< topography - Cobble Hill


Cousins II
Court, Amity/Pacific
Cobble Hill
{ mongoose 3/4/00: This schizophrenic den on Court street also has the distinction of being diagnosed with multiple-personality disorder. It's a veritable cornucopia of psychological malaise. Feel like watching a Jets-Giants game on television while an overweight local sings karoke? No problem here! In fact the patrons seem oblivious to inebriated frat-boys throwing darts mere inches away from their overpriced pasta dishes. Afraid of breaking-up with your significant other at home? I suggest Cousins. No less than three glasses were smashed within the hour I was there; in fact a man directly next to me was being accused of infidelity by his girlfriend (rather loudly) while a woman belted out a shameless rendition of "Footloose." This place smells, looks, and sounds like Ethel Merman and has all the subtlety of a shuttle launch—love it on a Monday!}

Last Exit
Atlantic, Henry/Clinton
Cobble Hill
{ namenskid 4/29/01: Hopped a 6,6,6 train, one of those new ones, supersmooth, superdazzle, the next stop light-brighted on a ceiling panel, plus a continuous prerecorded voice announcing  every point on the line, for the tourists? 6 to the 4, and I'm a rabbit out of The Hatt. Bounced at Borough Hall hoping to get lost on my way to the Last Exit...no dice: thought I didn't know where I was going, with the new Isis EP discman-deafening me and the wind blowing garbage in my face, but I made it, d'accord, and had to shut that  SGNL>05 down; and cutting Isis off to open up an 80s new wave DJ situation was like getting caught masturbating. Hey, I made the best of it in this dark, decorated dungeon-lounge, with room and sofas for all, of murkoid yuppie-types ignored by desirable indefinables. Service poured strong, but high prices caught me by surprise—good thing I just got paid. And good thing my friends were there, because I don't think I would have stayed where waiting for the toilet you can hear: "This song is  so perfect for our reunion coming up." "Yeah, but have you heard Flock of Seagulls'  new album?" Whaaa? Hop hop hop...} [!] { Cassandra 5/18/01: I've been here twice, always on a Saturday night. A theme bar: the first time was 80s music night and the second night was a hula dress night. I can't think of any other reason why corporate peeps were wearing grass skirts and horrid Hawaiian shirts - other than they are lame. My favorite was a woman in full hula gear, the same monotonous, ill-coordinated hip-shaking, with her little shiny pink purse slung over one shoulder. Both nights, except for a few good songs, the generally bad music was too loud and there was no place to sit. This is supposed to encourage dancing, but the space is ill-equipped and only makes dancing as well as sitting with a group uncomfortable. The minute I did get a seat on the couch, some idiot in a grass skirt began to talk to me about his career. I managed to scare him off with some existential angst crap about how when you die this society will only remember you as what you did for a living. And that this becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy where people live empty lives which amount to their job titles. I scared myself so much that I got really drunk. Hey, but it's good for business, right!}

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Brooklyn/Cobble Hill