Here’s part one. Read it first!

We took our mustache and met up with Tamar for dinner and more drinks at Zum Schneider, where the mustache revelry was apt among the authentic Bavarian biergarten ambiance — authentic, except for the facts that it was indoors and that it was 14 degrees outside. Weinerschitzel and spiced hot wine! How can you go wrong?

At this point it becomes cloudy as to when exactly it happened that T and I ducked into Whole Foods for warmth, where I bought Icelandic chocolate. But it happened.

Oh, and then, because Tamar knows exactly what I want, when I want it, we went to a tiny lil place called the Stone and saw Petra Hayden. Petra, who recreated the entire album of The Who Sell Out with only her mouth and audio looping. Petra, who measurably brightened my life from 2005 to today with her brilliance. Petra, who reacted graciously after I told her the story of my sister putting on her Who album in a roomful of babies, and the babies going silent, and rapt, all at once.

After the show, when Tamar and I were chatting, I saw Sean Lennon behind her shoulder. I tried to keep it as cool as possible while trying to hiss this new development at Tamar: A Beatle Offspring at 12 o’clock and closing in! Alas, Sean, used to a lifetime of knuckleheads like myself who are unable to keep their cool around him, smelled the suddenly-stupid air and vanished, just like that.

I think maybe then that that Icelandic chocolate was purchased. Anyway, it was just a quick detour for yet another stop: Botanica, a small fun bar in SoHo at which my old pal Mr. Fine Wine was spinning his vintage soul and R&B rekkids. It was fun to surprise him; we hadn’t seen each other for 15 years and he very sweetly said I had hardly changed. Oh, you! There was rum and beer involved, maybe. You can listen to his show on the best radio station in the world.

The party train may have started slowing down for our heroine at this point. She tried, valiantly, to talk herself into going up to Columbia University, where an old high school chum, and yet another DJ, was broadcasting his all-night jazz radio show. But Tamar smartened up and took us home to Queens.

So that was one of the best days: January 2 (and a bit of the 3rd), 2008.

And what of my numerous friendships with radio DJs? I know not. I like music, I like the radio. And what’s with the fake-mustache craze among the hipsters? And why the hell am I not in New York right now? Again, I know not.