Just when you’re trying to enjoy yourself at a space saucer like Mansion where the music’s intense, the disco lights are trauma-inducing and it takes twenty minutes to scale the six staircases to the bathroom, the club fades to black and a girl with butterflies in her cascading hair starts busting out some opera. Because isn’t this why we all go to clubs? To hear whacky versions of Verdi?

I’m confused.

I’ve known Mansion is into doing shows: Last time, I witnessed some electronic string quartet jam along with the DJ. Naturally, everyone remained bewildered about whether to continue dancing or to give the string instruments their full attention while sitting attentively feigning an interest in art. This is what I don’t get. Mansion is as clubby as a club gets. No amount of luxury renovation can kill the Crobar spirit that permanently haunts this space. Why the bouts of Lincoln Center?

Are they trying to pull a theater thing like The Box?

Are they trying to culture the club experience?

Do they consider such spectacles a selling point?

How much is this costing them on top of their frightening rent?

I’m thirsty for theater as much as the next overworked New Yorker, but is when I’m chilling with my fifth cocktail really the time I want it chucked in my face?

Next time at Mansion, I’ll consider packing both earplugs and opera glasses.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

Against better judgment, Saturday night I consumed bourbon-gin-tequila-gin in that order. Why you make ask? No particular reason. It’s in fact nights when nothing special’s going on that one allows alcohol itself to be the centerfold activity. I landed at a restaurant/bar on 6^th street and Avenue A named ‘Via Delle Zoccolette’ which specializes in Venetian cuisine, seafood, and locking patrons inside at 4 AM for after hours until dawn. The theme of the evening was ‘lingerie party.’ As my male friend noted however, like most lingerie parties, the only ones who took the lingerie part seriously were gay men and women who should in fact, never be out in public in lingerie. Ah well.

This didn’t put a damper on the evening. For an Italian clubhouse the crowd was quite eclectic with Moroccans, Jersey girls, folks decked out in S&M gear and best of all – a magician. Surveying the thinning crowd at 4 AM…

We noticed a lone Guido passed out in the restaurant corner:

To which we proclaimed, “Well, a party’s not really a party without someone passed out in a corner.” I nodded my alcohol-abused brain in silent agreement, accepting the universal truth of this statement. It later got me thinking a party’s also not really a party without:

A drum / sax player

A lost credit card, jacket or earring

A body so sticky from champagne / liquor spillage that you’ve become adhesive

Feet so sore that heels get discarded

At least one Red Hot Chili Peppers song

Waking up with mystifying bruises

That one person who falls off the Go-Go dancing platform

Throwing ice

Someone passed out in the corner

A random girl in too-tight clothes dancing on an elevated area

Those three tools wearing sunglasses at night

An acute sense that you should’ve left twenty minutes ago

A brawl

Two enraged security guards

Someone who thinks they know you constantly whispering in your ear

Insanely slippery floors

A patron trying to take control of the DJ booth

Feel free to add on.

Tomorrow: Craziness at Mansion.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

The downside of dating someone you go out and have fun with is that you’ll eventually have to see them drunk, at night clubs, post break-up. You’d think that because New York is ginormous, the chances of running into your ex would be slim. This could not be father from the truth. Most circles of friends frequent a rotating handful of places, the grown-up equivalent of the three neighborhood bars in college. Running into you’re ex isn’t a probability, it’s a certainty. And thanks to alcohol, all your emotions will be heightened and on edge. So ‘sadness’ becomes ‘SADNESS!’ and ‘I wasn’t that into him,’ becomes ‘We were building a LIFE together.’

So not only are you entering an inevitably awkward, emotionally uncomfortable situation, you’re doing it on dramatic steroids. How to handle such encounters? Let’s explore a few.

1. DBS (Devil Bitch Stare): Most women perfected this glare that resonates pure hate and loathing in middle school. Men might have to practice a half-hour in the mirror since cattiness doesn’t come as naturally. Stare with a seething that implies ‘if you contracted leprosy and your limbs fell off, I’d laugh,’ and you’ll know you’ve got the tone right. If you don’t want to have to interact with your former significant other while you’re out, DBS will do the trick. Give ‘em this gaze and they won’t come within a twenty foot radius.

