Holiday Fear


As a guilt-ridden ex-Catholic Italian American I’d always hoped to qualify for honorary Jew status. Alas, friend and writer Rob Levine, a/k/a Super Jew, says I’m not neurotic enough, to which I say, “Oy vey.”

In an attempt to ratchet up honorary Jew points, I went to the Jewcy show last Sunday at Crobar. It was a benefit for Natan, of which Triumph the Insult Comic Dog said, “I went to the website and still have no idea what they do.”

Out of an all-star cool Jew lineup including Saturday Night Live‘s
Rachel Dratch, Princess Superstar, Jackie Hoffman, and Perry Farrell, the puppet dog was the best. He was totally rude and insensitive, and we loved every second of it. He sniffed at the show’s lineup (“Come on—these are the best Jews you can get?”) and dissed upcoming performer Perry Farrell’s new religion (“Kabbalah—that’s one more reason to think the Jews are insane”).

Farrell performed a prayer that Super Jew advised is not spellable in English: “You can spell it however you want, really.” (It was “Avenu Malkenu.”) Then Farrell sang “Jane Says,” and it made me more than a little verklempt. I actually cried. Super Jew: “Were you crying for the state of Perry Farrell’s career?” No, I was crying for my long lost youth when Jane’s Addiction was popular, and because the song about a heroin addict is sad and moving. (And really inappropriate for a festive holiday performance.) The crowd didn’t care and sang along, happy and drunk.

Even the police get in on the holiday spirit in their own Scrooge-like way. Last Saturday, the cops ticketed Scenic on Avenue B for operating a disorderly premises. Cops roving Avenue B are now commonplace, but I have a better idea: Why don’t they just stand on the corner and beat their chests like King Kong? That might actually be more effective than whatever it is they are doing now.

What was so disorderly at Scenic? No, not a fistfight that spilled onto the street. Just 150 Santas leaving the club, at the tail end of their infamous SantaCon city crawl. They hit Scenic at 10, and left around 11:30. You know how hard it is to get six or seven of your friends ready to leave one place to go to another? Imagine 150 friends, and imagine if they were wearing Santa suits, and imagine if they’d been drinking since 10 a.m. Now imagine the sidewalk outside Scenic. It’s enough to make you go, “Ho ho ho.” A spy tells me that police told him that three Avenue B residents who have 311 on redial are the source of “all” the complaints.

And I spoke too soon last week about Pacha uptown. The police visited for a routine inspection last Friday night, but because police inspections are so disruptive (like certain creepy guys, the police like to do it with the lights on and the music off), club management claims they closed the venue early of their own volition. Apparently, the New York Post‘s report about the police responding to an overdose was erroneous; my source says cops only saw the visibly intoxicated woman after entering the premises for the inspection, and that the woman was taken to a hospital and released a half-hour later. Rumor has it that the woman was later seen partying at another club. Pacha opened the next night—and remains open. Pacha is on Santa’s nice list, after all.

Funniest thing I missed at the Vice holiday party at Fat Baby last Monday: When Conor Oberst was rumored to be denied entrance because he was already too tipsy and didn’t have ID, Vice staffer Eddy Moretti
cut the music and shouted, “They’re not letting my friend Conor of
Bright Eyes
in. Let’s take this party somewhere else!” The crowd chanted “Bullshit!” but the DJ turned the music back on. In the end, Oberst had already left, and everyone, including the “protester,” stayed.

Ho, ho, ho.