SF had: Slivken, Freudian Sip.
TR had: Freudian Sip.
DT had: Slivkens
TR and DT were headed over to Studio 54 to see Audra "Sweaty" McDonald in 110 in the Shade. Beforehand, we decided to stop by Therapy for a few after work drinkies. In our social circle, Therapy has quickly become one of our favorite pre-theater drinking establishments. Not only are the drinks pretty good, and not only is it near Times Square, it's difficult for tourists to find, and the chicken nachos are really great.
There wasn't really a whole lot going on while we were there, unfortunately. Our friend Patrick showed up, and we chatted with him a while about his maybe looking for a new job but we're not really sure who knows thing. And there were some overly-muscled guys talking in French near us.
Our server was Fernando, which got SF signing "Fernando's Hideaway." He doesn't need to know the actual name of the song, mind you--he's a 'stylist.' Fernando was sweet, and so were the Freudian Sips.
Therapy has a number of specialty drinks, and one of them, a lemony sugary concoction known as the Freudian Sip, is really yummy for summer. Normally I don't go in for sweet drinks, but this one is awesome. Unfortunately, they weren't great this time. The lemon wedge had lots of seed schrapnel, which TR had to manually excise from his mouth. You should shudder to think about what people thought he was doing with his fingers in his mouth. And at one point, he even had to spit it out, which prompted SF to accuse him of imitating Alcoholic British Kevin from XES last week.
SF announced that he really liked the word "wedge."
DT was going to get a turkey burger and be healthy, but we convinced him to get the chicken nachos. Those chicken nachos are GOOD!
So, we tried to talk to a few people, but no one really seemed interested in stirring up shit, so as 8 p.m. approached, DT and TR prepared to go to see Sweaty McDonald. TR made a quick stop at the unisex restroom and--FINALLY--some unnecessary drama.
Several years ago TR undertook an effort to permanently and irrevocably cure himself of his pee-shyness. It was mostly successful. Until April 24, 2007, that is. The urinals at Therapy are around a little corner, and there are four of them. At the far urinal, a young homosexual was standing about a foot away from the pissoir with an erect chinkle-chankle. Ugh. Can't he check Manhunt on his mobile phone? Anyway, TR tried to pee at the farthest opposite opportunity, but the creepy guy with a hard-on kept staring over. By the way--thanks for those mirrors, Therapy.
After about two minutes, TR gave up any hope of making, and went to a stall.
Now, we're not prudes or anything, but we'd like to suggest that there is a time and a place for everything. Waving your chinkle chankle around might be perfectly acceptable at The Cock, but at Therapy when everyone is having after work drinks, it's just kind of unseemly. Please, Children. Let's try to respect social morays, okay?
Our review: Versatile.
Therapy
348 W. 52nd St.
between 8th and 9th Avenues
212.397.1700
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Stonewall Inn and The Duplex 22 April 07
SF had: Beer (Stonewall Inn), Slivkens (The Duplex).
SF was out and about solo on Sunday (well, not really solo because his boyfriends were with him), and passed by the Stonewall Inn. The sign out front said that Spring had Sprung, and therefore, beers were two for one. SF is incapable of resisting a two-fer on anything with alcohol in it, so he went in.
Not content to be a historical landmark, Stonewall has apparently determined to become a sports bar. The bartender at Stonewall was Tracy, who announced that they had just ordered "a huge 19" screen." Ninteen inches may be huge for some things, but, um, not when we're talking about television sets.
The bar was not very crowded. The Mets were playing Atlanta, and one patron announced, "Atlanta has paid off the umpire. The game's over." See there! The sports bar is working. Gay Mets fans, go to the Stonewall Inn!
The service was good the beer was cold. SF's review: BOTTOMS UP!
Next, SF and his boyfriends tottered next door to The Duplex and sat outside. Eric was the first server and did a great job, even though his cow-orker (hyphenation intentional) did not show up. Later , Brendan showed up.
