Recently in Bars & Nightlife Category
The sinful dance den Mr Black is moving yet again to a new location starting on Nov 7th. It's 3rd(ish) location will be Club Rebel at 251 W 30th Street ... where hopefully all the cute boys and fierce trannies won't kill themselves on the all those steps. Let's just hope they let me bypass the line at the new location, too.
The Afterhours Blog turns one! Rock on, guys. This is where I go to check out the House. They keep it fresh and sure know how to keep my heart pumping at the gym or on the dance floor. Stop by, wish the Afterhours folks happy birthday, and download some great remixes that'll help you remember ... well ... last weekend.
Now you, too, can bask in the dirtiness that once was the Manhole (and later J's Hangout) and take back the night from the tragedy that has become the meatpacking district. Starting Wednesday, February 7th, join DJ Lina and DJ Van Scott as they spin some super tunes at P.O.W.
Be a Superhero for the night and explore the depths of Level V (located in a space once infamous for it's 'you can't put your head below waist level' rule). You never know - you may just meet a mysterious stranger from your past. And if not, you'll at least have lots of cute Superhero and Bad-Boy Go-Go dancers (something tells me I'll like the Bad-Boys a bit more).
Enjoy super drink specials and the underground private lairs, including the secret Ÿber-sexy Bat Cave. See you all there, but don't bother looking for me - I'll be in disguise.
P.O.W.
Wednesday, February 7th
Level V, 675 Hudson Street (at cornter of 14th St. and Hudson)
Oh, and for all you fancy gays - it's located under Vento, so go have a good meal beforehand.
Be a Superhero for the night and explore the depths of Level V (located in a space once infamous for it's 'you can't put your head below waist level' rule). You never know - you may just meet a mysterious stranger from your past. And if not, you'll at least have lots of cute Superhero and Bad-Boy Go-Go dancers (something tells me I'll like the Bad-Boys a bit more).
Enjoy super drink specials and the underground private lairs, including the secret Ÿber-sexy Bat Cave. See you all there, but don't bother looking for me - I'll be in disguise.
P.O.W.
Wednesday, February 7th
Level V, 675 Hudson Street (at cornter of 14th St. and Hudson)
Oh, and for all you fancy gays - it's located under Vento, so go have a good meal beforehand.
Remember when Pop Rocks was at Flamingo East (even before it was at Plaid) and attracted every cute guy below 14th street? If so, that probably means you are too damn old to check out the return of Pop Rocks at 13 on Thursday, October 19 (mark it down in your calendar, boys). Hosted by the lovely Shania Rendezvous (honey, gotta get you a webpage) - this party will be sure to get your blood pumping and ass boucing up and down on the dancefloor.
And don't let me scare you, guys, you're never too old to rock out. Prove you still have 'it' and join DJ Chip Duckett and DJ Drew as they celebrate the release of the 2007 Dieux du Stade (the nude French rugby calendar). After you dance til you just can't dance no more, grab a free calendar ... which will be 'useful' later on in the eveing if you don't find a cutie of your own on the dance floor. Get there early for the open bar 10-11 ... and be sure to get on DJ Drew's Guest List.
Pop Rocks
13
35 East 13th Street at University
Oct. 19th: Release of the Dieux du Stade 2007 calendar
And don't let me scare you, guys, you're never too old to rock out. Prove you still have 'it' and join DJ Chip Duckett and DJ Drew as they celebrate the release of the 2007 Dieux du Stade (the nude French rugby calendar). After you dance til you just can't dance no more, grab a free calendar ... which will be 'useful' later on in the eveing if you don't find a cutie of your own on the dance floor. Get there early for the open bar 10-11 ... and be sure to get on DJ Drew's Guest List.
Pop Rocks
13
35 East 13th Street at University
Oct. 19th: Release of the Dieux du Stade 2007 calendar
Candis ripped it up (bad choice of words??) at Opus 22 on Sunday in celebration of Pride. Thanks to GOOL for the lovely photo that will trigger memories of the event for years to come. That girl can perform!
