Spring has sprung, my friends, or so says the wind as it whips through my car, battling the sound of my advance copy of the new Guns N' Roses record, Chinese Democracy. And with great weather comes great responsibility. All I'm saying is the snow blindness I got off some legs this past weekend made me think that unless the Earth sees a dramatic shift on its axis, my stock in bronzer is gonna go through the roof ... at least for a few weeks. You wouldn't go to a job interview after eating a blue popsicle, would you? Think about it.
So that was Sat., April 1. But like a pagan flesh feast, things really got cooking after the sun went down. My evening began at the opening of L.a.M.P. Inspired by the recent opening of celebrity-studded b.e.d. (beverage.entertainment.dining.), L.a.M.P. (which stands for Lounge attracting Mad Pussy) is a concept where you reserve a specific type of lamp you'd like to party under. Whether you're in the mood for a heat lamp, ultraviolet (tanning) lamp or black light, L.a.M.P. can switch you on. And let me tell you, nothing says sexy like some lamp poon. And as it has an appropriately brightly lit patio, I think L.a.M.P. may also be gunning to take some business from the equally vaginally monikered Piebar.
Speaking of Piebar, opened by Concentrics Hospitality Solutions, I heard a rumor while at L.a.M.P. about a new concept opening in 2007 called Mezzanine. It's intended to challenge Lobby, the Concentrics-managed restaurant in Atlantic Station's TWELVE Hotel. Mezzanine doesn't serve food in a traditional manner, however. It taps in to a market of people who obviously love waiting to be seen in the right place. Mezzanine is a balcony that allows you to watch actors below pretending to eat merrily. It's totally a place for masochists; you reserve a block of time to see how long you can sit and be tantalized, and when your time is done you're given a full meal.
So there are now more options for, well, getting lit. And for eating up time. But those just looking for a new club experience aren't being left in the cold. Remember foam parties? Fuck that shit -- we're talking Pudding Party! That's right, I attended an after party featuring fire hoses full of pudding. As DJs played marathons of funktacular jams, drag queens doused patrons in naner, niller and choco. That is the only way jaded clubbers can now understand what it's like to cook and then chill. In a world overcome by political strife, a room full of pudding is like returning to the womb. A delicious banana-flavored womb.
So, anyway, that was April Fool's Day. It was a totally tubular weekend ... in my mind. Except for part of the Guns N' Roses thing.
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