when I started this blog five years ago, I was a pet sitter and the name animal-crackers made sense. now I'm a stay-at-home-dad and freelance writer, but rather than confuse everyone by getting a different blog, it's just easier to keep posting things here.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
new york glam
After yesterday's walkabout, I really wasn't in the mood to do much last night. But Billy wanted to take me to a gay bar called The Townhouse. This place is upscale. And I'm in jeans, T-shirt and khaki jacket. Not that I'm there to impress anyway.
The bar is full of gay suits. I end up talking to a guy who is the CFO for some health care company. Without even looking online I'd guess he makes $1 million a year plus bonus. And he's not exactly coy about it. Oh, the waterfront property in Connecticut and the place in the Poconos.
"My friends tell me I'm crazy to drive around in my convertible with the top down. It's 40 degrees out! But you have to enjoy it while you can before the snow arrives."
And he's paranoid to boot.
"I can tell you right now where all of the fire exits are."
Later, I was talking to a guy from Buffalo in the city for a business conference. You can tell he's not from the city because he didn't mention anything that'd give away how much he's worth.
Billy said he doesn't like this bar because the clientele aren't butch enough. I don't know why he keeps going back, but it was fine. Everyone was nice.
After a few drinks we decided to head home. Billy wanted to stop by a jam-packed straight bar determined to find the one gay man who's still in he closet. I practically had to yank him away.
But as we were nearing the subway, we passed what appeared to be a hip bar full of people in $1,000 suits and dresses. I dared Billy to try to get in, figuring he wouldn't and we could go home.
Well, he didn't get in. But Billy looked through the window, caught the eye of a man inside and got him to come out. I was too far to hear the conversation, but apparently it wasn't a hip new club. It was a furniture show, and exclusive. However, the man did give Billy a small business card with the name of a bar -- Nikki Beach.
I'm tired, but curious. We arrive, show the bouncer the card and boom -- we're in. The place is nice. The drinks are expensive. There's a woman with a oversized, feather shawl and a guy who looks like Boy George (post-transvestite). It's a nice mix of people, and everyone's having fun. Billy and I are still kinda stunned that we got in.
We talk to a few people, and everything's going ok. At one point we're outside smoking with the feather-shaw woman and her boyfriend. Turns out they're from Milan. Like most everyone there, they seemed like snobs, but were nice to us. After all, we did get in so we must be somebody.
The real coup de grace, I told Billy after we went inside, would be for us to get up on stage. It's a private sitting area with a dozen people.
We go up just as they unveil the birthday cake. We're having fun and talking to people, but within a couple of minutes an employee asks us if we know the birthday girl.
Um, no. I get off the stage and wait for Billy, who wants to see how far he can press his luck. Again, I didn't hear the conversation, but it ended when the bouncer came in from watching the door and told Billy to get down.
Billy had previously befriended the bouncer, which probably kept us from getting tossed.
A long table in the middle of the room was turned into a catwalk and the birthday party starts dancing on it. A techno-mix of 80s songs plays loudly. After Billy has another drink and hits on a straight marine, we leave.
And that's about as close to New York glam as I'll ever get. Which is fine. Billy and I had fun. But once is more than enough.
The bar is full of gay suits. I end up talking to a guy who is the CFO for some health care company. Without even looking online I'd guess he makes $1 million a year plus bonus. And he's not exactly coy about it. Oh, the waterfront property in Connecticut and the place in the Poconos.
"My friends tell me I'm crazy to drive around in my convertible with the top down. It's 40 degrees out! But you have to enjoy it while you can before the snow arrives."
And he's paranoid to boot.
"I can tell you right now where all of the fire exits are."
Later, I was talking to a guy from Buffalo in the city for a business conference. You can tell he's not from the city because he didn't mention anything that'd give away how much he's worth.
Billy said he doesn't like this bar because the clientele aren't butch enough. I don't know why he keeps going back, but it was fine. Everyone was nice.
After a few drinks we decided to head home. Billy wanted to stop by a jam-packed straight bar determined to find the one gay man who's still in he closet. I practically had to yank him away.
But as we were nearing the subway, we passed what appeared to be a hip bar full of people in $1,000 suits and dresses. I dared Billy to try to get in, figuring he wouldn't and we could go home.
Well, he didn't get in. But Billy looked through the window, caught the eye of a man inside and got him to come out. I was too far to hear the conversation, but apparently it wasn't a hip new club. It was a furniture show, and exclusive. However, the man did give Billy a small business card with the name of a bar -- Nikki Beach.
I'm tired, but curious. We arrive, show the bouncer the card and boom -- we're in. The place is nice. The drinks are expensive. There's a woman with a oversized, feather shawl and a guy who looks like Boy George (post-transvestite). It's a nice mix of people, and everyone's having fun. Billy and I are still kinda stunned that we got in.
We talk to a few people, and everything's going ok. At one point we're outside smoking with the feather-shaw woman and her boyfriend. Turns out they're from Milan. Like most everyone there, they seemed like snobs, but were nice to us. After all, we did get in so we must be somebody.
The real coup de grace, I told Billy after we went inside, would be for us to get up on stage. It's a private sitting area with a dozen people.
We go up just as they unveil the birthday cake. We're having fun and talking to people, but within a couple of minutes an employee asks us if we know the birthday girl.
Um, no. I get off the stage and wait for Billy, who wants to see how far he can press his luck. Again, I didn't hear the conversation, but it ended when the bouncer came in from watching the door and told Billy to get down.
Billy had previously befriended the bouncer, which probably kept us from getting tossed.
A long table in the middle of the room was turned into a catwalk and the birthday party starts dancing on it. A techno-mix of 80s songs plays loudly. After Billy has another drink and hits on a straight marine, we leave.
And that's about as close to New York glam as I'll ever get. Which is fine. Billy and I had fun. But once is more than enough.
2 Comments:
Todd, you are way bolder than I. Sounds like a wild time. Billy's clearly a fun escort to have in NYC.
It does sound like you had a good escort! I bet once would be enough for me too. And hey! I always know the exits when I am in a place. Not as much paranoia but a mix of claustrophobia in crowds and fear of dying in a fire.
Ok, yeah, so it is paranoia but whatever. We're ever in a packed building together and it catches fire, I'm the chick you want to be standing by.
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