Hi, everyone. Cow dead. Send milk.
moscow doesn't believe in tears
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, November 3, 2008
In the midst of a grave world-wide economic crisis shaking Moscow like a Yahtzee box, my greatest fear was still a lackluster Halloween. In some ways it came true, though I’ve taken the noose down out of the closet. A little bit of history: Halloween is traditionally a big freaking deal on the club scene, up there with New Year’s in terms of fireworks-and-glitter related fatalities. Call it a litmus test for how good things really are in Moscow.
Results came back mixed. The parties seemed fun and people dressed up, but none of them looked like the world was ending, which is the going standard for Halloween in Moscow. Club XII’s annual bash was full of people who cared enough to rent nice costumes, even if it meant taking out a loan. Thanks for giving a damn, guys.
Look! Zhenya's going as your bored girlfriend
Pretty much all the other big name clubs didn’t, ahem, Rai-se to the occasion. The party was there, but barely distinguishable from any other night. Those bitties who did come in costume looked like they were headed to SAE Theme Thursdays, an uninspired assortment of skank nurses, slutty brides and promiscuous policewomen we've seen before.
Labelfucker was supposed to have a good Halloween thing going on. In fact, so good that it was shut down by the police before midnight last year. At least, I think that’s what the wasted people streaming out seemed to be screaming about. When an overgrown schoolgirl with vomit on his chin barreled at me, I didn’t stick around to find out. Unfortunately this year Labelfucker held its party at the clinically depressed Justo Banya Douche. Might as well have sprayed it with Party-Be-Gone.
But if history has taught us anything, it’s that the spirit of Halloween can overcome anything, even a shitty venue. Clubs are just the container, man, what really matters is the people. Making Halloween costume pie takes equal parts creativity, enthusiasm and willingness to act a fool. Which brings me to the main point -- feis control goons, where are you when we need you? For pete’s sake, stop letting people in without real costumes. Four dudes should not be able to ride in one on hat they bought off a malnourished 17-year-old soldier for 100 rubles.
Pass. And run for your life
Borderline. At least they didn't go blackface
Ooh. Tough call. I feel like someone is going to Hell for this, but they did take a concept and run with it
I don't care if she just spent too much time on the bed at Mesto Pod Solntsem, She looks rad, let her in
Just tell me these people don't drink the blood of the living.
Photos: 44100.com, geometria.ru, labelfucker.ru, adensya.ru, mainpeople.ru
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The global economic meltdown has claimed another subset of victims -- Moscow elitny clubgoers. At least that's according to the Telegraph, which reported of a half-empty Most. Even if it's not entirely true, when the golden club is letting in pasty British reporters, that's a sure sign times have changed.
Falling into conversation with one patron, an impeccably dressed man in his late thirties who introduced himself as the owner of another nightclub, I asked him where everybody was.In other words, doing what MDBIT does on Friday nights anyway. The reports of Moscow nightlife's death have been greatly exaggerated though. While the $32,000 VIP booth above the waterfall at Rai may be going at a slight discount, there's no shortage of people lining up for 800 ruble Long Islands at The Most, as these photos from October 3 contest.
"They are sitting at home drinking cheap vodka and thinking about killing themselves," he replied.
What do you think: is this self-delusion or deserved confidence? Are they playing the fiddle while Moscow burns, or just trying to have fun after a £400 billion stock market dive?
To be honest, it kinda reminds me of the last days in Hitler's bunker. But if the world capital of excess goes on the dole, what are all of us parasitic nightlife bloggers going to do? Move to Istanbul and start ghostwriting college apps for rich kids? Waaaaaaa!
Friday, October 3, 2008
Everyone hearts Jocelyn Wildensteinian reality television star, singer and man-about-town Sergei Zverev. Broadly speaking, Russians hate and fear gays on the street, but love their celebrities camp as a row of tents, and so Zverev floats above homophobia, a shining silicone he-she. He even melted the heart of thugtastic Chechnyan leader Ramzan Kadyrov, who stated he finds the anthropoid creature "companionable" and gave him a 100 thousand euro watch. (Read all about it the GQ interview between Kadyrov and...Ksenia Sobchak, proof that reality is much stranger than fiction.)
You read so much about Zverev's extracurricular pursuits, like recieving wristwatches from scary tyrants, that you may have forgotten his original calling – male hairdresser. September saw the grand opening of his Celebrity beauty salon, which, given the popularity of the tranny aesthetic among biological women in Moscow, will likely do quite well. I except to see an army of Zverev lookalikes take over the world just before Armageddon.
To celebrate the opening, here's MDBIT's tribute to the many looks of Sergei Zverev, because no one embodies the spirit of retarded fabulousness better than him. Good night, and God bless.
Celebrity, 10 Nikolskaya Ulitsa, Metro: Lubyanka, Tel. 721-3524
Photos: mainpeople.ru, blesk.ru, the deep recesses of the Internets