VIDEO: Halloween Mash UP
Halloween at Resurrect, Bloodfeast, and Estate At 11:30 pm on Halloween, we realized we never
charged our camera. After nearly abandoning the night to a bottle of
vodka (sometimes we get a bit dramatic), we had 19 minutes of juice.
That’s all a responsible journalist needs, right? Dressed as Luke
Skywalker and one of the Lost Boys, we hit the road at midnight: three
parties, two hours, little battery, and an ambiguous clock roll-back
that hypothetically allowed an extra hour of early-morning
extravagance. (Turns out it didn’t, as the bouncers at Estate later
explained.) First stop was Resurrect at Privus, thrown! by our buddies at Throwed! . By midnight, the place had cleared out, but several Quailmen
and an assortment of poorly conceived Jokers still made the rounds,
flirting with sexy angels (or something, I dunno, they wore white,
sparkles, and not much else) and jumping around to the Cool Kids
DJ set. Watching the '90s Nickelodeon spillover from Resurrect mix
outside with the regulars at the adjoining Kells -- a bar whose
patronage necessitates a prominently displayed dress code barring
chains, camo clothing, and Timbs -- provided an illuminating context in
which to begin our Halloween crawl (and just begged for a hysterical
cross-over brawl … er, massacre). And with that, we fled into the
night. Our next stop was a total departure from the tameness of Privus: Bloodfeast
at Machine. Bloodfeast was sexy, depraved, fetishy, and just plain
cool. Every blast of the strobe revealed a new (sexy) nightmare, every
bump of the bass opened a new cavern from which crawled the dregs of
hell. Angels in gas masks pole-danced next to strippers in leather
pants. A dom and her sub -- chain, leash, and all -- ordered a drink
from the bar, while a 40-year-old man wearing a baby-blue baby costume
walked around sucking a pacifier, all to the kind of industrial trudge
familiar to patrons of Thunderdome
(whose resident DJ Mistaker was on deck that night). Bloodfeast sucked
us in and almost didn't let go, but alas, necessity dragged us off to
the Alley downtown. At Estate ,
the ratio of shirtless dudes to things in general was entirely out of
whack, but the décor -- that of an upscale, vain-chic movie nightclub
-- killed, calling for a clientele cooler than observed. Mummified
corpses and the skeletal remains of haute couture swung on chandeliers,
while scantily clad hotties danced in cages near the ceiling. Were the
Butabi brothers from A Night At the Roxbury (yeah, I dropped that shit) to open another club, it might look something like Estate on Halloween. Afterward,
we sat on the curb with no camera battery and a mission accomplished,
waiting for our friend. A fat devil in an unflattering costume poked me
in the ass with her trident, then mistook me for Peter Pan. I was
holding a lightsaber. And dressed in white. Really? Considering the
places we’d been, I couldn’t imagine a more fitting -- or culturally
bereft -- end to our night. --P. Nick Curran and Addison Post