Even after a potentially fatal wardrobe failure (have you ever tried to do high kicks standing on just one high-heel???) she tore up the West Side Highway much to the enjoyment of passing cars and pedestrians alike. What better way to spend Pride Sunday afternoon than eating a big juicy hamburger from the grill, getting to kiss a cute boy, downing a potent vodka beverage (or two ... or three ... or ... ), and watching a performer that actually has talent?
Even after a potentially fatal wardrobe failure (have you ever tried to do high kicks standing on just one high-heel???) she tore up the West Side Highway much to the enjoyment of passing cars and pedestrians alike. What better way to spend Pride Sunday afternoon than eating a big juicy hamburger from the grill, getting to kiss a cute boy, downing a potent vodka beverage (or two ... or three ... or ... ), and watching a performer that actually has talent?
Who doesn't love Mr. Jon Jon Battles? Thankfully, one of our favorite DJs now has his very own blog.
I knew I was off my game when the guy I was chatting up abruptly pulled a dollar from his wallet and strode towards the bar - where a go-go boy eagerly awaited as his wresting gear strained under the presure of his enormous muscle(s).
I knew my chances were dwindling when the guy expertly slid his single deep into the singlet
.
I knew I was going home alone when I heard the guy ask the wrester if he was 'working' after closing.
Sigh. You really can't get a clearer signal that you're not going to hook up than that, can you?
Lesson learned: Wear a wresting singlet.
I knew my chances were dwindling when the guy expertly slid his single deep into the singlet
.I knew I was going home alone when I heard the guy ask the wrester if he was 'working' after closing.
Sigh. You really can't get a clearer signal that you're not going to hook up than that, can you?
Lesson learned: Wear a wresting singlet.
Finding this upper Chelsea bar was a little difficult, I guess they must want to keep it a Secret. Either that or I was just walking on the wrong side of the street (i.e., the 'straight' side) and mistook the gay bar for an art gallery. After a few calls on my mobile to some friends that were smarter than me had found the place successfully, I headed over to 525 W 29th Street (north side of the block between 10th & 11th Ave). After chatting with the doorman (um ... someone please give this man the 'nicest-hotest-yet-most-effective-doorman-in-nyc' award), I entered the bar.
Using an old Frank Lloyd Wright trick, the entrance is small and almost 'tunnel-like' - making the moment of entrance into the larger main room quite fantastic. Once inside, however, I wasn't too impressed by the large chandeliers and round seating areas running down the center of the rectangular space to a bar at the back of the room (someone please teach the designer about traffic flow). Throughout the evening, I had the vague feeling that I was in a ballroom/lounge of a three-star hotel located in a city that was not quite LA ... but not quite NYC either.
That said, decor generally doesn't break a bar - and it certainly didn't lessen the amount of fun I had at this one. The bartenders were cute; mixed descent, reasonably priced drinks; and were pretty speedy. More importantly, the crowd was awesome. Although there were pockets of friends forming little, tight circles (what, are we in high school again?), most of the bar patrons were circulating about, talking to new-found friends, and quite good conversationalists. Brought to you by the same folks that own Big Cup and owned hell (may it rest in peace), Secret definitely fills a special little place in NYC nightlife. Check it out and say 'hi' if you spot me - chances are I'll be back again.
Using an old Frank Lloyd Wright
trick, the entrance is small and almost 'tunnel-like' - making the moment of entrance into the larger main room quite fantastic. Once inside, however, I wasn't too impressed by the large chandeliers and round seating areas running down the center of the rectangular space to a bar at the back of the room (someone please teach the designer about traffic flow). Throughout the evening, I had the vague feeling that I was in a ballroom/lounge of a three-star hotel located in a city that was not quite LA ... but not quite NYC either.That said, decor generally doesn't break a bar - and it certainly didn't lessen the amount of fun I had at this one. The bartenders were cute; mixed descent, reasonably priced drinks; and were pretty speedy. More importantly, the crowd was awesome. Although there were pockets of friends forming little, tight circles (what, are we in high school again?), most of the bar patrons were circulating about, talking to new-found friends, and quite good conversationalists. Brought to you by the same folks that own Big Cup and owned hell (may it rest in peace), Secret definitely fills a special little place in NYC nightlife. Check it out and say 'hi' if you spot me - chances are I'll be back again.
How long has there been a cute bartender working at the Cock?
