||Kill me. Kill me now.
As if living through the seventies wasn't bad enough, now we need
to go some place with a bunch of kids--who may have been fetuses in
1979--to dance to crap that honestly should have been relegated to
awful gay clubs and sorority fight songs. The only club I can think
of that was worse than this one was the now closed UES Polly Esther's
that packed people in like friggin' maggots, making dancing about
as easy as getting Al Roker into a pair of polyester flairs. I believe
I had to be physically restrained from leaving after first being assaulted
by "Dancing Queen" and then getting a pummeling from "It's
Raining Men." I finally fled screaming and pulling at my ears
as "I Will Survive" came on for the third time in one night.
I still have the unfortunate disability of hearing Gloria Gaynor's
voice echoing in my head every time I get anywhere near W 4th street.