The Thursday Rager is a column written by Jen Glass for After Dark by Tawk of New Yawk. Jen is a nightlife, good times, Gen Z columnist. Bi-weekly, she’ll tell you about a cool, off the radar event she’s attended, share a perspective, or a really niche story, and will offer a bar recommendation for your weekend shenanigans.

Deep and personal author reveal, I guess: I am on Accutane. I have suffered from acne pretty much all my life, so this year, at my big age, I finally decided to take the plunge. For those who don’t know, Accutane is a very strong drug. It requires constant blood tests and checkups, and it ravages your liver. Doctors recommend you abstain from drinking during the course of your treatment or risk permanent liver damage.

My high school dermatologist actually recommended I start Accutane right before my freshman year of college. My eighteen-year-old self shuddered at the prospect of responsibility and self-control becoming the themes of my freshman year, so instead, I opted for acne and debauchery. Nine years later, I found myself with a fully developed brain and a few sober months already behind me after needing a break from drinking. It felt like a natural time to take the plunge. No more alcohol: doctor’s orders.

It’s not just me and my Accutane-addled body, though. Gen Z is drinking way less than previous generations. And yeah, that’s good in some aspects. Gen Z probably sleeps better, and there are certainly some CBD gummy companies jumping for joy. But Gen Z is also socializing less. Well, we all are, but Gen Z in particular, according to the U.S. Surgeon General.

Your local friend Jen would argue that drinking and socializing do not need to, and should not, be connected. No, really. You just need to remember a few things:

Be in it for the love of the game.

Guys, I genuinely love going out and doing stuff. I love dancing, and I love karaoke, and I love staying out late. I love meeting new people and rehashing the same drama with old friends. I love silly photobooth pictures and playing pool. I LOVE dancing. Did I mention I love dancing? And where can I find all of these things? OUT. Out on the town.

I hear you, dear introverted Gen Z reader. “Oh, but Jen, I don’t actually like those things. I like sitting at home and scrolling TikTok. I like doing my skincare and being in bed by 9:30.” Okay, that’s fine for you! And believe me, sometimes binge-watching Survivor with a bowl of pasta is my ideal weekend night, too. To me, though, being social is a muscle. You build it up over time. You find the things you like and the things you don’t. You find the cadence of going out that feels good to you. Maybe you don’t like dancing like I do, which I don’t understand, but that’s your prerogative. Maybe you love dishing gossip at a swanky cocktail bar. Maybe you only want to go to twenty-person punk shows, or maybe you want to browse the Partiful events tab. Just try going out for a bit in the most amazing city on the planet. Make a friend! It won’t kill you!

Explore your mocktail options.

Celsius has been a godsend to me during this time. I did try Monster, but yeesh. Yuck. Not for me, I fear. Celsius is genuinely delicious and looks passably like a drink. I’m a white woman in my twenties, so I love Diet Coke and often just order those. Bartenders will sometimes just hand me one instead of making me pay two bucks. Homies! Sobriety gaining steam means lots of bars now have fun mocktails on their menus, and sometimes bartenders will even offer to whip one up for me improv-style. Just make sure to always tip! And hey…there are other things that are legal in New York if that’s more your speed.

Find supportive (and normal) friends.

It has come to my attention that some friend groups care whether everyone in the group is drinking. It has come to my attention that some friend groups do not want to hang out at a dive bar, the club, or the park if substances aren’t involved. Well, thankfully, those people are not my friend group. I’m happy to be silly with them and nurse them back to health if they get too drunk and need it. And in return, they never give me any crap about being sober on our nights out. Plus, hanging out with them is my drug, to be honest. I’d recommend finding extremely excellent friends. Lucky to say I have, and it makes everything easier.

Whether you’re drunk or sober, go forth, party, and prosper. It’s for the good of humanity.

