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Hello, I'm Eurotrash,
party of six. Just when you thought there couldn't possibly be another
annoying subspecies of freaks on the UES, we find the slick-haired,
Miami Vice T-shirt with a suit, heavily perfumed, sunglasses at night
Euro crowd that has for so long remained relegated to Washington,
D.C. clubs and Steven Seagal's house. We guess we were fooling ourselves,
with the United Nations a scant mile or so away, that this horror
wouldn't seep into the groundwater. Ugh. It almost makes us nostalgic
for braided belts, bucks and plaid button-downs. It's a shame this
element exists, as the menu at Panorama looked appetizing, the Guinness
was pretty good, and the open-air feel is nice on a warm night (despite
the "panorama" being a stank-ass view of 2nd Avenue). Too
bad the horrendous DJ was playing some sort of salsa, house, Euro-beat
music that caused instant acid reflux in four out of five patrons.
Maybe we caught them on some sort of theme night: dress as your favorite
007 bad guy. [MF]
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