In a short while, a gaggle of homosexuals wearing sunglasses, sandals and drawstring clamdiggers decided to wave loudly at passing busses of tourists. SF sat next to a group of middle aged homosexuals from Astoria, who needed to go home to take a nap so that they could return into the city to see a show. They didn't say which one. Maybe it was the Pirate Queen (a show named after SF, incidentally). As they were paying their bill, they decided that 15% was more than enough, and that 10% would often suffice. Faggots from Astoria are CHEAP. SF tipped at least 25%, by the way.
As SF and the boyfriends sat there, a woman walked down 7th Avenue with an honest-to-Jesus parrot on her shoulder. A parrot! It's almost as though she knew that our boys were about to turn into Pirates. (SF has a wooden leg, by the way. A hollow wooden leg, mind you). The parrot was named Angel, I guess. Angel had been apparently sitting on the woman's shoulder for a while, because there was a lot of bird crap on her back. When the woman got to the corner of Christopher Street and 7th Avenue, Angel decided to fly up into a tree. The crap-covered woman was apoplectic. "Come down angel! Come down!" At this point, a large crowd had assembled. People were pointing up in the tree at the bird. SF was pointing at the crap covered woman, though. Eventually the police came.
SF says: "What were they gonna do? Shoot the thing down out of the tree?"
Eventually, Angel flew to another tree. The moral of the story is that birds are like boyfriends. If you're going to take them to The Duplex, clip their wings first.
Our review: BOTTOMS UP!
Stonewall Inn
53 Christopher Street
between West 4th St. and Waverly Place
212.647.8258
The Duplex
61 Christopher Street
(at 7th Ave.)
212.255.5438
SF was out and about solo on Sunday (well, not really solo because his boyfriends were with him), and passed by the Stonewall Inn. The sign out front said that Spring had Sprung, and therefore, beers were two for one. SF is incapable of resisting a two-fer on anything with alcohol in it, so he went in.
Not content to be a historical landmark, Stonewall has apparently determined to become a sports bar. The bartender at Stonewall was Tracy, who announced that they had just ordered "a huge 19" screen." Ninteen inches may be huge for some things, but, um, not when we're talking about television sets.
The bar was not very crowded. The Mets were playing Atlanta, and one patron announced, "Atlanta has paid off the umpire. The game's over." See there! The sports bar is working. Gay Mets fans, go to the Stonewall Inn!
The service was good the beer was cold. SF's review: BOTTOMS UP!
Next, SF and his boyfriends tottered next door to The Duplex and sat outside. Eric was the first server and did a great job, even though his cow-orker (hyphenation intentional) did not show up. Later , Brendan showed up.
In a short while, a gaggle of homosexuals wearing sunglasses, sandals and drawstring clamdiggers decided to wave loudly at passing busses of tourists. SF sat next to a group of middle aged homosexuals from Astoria, who needed to go home to take a nap so that they could return into the city to see a show. They didn't say which one. Maybe it was the Pirate Queen (a show named after SF, incidentally). As they were paying their bill, they decided that 15% was more than enough, and that 10% would often suffice. Faggots from Astoria are CHEAP. SF tipped at least 25%, by the way.
As SF and the boyfriends sat there, a woman walked down 7th Avenue with an honest-to-Jesus parrot on her shoulder. A parrot! It's almost as though she knew that our boys were about to turn into Pirates. (SF has a wooden leg, by the way. A hollow wooden leg, mind you). The parrot was named Angel, I guess. Angel had been apparently sitting on the woman's shoulder for a while, because there was a lot of bird crap on her back. When the woman got to the corner of Christopher Street and 7th Avenue, Angel decided to fly up into a tree. The crap-covered woman was apoplectic. "Come down angel! Come down!" At this point, a large crowd had assembled. People were pointing up in the tree at the bird. SF was pointing at the crap covered woman, though. Eventually the police came.
SF says: "What were they gonna do? Shoot the thing down out of the tree?"
Eventually, Angel flew to another tree. The moral of the story is that birds are like boyfriends. If you're going to take them to The Duplex, clip their wings first.Our review: BOTTOMS UP!
