City - Wednesday, October 7, 2009 9:30 - 13 Comments
Guide to New York City’s Gay Bars
Kids download.21.59 AM” src=”http://nyulocal.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/Screen-shot-2009-10-07-at-12.21.59-AM-150×150.png” alt=”Screen shot 2009-10-07 at 12.21.59 AM” width=”150″ height=”150″ />If you clicked this link, I assume that means you’re a curious gay man looking to explore this city’s fabulous gay nightlife. Let me preface this by bursting your bubble; there is nothing fabulous about gay clubbing. Seriously. It’s all seminal odors and overpriced drinks and snotty door bitches and creepy forty-year-olds who try to stick their hands down your pants on neighboring windowsills and embarrassing Facebook photos that you have to untag because, you know, not like your boss is homophobic but it’d probably be best if she didn’t see these anyway. But it’s something that I think all gay NYU guys should try, because New York is probably the best place to go clubbing in the first place, so you all may as well take advantage.
(P.S. I’m not including lesbian bars here. Sorry ladies. There’s an NYU Local lesbian bar crawl this Thursday though, details of which will emerge later this week. Consider that to be a hands-on post.)
Eastern Bloc in Alphabet City is my favorite of the city’s gay bars. It successfully walks the line between dance-y club and intimate bar; with stripper poles and a large dance floor, there’s plenty of room to get down to the often-excellent playlists of gay standards (“Gloria,” anyone?) but the bar itself is also long enough to have plenty of room to order that third cosmo. Plus, they give out free condoms. I don’t feel that bad about myself when I go here.
The one and only time I went to Rush on a Thursday night — the unofficial underage-party night in the gay club scene — to boot, there were about ten people there, half of which were overweight drag queens, and I ended up going back to Queens with a Brazilian immigrant who had a Chris Kirkpatrick afghan on his bed. But whatever, it’s not Splash.
Oh god, Splash. It’s down the block from Rush, but it’s a world away at the same time. Ten dollars (five if you’re cute, free if you don’t have an STI) gets you into this hellhole. And yes, I often paid that amount freshman year, shut up. Mondays are Musical Mondays, when they play dance remixes of Broadway show tunes, and also your testosterone turns to estrogen and ketamine is practically on tap. Thursdays is College Night, when you’ll probably spot that sexually ambiguous kid who lives down the hall whom you’ve been afraid to make a move on because, you know, what if he’s straight? Well now you know, all thanks to Splash. This place sucks but you really have to go here, at least once, or else your gayness doesn’t count.
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