Taking to the evening on a Monday night is not of my norm but of course I’m a sucka for having a good time with new (and in this case old) friends. Last night was another evening of excess where I took my SD friends around to a few spots in my hood and out to the meat packing area.
Upon arrival to the once famed, but now devalued to, tourist-trap Balthazarthey realized the wait too was exorbitant and not ultimately worth it (all though I have had an excellent brunch there with their unique seafood platter). Patou and Whit stumbled on one of my favorite Moroccan-French restaurant, L’Orange Bleue. Monday’s they have their special Couscous and Live Belly dancing events which are typically loud but always fun, and the food is good.
I met them at Pravda, a two level post-modern Soviet styled lounge (what I didn’t know is that it’s owned by Keith McNally who coincidentally owns Balthazar). The place has really lost its luster as a hot spot, which is fine with me as long as long as you go on weekdays. Despite that on weekends the bar still can be over crowded by the Amstel Light drinking B&Ters, you can still grab a great vodka martini.
Next up one of my neighborhood favorites: Milady’s. This is the spot you pull up a stool and order a shot of jack and a bud – proceeding to drink all night with the locals, just don’t get conned into playing a round of pool. Unfortunately this evening, I had to witness the Raiders take another loss – this time in front of millions on Monday night football – I guess three in a row is too much to ask for wins…
Turning it up a notch, I took the crew over to APT for some funk, old school and hip hop in this long running hideaway spot in meatpacking. Another spot that’s not THE hot spot in the area but the people there are chill, the music is always good and it’s comfortable to kick-it. This evening we had DJ Spinna rocking some good old school tracks (man I really do still know the words to They Want EFX)
Like Roscoe B. Coltrane
I spiggedy-spark a spiff and give a twist like Chubby Checker
I take my Froot Loops with two scoops, make it double decker
Oh Vince, the baby come to Papa Duke
A babaloo, ooh, a babaloo boogedy boo
I went from Gucci to Stussy, to fliggedy-flam a groupie
To Zsa Zsa, to yibbedy-yabba dabba hoochie koochie
Tally ho I-I’ll take my Stove Top instead of potatoes, so
Maybe I’ll shoot ’em now, nope maybe I’ll shoot ’em later, yep
I used to have a dog and Bingo was his name oh, so uh
B – I – N – G – O-oh
You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around, hon, so uh
Dun dun dun dun dun, dun dun
Still the night was young so we took a walk around the corner to Cielo to check out DJ Francois K‘s Deep Space party. I hadn’t been here in months and going back reaffirmed my appreciation of DJ’s and producers that can be diverse in their music selections and still mix a flow into the music to create a great set and a hopping dance floor. Great stuff indeed, unfortunately as the 3 am hour approached, I was reminded by responsibility it wasn’t me on vacation and I needed to work at 8 am. I bounced leaving my friends to close out the spot.
A must read for more information on the party and Francois’s take on music which I too agree with:
Francois pinpoints “un-learning mixing” as the most difficult skill he’s mastered thus far. So he’s not playing records just because they mix well into each other. “I just don’t want to hear tribal house and strictly be the guy who plays tribal records, or just techno” like “All I listen to is techno that sounds like this kind of industrial sound. fuck this shit, man!
A lot of people are expecting that, or have been brainwashed with that. If they don’t hear you mixing two records together, they think you’re a bad DJ.
So there’s this story floating about a fight at the local dive next to my APT here in SoHo – Mi’Lady’s. Its the only real dive in SoHo and I’m sure the aristocracy wonder why it still lingers in “their” nice area of town. Alas, the story in the rags is that Johnny roughed up a “frat-boy” for caressing with a rose, the cheek of his side-dish 
Well being so close in the neighbor hood and that the place is much better than most of the pretentious cocktail establishments in this area, I heard some proper gossip. Apparently this story is yet another case of the PR manager of said Hollywood star, using the incident for publicity and dressing it up proper for a more Jackass biased story. 
Then up steps a few fellow Mexicans just off their dishwashing shift at a local restaurant to confront Johnny about his fellow man. From the state that Johnny was in and the reported size of the Mexicans, the local word is, Johnny was out numbered and out matched. Words, finger pointing, and some hand to hand contact ensued… a bottle fell off the table and the bar manager stepped in to “save Knoxville from getting his ass kicked”.