Drift Reality

Let me preface this by saying I have never really been inside Josephine’s. It might be a good place - but unfortunately I wouldn’t really know.

Last night I decided to check out this new club down at the intersection of K and Vermont, accompanied by two beautiful women: my sister and my girlfriend.

I walked up to the door after valeting my sister’s car and was confronted by a smallish fellow.

“So we are here as part of a friend’s group,” I mentioned.

After mulling over his list he looked up and with an inflated sense of self-importance responded, “Oh, she already came with several of her friends. There are too many of you and we are already at maximum capacity.”

As my companion began texting wildly in an effort to contact one of the club’s managers I asked, “Can I talk with your manager, please?” I asked.

“Well, the owner is over there,” he responded, pointing to some big guy with a goatee who took the clipboard and responded in a matter-of-fact tone, “If you’re not on the list you’re not getting in.”

At that point I simply shook my head in amazement and decided it was time to go.

Now, it is not necessarily the fact that I didn’t get in which made me so irritated, it was the false sense of importance that the people working the door at Josephine’s had, which bothered me.

I love the DC nightlife but exclusivity should be something that is attained over time - not something imposed from the outset.

Sure, there are places with lines that may be difficult to get in - but normally that is because a brand has been built up over time and has a core of loyal patrons who keep coming back.

It just seemed sort of strange that a club had suddenly popped up on Vermont and become ‘exclusive.’

At any rate, we decided to head up to the Ritz-Carlton in Georgetown and sat on the couches by the fire place while enjoying a glass of wine and laughed about the experience.

I was recently visiting a friend who lives in the West Village when I had the displeasure of encountering Socialista. As I was riding over, my friend wrote me the following text:

“Socialista is at 505 West St. between Horatio and Jane. Text me when you get here. Maybe your looks will get you in.”

I found the last line of the text a bit peculiar to be sure, but didn’t think anything of it until I arrived at the front door and saw a group of people standing outside negotiating with the doorman. I immediately knew that there was going to be some infuriating front door politics involved as I sauntered up.

“Hey, is there a guest list or something?” I asked one of the doormen, who was standing guard over the exit.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “There is a guest list.”

I began texting my friend that I had arrived when I saw several other people try to gain admittance to the club and be denied.

Turning to the doorman standing in front of the entrance, I asked, “Hey, what’s the deal with this place?”

“Well, you really have to know someone here to get in,” he responded categorically.

“I know my friend who is in there,” I responded.

“Who is your friend?”

“My friend is __________,” I responded knowing full well that this moron didn’t know who my friend was.

“I don’t know your friend,” he responded.

I resisted the temptation to blurt out, “That’s because you don’t know f#%k all,” and instead decided to call my friend and ask him to come out. It was freezing so while I was calling my friend I walked over to the place next door (not realizing it was connected to the lounge).

I walked in the entrance and immediately a man in the suit came up and asked, “Do you have a reservation? Because we are closing pretty soon.”

I looked at him and simply responded, “No, I’m meeting some friends here,” thinking ignorantly that this would be enough to get him to walk away.

“Who are your friends?” he responded. “Maybe I can help you find them.”

I took a quick scan about the place, which couldn’t have been more that 15′ by 15′ and repeated my friend’s name.

“Sorry,” he responded. “I don’t know him. Perhaps they are at the lounge next door? This is the Socialista restaurant.”

Realizing that this was my queue to stand outside I headed out and called my friend to come meet me. After a few minutes, he emerged from the lounge and we went to hail down a cab.

After coming home to DC, I decided to read up on the place. I found out from the Observer write-up that the owner, Armin Amiri grew up in Iran and it suddenly made a great deal of sense to me that the place was so pretentious (disclaimer - I am half-Iranian).

I sort of threw up a little in my mouth when I read his quote in the article:

“What I’d like to be done is a socialism as far as the door. . .What socialism really means is, I give you this and you give me that. And as the door goes, I’m gonna bring you into this nice atmosphere; hopefully, you’re going to bring your great energy in here. And that’s it—that’s the only even exchange I want with people.”

Dude, do you even know what socialism is? Have you ever been to f#%ing Cuba? Were you on drugs when you did the interview?

Reading on, I struck upon a real gem from Amiri: “Back in the old days—you know, the 1940’s—when you went out, it was all about respect. You respected the establishment; it was very chill. And when a single man went out, if he wanted to pick up on a woman, it was very classily done. These days, unfortunately, there’s not much, you know, class left.”

I’m not even going to dwell on the fact that Amiri was negative thirty years old in the 1940s. Instead I’m going to dwell on the fact that this idiot is talking about socialism and 1940s style when his place is so obviously about pretension, elitism, and a tacky effort to actually be stylish while failing miserably.

Style isn’t imposed by an owner. Style evolves over time because a place cultivates relationships with patrons and creates a unique experience for them.

I couldn’t understand how someone could be so ignorant until I saw the picture of Amiri in the article. You can tell Amiri is desperately trying to look stylish but ends up looking like a hairy version of a young Dustin Hoffman, except not as good looking:

Amiri, are you trying to seduce me?

It turns out there are quite a few reviews of Socialista in the blogosphere - none of them too flattering, further affirming the fact that bloggers are smart. Joonbug did a nice little recap. of Socialista if you want to read more.

My opinion is next time you are in the West Village do yourself a favor and keep walking by this place.

Yesterday afternoon I was browsing through the weekend section of the Post when I read that a Korean-American comedian named Steve Byrne would be performing at the DC Improv. I had never heard of Byrne, nor had I been to the improv so it was certainly a bit of a shot in the dark. I checked out some of Byrne’s work on YouTube and it looked like what you would expect from an asian-american comedian - jokes about Bruce Lee, imitating his Mother’s fobby voice, etc., yet it still looked good enough to bare. After all, Byrne is a hoppa like myself and we have to support one another.

At any rate, I headed over to the show with a small group and we sat at the front table. We watched the host come out and perform a pretty solid routine before giving way to Ahmed Ahmed, who performed admirably himself.

Finally, Byrne came on and from the first minute I was pissing my pants from laughing so hard. His routine covered a wide spectrum of material, and it did as the YouTube clip indicate, cover his asian-american heritage - but that was far from the focal point of his act. He covered various aspects of relationships, culture, race, gender - always with a very distinctive fast-paced, physical presence that he managed to maintain through an act that must have run in excess of an hour and a half. From start to finish, he maintained that same energy and had the audience absolutely engaged and laughing themselves into a stupor.

Byrne made great use of the audience, bantering on several occasions with various people and even bringing one on stage for a ’sexy-stare around’ contest.

Well, here is a short (best I could find) clip of Byrne from YouTube - I’d recommend checking out his show if you get a chance.

Back in the day when I was at Georgetown, there was a place called Champs.  Champs was a filthy establishment where Georgetown jocks would mingle with drunken freshmen girls, and beer was the drink of choice.  I hated Champs with a passion and was relatively apathetic when it finally went out of business and was replaced by Blue Gin, which in many ways seems the antithesis of Champs.

Switching gears for a moment, I want to talk about Shabeh Jomeh.  Shabeh Jomeh refers to the beginning of the weekend for Persians and traditionally is a night for socializing.  In the US, there are numerous Shabeh Jomeh events where Persians meet up at bars, have drinks, look for spouses, etc.

So I’m on a mailing list for Shabeh Jomeh in DC and normally disregard the e-mails (to this date I have yet to actually attend one).  I received one this morning that did pique my curiosity a bit.

According to the e-mail, the Shabeh Jomeh coordinator met with the Blue Gin promoter to discuss terms of the Shabeh Jomeh events moving forward.  As the story goes, the Blue Gin promoter stated, “As you know, Georgetown is a predominantly white neighborhood.  Blue Gin hired me because they want to cater to that predominantly white crowd and they know that I can bring them that crowd. . .D.C. is different than New York.  In New York everyone hangs out together, but D.C. is segregated.  Latinos hang out with Latinos, blacks hang out with blacks, and whites hang out with whites.”

The end result of the conversation being, that the Shabeh Jomeh crowd could hold events at Blue Gin but they would be restricted to the second floor because they wouldn’t “blend” with the predominantly white crowd that normally frequented the establishment.

The incident is currently under legal investigation, and the attorneys recommended an ‘opinion poll’ be distributed.  Err…I think they mean a ‘push poll,’ but that’s okay, I don’t mind the push polling because otherwise I wouldn’t have found out about the racism at Blue Gin.

Anyway, Blue Gin sucked to begin with.  It almost sucked as bad as Smith Point.   Now, I can guarantee with 100% assurance that I will never return there and I have good reason to dissuade others from going there.

Saki is the only sushi joint I’ve ever been to numerous times where I’ve never actually tried the food. It’s a pretty trendy venue located at 2477 18th St. in Adams Morgan and unlike so many venues that attempt to imitate a Manhattanesque ambience but fail miserably (see section on San Diego nightlife), Saki actually succeeds.

The downstairs area that contains two distinct bars, a small dance floor, minimal seating, and strange fluorescent lighting. The music is bearable and the place seems to repel meatheads, skanky broads, and prepsters, which is always nice.

Smith Point, located at 1338 Wisconsin Ave NW, is a relatively new establishment and would have been one of my favorite places to go had it been in existence when I went to school there.

It attracts a slightly older crowd than most Georgetown bars, and it tends to be a little less rowdy than most Georgetown bars.

Sitting at the bar, I started talking with a young attorney who lived in the area. He told me that he had just gotten into town and had to go to work early the next morning so he could only have one or two drinks. When I asked him what time, he responded by saying, “Well, about 8 or 9.” Two drinks and three shots later, that estimate had gone to about “11 or 12,” and the next thing I knew, I was dancing around like a buffoon.

Later, I found out that some scrooge neighbors were trying to get the bar shut down, claiming that since the bar did not make 40% profit from food, it did not adhere to DC zoning regulations and should be shut down.

Addendum: August 2, 2006 - Several months after I wrote the initial review for Smith Point, I attempted to return with a housemate of mine and was summarily denied entrance. I can only assume that the place has gone downhill since I visited the first time. My sentiments have been substantiated by a close friend, who has composed a very amusing piece on the worst bars in DC, on which Smith Point is one.

According to the homosexual bartender at Mie N Yu, the proprietors (who are the same family who have brought us Cities and a host of other trendy clubs in the area that I don’t know) traveled around Asian and spent millions of dollars purchasing what would eventually be the decor of Mie N Yu.

I would describe it as a trendy restaurant/club with an exotic international flavor in Georgetown. When you take into consideration that the last bar to hold the title of “most exotic and international” restaurant/club in Georgetown was probably Champs, I think you’ll agree that Mie N Yu is like a breath of fresh air on M street.

Also, it’s right down the street from Old Glory, so if you were thinking about going and grabbing a drink at Old nationalistic bordering on jingoistic Glory, forget it. Go to Mie N Yu instead.

Each section of the club/restaurant is sectioned off from the other has a distinct ambience, giving you the distinct impression that you are wandering from bar to bar - all within the confines of the same venue.

There is a unisex bathroom, a DJ behind the bar, a big birdcage (where you can be served a set menu for something ridiculous like $500 per person), and all sorts of exotic accoutrements throughout the place.

So if you find yourself in Georgetown on a Friday or Saturday night, chances are you are a mindless automaton prepster who is in serious need of developing your own style. Just kidding. If you find yourself in Georgetown on a Friday or Saturday night, do yourself a favor and forego Rhino and instead, try Mie N Yu.

Mie N Yu is located at 3125 M Street in Georgetown.

Tom Tom is located at 2333 18th St. NW in Adams Morgan and it may just be my favorite club in DC. Why is it my favorite club in DC? Well, I’m glad you asked me that question. Tom Tom is my favorite club in DC because it has affordable drinks, two floors so if you make an ass out of yourself on one floor, you can go to the other floor, a somewhat older crowd, and it is not pretentious nor is it very preppy. Just good, down-to-earth fun in the heart of Adams Morgan. It is also close to some Pizza Vendors that have pizza slices large enough that they could serve as a cape for a Midget Superhero.

When I was a wee girl at Georgetown, I would often hear about Champs, a legendary bar where football players, lacrosse players, and their freshmen groupies would gather to drink cheap beer and engage in conversation that had all the trappings of the banter one might hear in a special-education class.

Actually, I’m not giving the special education students enough credit.

It had all the trappings of the banter one might hear in a philosophy class and it smelled like a French whorehouse. Not that I know what a French whore house smells like, mind you, it’s just that I think French people smell bad and whores smell bad, so two and two equals, well, you know how that one goes…

I went once or twice and I never scored. Then again, that was pretty much par for the course in my social life, so I guess I shouldn’t hold that against Champs.

What can I say? It was dirty, the girls were annoying, and there were a bunch of meatheads lumbering around like drunken golems. Then again, the beer was fairly cheap and a lot of guys (not me) got luck there.

Well, if Champs was to grow up, it would indubitably become McFaddens - a cleaner, more sophisticated (if one can use the word “sophisticated” in this situation) version of Champs, where the former College athletes have gotten fat and bald and become republicans, yet the intrinsic “meat-market” quality that was always associated with Champs, has not disappeared completely.

No, don’t be scared, it’s actually quite amusing as long as you go with the understanding that you are not going to have an interesting conversation with anyone on any topic other than politics, law firms, or money.

Why is Ozio, located down near Dupont Circle, a cool bar?

I’ve got three reasons why Ozio is badass:

1. They let me in when I said I was with the press. This is basically true, more or less. Well, this isn’t really press in a conventional sense, but it is in the search engine optimization sense that someone doing a search for “Ozio and Washington, DC” is going to stumble upon my page. The fact that I just wrote “Ozio and Washington, DC” makes it more probable that someone searching for these terms will find this page. They weren’t going to let my friends in for free, but then my friends gave me a blank look because they didn’t have any cash on them. After watching us stare at one another like vagabonds for about two minutes, she sighed and told us to just go in.
2. There are good looking Asians there. I am half-Asian and like the way Asian people look, maybe because they look like me. Anyway, I’m really writing gibberish right now, that is what writing corporate reports every month will do to you, so I will move on to my final point.
3. Ozio rocks because there is good music, a cool interior, fairly laid back people, and you can’t quote me on any of this because I was so drunk when I went there.

Just go and see for yourself, it’s worth the cover. Ozio is located at 1813 M Street, NW. (202) 822-6000.