Wednesday, November 05, 2003
Striking Out on Our Own
Review: Shanghai Nightspots Part Two
I chalked our first night up to nothing more than a learning experience, which is a really good way to rationalize something that by and large totally sucked. Like the time you got drunk at the zoo and snuck into the monkey house only to be sexually and fecally assaulted by nine angry primates. Learning experience. So with resumed gusto, we three Hangzhou plizzayas struck out on our own to see the city we missed the prevous night because we were too busy hobnobbing (albeit against our want) with the blue noses of Shanghai's upper class.
We hit the streets of Pudong at the crack of 1 p.m. and made our ever so touristy way over to the Jin Mao building because when you're that close to the fifth largest building in the world you go to the top and say "OOH, AAH." We got drinks at the Cloud 9 Cafe which is located on the 87th floor and took several elevators to reach. We nestled ourselves into a cozy little, black, leather booth and just relaxed as we admired the spectacular view, which thanks to Shanghai's pristine air quality afforded us a crystal clear view for distances up to one hundred square feet. The Pearl Tower was shrouded in haze and I could hit that tower with a rock from the Jin Mao building. C'mon China let's get this air pollution thing under control. You're being compared unfavorably to Mexico City and the atmosphere on Venus.
I can't remember what Alf had because I don't care (he had coffee), but Carl had a 50 kuai glass of orange juice that was orgasmic. It was as though the Virgin Mary betrothed the finest Valencia oranges to twelve of Cuba's most beautiful virgins to juice betwixt their thighs. It was enlightenment in a glass, but Chivas was only 55 RMB so you know. After our refreshments (which for me included several cigarettes)and inhaling the view that is admittedly spectacular despite the smog we left to find our Shanghai. The mean streets. The dregs. The last vestiges of Shanghai's downtrodden and forgotten. What did we end up finding? Bar whores and Excalibur Rocks (which also had bar whores.)
To pay tribute and respect to chronology those things were found later in the night. On our round about search for the Bund (which was anti-climatic), we did manage to find what I believe is the largest hardware destrict this side of Bob Villa's secret cache in the Appalacians. Two way switchers, nail guns, power saws, pressure valves, mallots (rubber and metal), gauges, seals and gaskets and a whole bunch of etcetera and et cetera (they're slightly different.) Shop after shop with no breaks in facade for eight blocks. Nary a restaurant, bar or Bed, Bath and Beyond to be scene for close to two miles. Wierd and boring altogether, if I didn't need 300 hundred square feet of carbon fiber stucco lathe the trip would have been a complete waste.
The original plan was simple, take the subway from Pudong to Puxi. Hit the streets on foot, see the sights, and stop in any bar that peaks our interest. This works great in other cities as you normally can't travel two blocks in any direction without coming across some establishment purveying alcohol in some capacity (excluding convenience stores because they lack ambience.) Instead we walked for hours and found only a large micro-brau haus in the Bund charging more than I'd prefer to pay for dialysis much less the beer that will inevitably sire my need for such separative processes.
Maoming Lu:
The only bar I wanted to check out was one called, "Excalibur Rocks." It was recommended to me by the guys who took us out the night prior when I explained to them that I feel more comfortable in less classy, dive bars. Our plan was to head there after nightfall but after hours of walking we ended up at Starbucks thumbing through the bar/nightclub section of That's Shanghai and the street Maoming Lu escaped from Alf's mouth. Now I had heard enough about Maoming Lu to know I didn't want to go there. It sounded more than vaguely reminiscent of the the places we went last night in Fuxing Park. I was not into it, but as passing suggestions so oft transmogrify into imperatives so did this one and we were on our way. I had never been so I wasn't about to protest. For all I knew it could turn out great....
....but it didn't. It was just like Fuxing Park. Arrogant pricks and snooty hoes as far as my astigmatism afflicted eyes could see. It wasn't too bad though. When you have Alf and Carl with you a boiling clam chowder enema can seem tolerable, dare I say, pleasurable? Nah, only if it was New England style but still those are some pretty good guys. Especially when Alf shows off that keen intellect of his, like when we sitting at the bar at Windows:
Alf: Dude it's buy two get one free.
Greg: Yeah....
Alf: I'm gonna get six!
Greg: Why?
Alf: Because...fuck...shit what am I thinking!
Greg: I have no idea. Just get two.
