Future Pool Parties, My Birthday Tonight, and Michael Alig Soon
I’m being drawn to the area surrounding the Ganesvoort Park Hotel more and more. Development and action in that area seems to be increasing. The Ganesvoort Park Avenue’s entry is a much improved version of its Meatpacking namesake’s design. It’s southern MPD entry was retrofitted to accommodate the success of its rooftop, and, of course, Provocateur. As food and beverage drives certain hotel brands, the venues will be designed with their restaurants and watering holes soundproofed, accessible through street and internal doors and passages. They are increasingly integral to success—driving room rates and attracting desired clientele, and even distracting certain “types.” The bars, restaurants, lounges, and the pool area at Ganesvoort Park were built with this mindset, and not with afterthoughts.
The Gansevoort Park did not build for clientele to be stuck in basements, or in places where the noise of their success makes whole hotel floors un-rentable. Ganesvoort Park understood this before ground broke, and was designed to have minimum impact on hotel guests. The effort and thought put in is paying off, and we will be even more evident if we ever see warm weather again in this town. The pool scene, when the sun betrays the snow, should be hot. Yesterday’s brunch at Asellina on the ground floor was wonderful. The design by my friends over at iCrave is inspiring. I followed the advice from the charming and attentive staff and enjoyed the Swordfish Carpaccio, and will come back real soon. My travels and travails took me to Goldbar to meet up with Jon “the Lover” Lennon. I needed to show him my latest two tattoos, and see the one he is filling in today. No Homo. Amanda was with me to see, and, of course, show hers off. I was going to get a very “Deppian,” tat that read “Winona Forever,” but after seeing her in the Black Swan, it became apparent that that little joke won’t fly, as she is a really bad joke at this point. After all the bearing of flesh and ink, we settled down at a table to drink our bottles—of Diet Coke—and chat with old friends. Goldbar’s Sunday night soiree is still strong after 3 ½ years. DJs Sinatra and Jesse Marco were slashing and burning through rock anthems mixed, mashed, shaken, and stirred over Hip Hop classics. The enthusiastic and sexy crowd wanted it all. I still can’t lift my left arm over my head as a result of some subway steps that resembled a ski slope. Amanda asked me why I would ever want to lift my arm over my head anyway, so I just won’t do it. Problem solved. With a smart girlfriend like that, I may even cancel my health insurance. I did alright slipping and sliding, until I didn’t, which resulted in a dislocated shoulder after hitting a post. It’s back where it should be now, but hurts. I put my new tats on that arm so I don’t notice the shoulder pain as much. Problem solved. I’ve heard of snow blind, but I think I’ve been rendered snow dumb. I will be celebrating my birthday tonight at Bingo at the Bowery Poetry Club with Murray Hill, Linda Simpson and their crew. I think my editors, and maybe you, are getting tired of me plugging the place, but it’s more fun than anything, and I’ll stop when they come. There was a time when my birthday was a glamorous affair, with complicated invites, sumptuous feasts at swanky restaurants, and maybe even some friendly celebrity performance with bottles, smiles, and laughter at an unbelievably fabulous club. I used to be Steve Lewis, and that brand demanded such a shin dig. My new brand, as Uncle Steve the writer, or Steve Lewis the designer, needs a great deal less spectacle and adulation than Steve Lewis Club Impressario.
Facebook gives access to my birthday and yours to all the joints around town. Assistants go through lists and offer me and you free birthday parties as a way of promotion. I guess it fills up rooms on cold nights. I have enjoyed the requests, and the ones from owners who have offered their places, stocks of booze, and services, but I think I’ll be where I love it. Bingo, then BBurg for dinner with my tattooed friends, probably at Lodge. The birthday promo gimmick is an old play. Michael Alig and I saw it being done at an old and awful club years ago. Alig thought it a great idea and I green lit the concept, using one of our innumerable lists. It wasn’t a birthday thing, just a “you won a free party for you and your friends” thing. I didn’t pay attention, and Michael mailed out to one of our lists that had, like, 10,000 names. I think he got 2,000 positive responses, with each response comped, and open bar for an hour for 20 friends.
The thing about the open bar scam is that bartenders can only pour booze so fast that, after a certain point, it doesn’t matter if you have 200 people trying to get a drink, or a thousand, as the bartenders are maxed out. That’s why bottle service really took on. Instead of 8 bartenders, you make your patrons do the pouring as well, and you end up with 30 bartenders. Getting the stuff out of the bottles fast is the whole idea. Anyway, the story goes that something like 20,000 people showed up at the RedZone that night, and chaos ensued. He was talented at that. For those keeping track, he’s up by Canada now, moved to a lower level Medium Security prison. It’s a definite improvement, except too far away for a day trip visit. I’m going up soon, and will send him all your love and hate.
My mind should be less numbed mid-week, as the bottle with 0 refills is getting light. I have some spectacular stuff to tell you about, but after I deal with the condition my condition is in.