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Club Review June 15, 2007
All Ark And No Bite
By Hannah Katz Browse author

Question: What's cavernous, dripping with white stalagmites, dull as a butter knife, and gay but doesn't know it?

Answer: Club Arka!

I'm still kicking myself for picking to review this faceless new club in Kitai Gorod over the new Industrial factory club way north of the ring. As for Arka, I need to get this out of the way: You give off seriously gay vibes. Maybe you don't mean to, but you do. Like, cowboys and cops in jogging shorts and lip-gloss gay vibes. Not that there's anything wrong with loud and proud, of course - regular readers know a rainbow pirate flag sometimes flies at Katz HQ - but if you're going for a more mixed elitny crowd - and you obviously are - you might want to disperse the packs of hustler boy toys lounging around the entrance. Either that, or change your name to Ram-Rod. Actually, you should do that anyway. Moscow needs a Ram-Rod! Or a Man-Hole. Your call.

I'm not the only one who thought Arka was a gay bar. When Katya and Janice finally showed up, they explained that they were late because they walked by it not once - but twice! Why did they walk by it? Because the gay pride parade on the front steps convinced them that they couldn't possibly have the right place. Finally they asked if it was Arka, got some rude looks, and went downstairs, where I was already on my third drink and tapping a foot to the house beats in boredom.

If only the inside of Arka was as gay as the outside, we might have had some fun. But all the hustler-looking hotties kept to themselves in a little Face Control pack upstairs, leaving a less than interesting crowd sprinkled throughout the cavernous Arka. The space itself is nothing special, at best. The basement tunnel system thing always has potential, but they haven't figured out how to use it. Wicker chairs and bad wall art? And the dance floor is too well lit. I'll dance anywhere, but I wasn't feeling it here at all, even with some old Ministry of Sound house jockeys behind the wheels.

To be honest, we didn't hang out very long. For all I know the place went up in royal flames by 4 a.m. But Erik the Viking showed up with a bad attitude and made it very clear to Janice that he didn't want to hang out very long. They started bickering and the next thing I know Katya and I are outside smoking and rolling our eyes, listening to Erik and Janice try to figure out there problems and come up with a plan B.

They ended up going to try their luck at Krysha. Katya and I thought about going to check out nearby Propaganda because it was close to home and we weren't up for staying out much longer. But we said fuck it and went back to my place, got high, giggled, and crashed under my rainbow pirate flag. And if you're wondering, the answer is No. I haven't talked to Mike in weeks.


Address: TK

Metro: Kitai Gorod

Tel: 698-3317

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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."

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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
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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.

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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.

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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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