Social networking

The Gold Club twats twits:

I applaud their social networking savvy.

Let’s play hipster bingo

Just in time for Vegas Boulevard tomorrow night.

How To Play:

Print this out and take it to the next show you go to. When you get a bingo, scream “BINGO!” at the top of your lungs, then break a bunch of beer bottles on the floor and get thrown out.

Courtesy The Catbirdseat.

Kenyon Street at Night

I took this spooky photo of Kenyon Street in Hartford last night. The rain had just stopped and the air was ripe with humidity and fog.

We were on our way down to Tisane for boy’s night, which turned out to be creepier than the walk there. I dunno, I wasn’t feeling the love. The music was really, really loud. The bar line was really, really long. And everyone was either 12 or 63.

CT Pride

Excerpt from The Onion’s Controversial Court Ruling Upholds Homosexual’s Right To Prance Around Demanding Attention And Being A Drama Queen, “filed” from Hartford:

HARTFORD, CT—The Connecticut Supreme Court on Monday upheld the right of individuals, regardless of sexual orientation, to engage in any number of “grandiose behaviors,” including, but not limited to, sashaying across the room “like a hussy, yelling ‘Oh my God!’ at the top of their lungs while hopping up and down, and generally acting like Miss Thing.”

The court ruled 5-2 in favor of the plaintiff in Carmichael v. State of Connecticut, a landmark case overturning a lower court’s decision against homosexual Michael Carmichael’s right to excessive theatrics. 

Did anyone go to CT Pride in Elizabeth Park last weekend? I hit the Polo Club late Saturday night and there was no momentum in the crowd from the day. No one seemed to have gone and everyone just milled about, waiting for something to happen that never did. 

Leggo My Eggo

Spurred on by my obsessive over-analysis of Giada’s Amaretto Sour mix cocktail a few days ago and the utter total sum of ZERO ingredients after an inventory of my pantry this afternoon, I inhaled deeply. Then exhaled. And went grocery shopping with the idea of getting a whiskey sour mix somewhere at Shaw’s instead of trying to compile some grand thing on my own.

Yeah, I dunno. It just didn’t work out, and here’s why: I’m lazy, I didn’t read the recipe at all, and ended up buying Bar-Tender’s Brand whiskey sour mix. And Jameson, which was the plan all along.

The first thing I said to my boyfriend tonight after shaking up Bar-Tender’s Brand mix with the required amounts of whiskey and cold water in my sterling silver cocktail mixer and pouring the frothy concoction into a glass and trying to sip, was: “This smells like eggs. They’re using egg whites to make it all foamy.”

He didn’t believe me. He said it was delicious and drank a bunch more. He thought I was being silly.

I’ve lived my whole life with an aversion to eggs. I try so hard to like them. I get jealous at breakfast when people verbally banter about eggs with waitresses and wrinkle their nose like cute, happy, egg-lovin’ egg-lovers at whatever cooking method of the infinite cooking methods of eggs they all mutually agree suits the world that fine morning.

But, egads, have you ever smelled eggs? Have you ever rolled their indefinable texture around in your mouth? I’m shuddering right now…

I confirmed my suspicions when I scrutinized the box of the Bar-Tender’s Brand mix. It does indeed have dried egg whites. You know, for the foam.

My boyfriend didn’t care and lapped up my drink too.

Joe Black’s Out

Joe Black’s Restaurant & Bar on Pratt Street in downtown Hartford has closed its doors.

There was just not enough regular bar and food money coming in to compensate for the initial expenses of restoring the bank to its current state. In the future, the spot will be used for a rental space for weddings and private events.

Thanks to Scary Bunny #4 for the tip last night.

Lush Life: Gay, Gay, Gay

When I checked out this week’s Lush Life column in the Hartford Advocate, I couldn’t help but think of George Clooney’s smarmy response to whether or not he’s gay in this April’s issue of Esquire:

The Esquire interviewer mentions a Web site that insists that the actor is “gay, gay, gay.” Clooney responds: “No, I’m gay, gay. The third gay — that was pushing it.”

Lush Life’s “Steve and Edie” recount a recent night at a “well appointed spot in Hartford’s West End” where a fellow customer offered suggestions on how Steve could seem less gay:

Completely unsolicited, a woman sitting to our right interrupted us to volunteer suggestions on how Steve could seem less gay, from his hair to his speech to his clothing (a fabulous combination of three clashing tartans). After closing her gaping mouth and shaking off disbelief at such barefaced, insulting ignorance, Edie came close to just letting go and scratching this dizzy chick’s eyes out. Caught totally off-guard as one often is at such a familiar bar, Steve did not know what to do.

Great job, Hartford.

Any guesses on where the “well appointed spot” is? Think “Steve” is the only openly gay man there?

Como Esta, Bitches

We’re back from our adventures at the Tri-Wizarding World Cup in Germany, not that you noticed that we were even gone.

And no–we didn’t miss Hartford or you.

Okay, maybe just a bit. But how cute is this pix we snapped in Munich?

To get the best of both worlds, we just ventured to Vaughan’s Pub on Pratt Street to see the USA team lose to Ghana, 2-1.

Not that we didn’t expect it–but the loss seemed particularly pathetic since Ghana writhed all over the field and cried like Nancy Kerrigan every three minutes.

It also didn’t help that Vaughan’s makes the worst bloody marys we’ve had in years and now we want to make the sickness. But the fries rocked and we got to read about 40 articles in today’s Hartford Courant about Madonna.

Okay, maybe 2 articles but they were boring as hell and it felt like 40.

Anyway, send us stuff to the emmy addy. That’s soccer talk for email address.

Okay, it isn’t. But run it anyway.

Meteor Showers

We apologize for the lack of posts this week. With the rain and the general lack of anything interesting afoot about town, we just haven’t been inspired. We’ll be scarier next week, we promise.

Just a reminder that the Comet Club Reunion happens this weekend, as we originally noted here.

And–the Comet Lounge seems to be reopening for good. We don’t have the full schedule yet, but at least they’re going gay on nights that aren’t Tuesdays! Imagine that.

Get your gay on the first Saturday of every month at “Secret Saturdays” and weekly on Sunday nights at “Hot Chocolate Sundays,” starting at 9 p.m.

We think you have to show up to get fudge with that.

Dead Man’s Party

If you hated video for killing the radio star, then meet This Guy–who officially killed the phrase “party like a rock star” at Koji a few weeks ago.

And if you’re still at work on this fine Friday like us, then get your ass to Room 960 after work today for the last Hipster Happy Hour H-ever.

5-7 p.m., 960 Main Street, Hartford.