Monday, October 30, 2006

Ugly in the Woolworth



It's amusing to see "Ugly Betty" using the former office space of the now defunct Duffy New York in the Woolworth Building as their set/backdrop.

I should know, I used to work there.

It's a cool, swanky space with tunnels of white, conference rooms with frosted glass and curvy, sexy furniture. I recognize some original pieces of decor.

Must be cheap to find someplace fitting your design. Or did they make it fit? The space definitely smacks of "The Devil Wears Prada."

I accidentally discovered this while hanging out at Robocub's. I was forced to watch since it was set on his DVR and being a good guest, I didn't want to botch anything.

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Quiet Halloween Weekend.

I'd never been much for Halloween.

Getting dressed up, while fun, is always too much of a production. I never become fully vested in a costume because for anything to be done right, I should've been planning it since last year. I can barely make a long term plan, much less a year long commitment to next year's Halloween.

The usual insanity swirling around Halloween can be a bit over the top. It's good and bad, depending on how you look at it. It's also amateur weekend too. Most people who never go out, do. You'll see them, hunched over, throwing up or passed out. Moderation isn't in the night's vocabulary.

Still, I did have hopes to do something. However, in the end, I did nothing and I was perfectly fine with it.

Friends, S and R, had their Halloween party on Friday night. I'd thought to make this my first stop of many but it ended up being my one and only stop. It was rainy and a miserable night to be out. I hung out with friends whom I hadn't seen in a while, really chill.

Saturday. Hmm… couldn't even tell you what I did because I don't remember.

Oh yes, I never left the house. Wow.

Sunday. Two weeks back, I'd informed my manager that I'd may consider taking Monday, October 30th, off. On Friday, he boasted, "I'll be sick on Monday, so I won't be in." Afterwards, I gently reminded him of my day off to which he responded, "It would be nice if you were in."
That nixed any thought or desire to go out that night.

10:30PM found me curled up on the couch with a crossword puzzle and
Death Cab for Cutie - The Photo AlbumDeath Cab for Cutie
quietly crooning in my ears.

It was relaxing but I was brooding a little. The BF had gone out earlier and had come back a little whacked (see drunk). He'd fallen asleep on the couch and when the phone rang, attempted to answer the cable remote. He got snippy as I repeated myself, pointing out that the remote will not pick up the phone. He chided, "Well, you're not answering it."

In the evening's last bout of drunkenness before retiring to bed, the BF walked in to the kitchen, asking me, "Where's the extra?"
"Extra what?" as I could hardly contain my amusement.
"The extra." he responded.
"Do you hear yourself?" I chuckled.
Then words started to fall out of his mouth, "Black… fighter… extra."
I think his mind was permeated by too much Justice League Unlimited, of which, he watched at least 20 episodes this weekend.

I laughed and he called me an ass, which put off me off.

Sorry if I don't speak drunkenese.

This morning, I told him about his surliness. He apologized. All he could recall is frustration at not being able to express a word.

Duh!


Drink-induced aphasia is funny I guess.

I'm all well-rested now and I'm sure by week's end, all antsy.

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Monday, October 23, 2006

Where the drums (and boys) are.

Past month, I've hit the dance clubs and while every experience has been fun in their own way, they were ALL missing something.

Great DJs, good music and space to dance, what more could I want?

To be blunt, boys. Men.

Sure, I'll go check out such and such a DJ if I've heard his/her work and liked it.

But please, I like to carouse around with my fellow, gay brethren. Dancing around like a bunch of silly gooses, shirts off and chests glistening with sweat with a couple of hundred (or more) gay men till all hours of the morning/afternoon, that's a gay dance experience. Even the BFs done it, years ago and recently on our trip to SF. It was embarrassing. No, I kid. He's got a good body he works hard on. He was having fun and for a switch, I was too shy and demure to take my shirt off. I was geisha.

Usually I'll stay decent and presentable, keeping my shirt on. It'll be sopping wet by the end of a good night but it's on. Some of the straight boys do take their shirts off (and most of every right to YUM!), but it's out of the ordinary. Club security can tell to them to put their shirts back on, especially if they're the rarity.

I've gone off on a tangent, anyhow…

Straight club nights are generally mixed crowds, but the proportions are usually NOT in my favor. You've got a smattering/handful of "boys." Unfortunately, most gay men won't go out of their comfort zones to check out parties, just based on the fact that they're NOT exclusive gay. Sheesh. narrow much?

However, most gay parties end up being big, circuit parties and while there's nothing wrong with circuit parties, the music ends up being an afterthought.

Thankfully, there's Victor Calderone's Evolve.