And why wasn't I informed!?
And why wasn't I informed!?
When a bartender slams down a shot glass in front of you, overflows it with tequila, and says, 'enjoy, this is from me', you don't refuse. You don't push the glass away (even if you've never had tequila before in your young life). What you do is clear. You bring the glass to your lips, make eye contact with the bartender, and down the fucking shot. ... It's just being polite.
As I walked back to my apartment that night, I was happy. Very happy. Friends in tow, I turned to them and slurred slightly, 'Tequila is my friend.' Some frat boy walking the other way called out after me, 'Hey buddy, tequila is no one's friend.' Right then and there, I had learned all I needed to know about tequila.
Unfortunately, that was 7 years ago, and some leasons are forgotten with time. Last night, N. came over for some long overdue Margaritas on my roof. For a change, I went with the frozen variety. As I was blending them, I realized that maragritas are basically all alcohol. 'Sweet,' I thought. A few hours (and some good conversation) later, I was in a good mood ... so ... after N. made her way home, I headed out to meet some friends at a local watering hole ... where I met my good friend, Tequila, yet again. This time, she manifest herself in the guise of free shots (administered directly from the bottle). The bottle was in the expert hands of a hot go-go boy dancing directly behind me on the bar - and he had tapped me on the shoulder to see if I wanted one ... well ... i guess it was more like he grabbed my mohawk and tipped my head back ... but just the same. I should have known better - really - I should have. But, it kind of took me by surprise, and I had been waiting to buy a drink anyway, so I figured, why not. I opened my mouth, looked up, and only then, did I realize that the hot stud sending the stream of mexican goodness down into my mouth was the go-go boy. He either had no hard feelings OR he was trying to give me alcohol poisoning - cause all I know is that I was standing there swallowing mouthful after mouthful ... after mouthful ... after mouthful of my good friend tequila for a long time. My buddies swear it was half the bottle, but I can't imagine that it could have possibly been that much - I am, after all, alive today. The rest of the evening progressed rather uneventfully - but was fun none-the-less. I do vaguely remember, however, swaggering down the street on my way home slurring to no one in particular, "Tequila is no one's friend. No one's friend at all."
Lesson learned. Again.
As I walked back to my apartment that night, I was happy. Very happy. Friends in tow, I turned to them and slurred slightly, 'Tequila is my friend.' Some frat boy walking the other way called out after me, 'Hey buddy, tequila is no one's friend.' Right then and there, I had learned all I needed to know about tequila.
Unfortunately, that was 7 years ago, and some leasons are forgotten with time. Last night, N. came over for some long overdue Margaritas on my roof. For a change, I went with the frozen variety. As I was blending them, I realized that maragritas are basically all alcohol. 'Sweet,' I thought. A few hours (and some good conversation) later, I was in a good mood ... so ... after N. made her way home, I headed out to meet some friends at a local watering hole ... where I met my good friend, Tequila, yet again. This time, she manifest herself in the guise of free shots (administered directly from the bottle). The bottle was in the expert hands of a hot go-go boy dancing directly behind me on the bar - and he had tapped me on the shoulder to see if I wanted one ... well ... i guess it was more like he grabbed my mohawk and tipped my head back ... but just the same. I should have known better - really - I should have. But, it kind of took me by surprise, and I had been waiting to buy a drink anyway, so I figured, why not. I opened my mouth, looked up, and only then, did I realize that the hot stud sending the stream of mexican goodness down into my mouth was the go-go boy. He either had no hard feelings OR he was trying to give me alcohol poisoning - cause all I know is that I was standing there swallowing mouthful after mouthful ... after mouthful ... after mouthful of my good friend tequila for a long time. My buddies swear it was half the bottle, but I can't imagine that it could have possibly been that much - I am, after all, alive today. The rest of the evening progressed rather uneventfully - but was fun none-the-less. I do vaguely remember, however, swaggering down the street on my way home slurring to no one in particular, "Tequila is no one's friend. No one's friend at all."
Lesson learned. Again.
Join the ranks of the rich, famous, and ... um ... almost nude! Our friends from PANT at Galapagos are always on the lookout for male cuties that want to break into Burlesque and share their talents with the world.