2. Amnesia Effect: When your eyes meet awkwardly across the room, greet the ex with the blank stare of a head trauma victim. People get amnesia everyday! It could’ve happened to you! This immature solution also takes the ball out of your court. It’s now your ex’s job to figure out whether to approach you and ask what’s wrong or play along like you don’t know each other. Genius!

3. Jealousy Card: Grab the nearest homosapien (man, woman, waitress, security guard) and flirt with them like it’s the Special Olympics of speed dating. Gaze into their eyes, shimmy with them, dance with them, engage them in a sensual salsa. Your nerves about seeing your ex will be temporarily channeled into faux desire. He’ll roll his eyes so much he’ll risk cornea damage.

4. Payback: Greet him with an ‘accidental’ stiletto thrust into the foot or crotch. Give him a friendly shove from behind so his drink ends up on the girl he’s chatting up’s lap. Tell the security guard you saw him dealing drugs near the bathroom. All are equally effective on separate scales.

5. Spread Rumors: Engage in eye contact with the ex while chatting and whispering to someone else. The ex will sense you’re talking about him, and subsequently be curious, then enraged. When they confront you about why you’re acting ‘like a bitch’ you can deny you were ever talking about him OR fess up that you were just telling so-and-so about his Winnie the Pooh fetish. Revenge always makes your vodka tonic taste a little sweeter.

That about sums up the emotional immaturity I have to offer today. Of course there are kind and courteous ways to deal with bumping into an ex at a nightclub as well, but who wants to hear about those? This is New York. Relationship torture is our forte.

P.S. Just to keep up our theme of petty competition, anyone care to guess at which New York nightlife establishment the title photo was taken? The answer on Monday.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

Once you’ve lived in New York five years, you think you’ve seen the maximum douchiness this city has to offer. Alas, no. This past weekend at Upstairs a promoter who’ll I leave nameless thought it would be fun to toss stacks of single dollar bills into the air like confetti to swirl down around his table every time they purchased a bottle of champagne. This occurred not once, but twice.

Patrons were unsure whether to cheer, drop to their knees to pick up the stray cash like peasants, or shield their drinks from the down-pouring greenery. While I did appreciate feeling like I was momentarily in a Cameron Crowe movie, this kind of uncalled for ostentatious behavior is hard to justify. Now if they were throwing hundreds and which I could actually keep, that would be a different story.

*Note: As a dedicated journalist, I tried to capture this horrific nightlife moment on my camera. Come to find out, taking action photos of swirling cash in a dark club without warning is extremely challenging. Needless to say I failed, but the image remains forever imprinted on my brain.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

Since it’s spring and we’re all hitting on each other, I wanted to take a quick moment to analyze some of the most common going-out pick up lines and why they’re effective, or not. Here we go:

“Hi, I’m _____.” This is straight forward, simple, and clear. So you think women might appreciate it. Wrong! This simple introduction tactic has never really worked for me. Not only is it unoriginal, it’s boring. It makes you a name instead of a person. Have you ever noticed that if you instantaneously get along with someone you practically forget to exchange names since you’re so into the endorphin-fueled chemistry that’s taking over your bodies?

“Can I buy you a drink?” Generosity is good. Offering to pay is chivalrous. But unless you’re approaching a lady who’s determined to get hammered, this line has the ability to scare women away. The offer to buy can make women subconsciously feel indebted to you. Maybe I’m a spaz, but I feel like a drink offer is just too commitment heavy for the first words out of your mouth. Realize that most women feel it’s necessary to make small talk with you until said drink has been consumed. Unless you’re doing shots, that could take fifteen minutes. If it’s become clear she wants to talk for an extended period of time regardless, then pull out the drink line.

“You’re beautiful / Do you know how beautiful you are? / You’re the most beautiful girl here.” Newsflash! If you’re using the word ‘beautiful’ in your pick up line you’ve already failed. Just go home and masturbate now. Insincere flattery will get you nowhere and if the girl truly is beautiful she knows it. You pointing it out will probably just make her uncomfortable.

