Red Sky


Sometimes places just teeter on the edge of uncool. Using the transitive property: just because a place is not cool doesn’t make it uncool, but if a place is uncool, it certainly is not cool. It’s like the rectangle and square thing that took me getting a D in geometry to understand. For those of you out there less skilled at math and complex chicanery than I, this basically means that Red Sky was neither cool nor uncool, but on the sliding scale was certainly more towards the later. Now that we have that cleared up, let’s discuss its merits. Red Sky is a bar in a part of town that is in serious need of more bars. That’s obviously a plus in terms of supply and demand. The negative side is that every person between the age of eighteen and twenty-seven that is in this ‘hood has no other choice but to pack their cellphone-havin’ asses into this joint. What started as a reasonably pleasant experience in this long, high-ceilinged bar quickly turned ugly as the human tsunami blew its way into what quickly became a category ”get me the fuck out of here” shitstorm. You’d figure the velvet rope out front would have kept out at least one of the whiteboy twenty-something prepsters, but alas, we were bombarded by the human condition–and it was wearing a pink Izod. There are apparently two more floors to this place that we didn’t even see, but certainly wish some of the riff-raff would have found their way up to. I made the mistake of not putting enough cash into the juke before the place got packed, too, and I swear I ended up hearing the same song I hate (and I hate a lot of songs) at least three times. With its multiple flat screen TVs and nice decor, Red Sky has the potential to be a good, mellow time, but with all the kiddies and jostling, who the hell would be able to tell? So I guess my conclusion is that I wish it teetered all the way into the uncool category so I could drink beers and watch baseball in relative peace. [MF]

47 E 29th St.