Pssssst. Performers receive a small honorarium.
**"PANT is no longer at GALAPAGOS!!! The party will be moved in the near future to an undisclosed location!! Unfortunately, due to scheduling conflicts with Galapagos' booking and PANT, the short lived (yet sucessful!!) party will be reincarnated soon..STAY TUNED!!"
Pssssst. Performers receive a small honorarium.
**"PANT is no longer at GALAPAGOS!!! The party will be moved in the near future to an undisclosed location!! Unfortunately, due to scheduling conflicts with Galapagos' booking and PANT, the short lived (yet sucessful!!) party will be reincarnated soon..STAY TUNED!!"
Hmmmm. It seems that BoiFromTroy has put together a little get together in NY. I may have to go just to slap the republican out of him.
He even made the above image. What I find weird about it is that there are no actual NY bloggers listed on the invite. It'll be fun to see who shows up.
He even made the above image. What I find weird about it is that there are no actual NY bloggers listed on the invite. It'll be fun to see who shows up.
The Jackie Factory makes me love NYC even more than I thought possible. I just can't wait til the Night of a Thousand Stevies at the Knitting Factory. Life just doesn't get any better.
For all you guys that want to get in the Easter Spirit but don't want to fork over your 10 bucks to Mel Gibson - head on down to Daniel Nardicio's Magnum at 13 Little Devils for a live crucifixion at 1am. It's bound to be hot - and I'd be there if I didn't already see the crucifixion over the summer. They even promise a 'second coming' later in the evening. I can only wonder what that means ....
Made the dangerous mistake of heading out for 'just one' drink with D. to a local watering hole. It just so happened to be two for one night at the Phoenix - and the bartender was particularly nice in helping me find a new drink to try - so my 'just one' didn't really pertain to the evening any longer. (If any of your folks know of any good rum drinks, by the way ... please let me know).
As I drank my first rum and OJ (not as bad as I thought it would be), I palmed my poker chip (that would allow me to get drink two for free) and looked around. Nothing much interesting was happening, but it was kind of a nice break from packed bars/clubs on the weekends. It felt so good just to be able to relax and talk. The most exciting part of the evening, however, was when the bartender walked around from behind the bar, pulled a cigarette from a (particularly annoying) patron's mouth before he could light it, threw it to the ground, and crushed it beneath his foot -- all without saying one word. It was priceless.
I'm learning that sometimes words can ruin a situation ... and that sometimes words can be beautiful beautiful things. Knowing when (not)to use them is truly an art form.
As I drank my first rum and OJ (not as bad as I thought it would be), I palmed my poker chip (that would allow me to get drink two for free) and looked around. Nothing much interesting was happening, but it was kind of a nice break from packed bars/clubs on the weekends. It felt so good just to be able to relax and talk. The most exciting part of the evening, however, was when the bartender walked around from behind the bar, pulled a cigarette from a (particularly annoying) patron's mouth before he could light it, threw it to the ground, and crushed it beneath his foot -- all without saying one word. It was priceless.
I'm learning that sometimes words can ruin a situation ... and that sometimes words can be beautiful beautiful things. Knowing when (not)to use them is truly an art form.
While making my way into the Pussy Cat Lounge for Gay Pimp's Stripclub, I managed to slam my fingers in the club's surprisingly heavy door. I should have known that the rest of the evening would just go downhill from there.
Heading upstairs to the crowded bar area, I ordered a very expensive and very weak drink that didn't even fill the plastic cup it came in. Not such a good combo ... especially for a place with a cover charge. The crowd was pretty friendly and decent looking ... but I just wasn't feeling the place. It didn't have quite the same allure as the old parties on Pearl Street.
After heading back downstairs to get some ice for my fingers, we saddled up next to the bar to down our drinks and watch some of the dancers work their ... uh ... well, their skateboards to be exact. Gotta love go-go dancers with props. With one hand in a cup of ice and the other wrapped around a quickly disappearing drink, I watched as some hot stud popped bubbles with his gum while holding the skateboard in front of him as a modesty screen of sorts. Luckily, he was dancing in front of a mirror ... so the skateboard didn't hide everything. So, as I'm chugging the last of my drink, I glance over to the other dancer at other the end of the bar. There I am, watching this boy shake his ass for dollars, when he suddenly turns around and I realize that ... gasp ... I went on a few dates with him a couple of months back. This is shocking only because it brings my running total of boys-i've-dated-that-i-didn't-know-were-go-go-boys to a whopping 2. I'm worried that if the number ever goes up to 3 that I'll officially become Dirty.