It was in Windows Bar that we saw the most pretentious gaggle of young women this side of Victorian England. With the exception of us there was nobody in the bar other than the staff and one couple. These girls barrel through the front door and the jollity that lit up their collective (four Asian one Caucasian) faces was instantly erased and out of one of their mouth's came a disgusted, "God there is like nobody in here. This place is totally dead!" What a thing to announce when the three most eliglbe bachelors in China are sitting twelve feet away from you. They were, like most women I met in Shanghai, very attractive until you speak to them. Once you engage them in conversation the beauty just drains out of them like they were Nazis exposed to the Arc of the Covenent. The young women in Windows that Saturday night were just caricatured representations of the whole and they were all ugly because of how shallow and mean they were. Except the white one. Man, she had this gorgeous, huge ass. I wanted to wear it like a hat. Tossed salad table one, oh yeah. You feel me. Anyway, we left shortly after, it was expensive even with the two for one and they weren't playing any music.
After that we headed back up Maoming Lu to a bar called Nelly's. I wanted to go in solely because of the St. Louis based rapper of the same name who had no affiliation with this bar whatsoever. I'm sure if he had it would not have sucked so much. Three 355 ml (12 oz.) Tigers cost 105 kuai. Tai gui le! And they were luke bing de at best (Barely cold for those of you not down with the Chinese.) The music was not too loud and ultimately unoffensive, had we not been barraged by bar ladies (bar whores) whooping, "Handsome Boys! Handsome Boys," it would have been quite the comfortable pub if one forgot completely about the astronmical drink prices. We couldn't even begin to relax and shoot the proverbial shit when attractive Chinese girls sunk their sultry talons into our uninterested flesh. Now I'm all about having women fawn all over me because it's never happened before and it sounds quite captivating. However, when they are doing it because they are paid too and it is their job to increase an establishment's profits I tend to care quite less for it. Wait a sec! You just want Bailey's! (which is true)I thought you were genuinely interested in me as a person and because I'm a sexual dynamo? Even though the nice, 21 year old girl from Ningbo was very sweet and attractive I had to leave because I just don't feel right in those situaitons. One, they don't like me. They're just doing a job. Two, they aren't even from Shanghai. They come from all over, mainly rural areas, to make money for a few months doing things I'd rather not think about and then go home with hardly enough money to make it worth their while and God only knows how many emotional scars to deal with. It upsets me. So I came up with some crappy excuse that took Carl five minutes to catch on to, "Wait who do we have to meet?" as to why we had to leave (because I'm an idiot and didn't want to hurt their feelings) and we split.
Alf's Golden Moment of Unbridled Intellect No. 2:
The cabs in Shanghai aren't nearly as nice as the ones in Hangzhou but they are more beneficial in regards to aiding novice Chinese speakers. On the back of the Plexiglass sneeze-guard that protects the cabbie from anything except weapons there is a little corner with a Chinese character and its pinyin written below. To the right of the character there is the English equivalent with a picture above it. In our cab we learned "shu" or "book." Alf immediately chimed in:
Alf: Dude, that's not how you spell,"book."
Carl: How else would you spell it?
Alf: Not with two "O's."
Greg: How the hell do you spell book?
Alf: Wait is it two "O's?"
Carl: Uh, yeah. Dumbass.
Alf: Fuck you dude.
Greg: Maybe you'd like a "U" or something. The two "O's" is quite a hassle.
Alf: I hate you guys.
Excalibur Rocks:
Located on some road a short distance from a bar called, "Malone's," that I hear is popular is a bar called, "Excalibur Rocks." Its got bar whores (I don't like that term lets call them lascivious ladies for increased fiscal gain) but not nearly as assertive are they as they were at Nelly's. But the drinks were well priced and not only was the music good, we got to pick it! It was great. REM, Velvet Underground, Wham, Rolling Stones, Neil Young, Radiohead, all sorts of good stuff. I got turned down by an L.L.I.F.G. with third degree burns across her left forearm and got drunk off 28 kuai liter beers. It was the high point of the evening. More to come.....
Review: Shanghai Nightspots Part Two
I chalked our first night up to nothing more than a learning experience, which is a really good way to rationalize something that by and large totally sucked. Like the time you got drunk at the zoo and snuck into the monkey house only to be sexually and fecally assaulted by nine angry primates. Learning experience. So with resumed gusto, we three Hangzhou plizzayas struck out on our own to see the city we missed the prevous night because we were too busy hobnobbing (albeit against our want) with the blue noses of Shanghai's upper class.
We hit the streets of Pudong at the crack of 1 p.m. and made our ever so touristy way over to the Jin Mao building because when you're that close to the fifth largest building in the world you go to the top and say "OOH, AAH." We got drinks at the Cloud 9 Cafe which is located on the 87th floor and took several elevators to reach. We nestled ourselves into a cozy little, black, leather booth and just relaxed as we admired the spectacular view, which thanks to Shanghai's pristine air quality afforded us a crystal clear view for distances up to one hundred square feet. The Pearl Tower was shrouded in haze and I could hit that tower with a rock from the Jin Mao building. C'mon China let's get this air pollution thing under control. You're being compared unfavorably to Mexico City and the atmosphere on Venus.