“Do you come here often?” While boring and unoriginal, I think this is a safe and functional conversation opener. There’s no mention of money, buying things, sexual attraction or other ‘uncomfortable’ topics. This is a neutral question that promotes a conversation flow (ex: “Yes, I come here often, I live around the corner.” “No, first time. It’s my friend’s birthday.”)

“What are you drinking?” This may be my favorite. If you like the guy you can come up with a sassy answer and progress naturally to the buying a drink stage. If you don’t like him, you just tell him the facts (you’re drinking gin and tonic), smile, and easily get away.

“I like your MoJo / Growling / Other such absurdities.” If you can pull it off, go for it. The one good thing about weirdo pick up lines is that if they’re bizarre enough, you’ll get the woman’s attention from shock factor alone. Will she judge you for it for the rest of your conversation/relationship? Probably.

“Is that the sun coming up…or is that just you lighting up my world? / Let’s make like a fabric softener and snuggle / If kisses were snowflakes, I’d send you a blizzard / etc.” Everything in this pre-formulated pick up line category is bad. I’m not even going to comment.

What should women use on men? Well, I’m guilty of the point-blank awkward, “hey,” and the “what are you drinking?” line. If I’m really desperate I’ll talk to the guy pretending he’s someone I might know and then feign embarrassment / surprise when we actually don’t know each other. Cheap and lame, I realize. Suggestions? Comments? Feel free to add on your own.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

This weekend at the urge of many friends I decided to check out Sway, a long-established lounge on Spring street between Greenwich and Hudson in an effort to extend my nightlife knowledge beyond hardcore clubs. My consensus: Sway is definitely a breath of fresh air if you’re usually frequenting places like Pacha and Pink Elephant.

My experience at clubs has been that it’s primarily about who you know. You get in through pre-established contacts, congregate at a table with pre-established contacts, and assume any stranger who talks to you is a freak without their own crowd. Bars however seem to work in the reverse, it’s all about who you don’t know. Since there’s no bottle service, people are less likely to split off into table groups, creating a social free-for-all. So if you’re interested in meeting someone outside your extended friends’ network, Sway might be the kind of place you’d want to hit up on a weekend.

CitySearch wrote, “This is a huge meat market: the volume of numbers exchanged exceeds the hefty bank accounts of most of the male patrons.” This is utterly true. While no one’s wearing the slut tops you see at nightclubs, they might as well be. Everyone’s mentally undressing each other. This didn’t bother me since the first time in ages I found myself actually meeting people I might want to talk to at bars. The entire establishment was remarkably sleaze free with zero B&T. It looked like a frat house of young, healthy, athletic people…and interestingly enough, a lot of Southerners.

Why the name Sway? The place has been around for over a decade, and my girlfriend divulged that when it opened it couldn’t get a cabaret license.

Cabaret license? I did some research and New York Channel Thirteen’s website explained that believe it or not, it is against the law to have dancing in most New York City clubs and bars. Establishments that do not hold one of the city’s few cabaret licenses are breaking the law if they allow their patrons to dance; if caught, they can be subject to fines and shutdowns. Naturally, this has more to do with the side effects of dancing (brawls, drinking, noise, rowdiness in residential neighborhoods) than the actual act itself. Sway had trouble securing this license years ago, so for many months patrons could sway but not dance.

All the fun takes place at a long bar which opens into a small, sweaty dance floor and extends back into what looks like a mini mosque. There are intricate tiles, Moroccan designs and extremely slippery floors (so make sure you don’t hydroplane when sliding up to whoever you want to talk to.) There’s no cover charge to get in and the music stuck to upbeat 80ies, throwing in the occasional 50 Cent for couples who wanted an excuse to grind with each other. If you’re looking to meet someone of the opposite sex for a spring fling, I’d definitely recommend this place.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

Spring has been an eternal excuse for people to get a little frisky; to let their guard down, let their worries down, let their pants down, etc. Folks are coupling off faster than you can count flowers and the word ‘Hamptons’ seems to penetrate every New York conversation. Many of us who spent chilly winter evenings enwrapped in a duvet cover eating ramen in front of game shows are now out every night – because there’s sun, because Happy Hours are actually ‘happy,’ because you don’t need industrial strength layers, mittens, and warm accessories to get where you need to go. All you need’s a sundress, a song and a skip.

