  The situation is always the same.  I’ll be hanging out a bar and I’ll meet a cute girl that looks vaguely familiar.  She seems to know me yet I can’t figure it out.  Then the kicker: “Oh I’m Mike’s sister, I met you when I visited the fraternity house four years ago.”  I immediately think, “Oh shit,” then excuse myself, throw cold water on my face and get the hell out of there!

-There have been some marked changes in the New York nightlife scene over the past few months.  For instance, the new “in” spot at the bar is no longer the VIP room in the back or the tables near the front.  No, the new “in” spot is actually outside the bar and around the corner, where flocks of hopelessly addicted chain-smokers huddle in deference to the new smoking ban.  The landscape has changed such that by taking a brief cab ride down Park Avenue South, you can actually tell which lounges are most happening by the size of the nearby smoke cloud.  It’s pretty pathetic.