< topography - Chelsea

  

research_3801

Mustang Harry's
7, 29/30
Chelsea
Manhattan
{ gray-Neo and e-Lux 6/22/00: We got here through some thespian after-the-show kind of meeting-up, but not sure we'll ever go back. It's more of a restaurant really, but you could drink here for awhile if you wanted to...a lot of T.V.s,  a lot! And they're all tuned to the same sports channel! The patrons sucked, the prices were middle-of-the-hip, as Theo says. Through some kind of fluke we got buy-backs on our second pint so we stayed for awhile and got tan under the bright lights while it poured rain outside.}

h2k
9, 23/24
Chelsea
Manhattan
[I can only imagine the glowing reviews of h2k you might find on CitySearch or some such "nightlife" service; but if glow is your game, go away, for my justice shall be swift. H2k is perfectly lame. Having given me the once-over, "Loser," mutters the Banana Republicked boy exiting the bar. To the extent that I was entering h2k, he was correct.]

The Half King
23, W of 10
Chelsea
Manhattan
{ namenskid 3/27/01: "Like a droid to the slaughter," like a PK1 after a P.k-7, we taxi-chased Eclipse the Gum to Half King, where seeing few peops associated with EtG, we drank a straight one quick and hit The Street. While draining my whiskey I stared round, knowing I was about to split, thinking, hey, I'll make mental notes, you know, for future ref. Can't remember a damn thing except the general hum-ho-hum of a late Chelsea crowd. Confession: 'taxi-chased' was more like taxi-followed-after-a-meal-and-a-deli. In other words, our rush to get to Half King was inversely proportional to our rush to leave.}

Red Rock West
10 @ 17 St
Chelsea
Manhattan
[Beyond (so it would seem) the Meat Packing district pop-plosion, sits Red Rock West (yes, the wild West). A year passed between the night it was recommended to me and the night I finally happened to be within stumbling distance—and in a mood that corresponded to the mental image of the bar I had nurtured during the intervening year. This image prepared me for all the salient features of this wacko spot, but I could not have guessed at how packed it would be (at least on the weekend). An unbearably dense crowd of bikers, cowboy-types, low-lifes, beerbong enthusiasts, midgets, sorority bingers, students, rockers, interlopers of various kinds (all the way from just curious to completely devoted), Chelsea hipsters, and regular joes...they  all cram into a dirty room to shoot pool, do shots, admire the NWO poster and related paraphernalia, but most of all, to cheer on the half-naked bartenders who, when certain songs are played, first announce over the PA that it's time to get all drinks off the bar, then perform a wild assortment of booty-shaking dances and quasi-XXX choreography for the screaming masses below...some of these screaming masses climb up and dance on the bar too. Etc.!!]

Gavin Brown
15 St, 9/10
Chelsea
Manhattan
{ Jakeed 10/8/00: OK so you got a bloody blinking lighted disco floor and a gigantic backwall mirror you got a bar like a felled tree and the bartender to prove it and a door to GB's gallery OK so what}

on to Meat Packing

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