While this all sounds fabulous, it’s a big lifestyle adjustment to trade your nightly mac’n’cheese in bed for nightly evenings at Marquee. All this joyousness can lead to a condition I like to call ‘Spring Over Kill.’ The symptoms include severe exhaustion, daily hangovers, and hormones going haywire. Since the long-awaited good weather’s irresistible, you’re incapable of taking it easy at home. You’ve shed your hermit skin and have transformed into a social butterfly that’s out 24-7. The problem is that if you overdo it partying now, you’ll be dead before summer.

So in an attempt to help cure cases of SOK (Spring Over Kill), I’ve created a reference to analyze how we’re all handling the change of seasons. Utilize the spring nightlife guide below to determine if your party fever’s OK, dangerous, or out of control to the point where you need to padlock yourself in your apartment for some R&R.

Entrance Drama

OK: You know the doorman’s name
Dangerous: You have a secret handshake
Lock Yourself Up: You bolt the club closed together before 5 A.M. breakfast

Bottle Service

OK: Just when clients are in town
Dangerous: Just when anyone’s in town
Lock Yourself Up: As long as you’re in town

After Clubbing Snacks

OK: Occasional street meat
Dangerous: The vendor knows how spicy you like your taco
Lock Yourself Up: You have an automatically renewing 4 A.M. reservation at L’Express

Dating

OK: You pick up some numbers
Dangerous: You pick up some people
Lock Yourself Up: You can’t pick up anyone you haven’t already hooked up with

Bathrooms

OK: You use the shortcut
Dangerous: You’re used to the bathroom attendant greeting you with a hug
Lock Yourself Up: You use the staff bathroom and have the access code memorized

Night Doorman

OK: He expects you home between 2 and 4 A.M.
Dangerous: He often has to carry you in
Lock Yourself Up: You get home so late he’s already off shift

Promoters

OK: You get 3 – 5 promotional texts a day
Dangerous: You reply to 3 – 5 promotional texts a day
Lock Yourself Up: You participate to the extent where people think you’re a promoter yourself

Drinking

OK: A few drinks never killed anyone
Dangerous: A few bottles never killed anyone
Lock Yourself Up: Regular blackouts never killed anyone

Shots

OK: On special occasions, fine
Dangerous: On every occasion, cheers!
Lock Yourself Up: Constantly circulating on platters, thanks!

Hangovers

OK: Sometimes my head hurts
Dangerous: Sometimes I forget how to multiply and divide
Lock Yourself Up: I don’t get hangovers thanks to my mimosa intake the next morning.

Liquor Intake

OK: Politely sipping from a champagne flute or drinking through a straw
Dangerous: Through six straws
Lock Yourself Up: Directly from bottle

Security

OK: The security guard doesn’t know me
Dangerous: The security guard knows I’m a regular
Lock Yourself Up: The security guard knows more about my life then I do

Credit Card

OK: Always in my wallet
Dangerous: Always behind a bar
Lock Yourself Up: Always missing and could be at Scores

Results

Mostly OKs: Continue to party responsibly

Dangerous: Make yourself stay in with a movie at least thee times this week

Lock Yourself Up: Put down the drink you’re holding. Detox in bed with Echinacea and green tea. No going out again until you can complete the mental equivalent of a crossword or intermediate Sudoku puzzle.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

Upstairs on Broadway and Spring a.k.a. that secret clubhouse above Café Bari in SoHo, gave wasted downtowners, celebrities, and underage models a private space in which to party till dawn. Known as a ‘late night venue,’ they ran a super selective yet hassle free door (no lines!), and provide needed relief from Meatpacking and the 27th street strip. I’ve been an Upstairs frequenter and fan since its inception, and the fact that it’s become inevitably more commercial, especially on weekends, doesn’t detract from the fun.

