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> NEW YEARS EVE
Why wait? Plan your New Years early.





Don't let NYE catch you with your pants down.




Updated on the 1st and 15th of every month

by Dr. Smooth

"The only place in the world where you bargain a Burberry wristwatch from $30 to $10 and still get a feeling of buyers remorse." - Dr. Smooth

Self-discovery is often accomplished with a map in one hand and a camera in the other. Travelling is excellent for your mind, and world perspective - so when the Doctor takes a trip to the 212 he reveals that French, gays, and transsexuals run the New York Sizzle!

We were securely cradled by the comfort of concrete, while the cold and polluted Hudson River raged below, waiting to swallow up its next victim - the river is starved by the advancement of technology. But the city, full stomach and all, continues to feed on our souls.

We rolled into the lion's mouth - kind of like Siegfried & Roy - in a German import. Four guys on a mission and each of us with different goals in mind: the doctor wanted to discover New York City as a bachelor; Ramón wanted to understand the hypocritical mind of a woman; Big Willie had a demoiselle to enchant, and Ike wanted to test the limits of the human body - something he's been doing for a while now.

After having unpacked our bags in a quaint brownstone in the Upper West Side - the abode belonged to Carrie - Ike carefully poured out five glasses of Gin and Tonic, ensuring that the tonic would not be tasted. After a couple of these drinks, the effects of the ingested intoxicants began to settle in, which led to the familiar nomadic nightlife anxiety - we had to move, and fast!

Stumbling to Columbus and 84th Street, we hailed a yellow submarine and headed down to 47 West 20th Street: Avalon was our destination - the old Limelight. The club is set in a breathtaking church building with majestic gothic arches and stone walls. Stepping out of the cab I was swept away by the swarm of wannabe hipsters patiently waiting to get rejected at the door. I parted the sea of people and made my way to the bouncer, in order to ask him what it would take to get five people in. As he banally muttered absurdities, I scanned the lineup to get a good idea of the type of people that frequent the place - always a good trick to see if it is worth waiting in line. From the look of things, this place is packed with 'bridge and tunnels' - people coming from outside of Manhattan - these are the people you want to avoid if you want to experience the real New York.

Before I got a chance to tell my comrades that this place sucks, I saw them bolting down 21st Street to the Tomato Restaurant (on 6th Avenue). I was greeted at the door by a transsexual - a very good sign since the coolness of a New York nightspot is determined by the following criteria: level of Frenchness, presence of a transsexual doorman and gayness. Now, if the place has all three, then good luck in getting in, especially in the Meat Packing district.

As I make my way past the doortranssexual, I catch a glimpse of Ike dancing on a table with two malt imports in each hand - had he been a pretty girl, his actions would be justified. I rid myself of this thought and made my way to the bar, but before I had the chance to further my experimentation with alcohol, I got into a heated debate (with myself) about the tobacco regulations being a cruelty of the western government, whose intent it is to suppress our slavery to the nicotine gods. Do we really need emancipation from the tobacco companies? Then I thought about the effects of second hand smoke on the bartenders and the unbearable working conditions that they are subjected to. So I quickly came to my socialistic senses and grabbed a smoke outside, dedicating my first puff to our great government and their altruistic regulations.

Within minutes my crew was outside smoking cigarettes, as the saying goes, when in Rome. A group huddle takes shape and the consensus is to have a night of bar hopping.

Bar #2
Next door to the Tomato Restaurant is a little door with a sign spelling out a Greek word. The club seemed to be drawing beautiful people, a good indication that this place is hot. As we made our way up the dingy stairwell, the venue opened up into a Greek supperclub with Mediterranean patrons smoking cigarettes and dancing to a live traditional Greek band. Then, before I could say "Glenfiddich aged 16 please", Ike was on the dance floor showing the Greek women how to mambo Italiano - if only he knew it was a Greek club then would this have been funny, but in reality, this was a sad moment in time.

Bar #3
Across the street from the Tomato Restaurant was our third destination, Slate. This was where our trouble began. Slate is a pool bar, which could easily be mistaken for a Martini bar due to the misleading sign outside - some serious false advertisement. Continuing his streak, Ike found his 'woman of the club' and began to grease her up. All the while her boyfriend was playing pool and receiving one of the worst public roasting by Willie… his motivation was beyond the comprehension of this universe. Meanwhile, Ramón and I were throwing around out-of-place sexually charged glances at unsuspecting victims. With all of these faux-pas combined, we all concluded one thing: we needed to get out of that joint, and fast!

Bar #3
Off to Taj, a club nearby. Upon arrival, the line was huge and Willie couldn't resist the inner urges of his excretory system. So he promptly unleashed the longest piss I've ever witnessed on an apartment door by the club. As this was transpiring, the building occupants watched from a distance, and were shrieking words of disgust as they waited for this uncontrollable beast to finish. After he put the snake back to bed, Willie turned around, faced the occupants and delivered a smile of satisfaction - I think everyone around had understood his troubles - and was consequently forgiven.

Once inside the club, Ike was at it again, with more success this time: he was fooling around with a New Yorker - a real New Yorker. Willie and Carrie decided to opt out of the fellowship and go to bed early. This left Ramón and I, the only two who hadn't achieved their goals. Within a couple of drinks, we discovered that bumpin' and grindin' is not dead, but hidden right there, under the Big Apple. After a couple of hours of bumpin' we decided to call it a night, so we lit up our smokes inside the club and unenthusiastically waited to get kicked out into the bustling streets of New York. The city at the early hours of the morning was packed with businessmen, derelicts, taxis, tourists, and regulars - I guess it really never sleeps.

As we waited outside for a cab, two beautiful well-dressed women sat on the concrete floor with a look of confusion. Ramón turned to them and seized the only opportunity he would have to discover himself and the complex minds of a woman… and asked them earnestly: "Hey! You bitches need some money?" The response was quick and natural: "You're an asshole!" Their answer had stunned him; I don't think he was expecting this exact response. Ramón walked away more confused than ever, muttering the words to those around him: "Back to the drawing board…"

On the way home I thought about us achieving our goals: looks like traveling can be an enriching experience - even in New York.

Updated on the 1st and 15th of every month





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