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Club Review June 2, 2006
Seduction’s a tough mountain to climb
By Hannah Katz Browse author

I don't want to brag, but, well: you tell me, is it normal for a reviewer to make a name for herself in the span of two months? I don't think so. But my girlfriend Allie told me she's sick of her guy acquaintances begging her to introduce them to me.

Yeah, you heard right. This girl's representin'!

Moscow's expat men are spanking themselves reading this, and Moscow's art directors aren't far behind. How else would you explain the shitload of Katz review requests that are flowing into the eXile?

Well, the lucky winner this time around is a brand new gay club - actually, I'm even sure what exactly it's trying to be, as you'll see in a sec - called GORBATAYA GORA.

As I said, I was a pretty serious bisexual during college and when I worked as a stripper. That wasn't all that long ago, but I'm a little less wild, emphasize "a LITTLE less."

I realized that visiting this gay club would be a perfect sex-teaser opportunity for Todd. You remember, my sex pupil from my previous column? I pictured it perfectly. Todd, surrounded by gay men making advances at him, would naturally look to me, his only salvation, for protection. But alas I'd be out of reach, whirling and making out with smokin' hot Russian girls.

I didn't tell Todd where we were going. "It's a surprise," I told him.

1 AM and we walk through GG's door. Shit, I thought, men all around, men and a few of their straight girlfriends. And it wasn't even a dance club, as I was led to believe. It was a transvestite cabaret. I looked over at Todd and smiled. He was dead white in the face. He was just stunned. Not all was lost.

We were led to a table out by the stage as a rather ugly transvestite was starting the show. Apparently he was the MC. The place was trying to have a western saloon feel. Wood trim. Hides on the wall. But a confederate flag? That's pretty insensitive. Having a confederate flag basically endorses racism, not to mention homophobia. That's a big no-no, as I explained to the club director.

Anyway, the MC kept cracking jokes that I didn't really get and I have to say that everything was a blur from the moment Todd and I downed the first 300ml of vodka. The cranberry vodka shots I was pounding before I got to GG finally caught up.

I remember Todd's face as the host kept sitting down on his lap and forcing him to feel up his buttock and boobs. Then I remember getting pulled onto the stage and dancing with the cabaret performers while they did their strip routine. I remember smoking a cigar. How did I get that? No clue.

Anyway, the next thing I remember is stumbling to the bathroom to throw up and then nothing: I blacked out.

I woke up the next day sprawled out on my bed on top of my covers. My pants were off, but I had my shirt on. I guess I just couldn't manage to take it off. God, my head was exploding! I tried to remember how I got home, but nothing. I drew a blank. My apartment was empty, no Todd, no note, roommates all asleep. What? How? I couldn't even think, so I took a sleeping pill and passed out again.

When I came by the office a few days later a message from GG's art director was waiting for me. "Thank you very much for coming. You seemed to enjoy yourself," it said. That place was rad. I'm definitely going back. But I think that they slipped me a Spanish Fly, and as everyone knows, my body doesn't need that.

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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

Scanning Moscow’s Traffic Cops
Automotive Section
We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

Eleven Years of Threats: The eXile's Incredible Journey
Feature Story By The eXile
Good Night, and Bad Luck: In a nation terrorized by its own government, one newspaper dared to fart in its face. Get out your hankies, cuz we’re taking a look back at the impossible crises we overcame.

Your Letters
Russia's freedom-loving free market martyr Mikhail Khodorkovsky answers some of this week's letters, and he's got nothing but praise for President Medvedev.

Clubbing Adventures Through Time
Club Review By Dmitriy Babooshka
eXile club reviewer Babooshka takes a trip through time with the ghost of Moscow clubbing past, present and future, and true to form, gets laid in the process.

The Fortnight Spin
Bardak Calendar By Jared Lindquist
Jared comes out with yet another roundup of upcoming bardak sessions.

Your Letters
Richard Gere tackles this week's letters. Now reformed, he fights for gerbil rights all around the world.

13 Toxic Talents: Hollywood’s Worst Polluters
America By Eileen Jones
Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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