Archive for the 'Parties' Category

For the record, I wrote the piece on RUBULAD to praise its ingenuity, not to advertise it. This is specifically why I did NOT list the address or when it occurs.

For the commentators who posted the address, this is why the review was deleted.

For those who claim that it “sucks” now, get over yourselves. Sometimes its good, sometimes its not, it all depends on what YOU make of it. Dress up, dance, drink, flirt, and have a good time. Or not, it doesn’t matter to me.

I still have a good time.

Ah. . . The hunt for the perfect karaoke. . . An arduous task, yes.

See, the city is rich with microphones and TV screens filled with highlighted lyrics. And with the wide variety of work schedules we all contend with, finding the right venue, at the right time, date, and location for your rock-star fix can be a challenge.

For nearly a year, Sid and Buddy karaoke filled that desperate longing need within me to awaken the “karaoke whore”, as Sid (aka Matt) lovingly refers to his charges.

It was at Galapagos, in Williamsburg, every Sunday night. It was an addiction. Deeply. Madly. Truly. I would rock Aerosmith when I had no voice to give. I’d stay for the “end of the night Bohemian Rhapsody medley” in which everyone who lasted until 4 in the morning was compelled to join.

But all good things do come to an end, and Sid and Buddy ended their Sunday night run, and I was lost without a stage to seranade.

I found a surrogate at Smiths Times Square, which of course is in a very inconvenient location, and is hit or miss (but the on nights are ON!)

Then I found that Sid was BACK! This time, at The Grand Saloon on E.23rd st. So I decked myself out in my snazzy khaki suit and got ready to rock out some Big Bad Voodoo Daddy!

And although, all my favorite karaoke buddies from the Sunday night days of yore were all there to welcome me back, sadly, the magic just wasn’t there.

Probably becuase of the bland, lifeless, dull-as-dull-can-get atmosphere of Murray Hill (the neighborhood, not the burlesque MC)

And Grand Saloon, like many pubs in the area, seems like a lovely place to order hot wings and Coors light and watch the game, (if thats yer thing) but not so much for the weekend rock stars.

Either way, Sid does have THE most comprehensive song list of any karaoke host I’ve ever seen! (Over 10,000 songs!!) so if you’re looking for that rare tune that no other karaokian seems to be able to supply, maybe you should head to the Saloon one Friday night and check the scene for yerself.

I never realized what true devotion was until I experienced the Buffy Sing- a- Long at the IFC Center. For those of you who don’t know: this is a staged screening of the all singing Buffy episode: “Once More With Feeling”.

As the show unspools on the big screen, actors lip synch and pantomime the action on stage. Much audience participation, glitter and bubble blowing ensues.

I was shocked as I approached the theater and saw a line stretching up sixth ave. I was even more taken aback by the crowd. It was a surreal mix of middle aged, overweight men with goatees and ponytails; little Lisa Loeb clones; college kids; business people and of course the ubiquitous Japanese party girls that seem to spring up where you least expect them.

This was a whole new experience for me and I was stoked. Unfortunately, the showing was at midnight and by the time I got to the theater I was exhausted (read: drunk).

So instead of a straightforward, coherent review of this event, I am going to just transcribe for you the notes I found scrawled on cocktail napkins in my pocket when I woke up this morning.

-I’ve never seen so many people be so happy to be standing in a line.

-UNCOOL COOL TIP: Order tickets early, then go and drink in the Waverly bar- conveniently connected to the theater. The drinks are moderately priced, and you don’t have to wait on the line with the increasingly disturbing shiny happy people. Oh, and they let you into the theater first.

-A dude with an eye patch just gave me a goodie bag. Inside are many treats including plastic vampire teeth. I am happy.

-A chick just handed my girlfriend a pair of granny panties and told us,”You’ll know when to throw them.” I am confused.

-Buffy trivia contest. Seven contestants play to get a chance to perform a scene in front of the throng. Everybody but me knows the answers. If you know who killed vampire Willow and how, get off your ass right now and go to this show.

-I think contestant #3 is cocky and I don’t care for his prima donna attitude.

-There are several video montages, one to a song titled, “Coin Operated Boy”. My girlfriend loves it, I think its sexist.

-The positive energy in the crowd is infectious. These people are ready to ROCK!

-Giles (our host for the evening) takes the mike, reviews the contents of our goodie bags, and refers us to a card that let’s us know when to do stuff. There’s a kazoo, but we’re not allowed to use it yet- Giles is mean.

-The show starts and the crowd takes on a quiet reverence. It doesn’t last. People are soon shouting back at the screen, singing lovingly and cackling.

-This is very reminiscent of the Rocky Horror shows I used to go to in the early 90’s- only without all the blow and drag queens.

-The show is over. Buffy gets over her sense of ennui, and makes out with Spike.

-Giles tells us there’s a short break, then anybody who wants can hang around and they’ll watch another episode together. It’s almost 2:15 AM so I have to go home.

-Despite knowing next to nothing about the Buffyverse I genuinely dug this experience.

