From The Ashes ...

My Weekend (Part 1, The clean stuff)

Weekend being a relative term as mine falls on Tuesday/Wednesday. I decided to honor my New Year's pledge and actually go out into the world for a bit. Tuesday night I ventured down to the lower east side to check out a new bar that opened this weekend called Boysroom. Sounds promising, no? It's down on Ave. A just before Houston St. Not necessarily the safest area for general faggotry but an up and coming neighborhood that is getting it's share of "hip" new bars both gay and straight. The walk from my castle high atop Second Avenue is about 20 minutes. I decided to not worry about what to wear,opting for jeans and a smart-ass T-shirt. I arrived around midnight and found the door staff to be very friendly. That's always a welcome surprise. It always amazes me when you show up at a club and the door staff acts like letting you in is some huge imposition that they can barely tolerate. Hello, when you're in the business of selling drinks it would be helpful to have people to sell the drinks to, attitudinous fuckhead.

At any rate the bar itself on a Tuesday night was pretty average. Centrally located decent size bar in the middle of the room. Raised platform/stage in the back near the dj booth. The wait for a drink was not at all, mostly because there weren't a lot of people there. Ominously, at the same time I went in they ushered in six straight white 30-something women. They had obviously wandered off the Houston St. straight circuit (by way of Long Island if I judged the clothing right) After loading up on cosmos (Carrie Bradshaw, much?) they proceeded to lurch about the dance floor doing that white woman finger point dance that just sends a shudder up my spine, I don't know why. But for a new club to be already attracting it's "used to be hot but now attracting it's second generation" crowd means this place could be ovah before it becomes evah.

As to the rest of the crowd there was a smattering of East Village boys (read skinny and slightly scruffy/ yummy), and a few twinky, overdressed, hair dyed lady-boys, and some people obviously hired to be "atmosphere" because they were, well, obviously atmospheric. Note to whoever: wrapping yourself up in 3 dollars worth of crinoline and parading endlessly back and forth across the room does not make you Naomi Campbell. It does make you look ridiculous and annoying. As to the obligatory gogo boys make that boy (singular), a slightly muscly blond man who seemed to have no physical relationship to the music being played as his "dancing" seemed to involve standing near/at the gogo pole (a de rigeur piece of bar equipment it appears these days) and twitching and jerking about like the bar was a giant defibrillator or something. And totally a turn off. It's like I've always said, if you can't dance, you can't fuck. Rhythm being the key to both activities. It was kind of sad really, Sweet ass, though.

I didn't like the music. Hate being a much too strong word. My verbal review to a friend went something like this:

Friend: "How'd you like the music?"
Me: "feh."

Now to be fair, The Hellcat went this (real) weekend the night before they were having their official grand opening and he said he had a filthy fun time, so you should by no means take this as my last word. I will be back for sure it's a cute space and there were so few people there that the downstairs wasn't being used this night so I haven't even seen it yet. Also, in consulting one of the local fag rags that did a feature on the club last week. I see that the (mystifyingly) crowd pleasing Jonny McGovern and DJ Nita will be taking over Tuesday's so at least the crowd should swell, if not my enthusiasm.

After that, it was just a hop over to Urge Lounge on 2n/2nd. It's on the way home after all. I like Urge and the manager/owner is a "friend of the family". I have to say, even though he's closer to The Ex than to me, it seems he's picking his gogo boys just for my benefit. Copper latin skin, big dicks and tasty phat asses. Anyway, the only really remarkable things that took place were when I was entering and just before leaving. Right after exiting the hallway entrance into the main bar I was bumped into (slightly) by a rather large black man. No bigee. But he excused himself like this:

"Oh excuse me, Daddy. I'm sorry"

Daddy now is it? Hmmmmmm. Happy, sad or amused. I can't say...

And just before I left, again standing in the front of the bar. Several men walk past me. The last of which markedly and with no mistaking it for accidental brushes his hand and arm right across my crotch. Some strange man felt my candy! Just before he walked out the door he turned completey around and looked at me. I smiled and laughed. He smiled. He left. 10 minutes later I was walking home.

Also:
Two New Words To Add To Your Lexicon (courtesy of GQ/uk)

Sarchasm n. the gaping abyss of humor and understanding that is created when someone is oblivious to anothers' use of irony. Prevalent in New York and Los Angeles: Sasha was completely unaware of Nick's use of sarchasm when he said he'd never even heard of her video.

Teenile adj. refers to a man or woman, usually in his/her late thirties or forties, who has a propensity to wear clothes suited to someone at least 20 years his/her junior: Did you see that 40-year-old wearing a trucker's cap with his jeans around his knees? Was he crazy or simply teenile?

That second one should come in handy at The Bar. Always some teenile patrons on the weekends.