There’s quite a bit going on over the long weekend so you have no excuse to whine about being stuck dealing with your family, as long as you live in limping distance to the 5 boroughs. I’ve got a semi-competent list of quality goods that won’t break the bank. That way, if you need to buy another drink to deal with your family, you don’t have to sell any plasma. I know, I’m a generous soul, once again making it all better with bass. Here they are, ordered by day. Come on out and burn off all of them stuffing-related calories. Pictured above is Hector Moralez, with deep support at an underground venue in Brooklyn. There’s a strong chance this event will be fabulous, and a certainty it’ll have a deep, latin, funky & soulful vibe to it. There aren’t very many of these spaces left in NYC, and at $15.00, you’re paying what I paid when there were more than a decade ago.
My girl Miss Sabado, who just killed it two weekends ago at GlamTech is profiled by onebeat.tv as a DJ who wrecks it. As a long time fan I can definitely attest to that. Connie, as Resolute’s top resident, is definitely a force to be reckoned with. Check out all 4 and don’t sleep when they’re playing. And check out more on Miss Sabado by clicking on the amazing picture of her below. If you don’t know about her yet, you will.
The bass was impressive, so I was having trouble hearing what the Resolute staff member was saying. I had asked how much the price at the door was again, as I didn’t believe I’d heard it correctly the first time. There was no VIP at this event and I’d not gotten wind of it until right before, so I didn’t have time to get advance tickets (mandatory for the budget-conscious partier). He repeated himself, and I realized that yes, I was waiting on a line to eventually hand someone $40+ to stand in a room. A big room, with a huge skylight, and 3 stories of exposed brick, a room with nice speakers and bar, but still just a room. I had plenty of time to let this sink in, as the line didn’t really maintain any pretense of moving.
With the line soon poking out the door like nakedness in ill-fitting bathing clothes, I made it to the front, saw a somewhat maudlin door-girl casually request two weeks of metrocard rides, and haphazardly apply my wrist-band. The inertia of being away from the packed rectangle of stasis kicked on and I swung over to the token-based bar for a stiff drink. Or, a token, such that I could go wait on another line for said stiff drink. The “bread line” construct drifted through my mind as I meandered from the front of one line to the back of another, twice.