There’s no snobby décor, so you actually can chill out. There are no cracked out cocktail waitresses teetering around in heels. The place just feels like someone’s ratty living room that you have the privilege of shaking your booty in all night long. It’s comfortable. And there are no door people screaming for you to “clear the sidewalk” or coat check girls abducting your jacket behind your back. And, the best part, as I wrote months ago in an article entitled Ode to Clubs With Food:

At around 3:30 A.M. Upstairs serves snacks. Mini hamburgers, pizzas, and the best freakin’ French fries with sauces that put McDonalds to shame. These snacks unquestionably save my life. Not only do they start soaking up the excess alcohol in my stomach making me feel more like a human being and less like a swirling ballerina in a perverse city version of the Nutcracker, but they’re delicious and Tapas-size so you never end up overeating … So this entry is my love ode, in incorrect poetic structure, to clubs with food. Because I don’t feel I ever fully appreciated this phenomenon.

My evil genius was onto something. Mere months later, Upstairs launched ‘Downstairs’ - not a bar or extension of the club, but a classic diner. In the ‘late night’ tradition of the venue, the diner’s open from 11 PM to 7 AM, so people who like to eat post-party will have someplace to go other than French Roast and L’Express. The quirk? Danny A., Matthew Isaacs and Jordan Harris decided to pay homage to New York nightlife by naming everything on the menu after Manhattan clubs and promoters, past and present.

The Marquee Mac “N” Cheese

Matt Assantwich (after promoter Matthew Assante): His food form translates into a chicken and mozzarella white wrap with a touch of chipotle mayo toasted to perfection

The Beatrice Pancakes: With poached pears marinated in red wine sauce with mascarpone cheese

Is anyone drooling yet?

I almost wish they didn’t keep vampire hours so I could enjoy the food sober. Almost everything comes with fries and the crowd favorite (which the doorman was eating in the middle of the street on my way out last night) seems to be the Mike St Pierre Steak Sandwich, which comes with sautéed onions and avocado.

Finally! A light at the end of the hangover tunnel!

Naturally, I remain insulted that I didn’t get a Model Behavior dipping sauce or onion ring named after me, but that’s okay. Despite my love of mini burgers, I guess it’s just not my time to be immortalized through diner food. Check it out and enjoy.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

Party foul! Friday night hotspot club 1Oak’s elegant downstairs bathrooms flooded. Staffers tried to keep the mess under control as quickly as possible with wet vacs but for ladies who didn’t want their $500 shoes destroyed wading to the toilet, the one bathroom upstairs was the only source of relief. Since it was a rainy night, people weren’t leaving the club to party elsewhere, so the crowds continued to amass. And if the potty problem wasn’t big enough, later the cops and fire marshal showed up, noting the party was exaggeratedly over capacity.

The next day, I found myself outside 1Oak and saw a rowdy patron literally catapulted onto the sidewalk. He flew like a human cannon ball from one bouncer’s arms to another’s as he flailed wildly causing a ruckus and screaming something about his Amex card inside. Doorman Ben had to put his hands on the man’s shoulders and soothe his mad sputtering, “What’s your name, sir? Tell me your name, sir?” Soon the Wild One was calmed and breathing heavily like a post-tantrum child. Talk about people skills! That’s why door people in New York make a well-deserved fortune.

So despite a weekend of hullabaloo activity, yesterday’s Blackbook party at 1Oak went off without a hitch. The door was tranquil, the crowd was gorgeous, the bar was open – what more could anyone need? As we positioned ourselves on a banquet to people-watch, my friend Safari whispered, ‘this whole place feels like a London club tonight. Look at these girls! All Bohemian chic.’ And she was right. There were many vintage dresses, bangs, large bags, sunglasses and lots and lots of tights. The music jolted from Spice Girls to Madonna to 80ies classics to rock without anyone seeming to care. Spirits were bright and my only compliant is that they closed the open bar four minutes before schedule (yes, we were those cheap-ass people who were counting.)

My prediction is that after what I imagine is a fire marshal warning, 1Oak’s already Fort Knox doors are going to get even tighter. For anyone who can manage, this locale is absolutely worth checking out. Not only did they spend the equivalent of small nation’s treasury on decor, it has a swanky, fun vibe and dangerously comfortable banquettes. The black and white checkered floor lends an air of elegance; the expensive-looking wooden walls are engraved with romantic script. A fireplace crackles and luminous paintings of blank-faced children and horses span the inner room.

If Kiss & Fly and Goldbar gave birth to a very lavish hybrid space it would look something like this. Or in my words:

“If clubs could metamorphosize into men, I’d want to date 1Oak.”

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com