Monday nights hardly scream party, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. For example, take the rain-soaked Monday we had recently. After six hours of driving on my part and a friend of mine making a major life decision, drinks were in order. And I just needed to find the football game. The crew and I wandered to Cafe Central, where we not only got control of the remote to put the game on, but also created an awesome new drink ... at least, we think we did.
With the kitchen closed and things pretty light in the bar, we set out to find a drink for the chick with us — something that was girly enough but not a total bitch drink. Flipping through the book of shots, we saw a few things we liked before asking our bartender, Joe, to morph them into something appealing.
After some trial and error, adding some elements, taking others away, taste test after taste test, the final product contained amaretto, Southern Comfort, sweet tea vodka, cranberry juice and sour mix.
Delicious. We convinced everyone coming in the door to order this thing without knowing what was in it, what it cost or anything. After positive reviews, we needed a name.
It’s kind of dick move to name a drink after ourselves. We’d been running with “the new shit” for a while, but ordering a “new shit” didn’t feel right. It had to be something Southern.
Obviously, I shot down the Dukes of Hazzard ideas, but we tried everything, even for a moment agreeing to name it after whichever quarterback won the game.
The Bears got the win, and I was cool with calling it “The Cutler,” but that lasted about a minute before a girl in a pink shirt and her cool Asian friends came up with Plaza-Midwood Tea. After nods all around and some tweaking, it was settled: “Plaza Tea” it is.
So, the next time you’re at Cafe Central, ask Joe to make you a Plaza Tea or PMT. He’ll know what you’re talking about, and you’ll thank me later
Mike McCray, a Charlotte native and North Carolina A&T grad, is a city explorer, neighborhood partier and dress code ignorer who shakes his head at DJs getting away with bad blends, girls pretending to be drunk and grown men with low tolerances for alcohol. Follow him on Twitter.
Aside from drooling over hot men in nothing by skimpy underwear and swimwear (see hot pictures here!), the best part about Brief Charlotte 2010 (a men's underwear show that benefited the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation) was the finale, which included seeing Cubby from 96.1 The Beat perform live.
Cubby is known all over YouTube as "the fat guy who dances to Beyonce's 'Single Ladies.'" Well, the radio show co-host (on A.M. Mayhem with hot Brotha Fred, who was also in attendance ... swwooooon) treated the attendees of Brief with three dance routines: the songs featured were Britney Spears' "Circus," Lady Gaga's "Telephone," and finally, the coup de resistance, Beyonce's "Single Ladies."
Now, excuse the poor quality of the clips ... these were taking on my cell phone. I just had to share!
Luna Lounge and Dharma Lounge celebrated their 1-year anniversaries on Wednesday night and instead of flipping a coin to decide what the move was, I gathered some friends and just hit both.
Luna was the first stop. Other than the flyer saying it was their 1st anniversary, there wasn't anything going on to suggest that this week was more unique than others. On the bright side DJ BroRabb was once again on his A-game and the conversations had while loitering outside was top notch. (Showing people how I can get to hidden files on their Blackberry without a password is quickly becoming a favorite party trick of mine, and one I'll never show a woman).
I convinced a couple Dharma regulars and friends of mine to try something different at Luna, and they were receptive not only to the music and vibe but also the drinks that were more generous with the alcohol than the chaser. Funniest moment, no doubt, is a picture of all of us surrounded by the black grown and sexy crowd with one of my friends wearing a Children of the Corn T-shirt. Culture clash.
Luna was what it always is, which is cool, but with 5th Element (where Cans used to be) stealing away some of its loyalist party-goers, it might be time for a twist soon.
Dharma was the move after midnight and it was awesome. It was like the old Dharma again, maybe because George Brazil was back in his former stomping grounds. It was like a movie scene, seriously. Packed dance floor, packed stage and poles. Patio was rammed, but instead of a lot of beef, it was all euphoric. Other than the long bar wait, everything was really really good, which can't be said every week there.
By far the highlight of the night for me was the security guy at Dharma. After being upset with him a few weeks ago when my car got broken into, he was cool and apologetic when we ran into each other at Amos' for Public Enemy. But then on my way out last Wednesday, he asked me about a West Charlotte shirt I had on recently. We're both alums. Then he asked me about an A&T shirt he saw me in prior. We're both alums. With those two facts, any animosity was lost because if there's anything I love, it's West Charlotte and A&T. Then a drunk blonde chick jumps in to say, "I know all about that. I'm from [somewhere not West Charlotte or A&T]," and us saying nearly in unison, "You don't know nothin' 'bout this, girl."
Ever have one of those nights where you just don't feel like moving? Let alone going out?
I was pretty content with staying home and watching shows I'd DVR'd before I got tweets saying I should come. All it took was one tweet saying, "there's drinks here waiting on you..." for me to be easily swayed into a shower and a late-night trip to Dharma Lounge.
