Stocks down, Brains up!
Eric The Roommate's band, Xylos, is playing the Mercury Lounge this Saturday October 18. If you're a fan of indie-electric pop this is a band you'll want to check out.
Give "Wrapped in a Page" a whirl - that's my favorite.
See you there!
14th street is jam packed with people and personal space is clung to like a drowning victim's catch for air. Union Square? Forget about it. It's an unrelenting pillage of Starbucks Red Cups, mittens, rosy cheeks, breath in the air and shopping bags, from "Jingle Bells" to "Sleigh Bells." Yup the holiday threat level has reached red (and green.) The siege is upon us.
It was with great relief that at 7PM I'd be ducking into Nowhere Bar for the annual Worst Christmas Party Ever. Julio and his boys from Brooklyn host a party of unapologetic Christmas tackiness. The Worst Christmas Party Ever is a dress code of awful holiday sweaters and silly head-worn ornaments in an environment of horrendous holiday remixes and a white trash buffet.
I stepped into the bar to the beat of Mariah Carey's "All I want for Christmas" and found Julio wearing a Miss Claus dress and sticking bows onto people. I greeted him, kiss on the cheek and took a bow to stick onto my chest. I went up to the bar and ordered a beer and sipped it while taking inventory of the place. If you could imagine visiting your grandmother in a trailer-park retirement center then you have a pretty good idea of what the bar looked like. The sweaters were deplorable as was the the "blue-collar" punch of melted orange-sherbet and sprite. Vienna sausage (in the can) with American Cheese and nicely displayed 
strawberry pop-tart slices. There were a few
guys wearing antlers and John was wearing a knitted frock, right off the senior citizens rack at the Salvation Army covered, of course, in twinkling Christmas lights, and if I'm not mistaken, an edible Christmas tree of celery and cherry tomatoes, but it wasn't until the Chipmunk's holiday classics played over the speakers that my lips cracked a smile and I said to myself, "This is the worst Christmas Party Ever..."
The party went from the afternoon well into the evening and by the time I checked out, the place was packed. One didn't even need drinks to have a good time. The laughter came naturally from the silly attitude and energy of everyone there. Tis the season!
Some recent study suggests gay men possess a higher degree of neotony. Neotony, according to dictionary.com is "the state resulting when juvenile characteristics are retained by the adults of a species." And, man, if this wasn't a case of that- I don't know what is! And thank God for it! This party was "awful"ly fun and it was a reprieve from every other holiday party of the season. This was truly a time to let your hair down and celebrate the holidays in the most honest yet tacky-traditional and nostalgic way possible.
On my way out I said to Christian, another host of the party, occasional Nowhere bartender and recent friend of mine, "Gosh Christian. This is the worst Christmas party ever!"
"I know," he said rolling his eyes, "isn't it fucking terrible?"
The weekend is upon us! What to do? What to do?
Well,
Friday:
Rich King and Co. bring you the every Friday fun, friendly, foxxy and fun hot-packed basement of Snaxx. (Westside Tavern 23rd St. between 8th/9th Ave)
Saturday:
Is the National Day of Action: Come celebrate with a rally against the War in Iraq starting at Noon at 23rd and Broadway.
Saturday Night:
Ric Sena and the what-used-to-be Crobar, now Mansion, opens their doors to legendary NYC Circuit Extravaganza: Alegria Halloween. Yes, tickets are expensive ($60 at the door) but men will be hot, and dancing will once again, return to gay New York. Dressing up is encouraged. Costume contest, loud music, lewd men. 28th st. between 10th/11th Ave. Doors open at 11PM.
Sunday Night:
Metrobears New York brings you Score, a bear dance party held at Bar 13. 2 dancefloors 1 roofdeck, all bears. 10 dollar cover, free for Metrobear members. 13th st. at University. 7PM-2Am. DJ Rich King. All proceeds go to God's Love We Deliver.
Have fun. Be safe. Enjoy your weekend.
...At 4:57AM everything is blurry. I'm listening to Radio Head's “National Anthem” and I'm buzzing on both teeth-grindedness and anxiety. Saturday night turned into an absolute slosh fest and now I find myself, on the rinds of the evening, typing away at my keyboard trying to describe the indescribable I always dream of describing.
I met Scott out at Andrew's house party. Upon my close-to-midnight arrival the party was packed and the apartment, stuffy. There was a easy-mix of both muscle guys and hipsters, a cup in everyone's hand and the presence of light just absent enough. I see Scott, as animated and zestful as ever, arms flailing in the tightly squeezed room. I tap him on the shoulder and we catch up on the day over drinks. He introduces me to the current gaggle of people entranced by his presence until we detach and head over to the window for a smoke. Gregg's there, squeezed into the corner by the usual suspects of furry faces fuzzed into unfamiliar names. We greet, we smoke, we drink. The three-bedroom apartment is packed and my head, mixed with an Indian summer's humidity, begins to sweat. Droplets form, like dew to a blade of grass, upon the skin of my forehead. I remove my hat. Run my hands through my hair. My fingers aggressively wipe my beard, put my hat back on and resume composure for company.
I swivel out of conversation and head to Andrew's bedroom with the hopes of seeing him. I duck into the room and, low and behold,there he is, arm slung over a friend's, chatting away, bright eyed and gleaming. He greets me with a warm hug and I hug him back, adding a few jabs to his rib cage in that I love you so much want to grab-you-touch-you-hurt-you-fuck-you type way. It's a sign of affection and respect more than an intention toward heavy flirting. I'm glad to see him. He's good people and I'm letting him know. We quickly chat, cheers and drink up until I grab another beer roam around and look for Scott.
