beer... it's what's for dinner
I'm home this Friday night and I couldn't be happier about it. I just finished two loads of laundry and now I'm sucking on a Hoegaarden whilst listening to The Cure. It's just like heaven, if you'll pardon the obvious reference.
I had great plans to make myself a home-cooked dinner tonight since I haven't been home most of the week. Dinner this week consisted of Fritos from the vending machine at work (Monday and Tuesday), Gulf tuna at on Wednesday and um... I don't remember what I ate last night. Yesterday was a bit of a blur. But it's 10:40pm and I still haven't eaten a proper meal. Instead, a lovely Belgian beer and selections from the vast Cure discography are my sustenance. I heart the Cure. Their Giants Stadium stop on the Disintegration tour was the first concert I ever attended. I was truly lucky because Love & Rockets and The Pixies (all bow) opened up for them. What a bill!
My second concert was just as cool -- Depeche Mode's Violator tour with special guest Nitzer Ebb. To this day, "Join in the Chant" sends me back to my Doc Marten-wearing days at Aldo's in Lyndhurst, New Jersey. Don't poke fun 'cause it's a Jersey club -- this club will kick your ass up and down the street. Top NYC DJs frequent the place and that English dude who used to be on 120 Minutes used to spin there during that show's heyday. It's got cred and a playlist to die for. I spent many a night there cutting a rug in a fog of dry ice with a 50-cent draft in hand. The other hand was used to sweep my curly locks from my face as I swirled about the dark dance floor. Talk about choreography! Step back, Debbie Allen. Take a seat, Twyla Tharp.
Ah memories of Aldo's. Despite my lesbionic ways, I'm not really one for ogling women. Except at Aldo's. I wasn't even out during the halcyon days at this establishment but there were glimmers that I was a big ol' dyke waiting to happen. Most obvious were the "funny feeling" and the butterflies that would erupt in my stomach when I'd see women wearing long black skirts, platform-steel-tipped boots and arm-band tattoos writhing to "Cuts You Up." Mmm... goth chicks. To clarify, I don't mean those ones with eye makeup like Alice Cooper and an unhealthy fascination with Anne Rice. You can keep those. I guess I'm more prone to goth lite. Yummy.
Does anyone know of a comparable club in NYC? I want -- nay, need -- to witness women getting down to Apoptygma Berzerk, Wolfsheim, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Peter Murphy/Bauhaus/Love & Rockets, Ministry, Front 242, et al. My mouth foams at the prospect.
I had great plans to make myself a home-cooked dinner tonight since I haven't been home most of the week. Dinner this week consisted of Fritos from the vending machine at work (Monday and Tuesday), Gulf tuna at on Wednesday and um... I don't remember what I ate last night. Yesterday was a bit of a blur. But it's 10:40pm and I still haven't eaten a proper meal. Instead, a lovely Belgian beer and selections from the vast Cure discography are my sustenance. I heart the Cure. Their Giants Stadium stop on the Disintegration tour was the first concert I ever attended. I was truly lucky because Love & Rockets and The Pixies (all bow) opened up for them. What a bill!
My second concert was just as cool -- Depeche Mode's Violator tour with special guest Nitzer Ebb. To this day, "Join in the Chant" sends me back to my Doc Marten-wearing days at Aldo's in Lyndhurst, New Jersey. Don't poke fun 'cause it's a Jersey club -- this club will kick your ass up and down the street. Top NYC DJs frequent the place and that English dude who used to be on 120 Minutes used to spin there during that show's heyday. It's got cred and a playlist to die for. I spent many a night there cutting a rug in a fog of dry ice with a 50-cent draft in hand. The other hand was used to sweep my curly locks from my face as I swirled about the dark dance floor. Talk about choreography! Step back, Debbie Allen. Take a seat, Twyla Tharp.
Ah memories of Aldo's. Despite my lesbionic ways, I'm not really one for ogling women. Except at Aldo's. I wasn't even out during the halcyon days at this establishment but there were glimmers that I was a big ol' dyke waiting to happen. Most obvious were the "funny feeling" and the butterflies that would erupt in my stomach when I'd see women wearing long black skirts, platform-steel-tipped boots and arm-band tattoos writhing to "Cuts You Up." Mmm... goth chicks. To clarify, I don't mean those ones with eye makeup like Alice Cooper and an unhealthy fascination with Anne Rice. You can keep those. I guess I'm more prone to goth lite. Yummy.
Does anyone know of a comparable club in NYC? I want -- nay, need -- to witness women getting down to Apoptygma Berzerk, Wolfsheim, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Peter Murphy/Bauhaus/Love & Rockets, Ministry, Front 242, et al. My mouth foams at the prospect.
posted by curly mcdimple @ 10:38 PM :: permalink :: ::
