Start inserting those razor blades into those apples, cats and kittens! It's Satan's birthday, aka Halloween. The biggest, bestest weekend to hit us since that one time we all freaky in the back of a gigantic VW bug on massive amounts of... oh, wait that was a dream. Yeah, that's it. A dream.
But seriously, though. You have got your work cut out for you if you plan to hit all the hot spots this Halloween. See any one of the ads in this fine pub to get the full info, but a quick mention would include Cocktail (go-go boys), Hydrate (R.O.T.C), Sound-Bar (Pumpkinhead), Boom Boom Room (Black I Ball), Berlin 鲤 Princes), Jackhammer (Stella - ooh, scary), Scot's (karaoke), Spin (SATAN!!!), Maneuvers (tricks, treats), Nutbush (best drag contest), InnExile (cross-dressed karaoke) and Charmers (my birthday - you'd better fucking be there!!!).
So happy to congratulate Kelly from InnExile and his partner Victor on their adoption of new baby Aidan, who is due in January. He have a lifetime of love and generosity to look forward to. A million smiles, Kelly.
Before you stop by Charmers on Friday (and you are expected to be there), tune in to channel 11 on your VHF dial to see none other than our music editor Peter Mavrik givin' the dish on Check Please, the hip-as-hell restaurant review show. I hear that not only does he have plenty to say about his fav Korean eatery, but he also has a choice word of six about Ms. Alpana Singh's wardrobe. Methinks that bit will be buried on the cutting room floor.
It was Prince night at The Closet last night. I touched off a firestorm of funk with my time-tested rendition of The Beautiful Ones. Even Creagh was heard singing Kiss, in what I am convinced was his impersonation of me singing that very same song.
A well-fed bitch is a happy bitch. I was in Hog Heaven at Crew when Darcy and I dove headlong into a plate of nachos. Luckily it was an off night and you all weren't there to see the carnage. Not for the faint of heart.
A proper thanks to Barry at Clark's, who, when he saw me talking with a certain whacked-out individual, pulled me aside to warn me of his "sticky fingers." Trust me, Barry, his fingers were getting nowhere near my stash, but I appreciate you lookin' out for a brother sister.
Well, I've only mentioned it a gajillion times, but I'll be turning 30 at Charmers on Friday. The next column you read will be penned (or keyboarded, as the case may be) by a more mature, wizened old salt. Gone will be the frivolousness of youth.
Just kidding. I'll always be a big baby.
kirk@windycitymediagroup.com