I should've stayed home.
Sliding in sober just before 1 a.m., there was definitely some catch-up drinking going on. By now I'm desensitized to the weird things you'll see there on a Wednesday night. Buckmaster was doing his thing in the booth, the patio conversation was stimulating. Everybody was being a cool kid on the patio, so the dance floor was empty. All's well until I walk out to the parking lot adjacent to the building,
Parked, literally, under a street light, a few spots down from a parking enforcement vehicle and tons of other cars around, I open my door around 2 a.m., content with getting out of the house being a good idea, and say to myself, "I know I didn't leave my windows down."
I look around and there's glass all over the seats! "FUCK MY LIFE!" coming from my mouth could probably be heard in outer space. Of course they take the messenger bag (that says UNITY Journalists of Color) and a Marshall's tote bag.
It's the contents of those bags, one on the floor board, the other under the seat, that hurt the most. Macbook, camera, digital recorder, iPod and headphones in the messenger bag. The Marshall's tote? My mom's HP Netbook + Bible! They stole a Bible, man!
Steamed, I walk back into the venue to see who saw what. I mean there are security guards like 50 yards away. Nobody's seen a thing, and one Jersey Shore-esque (his hair moreso than anything) guy that works there is going to give ME shit about it. He asks me why I'd have a laptop with me in the first place. I'm sorry I write for a living and don't wander the club, picking up and shaking PBR bottles to determine if the girls acting like you're invisible are done with them or not. I'm sorry I'd planned on writing good things about my night there in Amelie's immediately after. I'm sorry I didn't leave a laptop, whose primary selling point is mobility, at home.
Pissed but trying not to be the angry black guy, I walked away and called the cops.
The bright side to all this was my drunken friends, unintentionally cheering me up. As I stood kind of OK with the whole thing, they were vowing vengeance on whoever did this. Made funnier by the fact that I nearly weigh what they do. I appreciate them riding for the cause though.
Drinks. $15
Good Conversation. Priceless
Finding out insurance is only going to pay for the busted window. Infuriating.
Think back your 21st birthday ... seriously ... do it.
Got it? Cool. Now, let me tell you about mine. I spent 17 hours of my 21st birthday sans debauchery in a college newsroom working on stories that, while deathly important to me at the time, I can't even remember now. So I now make it my duty to torture the livers of my peers joining the Green Driver's License Club.
The youngest of our little circle finally got to belly up to the bar without a fake ID, and we, of course, indulged her inner alcoholic. The drinking voyage started at Common Market with the usual casual brews and CL crossword, then it was on to EB's (Elizabeth Billiards, for those of you not in the know) where we finally had a chance to get some hard liquor in the birthday girl's tummy. Nothing like a bartender wishing you Happy Birthday while trying to figure out if he'd served you in the past and been burned by a fake ID.
There it was funny to see how years of drinking and thousands of cigarettes can turn the hot blonde with a pretty smile into something far less desirable. Good times were still had between pool and darts but a middle-aged guy doing a Ross Perot impression like it was 1992 was pretty much everyone's cue to make the trek across the parking lot to Cafe Central.
Now this was more our group's speed (and age).
The music was cool enough, but the drinks were cheap, and most importantly, the kitchen was open after midnight, meaning we could teach birthday girl an important lesson: always keep food on your stomach, preferably something bready or greasy, to soak up the liquor.
Like a trooper, she was still standing when we declared like Swingers this party was dead, which it wasn't, and moved on to the night cap — a house party, which meant the drinks weren't well mixed and the liquor was a heavy-handed. While this was my type of party, for the novice alcoholic, it was too much. I don't think she can tell you too much about this party after arriving there, and for the sake of the Constitution, I'll plead the 5th.
I am so highly amused that the GS Boyz performed at Alley Cat last night. I mentioned it to my editor, and his immediate response was, "They're still around?"
This fabulous duo
In case you're not familiar with the "Stanky Leg" song and dance, here's the video. I'm sorry, I just had to do it.
OK, I'll admit it to you and no one else ... I can vaguely recall one drunken evening at a club back home in Georgia in the near past in which I ... yes, I think so ... did the "Stanky Leg." For shame, Kim Lawson!
Here's photo from last night from one of our photographers ... check QC After Dark later to see more!
You know when you have to stand in line to get into Black Finn — not Suite or Whisky River, but Black Finn — the crowd at the EpiCentre is getting a little ridiculous.
So here's my solution to those of you like me who have none of the patience it takes to stand in line to get into an overly crowded bar that boasts nothing out of the ordinary: Venture somewhere outside of the EpiCentre once in a while.
I can hear your disgruntled replies now: "What? Are you kidding me? The EpiCentre is THE place to be on the weekends!"
But why? Why is it THE place to be? Because there are so many people there?
Let me share a little secret with you, my friends. If more people ventured outside of the multi-entertainment complex, perhaps other places in Uptown would get a fair shot at being "THE place" to be.