Stonewall Inn
53 Christopher Street
between West 4th St. and Waverly Place
212.647.8258
The Duplex
61 Christopher Street
(at 7th Ave.)
212.255.5438
Saturday, April 21, 2007
XES 19 April 07
TR drank: Jim Beam Manhattans, on the Rocks.
SF drank: Slivkens.
Its been two days since TR and SF made the inaugural Pirate Project excursion. A few things have already become clear.
Firstly, it's going to be damned hard to remember everything that happens to us, if we don't blog it immediately. SF has been e-mailing his rough drafts of things he (barely) remembers for about two days. Fortunately, SF made certain to take notes, which he scrawled on the back of cards throughout the evening. To most patrons of the bar, we're sure it looked like SF was trying to give himself his own phone number, which isn't a bad idea, because when he turns into a Pirate, he often forgets his phone number.
XES receives the honor of being the first bar of the Pirate Project. SF, who makes it a point to know exactly who it is whos pouring his booze, knows (and appreciates) that Frank was voted the Best Bartender on City Search last year. And he truly deserves it, says SF. But he wasn't there. Instead Paul and Gary were there. They did a great job, considering the bar was busy as all hell. And full of lesbians. Where did they all come from? Shouldn't they be in Brooklyn at Cattyshack? Anyway, the point is that the bar was crowded and everyone was working hard (including the patrons, if you know where we're going with this).
Drinking elbow-to-elbow with lesbians doesn't make for very good blogging, so we decided to talk to people. SF's note cards came out. SF went to see a man about a horse, and a completely wasted Brit (at least he said he was from London), named Kevin (at least that's what it sounded like to us) slowly and awkwardly slid onto SF's bar stool.
While there, shit-faced Kevin seemed unable to say anything other than the word "whatever." He also was out of booze.
SF says: Although Kevin was completely shit faced, TR thought it would be fun to see what would happen if he had another.
TR says: Um, no. You may recall that he unceremoniously reached for my bourbon and had half of it down his throat before I could object. And then he drank part of your Slivken.. And then he started molesting that poor guy, Ryan, who was sitting on the other side of him. So, considering he kept drinking our drinks, we thought he really should have one of his own.
After he drank everything within reach, Kevin started tottering around the bar and spitting on the floor. Yes, spitting. Long drooling globs of spittle. From his mouth. Onto the floor. Thankfully, he didn't hit TR's leg. After a few minutes he got up and starting falling into people.
XES has a big mirror opposite the bar. To steel himself, Kevin began to stare into it. SF heard from a trick once that the only animal that recognizes its own reflection, other than a human, is an elephant. We don't know whether it's true, but the trick who told SF that also said that SF was good in bed, so SF is inclined to believe everything that came out of his mouth. Kevin did not appear to recognize himself (he probably saw four of five of them, we think), so he's clearly not human or elephant.
We began to worry about him, and since he wasn't really conversing, we decided to meet Mike, an architect, who told us it would be best if we let the bar staff handle him. Architect Mike is smart. Smarter than we are, obviously.
The bar staff did, eventually assist shit-faced Kevin out of the bar. Which was good. Mike asked if we were part of Joe's group at the bar. Joe who? We didn't know. Turns out that Joe (also an architect or maybe a designer, we're not sure because it was loud), organizes a large gaggle of homosexuals who go out for drinks from time to time. Organized drinking! What a grand idea! Clearly, we need to plan more Pirate Project excursions on Joe's social drinking nights.
We also met John who said he was from New York, but also told he was from the Phillipines, but that he didn't want to confuse us. Like we care about being confused. Also, there was Felix from Pennsylvania and too many other wonderful people to mention. (Meaning that TR left to go home and SF stayed long enough to become a pirate
XES is a fun bar and happy hour is fun time there. Our review: BOTTOMS UP!
XES
157 W 24th St
New York, NY 10011
212.604.0212
SF drank: Slivkens.
Its been two days since TR and SF made the inaugural Pirate Project excursion. A few things have already become clear.
