 |
What should be a welcome
respite from the hellhole of trendoid clubs that the Meatpacking District
has become, Gaslight puts about as much effort into their bar as you'd
expect a joint with no competitors would. So you're an ordinary working
slob without the cool duds or the 6'2" Asian model girlfriend on your
arm. Where do you go if you're down in this 'hood? Let's assume you
don't want to hang with the pool playing, beer swilling crowd at The
Hog Pit or Hogs
& Heifers (because you're an adult in shoes you value), and you
just want a damn drink in a place that doesn't smell of barf. Gaslight
is pretty much it. So they throw some fakey velvet ropes out front,
splash a little Clorox in the slop sink and turn on the lights. We
entered while the sun was still out, and were greeted by a total of
two patrons. The place had clearly just opened, but there was already
trash on the ground for some weird reason. The cleavage-bearing bartender
looked like she would have rather been reading a crappy romance novel
than tending bar, and lazily handed us a drink and sat--in a very
short skirt--on the ledge behind the bar. Despite the view, the place
made me want to stab myself in the neck with a corkscrew. We were
apparently listening to somebody's awful iPod, as the music was bad
enough to make the roaches squeal. I'm not sure it was fair judging
this place at such an early hour, but all indications point to the
fact that there might not be much difference between hanging out at
Gaslight and drinking a 40oz. in the fluorescent light of the fridge
section of a damn Wawa. [MF]
|
Hipster Movie Reviews
Hipster Book Reviews
Music