I can't remember what Alf had because I don't care (he had coffee), but Carl had a 50 kuai glass of orange juice that was orgasmic. It was as though the Virgin Mary betrothed the finest Valencia oranges to twelve of Cuba's most beautiful virgins to juice betwixt their thighs. It was enlightenment in a glass, but Chivas was only 55 RMB so you know. After our refreshments (which for me included several cigarettes)and inhaling the view that is admittedly spectacular despite the smog we left to find our Shanghai. The mean streets. The dregs. The last vestiges of Shanghai's downtrodden and forgotten. What did we end up finding? Bar whores and Excalibur Rocks (which also had bar whores.)
To pay tribute and respect to chronology those things were found later in the night. On our round about search for the Bund (which was anti-climatic), we did manage to find what I believe is the largest hardware destrict this side of Bob Villa's secret cache in the Appalacians. Two way switchers, nail guns, power saws, pressure valves, mallots (rubber and metal), gauges, seals and gaskets and a whole bunch of etcetera and et cetera (they're slightly different.) Shop after shop with no breaks in facade for eight blocks. Nary a restaurant, bar or Bed, Bath and Beyond to be scene for close to two miles. Wierd and boring altogether, if I didn't need 300 hundred square feet of carbon fiber stucco lathe the trip would have been a complete waste.
The original plan was simple, take the subway from Pudong to Puxi. Hit the streets on foot, see the sights, and stop in any bar that peaks our interest. This works great in other cities as you normally can't travel two blocks in any direction without coming across some establishment purveying alcohol in some capacity (excluding convenience stores because they lack ambience.) Instead we walked for hours and found only a large micro-brau haus in the Bund charging more than I'd prefer to pay for dialysis much less the beer that will inevitably sire my need for such separative processes.
Maoming Lu:
The only bar I wanted to check out was one called, "Excalibur Rocks." It was recommended to me by the guys who took us out the night prior when I explained to them that I feel more comfortable in less classy, dive bars. Our plan was to head there after nightfall but after hours of walking we ended up at Starbucks thumbing through the bar/nightclub section of That's Shanghai and the street Maoming Lu escaped from Alf's mouth. Now I had heard enough about Maoming Lu to know I didn't want to go there. It sounded more than vaguely reminiscent of the the places we went last night in Fuxing Park. I was not into it, but as passing suggestions so oft transmogrify into imperatives so did this one and we were on our way. I had never been so I wasn't about to protest. For all I knew it could turn out great....
....but it didn't. It was just like Fuxing Park. Arrogant pricks and snooty hoes as far as my astigmatism afflicted eyes could see. It wasn't too bad though. When you have Alf and Carl with you a boiling clam chowder enema can seem tolerable, dare I say, pleasurable? Nah, only if it was New England style but still those are some pretty good guys. Especially when Alf shows off that keen intellect of his, like when we sitting at the bar at Windows:
Alf: Dude it's buy two get one free.
Greg: Yeah....
Alf: I'm gonna get six!
Greg: Why?
Alf: Because...fuck...shit what am I thinking!
Greg: I have no idea. Just get two.
It was in Windows Bar that we saw the most pretentious gaggle of young women this side of Victorian England. With the exception of us there was nobody in the bar other than the staff and one couple. These girls barrel through the front door and the jollity that lit up their collective (four Asian one Caucasian) faces was instantly erased and out of one of their mouth's came a disgusted, "God there is like nobody in here. This place is totally dead!" What a thing to announce when the three most eliglbe bachelors in China are sitting twelve feet away from you. They were, like most women I met in Shanghai, very attractive until you speak to them. Once you engage them in conversation the beauty just drains out of them like they were Nazis exposed to the Arc of the Covenent. The young women in Windows that Saturday night were just caricatured representations of the whole and they were all ugly because of how shallow and mean they were. Except the white one. Man, she had this gorgeous, huge ass. I wanted to wear it like a hat. Tossed salad table one, oh yeah. You feel me. Anyway, we left shortly after, it was expensive even with the two for one and they weren't playing any music.