BAR TO TRY THIS WEEKEND: Bushwick Country Club

Is the weather good? Who’s to say, really? It feels like it may finally be good once and for all. Maybe? I’m hedging my bets, and so I’m recommending Bushwick Country Club. I kind of stole this rec from my girlfriend, who took me there with her friends and regaled me with stories about how this place invented the pickleback shot. Either way, the backyard of this place ruled. Inside, there are deep booths, friendly bartenders, who did aggressively card us…I’m 27, you guys, and a photobooth, which apparently is the one-way ticket to my heart. Worth a trip if you’re in the area.

If I enter a party and I’m outdone by the other guests, I know I’m in for a good time.

I consider myself a reasonably fashionable person. I consider myself a reasonably stubborn person, one who will commit to the bit. I consider myself a reasonably humble person who can give it up to someone when they turn a way better look than me. I am emotionally prepared to enter a party with a dress code and be bested. I encourage it.

At Shanghai Mermaid’s Dragon Ball, I felt fashionably bested, in the best way possible.

Shanghai Mermaid puts on an annual Lunar New Year celebration and graciously extended me a ticket. Dress code instructions included “jazz age finest,” “elegant dressy vintage or vintage-inspired,” “high glamour,” “fabulous creative,” and “formal.” I slipped on my favorite long floral dress I scored at a consignment store (designer, at a deep discount!) and met my friend Taylor, wearing a chic LBD.

Imagine our total delight when we arrived to see the space teeming with simply amazing looks: overflowing headpieces, strategic sparkles, flowers and feathers and fringe.

We looked at each other in a mutual “oh shit.” We immediately started brainstorming how we could elevate our looks next year. Now, that’s a good feeling to me. I love when an entire event commits like that. All in or nothing. Good sign.

The space called for that, too. Held in the stunning Beaux-Arts Estonian House, this felt like your coolest house party ever. Guests meandered among floors: the first floor hosting the main bar and food area, with side rooms to split off into, and the upstairs housing larger performances alongside more alcohol.

Classy cocktails lubricated the event. The timing let guests linger, marinate. My friend Taylor and I love to talk (we often stand for hours chatting after our weekly dance classes), and we found ourselves enveloped in conversations in secret corners or sitting at the bar. The space oozed charisma—dimly lit and inviting.

I understand why the Dragon Ball is Shanghai Mermaid’s signature event. Lunar New Year exudes joy, and the performances reflected that. Energy reverberated around the room, from romantic pop covers to whistling flute to the stunning classical Chinese dance by Ling Tang.

Again—the coolest house party you know.

Guests migrated from floor to floor, following the performances. Sure, there was seating, but I most often found people curled around the dance floor, excited to watch the show. I cannot stress how mesmerized I was by the wonderful Ling Tang, gracefully moving across the center of the room. It truly electrified my Saturday night.

Shanghai Mermaid is firmly on my radar now. Cool events by Juliette Campbell, its cool organizer. A little bird told me there’s an event percolating for the springtime. I’ll be keeping an eye on their Instagram to learn more. You should too.

BAR TO TRY THIS WEEKEND: Black Rabbit in Greenpoint

I spend a lot of my time in Greenpoint. I live about 10 minutes away, hopelessly lust for Radio Bakery often, and roast in McCarren Park frequently (carefully ignoring everything I’ve read about the lead). I pick up takeout at Wenwen and peruse the outdoor secondhand shopping on Nassau in the warm weather.

Crucially, I also love Black Rabbit.

Black Rabbit is cozy. It is barely lit. The booths are deep and tall, creating little cocoons for each party. They have a sprawling backyard I love and hope to enjoy once the weather figures out its mood. They serve excellent pimento cheese and spicy pickles. They have a strong drink list and an everyday happy hour until 8 p.m.

I just love Black Rabbit.

Listen, I know many people don’t go to Greenpoint often if they don’t live off the G train, and I can’t say I fault you for it. If you do, though, give Black Rabbit a try. For me, it’s ol’ reliable.

