Kill me. Kill me now. As if living through the seventies wasn’t bad enough, now we need to go some place with a bunch of kids–who may have been fetuses in 1979–to dance to crap that honestly should have been relegated to awful gay clubs and sorority fight songs. The only club I can think of that was worse than this one was the now closed UES Polly Esther’s that packed people in like friggin’ maggots, making dancing about as easy as getting Al Roker into a pair of polyester flairs. I believe I had to be physically restrained from leaving after first being assaulted by “Dancing Queen” and then getting a pummeling from “It’s Raining Men.” I finally fled screaming and pulling at my ears as “I Will Survive” came on for the third time in one night. I still have the unfortunate disability of hearing Gloria Gaynor’s voice echoing in my head every time I get anywhere near W 4th street. [MF]
186 W 4th St.