He'd cut his chops spinning for the boys at Roxy, very gay sound and plenty of vocals. After his stint, his sound changed, meting his repertoire with good, dirty, tribal and progressive house beats He manages to keep the "boys,"and me, happy and coming back for more. Victor's created a loyal and resilient following.

His party was just what I needed this past weekend and I was anxious for it to come.

More over, Tom Stephan aka SuperChumbo was spinning the early part of the night, opening for Victor. Familiar with his DJ sets and his productions, I was excited to hear him for the first time live.

Let's face it, I try to disco nap. It never works. I headed out at 1:30AM into the city, arriving at Crobar around 2:00. It's been ages since I'd been on 28th Street. The NYPD had set up huge spotlights in their nuisance abatement campaign. Obtrusive much? I do understand NY wants to cut down on underage drinking, especially since some parents don't want to be parents anymore. Still, I think I got a sunburn heading to the club.

Once inside, I beelined to the main room. Sigh. It's been too long since I'd been in that room. In the days leading up the party, I was nostalgic. It's big and sterile and it'll never be home like Vinyl/Arc but man, can that room shape sound.

It was fairly early and crowded, but i knew the "boys" wouldn't get there till about 6-7AM. Call me the lead scout. Friend Frank had called earlier in the day, saying he'd be popping in around 7AM.

I weaved into the dance floor and found myself some space. I saw some brethren in and around the areas, that was comforting. But I was content to dance around, moving freely in and out of the crowd, alone. Freelance dancer.

Tom Stephan was throwing down some nasty, dirty beats. Fun. Beside some of his own productions like, Revolution, I couldn't train spot any of his tracks. I've been out of the loop on newer tracks. Some of them were sick and incredible, but he'd build up and then go in to a break, totally killing the momentum. Just get on with it was my thought. This seemed to happen more and more as the morning progressed, which leads me to believe that he was getting everyone chomping at the bit for Victor, the main attraction. If that's the case, I give Tom Stephan props for being an excellent opening DJ, because by the time he was done, I was ready for Victor.

Victor opened with crashes of sound (on purpose) and bright, flashing lights as the crowd roared, cheering. And it was on. Picking up from where Superchumbo left off, he took us on a new journey filled with heavy, dirty beats. It was great ride but when he played Boost Your Metabolism, he kicked up a notch and didn't look back. No one complained as we were hammered by Victor's relentless musical assault. It was a welcome sound.

And like clockwork, the boys started appearing 2 hours into Victor's set. Lots of shirtless hotties started to pepper the dance floor. Walking through the connecting tunnel from the bathroom to the main room, I saw an exodus of people, mostly guys and girls, hand-in-hand. Guess some of the straight guys were feeling a little outclassed by the boys with their fine bodies. There was plenty of eye candy and I ogled. Oh, I was ogled back, that's part of the fun.

So with the music going well and I was dancing amongst my brethren, I was having a blast. Friend Frank showed up at about 8:00AM. Shrug. Didn't phase me none, I've become quite adept at having fun by myself. Take that, however you wish. :-P

Hot Track
Terceira - Carlos Fauvrelle

The music never let up, but the crowd eventually did. Crobar was at about one third capacity around 2PM, when I'd called quits. I was tired and I was satisfied.

I hadn't even looked for Friend Frank, figuring he'd be in it for a later haul. I was surprised to find out today that he'd called it quits at 1:30PM. He complained he was "so tired." That amused me.

Now, what to do for Halloween? :-)

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Thursday, October 12, 2006

Last Minute: 8 BIT

On a heads up from Jockohomo, I checked out a screening of the documentary 8 BIT at MoMA last night.



The short description “a hybrid documentary examining the influence of video games on contemporary culture.”

I was so there.

It was a miserable, wet NY night, perfect for a little trip of nostalgia.

It’d been forever since I’d been to MoMA. Well, untrue, I picked up my ticket earlier in the afternoon. The last time I’d been there was probably for a college art history class, before MoMA’s renovations. I remember seeing Constantin Brancusi’sBird in Space,” one of my favorite sculptures. Sigh. I’ll have to make a point of going back during normal museum hours.

The theater gallery adjoined the primary museum space. Passing through, I was able to look into MoMA’s sculpture garden. In the murky, gloomy twilight, I hoped to catch a glimpse of Rodin’sMonument to Balzac.” Perhaps I couldn’t see it in the darkness but It wasn’t where I remembered it. I stifled a pang of disappointment. Must get back during normal hours. Must get back to my fine art roots.

Yes! I have fine art roots thank you very much.

People filed into the theater, buzzing with idle chatter. I settled into an aisle seat, kicking back with an episode of BSG on the ipod. More on BSG another time. Scanning the audience, I noted that most were around my age. Not so surprising. Some were younger, probably curious of the novelty.