Cheers to the New York weekend,

Jen

This column started with a write-up of Heartbeat Opera’s annual Drag Extravaganza. That show ushered me into Heartbeat Opera’s world: reimagined, modernized, and accessible to newbies and snobs alike. It enticed me. It made me crave more. It allowed me to imagine opera as something not coated in dust—something playful, something that could make me giggle, something I’d keep turning over in my mind long after the curtain call. Recently, I caught a performance of Heartbeat Opera’s Manon, and I fell even deeper in love with their brand of approachable art. They make opera feel cool and fresh—the kind of show you can impress a date with before traipsing off to that new wine bar.

Opera has always felt like it required a study guide. You’re expected to know the plot going in, since the lyrics will inevitably be in Italian, French, or German. Sure, you can ride the emotional highs and follow the blocking to get the gist, but it’s nice to have, you know, an actual idea of what’s going on. Luckily for me, Heartbeat Opera presented this condensed adaptation in English, so I arrived with little plot knowledge—which is just how I like it. Leave it to the artists, and they’ll guide me where I need to go. My performance fell on one of New York City’s many recent frigid days, so we shed our coats, wrapped cold hands around complimentary mulled wine, and found our seats. The stage was strewn with chandeliers; the audience crowded around it and up into the rafters, which the actors made full use of throughout the show.

This charming performance tipped me from “I get why people enjoy opera” to “I enjoy opera.” The cast led that charge. Emma Grimsley’s Manon boasts a voice that makes your chest swell—full, rich, and deeply moving. She seamlessly guides Manon from doe-eyed and naïve to embodied and quippy, and her performance sells the show. The rest of the cast deserves flowers, too: the youthful, unabashed love in Matt Dengler’s Chevalier; the playful confidence of Pousette and Javotte, played by Kathryn McCreary and Natalie Walker; the dynamite facial expressions of Jamari Darling’s Lescaut. Electric chemistry hums throughout, especially between Manon and Chevalier, allowing the audience to relax easily into their world. The staging feels understated in the best way—textured and rich, yet always letting the vocals (and the wonderful band accompaniment) shine.

I’m torn between wanting to gatekeep Heartbeat Opera and wanting to shout about them from the rooftops—but I’m landing firmly on the rooftops. These are Broadway-caliber shows, staged inventively in cool corners of New York, right at your fingertips. At the end of each performance, company leaders join the cast onstage to thank the audience and remind us how vital it is to engage with art right now. They’re right. Investing in sharp, creative projects and community organizations feels more necessary with each passing day, with each passing budget cut to the things we hold dear. These folks fully converted me into an opera fan. It’s worth checking out—I promise.

Be Our Sugar Daddy

BAR TO CHECK OUT THIS WEEKEND: Pete’s Candy Store, Williamsburg

Pete’s Candy Store has hosted many chapters of my life. They threw my 26th birthday (woo!), when an unseasonably warm October day allowed me to pack friends onto the patio and throughout the space. I’ve been to raucous Halloween parties here, including one where I threw together a last-minute Charli XCX costume by spelling “BRAT” in black tape across a green tank top. I’ve tried—and failed—to make trivia night because I arrived too late, the room already teeming with hopeful participants. I’ve craned my neck to listen to a cool artist playing in the back. I’ve had exactly one drink here before hopping on the L to head deeper into Brooklyn.

Somewhere along the way, it became my sitcom home-base bar—the one I point to and say, “Remember that?” It’s cute: small enough to feel close-knit, but not so small that you can’t squeeze in. Hopefully it’ll be warm enough to use that excellent patio again soon. Until then, it’s still a great place to kick it. Catch a comedy show, listen to live music, host an event, or just sit and chat. It’s all here.

Have a fun weekend!

— Jen

I went to undergrad at Syracuse University. Syracuse University parties. The frat houses stretched across entire streets—looming and imposing, Victorian and Georgian and massive. One was a literal castle. Off-campus housing meant three-story homes that could hold sprawling friend groups of four or six or eight. The sports teams threw house parties. The theater majors threw house parties. The random club you joined freshman year out of boredom threw house parties.