After that we headed back up Maoming Lu to a bar called Nelly's. I wanted to go in solely because of the St. Louis based rapper of the same name who had no affiliation with this bar whatsoever. I'm sure if he had it would not have sucked so much. Three 355 ml (12 oz.) Tigers cost 105 kuai. Tai gui le! And they were luke bing de at best (Barely cold for those of you not down with the Chinese.) The music was not too loud and ultimately unoffensive, had we not been barraged by bar ladies (bar whores) whooping, "Handsome Boys! Handsome Boys," it would have been quite the comfortable pub if one forgot completely about the astronmical drink prices. We couldn't even begin to relax and shoot the proverbial shit when attractive Chinese girls sunk their sultry talons into our uninterested flesh. Now I'm all about having women fawn all over me because it's never happened before and it sounds quite captivating. However, when they are doing it because they are paid too and it is their job to increase an establishment's profits I tend to care quite less for it. Wait a sec! You just want Bailey's! (which is true)I thought you were genuinely interested in me as a person and because I'm a sexual dynamo? Even though the nice, 21 year old girl from Ningbo was very sweet and attractive I had to leave because I just don't feel right in those situaitons. One, they don't like me. They're just doing a job. Two, they aren't even from Shanghai. They come from all over, mainly rural areas, to make money for a few months doing things I'd rather not think about and then go home with hardly enough money to make it worth their while and God only knows how many emotional scars to deal with. It upsets me. So I came up with some crappy excuse that took Carl five minutes to catch on to, "Wait who do we have to meet?" as to why we had to leave (because I'm an idiot and didn't want to hurt their feelings) and we split.
Alf's Golden Moment of Unbridled Intellect No. 2:
The cabs in Shanghai aren't nearly as nice as the ones in Hangzhou but they are more beneficial in regards to aiding novice Chinese speakers. On the back of the Plexiglass sneeze-guard that protects the cabbie from anything except weapons there is a little corner with a Chinese character and its pinyin written below. To the right of the character there is the English equivalent with a picture above it. In our cab we learned "shu" or "book." Alf immediately chimed in:
Alf: Dude, that's not how you spell,"book."
Carl: How else would you spell it?
Alf: Not with two "O's."
Greg: How the hell do you spell book?
Alf: Wait is it two "O's?"
Carl: Uh, yeah. Dumbass.
Alf: Fuck you dude.
Greg: Maybe you'd like a "U" or something. The two "O's" is quite a hassle.
Alf: I hate you guys.
Excalibur Rocks:
Located on some road a short distance from a bar called, "Malone's," that I hear is popular is a bar called, "Excalibur Rocks." Its got bar whores (I don't like that term lets call them lascivious ladies for increased fiscal gain) but not nearly as assertive are they as they were at Nelly's. But the drinks were well priced and not only was the music good, we got to pick it! It was great. REM, Velvet Underground, Wham, Rolling Stones, Neil Young, Radiohead, all sorts of good stuff. I got turned down by an L.L.I.F.G. with third degree burns across her left forearm and got drunk off 28 kuai liter beers. It was the high point of the evening. More to come.....
Sunday, November 02, 2003
"This is the place to go to be seen!"
Review: Shanghai's Nightclubs
This weekend past, Crazy Carl, Alf (2nd Lieutenant of the Starship: Funk) and myself hopped on the night train (bottoms up) and headed to Shanghai. Now I'm a blue-collar, big city lover. It's who I am. It's where I feel most comfortable. Like the way Eric Roberts feels when he steps in front of the camera, that's how I feel when I hit the streets of this world's metropoli. I know I belong. [For those of you who don't know who Eric Roberts is, that last simile was a complete waste.]
Now I'm not rich. My parents didn't go to Choate. They didn't send me to some pretentious boarding school (which I thank them for everyday). When I'm banging and clanging around the NYC for example, I'm not shopping at Prada or brunching on Waldorf salads with my commodity trading cronies. I'm slamming pint after pint at Rudy's in Hell's Kitchen, or chugging yards of Stella Artois with my boys at Back on the Wagon in West Greenwich. I'm playing Nashville Pussy on the jukebox of the Underground Pub and relaxing with a pack o' smokes and a mouth full of friendly, "fuck yous." So needless to say I was stoked about my first trip to the Paris of the East, the pearl of the Orient, the city that is Shanghai.
Well, it would have helped a great deal had my parents been Choate alumni, or I indeed traded commodities because as it stands I simply didn't fit in. Perhaps I went to the wrong places, in fact I'm quite sure I did. No I'm not "quite sure," I'm absolutely, positively, without a fucking doubt, sure I was in the wrong places. Alf's friends (who took us out) up in Shanghai were great. Zach, Charlie, Peder, Jarret (Who's actually from Emmaus, the town I was born in! Can you say "crazy coincidence?"), and Peter (who's performing three times nightly at the "Gun Show.") did their best to show us a good time and they did. They just set the bar a bit high. We were going to some of the trendiest nightclubs in Shanghai; the places you go to be, "seen," and I was WAY out of my element. Take a look for your self.
This picture represents an accurate simulacra of the clubs we visited.
Notice all the beautiful, important people:
Okay. Here's me. You see? I don't belong here!
We went to three clubs that night. Well Crazy Carl and I did. Astrofunkadelic Afu (Alf) decided after surveying the first bar (Lanteen) for a grand total of 12 seconds that he was leaving to buy baijiu (distilled shitwater) and walked out. Long story short, we didn't see Alf again for two and half hours. We looked in every club in the immediate area and couldn't find him. Finally his drunk ass came barreling into Guangdii (club number 2) with contraband, outside beer shoved under his jacket stumbling and grinning like the world's sneakiest, red-faced cat burglar, calling us assholes because we ditched him. Apparently Alf thought it would be more fun to have his own party at Club Public Park Bench like a derelict hobo. Why hangout with Greg and Carl when I could trade baijiu shots with two chipmunks and a fucking rat.
