• Taking a cab to a New York airport at 7:30 a.m. is some risky business. This ain't a quick shot where you can hold your nose the whole way. If the driver's at the end of his overnight shift, we're talking about a possible 30-minute torture chamber of B.O., curry chicken, spilled coffee and residue from carting home drunks for hours.

• Golf is the only game where you cheer for your friends to make 50-foot putts, but love it when they miss three-footers. Isn't that the most fun part, watching your friends go from perfectly calm to raging, club-throwing psychos in a matter of seconds? I can't get enough of that, and I was the first to throw a club this weekend. Fuck you, sand trap!

• If you have a penis, go to Myrtle Beach over Hilton Head, where I went a few years ago and remember every female being either 15 or 50. Which wouldn't be so bad if dad wasn't around, too. Myrtle, on the other hand, had a frisky feel to it. Me like.

• The biggest suckers on the planet were at Crocodile Rocks, the dueling-piano bar at Broadway at the Beach on Friday night. They did a North vs. South bit, where a requested song like "New York, New York" could be cut short by a generous tip and request for something like "Sweet Home Alabama." And then the North would cut that short, and so on. Anyway, the pots on both sides combined for over $400 in less than 10 minutes as asshat after assclown walked up to the stage with twenties to play this sucker game. Holy shit.

• The Pussy Cat Song? Seriously, the cheesiest song ever, though the Bret "The Hitman" Hart lookalike on piano was a talented chap.

• Would have been nice if the Giants came within five yards of pressuring Drew Brees or tackling LaDanian Tomlinson. Nice job by Tom Coughlin going for that field goal on 4th and inches on the game's opening drive. Guess he thought the defense made the flight to San Diego. (Update: I wrote this before the New York Post's G-Men report card was published, and Paul Schwartz shares almost exactly the same sentiments.)

• The nachos at the Overtime sports bar can lead to sudden death on the toilet. As a general rule, no one among a group of guys is allowed to take a huge dump without first announcing his intentions to the entire crew.

• A conversation I had with whoever answered the phone at Dick's Last Resort on Friday night just after 10 p.m., when it seemed all restaurants were closing.

Guy: Dick's.
Me: Are you guys still serving food?
Guy: We're stopping food service in a few minutes.
Me: Fuck!
(Hang up.)

• When people clap and cheer after a plane lands, they know the pilot can't hear them, right? It's like when people cheer after a movie ends. No one involved with making the movie is within a thousand miles of your praise.

• The Eagle Nest golf course should be re-named Mosquito Run. Can I have the back of my legs back? Jesus.

• Here's something you don't see in New York: a large assortment of shit beer in grocery stores.