A bit of a puff piece here from the Times, but still pretty readable. It talks about unofficial dress codes at different clubs in the city. Most of the people in the article come off like a bunch of unadulterated asshats, but I guess that's what you get when you party with people who validate their existence on earth by spending two large or more on a bottle of champagne. A sixer of bud heavies at the bodega across the street gets me just as drunk as you get. And if there's a good Always Sunny and The League on back to back I guarantee you I have a better time sitting on my couch by myself gassing tall boys than you do dancing awkwardly to Thievery Corporation with a bunch of 5'10" skinny Euro zeros.
Oh, and this owner of The National can spare me the semantics. First off, the fact that The National has a dress code in the first place is insane. Have you been to The National? I have. It's the kind of East Village dive where you're just happy if they have soap in the bathrooms. This "no baggy pants" thing is the most racist shit I ever heard. Wonder if they make black people drink from separate water fountains too?
The National: Good band, racist bar.
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