Disappointment No. 1: Lanteen
So Carl and I sat, slightly dejected, without our wingman Alf at the first bar. Decored in somber yet chic dark neutrals Lanteen provides an alluring atmosphere for romantic after dinner drinks with that special someone. Dimly lit private booths provide a haven away from the maddening crowds (including the waitstaff there were maybe nine people inside) and sheer curtains enclose your party adding an air of security that lets people know you want your privacy but you also want to be seen. Carl and I sat at the bar watching...well nothing because the place was Martha Rae, which is to say it was fucking dead. Alf's friends (the people who took us) didn't even stick around. Carl and I turned to the bar to order some beers and when we went to ask them what they wanted they were already out the door.
Lanteen caters to those who appreciate high class, and don't mind their equally high prices. Patrons should remind themselves to not break the noir when their check comes and their sclera bust out of their ocular cavities when they realize the just dropped a thousand wing wangs on two glasses of Glenfiddich, a well gin and tonic and four Budweisers. Chic, high brow, and pricey but it lost, "it." Rating F. (At least it was quiet and the bathrooms were clean. I've waded through enough piss-laden bathrooms to sincerely appreciate sanitary lavatories).
Disappointment Number 2: Guangdii
Realizing Alf wasn't coming back and we weren't about to spend another 70 RMB on two cans of shitty pseudo-German beer, Carl and I left to meet up with the Shanghai crew that left us at Lanteen to go smoke a joint in the park (drugs are bad). We waited for them to finish (don't worry mom I didn't partake in the sweet, sweet ganja) and headed towards lair of sickening pretension number two: Guangdii. Guangdii is one of the "hottest" places to be "seen" in Shanghai and let me tell you it sucks. We sauntered up to the entranceway where we were stopped by the friendly doorman and informed we had to finish our beers before entering. So post chug we handed our empty cans to the doorman and walked in and let me tell you it was everything I never wanted in a bar; hundreds upon hundreds of swarthy ex-pats and nouveau riche Shanghainese mingling and gyrating to crappy house music. You could cut the unwarranted sense of self-worth with a knife in this crap hole. This time our hosts hung around for about five minutes before leaving us, once again, to our own devices. The main area was a bit too crowded for our own tastes but we found a smaller side room which was a little more subdued.
For those of you who have yet to travel to this wonderful country I have to inform you that Chinese dance clubs are very loud, and very often the music sucks. Be it house music, trance, or dance, it's all annoying pops and whistles which ultimately get ignored by the patrons and provides nothing close to the desirable ambience one would want for intimate conversation. What it does provide though is brimming coffers for the clubs owners. You simply cannot speak at normal volume inside a club. You have to scream at your friend who's standing a foot away from you, and ask anyone who's screamed for a while and they'll tell you how much hydration you need to keep from tearing your throat up. So keep the music "pumping" so patrons have to scream and watch them buy drink after over-priced drink to keep from going hoarse. A cunning ploy indeed, that's why I prefer pubs. I digress.
After swilling two uninspired Gin and Tonics for 90 yuan (rape job) I headed off to inspect the bathroom, which was quite stylish and replete with industrial chic faucets and fixtures and an astute bathroom attend. I tipped him ten yuan for handing me a towel and nodding in sympathetic concurrence when I mimed my wanting to throw up from the melange of Karl Lagerfeld and Drakkar Noir that wafted off the shining backs of the magisterial jizz buckets that peacock strutted through this "in" establishment's bathroom. I gag on your pomp you deluded troglodytes. I felt so bad for that attendant who had to put up with their arrogance every night. After leaving the bathroom I joined up with Carl and encouraged him to leave (which for the record took very little cajoling). The price, pomp, and pretension was a bit more than I could stand. Furthermore, if being "seen" means being ignored and looked down upon by legions of charlatans content in wallowing in their own mountebankery I'd just as soon stay home and get drunk in my bathrobe.
So in conclusion, if being embraced by Shanghai's latter-day rakers gives your life meaning give this neon-lit Augean Stable a try. It won't disappoint. But if you're like me and prefer to spend your time with people of more depth than a prison puddle of piss, go elsewhere, save money and your olfactory glands. Rank F-.
