I HATE Bar Sinister. I mean, I really *hate* it.
First of all, the music is fine. It's always fine. (For the most part, anyway.)
Unfortunately, that's where the fun ends. I've been trying to stomach this place since the late 90s and I have not once - NOT ONCE - made it past midnight. I keep trying, but it never ever fails to disappoint and skeeve me; the last time I went, I didn't even bother finishing my overpriced, watered-down drink. I just put it on the bar and walked right the fuck out. After ten minutes.
1. I go to clubs to dance. Dancing takes space. Maybe not the way you do it, but the way I do it, I need some room. Not a LOT of room - I'm not greedy, and I don't flail - but when you're smashed in between people like you're in a pit of screaming preteens at a fucking Fall Out Boy show, there's something fucking WRONG with that.
My husband calls it a 'dance hallway', rather than a dancefloor, and he's spot on.
2. Remember when you were in your early 20s, and spotted the old dude on the dancefloor, and jabbed your friends in the ribs and shouted over the din of the music, "Dude, I never want to be THAT fucking guy. If I'm ever THAT guy, shoot me in the head!" Remember that? Well, Bar Sin is full of THAT guys. It's a cornufuckingcopia of THAT guys.
It's like this. I don't go out to share oxygen with old, fat accountants in vampire teeth and fucking capes, all right? That's not what I have in mind when I take three freeways from the LBC, fight nasty traffic on the 101, and bite my fucking nails about leaving my car in one of the shitty, overpriced parking lots nearby.
3. Security. The bouncers at Bar Sinister are the most egomaniacal, aggressive assholes I've ever encountered at a club. "DON'T STAND THERE!" So you move over to the bar. "DON'T STAND THERE!" WTF? You can't stand at (or, in Sinister's case, smash yourself against) a bar anymore? So you move again. "DON'T STAND THERE, EITHER! YOU NEED TO STOP BLOCKING THE WALKWAYS!" It's like, motherfucker, there ARE no fucking walkways to block, dig? This place is wall to wall, stem to stern aging D&D geeks and Hot Topic weekend goths; show me a walkway I can block and I'll happily go fucking block it just to give you the pleasure of righteously yelling at me, because I'm not seeing any goddamn walkways here. Assholes. I hate security here.
4. Lame live acts. I am so sick of goth music (at least, today's version of it), where anyone with a black turtleneck, some MAC makeup, and the desire (but not necessarily the talent) to play music can somehow develop a fan base and gain goth 'scene cred'. It's like, douchebags, fucking knock it off, all right? You're embarrassing yourselves, and me, and everyone here, especially the assholes who are swaying around with eyes closed to your bleatings and brayings.
Plus, I hate live music at danceclubs, anyway. Fucking stupid.
5. The go-go dancers. It's one thing to have a girl or two tucked away in the corners as, I don't know, eye candy, or whatever the purpose of go-go dancers is, but when they're the whole fucking club - when you don't have room to dance because a skinny, tattooed, meth-addicted go-go dancer needs the space to writhe around in her vinyl thong, it's like, FUCK. And they're BITCHES. Sorry, those of you reading this who may be friends with them, or hell, maybe you ARE them, but it's like, look. You're a not-fat goth chick who can writhe around on a box. Guess what - everyone in the whole SCENE can do that. Writhing is what we DO. It doesn't make you special, and it sure as fuck doesn't give you any call to give the rest of us the stink eye. Any one of us could have your job in about ten seconds flat, you know, if we wanted to hang out naked in a club with gross, aging, befanged fucking losers rubbing up against us.
There was a time when the dancers at Sin added something. Now they're just one more reason to hate the fucking place.
6. Old, ugly dudes being whipped by fat, desperate chicks. Not hot. Not in a million years, not under any circumstances.
So, in short: not for me. It's for most people I know, apparently, but not for me. read more