Anyway. After standing in line for a few minutes at Black Finn this past Friday night, my friends and I elected to make a stop at Molly MacPhersons instead. The trek wasn't that far down 5th Street (by the way, how late am I to find out that Fiji/Kashmir closed? Alas, not that we didn't expect that to happen, right?) as we passed Latorres and Dandelion Market (both venues which seemed to be doing quite well — this makes me proud).
It's safe to say the crowd at Dharma is changing.
Hitting the spot I used to frequent just a few months back last night, it was clear that the regulars were partying elsewhere and the energy was different, even if the music was kind of the same. Even with that bit of awkwardness of unfamiliar faces filling the patio and dance floor, Dharma definitely still had its positives. The free keg that is usually gone within 30 minutes of doors opening was actually spread out over time. Working like a blue light special, every time the light came on, you'd see people race from the patio or dance floor to the bar for a free beer. I can dig it.
Musically, I enjoyed the opener Matthew Van Dam, whose set was a more hip-hop and soulful than what you usually hear at Dharma. But the headliner Turbo P was all about the groove. His bass heavy down tempo set at first seemed to please only him, but like good DJs do, he kept building. Blend after blend Turbo P got stronger and the dance floor went from sparse to packed. Still not as packed as I've seen it some Wednesdays — where it's hell to get from the bathroom to the patio — but packed for the crowd that was there, which had room to break, bounce and spasm. Well, it looked like spasms but some people call that dancing.
Hitting up a nightlife establishment on a Sunday night and getting drunk just seems wrong to me. Sunday is supposed to be a day for holiness (if you're the church-going kind) or a day for rest (if you're the sports-loving kind who can watch your favorite physical activity on TV).
But after moving from a spacious one-bedroom apartment to a tiny studio this weekend — incredibly stressful, by the way! — going out with some friends last night seemed incredibly ideal. And when one chick said she wanted to stalk some good-looking twin bartenders at Town Tavern ... well, I was game.
Sundays are Underground S.I.N. Sundays at Town Tavern — featuring "The Wolfe Twins" bartending downstairs. Please picture me drooling, because these young gentlemen are hot. They used to wear their hairstyles similarly, the stalking friend shared (she's actually friends with them), but because people kept getting them confused, they opted to differ their looks.
OK, so if twins aren't your thing, there are a few perks to hitting up Town Tavern on Sunday night. First of all, it's $3 U-Call-Its all night. Last night we discovered that there exists a shot that tastes like pancakes with syrup. Yum.
Furthermore, it's not slam-packed with people. Have you ever been in the downstairs bar in Town Tavern on a Friday or Saturday night? After a few moves on the dance floor, it's almost impossible to breathe with all that stuffiness and heat. But seeing as only bartenders, doormen, hair stylists and other service industry people go out on Sundays, it's a pleasant atmosphere — you can actually feel the cool air blowing on you.
Then there is the crowd. Again, this is the service industry crowd — all those hot bartenders, go-go dancers, and doormen in one spot, taking advantage of their night off? It's eye candy heaven. I actually saw guys who work as doormen smile. And you know doormen are not usually the nicest people.
Of course, you're still going to run into the jerky people who have had too much to drink, have no coordination while dancing and end up dropping their tall glass onto the ground, sending shards everywhere. Thanks buddy.
Last night some friends and I went to Thomas Street Tavern (1218 Thomas Ave.) to toast a friend's new job. We sat outside on the ever-popular patio and watched said friend down like five glasses of "Jack on the rocks." Needless to say, he was in straight celebratory mode.
What surprised me though, as I sipped on my Razzberry Stoli vodka with cranberry and orange juice — don't judge me for drinking pure fruit juice ... I had to work this morning! — was the number of people out that night. Charlotte is certainly not known for its Monday night nightlife, and yet the tables were full outside on the T-Street patio. (The inside of the bar, not so much.)
Around 10:30 p.m., a band set up and started playing some chill music with funky beats (one member of our party started playing the air drums along with the band). The tunes served as the perfect background soundscape to any conversation.
As I enjoyed my fruity drinks (and later, cheesy fries — so good!), the music and the chatter of work, virtual offices, breasts and stalkers (don't ask), I thought about what a staple Thomas Street Tavern is in Plaza Midwood. Even with the recent openings of Whiskey Warehouse, Soul and Twenty-Two, this bar continues to draw a crowd. What is it about T-Street, though? Is it the patio? The ping pong tables? The laid-back atmosphere and the cheap drinks?
Regardless, if you're looking for a place to wash down the stresses of Monday, you should check out Thomas Street Tavern. No one says you have to get plastered ... but if you do, just imagine how fun ping pong would be.
(On a side note: There's a group on Facebook called, "I've blacked out at Thomas Street Tavern" — and it currently has 99 members. Haha!)
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