Disappointment Number 3: Club 97
I should probably point out at this point in time that I was drunk for the majority of the evening. Although the bars reviewed herein were (and still are) exceedingly expensive the 150 kuai all you can eat and drink Japanese teppanyaki restaurants are the best deals in Shanghai. Now I'm not a much of an eater, so I've never been that big a fan of all you can eat establishments, because all I can eat is not that much. I can, however, drink like Ulysses S. Grant, so when you throw in all you can eat in with all you can drink, I make it my personal mission to put your restaurant out of business. And man, did I (well all of us really, I unlike Peter did not take my shirt off in the restaurant, flex down and scream, "the Gun Show!" which I give him mad respect for.) Anywho, the point I'm trying to make, in a very round about way, is that I'm not really sure of the name of the third club but I'm pretty sure its Club 97, or Park 97, (something with a number in it, I don't know, it was crap nonetheless).
Of all the well-adorned chasms of social barf we visited this one was the best and it had little to do with the clientele. Two stories, very trendy, and it had an upstairs VIP room. We managed to get by the first doorman no problem, but the doorman to the upstairs was said to be a little tougher. I don't think we would have gotten access but Peter's girlfriend (an absolutely stunning Chinese girl from London, her accent was soooo (just like Tiffany!!!) arousing) came to the rescue. She met us (Carl and I, Alf was still MIA) at the entrance and led the way with a walk that exuded and air of self-confidence I didn't think could be contained in a single human being. About six paces to the staircase that led to the VIP she swung her head around flaring her hair into a dazzling arch of glistening black silk and spoke unto me with her sexy, sexy voice, "If you want to get in here walk like you own the place and show a lot of confidence." I informed her that I was not familiar with this word you call, "confidence," but I'll try my best. Following her lead but not coming close to duplicating the deftness of her performance I put on my serious yet uber-cool face. Like I've been doing nothing for the past 3 days but listening to Bauhaus, the Cure, and Morrissey non-stop and I lit a cigarette and attempted to walk past the doorman. Then all of a sudden I felt his arm. Shit! God damn it! Why am I so uncool? Does nobody care that I'm a nice person? Damn, damn, damn! I was expecting him to put me in an arm bar and escort me to the losers lounge when, to my surprise, he was guiding me up the stairs to the VIP room, half way up he indicated that I was headed the wrong way. Apparently I was headed for the bathroom. Upstairs the place was jumping with (you'll never guess) more white people. Euro-trash and fat cracker rejects from the states and Britain sliming themselves all over their petite, sexy girlfriends that only like them for their money. It was a lovely establishment. Soft plush couches, art nouveau in design. Reds and pinks predominant lending a warm atmosphere to the exploitative debauchery that was all around us. The highlight of this place, and it’s saving grace was the jazz band that was playing near the outside terrace, where I spent most of my time. Her voice was beautiful and the only thing worth listening to considering the conversations going on around me. Overall this is a very nice bar/nightclub that would be a lovely night out if not for the clientele that patronized the place. Expect to spend a premium price as well. My 8ounce Evian was 38 yuan. Mixed drinks start around 45 RMB and escalate skyward. The live music was great and a refreshing change from the same old, abysmal, redundant house music every other nightspot resorts to when they are too lazy to look for real music like the Allman Brothers or Diamond Rio. Overall this was the best of the three establishments visited by us, on our first night in Shanghai, but I was still left with bitter taste in my mouth. Rank F+.
Next post will be all about night two, which wasn't much better, but bar whores abound! Yay!! Shanghai sucks! If anyone knows of any rocking bars in Shanghai, where I can chill with my friends, play the dice game, listen to music with lyrics and is played with instruments leave a comment.
P.S. By the way ladies GregEZ looks a lot better in person than he does in that picture.
P.S.S. I was only kidding about the Allman Brothers and Diamond Rio.
Review: Shanghai's Nightclubs
This weekend past, Crazy Carl, Alf (2nd Lieutenant of the Starship: Funk) and myself hopped on the night train (bottoms up) and headed to Shanghai. Now I'm a blue-collar, big city lover. It's who I am. It's where I feel most comfortable. Like the way Eric Roberts feels when he steps in front of the camera, that's how I feel when I hit the streets of this world's metropoli. I know I belong. [For those of you who don't know who Eric Roberts is, that last simile was a complete waste.]
Now I'm not rich. My parents didn't go to Choate. They didn't send me to some pretentious boarding school (which I thank them for everyday). When I'm banging and clanging around the NYC for example, I'm not shopping at Prada or brunching on Waldorf salads with my commodity trading cronies. I'm slamming pint after pint at Rudy's in Hell's Kitchen, or chugging yards of Stella Artois with my boys at Back on the Wagon in West Greenwich. I'm playing Nashville Pussy on the jukebox of the Underground Pub and relaxing with a pack o' smokes and a mouth full of friendly, "fuck yous." So needless to say I was stoked about my first trip to the Paris of the East, the pearl of the Orient, the city that is Shanghai.