-P.S.- They were right, I totally knew when to throw the panties.

For upcoming shows click HERE!

Who is Fluff?

A 6 foot 3ish fluffy-haired master of fun that knows positively EVERY event going on in NYC and has sometimes been spotted wearing a fuzzy black kitty cat hat with pink puffballs; basically, he’s really just a cool guy nicknamed Fluff (aka Geoff with a G) that really LOVES birthday parties.
He loves them so much he threw an Exploding Dinner Shindig for his own B-day at his fab little Brooklyn dwelling on April 7th. The “totally free House Party with love” decorations included colorful 80’s prom style streamers, duct tape, glowing Boo decorations and even the kitchen Virgin Mary was decked out in pink & aluminum foil letters reading “I Heart You Christ Love”.

Costumes were encouraged, backyard activities were complete with Kitty Girl Emmeline showing off her skilled hoopster moves, a little poi, exploding ice bombs, FIRE and Airwolf- whoosh! For curious minds- Airwolf was a home-made circus ride: just picture a grown man tummy down on a rolling office chair spinning out of control while blowing a leaf blower at the crowd- strange, yet freakishly entertaining.

There was plenty to do- like roasting marshmallows over an open flame (yum), playing old school teenage drinking games, avoiding the creepy guy, pounding the shit out of the Turtle Dude pinata filled with candy, condoms & unmentionables and taking shots from the popular Mobile Assault Ice Luge (MAIL)- a block of ice strapped to a clanky shopping cart sometimes attached to a child’s bouncy-horse pony.

Crowd consisted mostly of burners, tribe peeps, friends and weird-ass acquaintances. Co-event planner Paul/DJ Gay Bezerker was rockin out with records in the DJ booth, while we were sipping on sangria, munching on paella and getting our minds sucked secretly out of our bodies compliments of Electric Sheep.

My favorite question of the night was: who were the naked folks scrambling around in the basement? Seriously, who was that???

Overall: This party was so wrong it was right. Fluff left his own party at 6 AM. The evening was peculiar and outlandishly pleasurable! Thanks to the speed of viral advertising, networking sites & internet connections- Fluff was actually invited to his own party 3 separate times- Ha! Fluff, you are so UNCOOL! Party pics

Boy, I gotta tell ya. It feels good to be the best dressed fella at a party.

Not so much when you’re in a 3-piece pin-stripe suit and everyone else was bedecked-out in bikinis and speedos. Sigh. I guess being the UNCOOLKID in any hip scene is my inescapable destiny. This past Wednesday was Valentine’s Day. The day in which we are to commemorate the Roman saint who married early Christians before being jailed and beheaded by Emperor Claudius II. He did, however get one last note out to a blind chick he had the hots for: The first ever Valentines card.

For those of us in relationships, it’s that merry time in which we are supposed to fret, and wonder and worry and SPEND in the hopes that we find the perfect blend of words and easily purchasable items that reflect the exact level of feelings we may or may not have for our special others. For those of us not currently betrothed, it’s a time to sit, sulk, dodge the inescapable the cupids and hearts and arrows and flowers and other that gives us all a case of the uncontrollable projectile vomits.

Or, we go out and try to get laid. And the girls at Gemini and Scorpio were at the East Village Russian Bath house on E.10th st to help us! (Not like THAT!)

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By Guest Reviewer: Dan Meltz

The Annual Black Hearts Party. A mix of “best kept secret” and “infamous underground”, just finished it’s seventeenth—and final— year. This invitation-only anti-Valentine’s Day party had one rule: wear as much or as little as you like, as long as it was black.

The whole party, from the decorations, to the beverages, to the dress code, to the hors d’oeuvres, even the toilet paper, was all done in one colour. Black.

In the spirit of anti-Valentine’s there were signs declaring the reader unwanted, unloved, and entirely uncool. Even the hand-stamp at the front door said “Loser”.

But in the spirit of Valentine’s the walls were adorned with Kama Sutra photocopies, condoms for the taking and pictures of animals in rut. There were stickers to declare one’s sexual preference: red meant you like boys, yellow meant girls, and green meant “anything goes”. More and more people showed up wearing less and less clothing– men wearing Speedos, women wearing corsets, and the occasional person in costume.

The dimly-lit back room featured two walls that had curtains over them, providing “privacy” areas. Throughout the middle of the room, garbage-bag-created “make-out” booths hung like ominous black pods from the ceiling. On the far wall was “The Wheel”, which people would spin and obey its directives, which included such instructions as “Kiss. Tongue. Now.” and “Lick Victim’s Ear”. It was simple, sexy, and just outrageous enough to make it clear that this party was not like others.

As the evening progressed, dancing involved more and more groping and fondling. Necklines dropped, hemlines soared, and underwear was more visible. Kissing became a way to greet a complete stranger. You may have arrived alone. You may have even gone home alone. But at some point during those few hours, a few hundred people made sure you knew that you were not alone in being alone.

My first Black Hearts Party was the last one ever. I already miss it.

This video was sent to us, courtesy of Liza from travelistic: