From the people who brought you The Week in Craig, one of the all time great uses of the internet, comes The Week in Yelp, wherein Amy Blair takes aim at the ridiculousness that is the world of Yelp. Her intrepid Yelp-surfing, and words, follow:
I spent this past weekend in Chicago, and, despite being there for three days, I somehow managed to only go out in Boystown (a traditionally gay neighborhood). On a recent trip to Washington D.C. for a wedding, all of the bars we visited (with the bride and groom) were gay bars. In college (in Minneapolis), I don’t think I ever went anywhere besides gay bars. Literally. Ever. Despite only occasionally ever visiting gay bars at home in New York, it seems to be the only thing I do when I’m out of town. And it’s beginning to dawn on me that there is a direct correlation between my waning enthusiasm (which I used to blame on growing old) for New York nightlife and the lack of gay bars in my day to day life. Which is all to say, aren’t gay bars just the dreamiest? Swoon! Also, besides not having to worry about being swarmed by assholes at a gay bar, where else are you going to see a man have sex with a Corona and then drink it? (File under: Things You Saw in a Gay Bar that Can Never Be Unseen). Viva la gay bar!
First up, a tiny gaysian, a clone muncher and Karen Carpenter in black leggings and an eye patch. Do with that what you will.
Every time I enter The Stud I feel a welcome claustrophobia. It's tight and smelly, yet somehow it seems natural that I, an ass munching perv, should be in there.Dammmmn, boy! Despite this being one of the most bipolar reviews I have ever read (starts off with $6 Jaeger bombs, HOT boys and ass-munching pervs!!, and then ends with a crowd full of aborted homunculi fetuses, ahem) this reviewer has possibly proven himself to be my favoritest Yelper ever. Which, of course, is not saying much. But hey, it’s something! (He’s a crazy after my own heart). Also, was he really wearing black leggings and an eye patch? Ah-mazing.
I used to be a semi-regular visitor for Trannyshack. Alas, those days are over now that I'm OLD (like over 21 OLD! HOLY SHIT! SHOOT ME NOW!!) and will soon be euthanized. But I returned this Saturday for Hot Mess post-DYGay, and it was like hooking up with a good friend from ages ago, and not in that awkward Let's-See-If-You-Still-Suck-In-Bed-Yup-You-Do way.
Great bartenders, $6 Jaeger Bombs, go-go dancers, friendly door staff, and some extremely HOT boys. Plus, every 2nd and 4th Friday at The Stud is "Planet Big," a night for large men and their admirers. Which is a FUCKING AWESOME development if you ask me because BELIEVE IT OR NOT I hate the body fascism of the community too.
Now LET ME SAY that as a tiny gaysian who slips through floor cracks and can't ride the goddamn roller-coaster, I've been called a lot of heinous, offensive, nasty shit before: invective the likes of which I can't transcribe in this review. That's why it really doesn't upset me when folks call me a fudgepacker or send me PMs cursing me with syphilis -- I've been called FAR WORSE in my life, and you'll seriously need to do a LOT BETTER if you want to offend me.
So, bitch, when you and your clone dick muncher friends with the monosyllabic vocabularies and buzz cuts and tasteless everything and all the personality of a fucking aborted homunculi fetus were throwing me shade and talking shit about the fact that I looked like a Japo KAREN FUCKING CARPENTER in black leggings and an eye patch, it really didn't upset me at all, it simply made me lament your sad fucking life of aping your oppressors. Also, I want to crack you in the balls. And by "I," I mean Robert P.
p.s., On a related note, my Anger Management Counselor says I'm making progress.
Next up, a great gay bar reminiscent of the New York scene back in the day and a bartender who?won’t fart on you. What more do you need?
Sweet, seedy fun down in Noho. Went here on Friday and Saturday, and packed each time with cute boys dancing to pseudo-80s remixes. Friends have described this as how New York clubs used to be back in the day.Yeah, I know.
Go on Fridays to take a photo with "The Ass" - the semi famous bartender wearing nothing but an apron. Don't worry, he won't fart on you. $10 cover, but it's worth it. Cash only.
Moving on to?more ass! This time, no farts, just Bette Middler’s exploding hindquarters, Los Lobos, an open container of lube and the night this reviewer fell to pieces?
I think Bette Midler's ass exploded in here-glitter, sparkles, and color galore. People from SPACE can see how gay this place is! Reminds me of Club Cafe from Boston. LOVING IT!Oh, honey. This is one good thing about being old; you understand that if it’s 5:30 a.m. and you’ve had eight hundred gin and tonics you don’t friggin take the subway home. It’s called a cab! Take one!
Don't slip on that open container of lube on your way in, sweetie. Can I getcha something to drink? Perhaps a gin and tonic? Hold the tonic? okay, have half a bottle of gin and thank me for the VIDEO http://www.youtube.com... of you singing "La Bomba" with 12 other people on stage. Oh wait that's not you. That's Los Lobos. No worries-it all looks the same after four drinks. Yes, you are a WONDERFUL singer!
What the hell night of the week was I here? I dont' know. I can't remember anything. Three words:
My memory hasn't been the same since. 3 weeks after my debut appearance I found pictures I took of myself looking oh-so-glamorous in the subway at 5:30 in the morning doing the stumble of shame. Where did those come from? Must've been that night I fell to Pieces.
And finally, just to give a little perspective, ok, so perhaps not ALL gay bars and restaurants are bastions of happiness and unadulterated joy. I’m willing to concede that much. Enter Hamburger Mary's. Heh.
Awful, awful service. I see that a lot of reviewers have been here for drag queen bingo, so I'll venture to say that service is probably different and one thousand times better than it is during other times.That’s the thing about a gay hamburger joint?the food may suck and the service may be lousy, but hey, they give you your check in a freaking red patent leather stiletto. And that’s just classy.
I have never been impressed with the food. And well, it is what it is. The burgers are average, and the brunch food is too. I noticed their breakfast food has improved lately, because they used to serve the frozen hash brown patties.
It was about a 3 star place until this last brunch visit. We were one of two tables and we had the slowest service on earth. Our server chick was yapping on the cordless phone (breaking up with her girlfriend or some weird shit) for at least one hour of the 90 minutes we were there. We had to flag her down to pay attention to us at least 5 times. She proceeded to take our order and serve us our food (while still on the phone). She forgot one of our orders completely. We asked to speak to the manager and said he wasn't around. She was the one on duty. Completely unprofessional service, and a poor excuse for a restaurant.
Typically I would give it one star, but I'll give it two because they serve you your check in a red patent leather stilleto. And quite frankly, that ROCKS.