Well, it would have helped a great deal had my parents been Choate alumni, or I indeed traded commodities because as it stands I simply didn't fit in. Perhaps I went to the wrong places, in fact I'm quite sure I did. No I'm not "quite sure," I'm absolutely, positively, without a fucking doubt, sure I was in the wrong places. Alf's friends (who took us out) up in Shanghai were great. Zach, Charlie, Peder, Jarret (Who's actually from Emmaus, the town I was born in! Can you say "crazy coincidence?"), and Peter (who's performing three times nightly at the "Gun Show.") did their best to show us a good time and they did. They just set the bar a bit high. We were going to some of the trendiest nightclubs in Shanghai; the places you go to be, "seen," and I was WAY out of my element. Take a look for your self.
This picture represents an accurate simulacra of the clubs we visited.
Notice all the beautiful, important people:
Okay. Here's me. You see? I don't belong here!
We went to three clubs that night. Well Crazy Carl and I did. Astrofunkadelic Afu (Alf) decided after surveying the first bar (Lanteen) for a grand total of 12 seconds that he was leaving to buy baijiu (distilled shitwater) and walked out. Long story short, we didn't see Alf again for two and half hours. We looked in every club in the immediate area and couldn't find him. Finally his drunk ass came barreling into Guangdii (club number 2) with contraband, outside beer shoved under his jacket stumbling and grinning like the world's sneakiest, red-faced cat burglar, calling us assholes because we ditched him. Apparently Alf thought it would be more fun to have his own party at Club Public Park Bench like a derelict hobo. Why hangout with Greg and Carl when I could trade baijiu shots with two chipmunks and a fucking rat.
Disappointment No. 1: Lanteen
So Carl and I sat, slightly dejected, without our wingman Alf at the first bar. Decored in somber yet chic dark neutrals Lanteen provides an alluring atmosphere for romantic after dinner drinks with that special someone. Dimly lit private booths provide a haven away from the maddening crowds (including the waitstaff there were maybe nine people inside) and sheer curtains enclose your party adding an air of security that lets people know you want your privacy but you also want to be seen. Carl and I sat at the bar watching...well nothing because the place was Martha Rae, which is to say it was fucking dead. Alf's friends (the people who took us) didn't even stick around. Carl and I turned to the bar to order some beers and when we went to ask them what they wanted they were already out the door.
Lanteen caters to those who appreciate high class, and don't mind their equally high prices. Patrons should remind themselves to not break the noir when their check comes and their sclera bust out of their ocular cavities when they realize the just dropped a thousand wing wangs on two glasses of Glenfiddich, a well gin and tonic and four Budweisers. Chic, high brow, and pricey but it lost, "it." Rating F. (At least it was quiet and the bathrooms were clean. I've waded through enough piss-laden bathrooms to sincerely appreciate sanitary lavatories).
Disappointment Number 2: Guangdii
Realizing Alf wasn't coming back and we weren't about to spend another 70 RMB on two cans of shitty pseudo-German beer, Carl and I left to meet up with the Shanghai crew that left us at Lanteen to go smoke a joint in the park (drugs are bad). We waited for them to finish (don't worry mom I didn't partake in the sweet, sweet ganja) and headed towards lair of sickening pretension number two: Guangdii. Guangdii is one of the "hottest" places to be "seen" in Shanghai and let me tell you it sucks. We sauntered up to the entranceway where we were stopped by the friendly doorman and informed we had to finish our beers before entering. So post chug we handed our empty cans to the doorman and walked in and let me tell you it was everything I never wanted in a bar; hundreds upon hundreds of swarthy ex-pats and nouveau riche Shanghainese mingling and gyrating to crappy house music. You could cut the unwarranted sense of self-worth with a knife in this crap hole. This time our hosts hung around for about five minutes before leaving us, once again, to our own devices. The main area was a bit too crowded for our own tastes but we found a smaller side room which was a little more subdued.
For those of you who have yet to travel to this wonderful country I have to inform you that Chinese dance clubs are very loud, and very often the music sucks. Be it house music, trance, or dance, it's all annoying pops and whistles which ultimately get ignored by the patrons and provides nothing close to the desirable ambience one would want for intimate conversation. What it does provide though is brimming coffers for the clubs owners. You simply cannot speak at normal volume inside a club. You have to scream at your friend who's standing a foot away from you, and ask anyone who's screamed for a while and they'll tell you how much hydration you need to keep from tearing your throat up. So keep the music "pumping" so patrons have to scream and watch them buy drink after over-priced drink to keep from going hoarse. A cunning ploy indeed, that's why I prefer pubs. I digress.