This encounter, however, was not nearly as shocking as time I found the guy I was dating dancing naked on a bar 'earning' 20 dollar bills (which came as a total surprise to me). When he saw me, he tried to play it cool and came over to say 'hi' and meet my friend. Let me tell you, it's quite odd to introduce two people when one of the two is entirely naked but for glitter and when you are trying to recover from the shock of seeing someone you are dating naked for the first time when he's on top of a bar with some patron's hand working up his thigh. After jumping back up on the bar, he lasted for about 45 seconds before jumping down again, grabbing his clothes from the back, and literally running out of the club as he pulled his pants on. Apparently it made him uncomfortable to have me find out about his job like that. Needless to say, we didn't even have to have a break-up talk. Gotta love it when things end as smoothly as that.
Heading upstairs to the crowded bar area, I ordered a very expensive and very weak drink that didn't even fill the plastic cup it came in. Not such a good combo ... especially for a place with a cover charge. The crowd was pretty friendly and decent looking ... but I just wasn't feeling the place. It didn't have quite the same allure as the old parties on Pearl Street.
After heading back downstairs to get some ice for my fingers, we saddled up next to the bar to down our drinks and watch some of the dancers work their ... uh ... well, their skateboards to be exact. Gotta love go-go dancers with props. With one hand in a cup of ice and the other wrapped around a quickly disappearing drink, I watched as some hot stud popped bubbles with his gum while holding the skateboard in front of him as a modesty screen of sorts. Luckily, he was dancing in front of a mirror ... so the skateboard didn't hide everything. So, as I'm chugging the last of my drink, I glance over to the other dancer at other the end of the bar. There I am, watching this boy shake his ass for dollars, when he suddenly turns around and I realize that ... gasp ... I went on a few dates with him a couple of months back. This is shocking only because it brings my running total of boys-i've-dated-that-i-didn't-know-were-go-go-boys to a whopping 2. I'm worried that if the number ever goes up to 3 that I'll officially become Dirty.
This encounter, however, was not nearly as shocking as time I found the guy I was dating dancing naked on a bar 'earning' 20 dollar bills (which came as a total surprise to me). When he saw me, he tried to play it cool and came over to say 'hi' and meet my friend. Let me tell you, it's quite odd to introduce two people when one of the two is entirely naked but for glitter and when you are trying to recover from the shock of seeing someone you are dating naked for the first time when he's on top of a bar with some patron's hand working up his thigh. After jumping back up on the bar, he lasted for about 45 seconds before jumping down again, grabbing his clothes from the back, and literally running out of the club as he pulled his pants on. Apparently it made him uncomfortable to have me find out about his job like that. Needless to say, we didn't even have to have a break-up talk. Gotta love it when things end as smoothly as that.
Although I've never even been to Miami Beach, I somehow managed to get on Crobar's mailing list and have been receiving invites for parties too far away to attend. With plans to pry open the doors of their NYC Club on December 4th for an invite-only grand opening, they've somehow decided that now would be a good time to remove me from their mailing list. Great.
The commissioner of the Department of Consumer Affairs mentioned on NY1's Inside City Hall that the agency is actively re-examining the dreaded NYC Cabaret Laws of 1926 (which first targeted jazz clubs in the 20's ... then gay clubs in the 60s and now ...), and will "hopefully be able to make announcements soon" regarding loosening the ban on dancing in your favorite bar - perhaps by the end of the year.
Eight bucks for cover?! On a Monday night?! (It must be the LES.) Sorry - I'm not that Horny. Although I love Erni Vales's design of 13 Little Devils, I'd rather go to Hell than pay someone for the privilege of drinking at their bar -- especially on a Monday night. And if I do get horny ... I'll go and grab myself some Cock -- it's free on Mondays, and JonJon is a mean DJ.
