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Places like this would
normally annoy the living crap out of us. Bug-eyed bouncers look at
you as if they've never seen Banana Republic clothing before and ogle
your female companions with a "I'll be seeing you naked later on,
honey" look on their faces. Not only do you have to be scrutinized
by jackasses with third grade educations and steroid rage; you have
to pay $20 for the pleasure. Luckily we knew the secret to avoiding
this horrendous fee (Mr. Hipster really hates to pay covers) as we
got there early and slipped in before this whole gouging thing started.
Inside, you are faced with a big dance floor, a huge bar off to one
side and bathrooms with opaque walls. It's all just too cool for words.
As the crowds come in, it gets harder and harder to get drinks. Women
mostly in tight, clingy outfits drink all those fancy colored drinks,
while the guys grip their Amstel Lights. The first floor plays a mixture
of house music and some other stuff that is probably jungle or trance
or booty-smacker, or whatever the kids are dancing to these days.
We didn't really get a good look at the room downstairs (everything
was blurry from going out before hand), but apparently there's a hip-hop
room downstairs that was pretty cool. If you think you're hip enough
and don't mind dropping some serious coin to get into a place full
of people who think they just scored a major coup by waiting for an
hour in the freezing cold just to sweat with other women in knee boots,
then be our guest. If you think that scene sounds like something best
left to the professionals, you can always do what Mr. Hipster does
and stay home and dance around in your socks to bad indie rock. [MF]
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