Firstly, it's going to be damned hard to remember everything that happens to us, if we don't blog it immediately. SF has been e-mailing his rough drafts of things he (barely) remembers for about two days. Fortunately, SF made certain to take notes, which he scrawled on the back of cards throughout the evening. To most patrons of the bar, we're sure it looked like SF was trying to give himself his own phone number, which isn't a bad idea, because when he turns into a Pirate, he often forgets his phone number.
XES receives the honor of being the first bar of the Pirate Project. SF, who makes it a point to know exactly who it is whos pouring his booze, knows (and appreciates) that Frank was voted the Best Bartender on City Search last year. And he truly deserves it, says SF. But he wasn't there. Instead Paul and Gary were there. They did a great job, considering the bar was busy as all hell. And full of lesbians. Where did they all come from? Shouldn't they be in Brooklyn at Cattyshack? Anyway, the point is that the bar was crowded and everyone was working hard (including the patrons, if you know where we're going with this).
Drinking elbow-to-elbow with lesbians doesn't make for very good blogging, so we decided to talk to people. SF's note cards came out. SF went to see a man about a horse, and a completely wasted Brit (at least he said he was from London), named Kevin (at least that's what it sounded like to us) slowly and awkwardly slid onto SF's bar stool.
While there, shit-faced Kevin seemed unable to say anything other than the word "whatever." He also was out of booze.
SF says: Although Kevin was completely shit faced, TR thought it would be fun to see what would happen if he had another.
TR says: Um, no. You may recall that he unceremoniously reached for my bourbon and had half of it down his throat before I could object. And then he drank part of your Slivken.. And then he started molesting that poor guy, Ryan, who was sitting on the other side of him. So, considering he kept drinking our drinks, we thought he really should have one of his own.
After he drank everything within reach, Kevin started tottering around the bar and spitting on the floor. Yes, spitting. Long drooling globs of spittle. From his mouth. Onto the floor. Thankfully, he didn't hit TR's leg. After a few minutes he got up and starting falling into people.
XES has a big mirror opposite the bar. To steel himself, Kevin began to stare into it. SF heard from a trick once that the only animal that recognizes its own reflection, other than a human, is an elephant. We don't know whether it's true, but the trick who told SF that also said that SF was good in bed, so SF is inclined to believe everything that came out of his mouth. Kevin did not appear to recognize himself (he probably saw four of five of them, we think), so he's clearly not human or elephant.
We began to worry about him, and since he wasn't really conversing, we decided to meet Mike, an architect, who told us it would be best if we let the bar staff handle him. Architect Mike is smart. Smarter than we are, obviously.
The bar staff did, eventually assist shit-faced Kevin out of the bar. Which was good. Mike asked if we were part of Joe's group at the bar. Joe who? We didn't know. Turns out that Joe (also an architect or maybe a designer, we're not sure because it was loud), organizes a large gaggle of homosexuals who go out for drinks from time to time. Organized drinking! What a grand idea! Clearly, we need to plan more Pirate Project excursions on Joe's social drinking nights.
We also met John who said he was from New York, but also told he was from the Phillipines, but that he didn't want to confuse us. Like we care about being confused. Also, there was Felix from Pennsylvania and too many other wonderful people to mention. (Meaning that TR left to go home and SF stayed long enough to become a pirate
XES is a fun bar and happy hour is fun time there. Our review: BOTTOMS UP!
XES
157 W 24th St
New York, NY 10011
212.604.0212
Welcome to The Pirate Project.
This is our manifesto:
To visit every gay bar in New York City (including the outer boroughs).
To consume copius amounts of alcohol while there.
To stir up shit.
To blog about it.
Constructive comments and suggestions are welcome, but emphasis on "constructive." We're destructive enough on our own, we don't need your help. Thanks. Cheers.
To visit every gay bar in New York City (including the outer boroughs).
To consume copius amounts of alcohol while there.
To stir up shit.
To blog about it.
Constructive comments and suggestions are welcome, but emphasis on "constructive." We're destructive enough on our own, we don't need your help. Thanks. Cheers.
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