“We're going to Eastern Bloc,” he states with confirmation and leadership. “Ok,” I shrug and drink what's left of my beer.
Eastern bloc is three avenues and seven streets southeast of the party we were leaving and we used the walk to talk nonsense and smoke cigarettes. Scott's two friends are visiting from LA and I gabbed them up about where I lived and where they lived and the inevitable NY vs. LA conversation which always leads to nothing other than apples vs oranges solution. In any event the journey went quickly and before my second cigarette was out we were flipping our ID's for a bouncer.
Eastern Bloc is as lit as an American version of a real red light district. There's hardly any light, but just enough red bulbs glow so you can see the amount of money your spilling out on to the bar. It's narrow and packed, part of the gropey-get-wasted galore of it all. It's a real elbow and snuggle crowd until you form your own space with the posse you walked in with. I found a corner of the bar and spit dollar for liquid and ended up with a vodka-tonic. I picked the lime off the glass and chucked it onto the floor. Shoved the straw in my mouth and swigged to a survivor's Saturday night.
Scott bought a beer and his LA friends were easing in with vodkas and sodas. We were handsy and drunk and the place was rowdy. The DJ was spinning a mix of bubble-gum pop classics and rock remixes. It was both easy to dance and easy to stand. There was a guy dancing in his underwear who could have easily been a go-go boy as much as a local East Village boy gone wild on a Saturday night. He danced as if he accepted either outcome of the equation and reveled in his sacred moment of performing. The music is loud enough that you have to bend into somebodies ear to understand what they're actually saying, which became difficult as conversations flew from huddled-circle mouth to huddled-circle mouth.
Eastern bloc was supposed to be a last night drink but I was well into my second when Scott told me he was leaving. I hugged him tightly. Thanked him for a wonderful night,which unspoken, translates to a: it's always a pleasure seeing you- I'm glad you're my friend, sentiment and he was on his way.
I finished off my beer while having a conversation with a studly guy about whether his HRC hat was just a hat or an organization he supports. More or less, it turned out to be just a hat, but I enjoyed his warm energy, tightly fit tee shirt and his ability to keep up in conversation. I tipped the last foam-froth of beer into my throat and put the hollow bottle on the bar. I was thinking it was late and my hunch proved correct as the lights flicked on, turning what was once red and dim, to blaring and unforgiving. The man I was having a conversation with and I ducked out on to the sidewalk. The mass of nothing-to-do and nowhere-to-go but still-want-to-party crowd was on the sidewalks blabbering and smoking. I fished my pocket for a cigarette from a pack of Camel Lights I happened to come upon after someone left them at Andrew's party. I plucked one out and socialized for a light. I got one, said some goodbyes, offered my last remaining heart-felt smooches on the cheek and headed east to my apartment.
I was reading the NY Post on the downtown A train and smiled upon seeing the mention of NYC Leather Weekend, thrown by organizer and familiar bear-in-the-crowd buddy, Robert Valin. Holla! See ya there.
Here's the NY Post blurb:
S&M Fair to 'Hit' Village
By Christina R. Fagen (ha! "fag"en!)
"October 1, 2007 -- A public flogging will bring some to their knees on the West Side next week - and they'd better love it. The city's first-ever, kinky-sex street fair will feature open-air flogging, hard-core leather-whip types and punishment fans in cowboy chaps."It's a celebration of leather and fetish," said New York Leather Invasion group leader Robert Valin, one of the organizers of the Oct. 7 event on Weehawken Street near the West Side Highway."
Ahh, yes, it's here again! Happy Friday!
Here's is what's going down this weekend: Despite the possibility of some showers this evening the rest of the weekend should be clear and bright with temperatures in the 70's.
Friday: Rich King and Gustavo's always fun, friendly, foxxxy, furry SNAXX Party in the basement of the West Side Tavern. (23rd between 8th/9th.)
Saturday: check out:
The last party of RainDanceNYC a DJ dance party hosted down at the South Street Sea Port right under the Brooklyn Bridge. Check out the website for details and DJ line up.
Also on Saturday, journey over to Washington Square Park at 7PM for the Parade Without A Permit Rally, a protest organized to fight the city's latest crackdown on civil liberties by demanding cop-approved permits for any general assembly of over 50 people in NYC.
Sunday:
Head over to Brooklyn for the 33rd annual Atlantic Antic festival which features 10 blocks of food, festivities, through the heart of Brownstone Brooklyn. 10Am-6PM.
If you haven't had enough beer at Atlantic Antic (and you're pissed you didn't make it to Folsom St. Fair this year) head over to The Eagle for their Sunday weekly beer blast for cheap drinks and even cheaper men. (I tried really hard to not make this sound like a Next Magazine ad, yipes!)
Yup, that's right it's FRIDAY!
The weather this weekend is supposed to be gorgeous hitting highs at the 80 degree mark. As fall quickly approaches I highly recommend getting outside and enjoying the last of the good weather.
Take that much procrastinated trip to Central Park or the even more put-off trip all the way up the A Train to 207 St. in Washington Heights, Northern Manhattan. I hear it's beautiful up there!