Before the movie, we had a few words from MoMA and from the director of 8 BIT, Marcin Romocki. He said, “If you like video games, like music and like art. You’ll like this movie.”

The movie moves along nicely, drifting from a brief history of video games into (some of) the cultural effects of hacking and self-expression found in the medium, then delving further into the remnant art/musical forms spawned from it. I say “some of” because, while 8 BIT does an admirable job of covering the movement, it only scratches the surface, highlighting a few examples of work from a few fringe, niche artists. 8 BIT doesn’t try to quantify the overall impact of video games on our culture, but does invite us to explore the effect of video games in our individual experiences.

8 BIT is a great documentary. Reading some of the early reviews, I do agree that some of the editing was a little shocking in the beginning and it does end abruptly. It succeeds in bringing me back to a simpler time and I wish I remembered what I did with my original GameBoy. I'm pretty sure I could rock out some kickass tunes.

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Monday, October 02, 2006

DJ Double Dose

It’s been a while since I’ve done a club report, nearly 2 months. YIKES! It’s not that I haven’t been going out. I haven’t been inspired to write about them, good or bad.

Nonetheless, what better way to end the drought than with a positive report.

This past Saturday, I went to Pacha NY, the club du jour these days, to hear Danny Tenaglia and Carl Cox. The last time I’d heard these two giants play together was at Twilo some years ago.



Meeting up with friends beforehand, none of whom I could convince to go to Pacha with me, we grabbed a cocktail at Barracuda. Front bar, crowded and someone stank like sh*t. Back room, not so crowded with tinny, distorted, loud music. We finished our one cocktail and while my friends headed to the East Village and I headed over to Pacha. Alone, no wingman but I was fine and very excited.

The queue was short, I breezed right in. With a cursory search and tap under my balls, I entered Pacha.

Walking in to the mezzanine floor, the club was popping with energy. Plenty of people were hanging at tables in the VIP areas, getting the most for their overpriced table service I gather. The glass partitions, around the central area overlooking the dance floor, were wide open. Previous experiences at Pacha, they’ve been partially or completely closed to create separate dance/music spaces from the main dancefloor. However with two top notch DJs in the house, there was only one party in the house.

Carl Cox was on the steel wheels, ripping Pacha up.

Tech house thrummed through the opening as bolts of light flashed upwards, illuminating the dark mezzanine. Reminded me of a fiery pit of hell, belching fire and brimstone except, um, not.

The music was calling me.

Heeding the call, I made my way to the main dance floor.

“Packed“ doesn’t adequately describe the main floor. ”Sardines“ would. Up and down the stairs, people were hanging out, looking over the main dance area. I’ve seen Crobar crowded like this but the difference here was everyone was dancing, swaying, having a great time. The energy was positive and contagious. I made my way in to the mob and found a little space for myself to groove. I had a blast. Sure, there were some noobs, flailing like they were having an epileptic fit. Elbows flying in a crowd? Not very considerate. I got nailed in the chest a few times but I brushed it off. I’ll kill them later.

In the back of my head, I knew that the longer I stayed, I’d be rewarded with much, more space and a better dance experience.

Carl Cox was doing a fantastic job. He kept the energy up and the whole club was feeling good.
But when Danny started at 4:00AM, I was more than ready. He took Carl’s lead, continuing with the hard tech house and took us on a thumpy, grindy, fist-pumping, aural journey. It was a trip. Danny was once again relentless for the next 8 hours I was there.

I danced most of the time I was in Pacha. With no wingman, I was struck with wanderlust. I couldn’t stay in one place for long. Good thing Pacha had 4 floors to keep my interest. I would go from the basement to the mainfloor. Head up to the mezzanine and outside for a few, watch the morning rain fall on NY’s west side and up into Pachita, the four floor. Every space was grooving, people soaking in the beats being served. All good.

There were a few people from the dtourism message board there. They arrived much later than me to enjoy Danny later in the day.

I also busied myself, stealing glances with a guy, who by all appearances seemed straight. He’d gotten my curiosity when I was dancing close to the bar. He and a friend were passing behind me and then he leaned up against the bar to watch me, much to the chagrin of his companion. It was certainly flattering because he kinda looked like Channing Tatum. Yum. But I’ve never dallied with a straight or bisexual boy. Still flattering, considering he danced close by, was talking to a girl and I caught him looking my way a few times. Snicker.

By 12:15PM, my reserves were depleted. Danny showed no signs of stopping. (FYI, he spun till 4:00PM) I had the presence of mind to leave, and just enough energy to get me home.

The end.

Here’s some youtubed goodness of the night.
Not the best, lots of sound distortion, but it’ll give you the gist.


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