After swilling two uninspired Gin and Tonics for 90 yuan (rape job) I headed off to inspect the bathroom, which was quite stylish and replete with industrial chic faucets and fixtures and an astute bathroom attend. I tipped him ten yuan for handing me a towel and nodding in sympathetic concurrence when I mimed my wanting to throw up from the melange of Karl Lagerfeld and Drakkar Noir that wafted off the shining backs of the magisterial jizz buckets that peacock strutted through this "in" establishment's bathroom. I gag on your pomp you deluded troglodytes. I felt so bad for that attendant who had to put up with their arrogance every night. After leaving the bathroom I joined up with Carl and encouraged him to leave (which for the record took very little cajoling). The price, pomp, and pretension was a bit more than I could stand. Furthermore, if being "seen" means being ignored and looked down upon by legions of charlatans content in wallowing in their own mountebankery I'd just as soon stay home and get drunk in my bathrobe.
So in conclusion, if being embraced by Shanghai's latter-day rakers gives your life meaning give this neon-lit Augean Stable a try. It won't disappoint. But if you're like me and prefer to spend your time with people of more depth than a prison puddle of piss, go elsewhere, save money and your olfactory glands. Rank F-.
Disappointment Number 3: Club 97
I should probably point out at this point in time that I was drunk for the majority of the evening. Although the bars reviewed herein were (and still are) exceedingly expensive the 150 kuai all you can eat and drink Japanese teppanyaki restaurants are the best deals in Shanghai. Now I'm not a much of an eater, so I've never been that big a fan of all you can eat establishments, because all I can eat is not that much. I can, however, drink like Ulysses S. Grant, so when you throw in all you can eat in with all you can drink, I make it my personal mission to put your restaurant out of business. And man, did I (well all of us really, I unlike Peter did not take my shirt off in the restaurant, flex down and scream, "the Gun Show!" which I give him mad respect for.) Anywho, the point I'm trying to make, in a very round about way, is that I'm not really sure of the name of the third club but I'm pretty sure its Club 97, or Park 97, (something with a number in it, I don't know, it was crap nonetheless).
Of all the well-adorned chasms of social barf we visited this one was the best and it had little to do with the clientele. Two stories, very trendy, and it had an upstairs VIP room. We managed to get by the first doorman no problem, but the doorman to the upstairs was said to be a little tougher. I don't think we would have gotten access but Peter's girlfriend (an absolutely stunning Chinese girl from London, her accent was soooo (just like Tiffany!!!) arousing) came to the rescue. She met us (Carl and I, Alf was still MIA) at the entrance and led the way with a walk that exuded and air of self-confidence I didn't think could be contained in a single human being. About six paces to the staircase that led to the VIP she swung her head around flaring her hair into a dazzling arch of glistening black silk and spoke unto me with her sexy, sexy voice, "If you want to get in here walk like you own the place and show a lot of confidence." I informed her that I was not familiar with this word you call, "confidence," but I'll try my best. Following her lead but not coming close to duplicating the deftness of her performance I put on my serious yet uber-cool face. Like I've been doing nothing for the past 3 days but listening to Bauhaus, the Cure, and Morrissey non-stop and I lit a cigarette and attempted to walk past the doorman. Then all of a sudden I felt his arm. Shit! God damn it! Why am I so uncool? Does nobody care that I'm a nice person? Damn, damn, damn! I was expecting him to put me in an arm bar and escort me to the losers lounge when, to my surprise, he was guiding me up the stairs to the VIP room, half way up he indicated that I was headed the wrong way. Apparently I was headed for the bathroom. Upstairs the place was jumping with (you'll never guess) more white people. Euro-trash and fat cracker rejects from the states and Britain sliming themselves all over their petite, sexy girlfriends that only like them for their money. It was a lovely establishment. Soft plush couches, art nouveau in design. Reds and pinks predominant lending a warm atmosphere to the exploitative debauchery that was all around us. The highlight of this place, and it’s saving grace was the jazz band that was playing near the outside terrace, where I spent most of my time. Her voice was beautiful and the only thing worth listening to considering the conversations going on around me. Overall this is a very nice bar/nightclub that would be a lovely night out if not for the clientele that patronized the place. Expect to spend a premium price as well. My 8ounce Evian was 38 yuan. Mixed drinks start around 45 RMB and escalate skyward. The live music was great and a refreshing change from the same old, abysmal, redundant house music every other nightspot resorts to when they are too lazy to look for real music like the Allman Brothers or Diamond Rio. Overall this was the best of the three establishments visited by us, on our first night in Shanghai, but I was still left with bitter taste in my mouth. Rank F+.
Next post will be all about night two, which wasn't much better, but bar whores abound! Yay!! Shanghai sucks! If anyone knows of any rocking bars in Shanghai, where I can chill with my friends, play the dice game, listen to music with lyrics and is played with instruments leave a comment.
P.S. By the way ladies GregEZ looks a lot better in person than he does in that picture.
P.S.S. I was only kidding about the Allman Brothers and Diamond Rio.