I grew accustomed to popping into random homes, climbing rickety old staircases. I scoped out DIY concerts in attics, with a folding chair doubling as a bar in the corner. I spent hours playing drinking games in the living rooms of acquaintances. I collected photos of myself in strangers’ kitchens and danced on elevated surfaces at frat houses when the mood struck. I loved the bars off campus and went often—but the real lifeblood of Syracuse University, to me, was the house party.

Unfortunately for me, Undergrad Jen—the partier—had to retire. She ruled, but I’m an adult now. I pay rent. I work a regular degular job. I party like a normal person these days. Still, I love and adore a house party. New York City, however, presents unique challenges compared to Syracuse. Syracuse had space on its side. New Yorkers live in tiny apartments with flex walls, strange layouts, and neighbors who tell you to keep it down already. My going-out diet far outpaces my house-party diet, even with a few friends who love hosting regularly.

Despite all this, I think throwing house parties in New York is still a worthwhile endeavor. Yes, it’s the doing-stuff capital of the world. Sure, the apartments are smaller. Yeah, there are downsides. But the house party is a vital part of the nightlife ecosystem. You need to shoot the shit with someone vaguely connected to you. You need to save some money. Someone has to be the one to throw—and maybe it should be you.

Here’s how to do it:

1. Pack them in like sardines.
This is crucial. Guys, get over yourselves. Get over your creature comforts. Pack them in. Move furniture around. I threw a Halloween house party two Halloweens ago that really tested this principle. I have a railroad-style apartment with me-sized doorframes, but I invited a whole host of people and tried my luck. I shoved all my office furniture into my bedroom so the office became one large open space with appropriate decorations. I funneled groups through the kitchen and living room. People arrive in waves, and when the party crescendos, the squeeze feels fun and chaotic in the best way.

2. Befriend people with backyards or roofs.
Backyard spillage allows for airflow, cigarette smokers, and warm summer nights under the stars. I’m deeply jealous of roof-havers. I think my roof is technically accessible, but I haven’t tried scaling the rickety ladder yet. That said, backyard or roof havers will often let you borrow their space if you promise to do the rest. You curate the invites and handle cleanup; they get to be a guest in their own home.

3. Be a good host.
What better use for adult money than throwing adult house parties? My undergrad parties featured a dusty folding table, red Solo cups, and ping-pong balls. Now? We’ve got options. You don’t have to buy everything, but it’s nice to provide something—even if guests supplement. A cheap bottle of wine or tequila. Mixers. Easy snacks: a bowl of chips with premade dip, boxed brownies, cheese and crackers on that board you’ve never used, Trader Joe’s pastry puffs (a staple in my friend group). Introduce people who might mesh well. Try to matchmake. Everyone secretly wants the host to do the work for them. Why not you?

4. Be realistic with your expectations.
No, it’s not going to be a 200-person sprawling rager like the architecture students at Syracuse used to throw. (Seriously—Syracuse parties. The architecture students went hard.) Aim for a number that makes sense for your apartment’s square footage and roommate count. Maybe 30 people can fit comfortably. Thirty people can be a great house party. How often are you getting thirty people into a group chat to go to the bar on a Friday? Probably not very often.

Writing this reminded me that it’s been a while since I threw a proper house party in my Queens apartment. Maybe you’ll have to stay tuned.

BAR TO TRY THIS WEEKEND: Tomi Jazz

I’m playing fast and loose with the word bar here. Tomi Jazz is many things: a jazz bar, a restaurant, the maker of a fantastic plate of cod roe spaghetti, and an excellent weekend spot. This no-reservation place fills up fast, so get there early when it opens. You can go for drinks only and be perfectly satisfied—but the snacks are great, and who doesn’t like a snack with their jazz? I’m no jazz expert, but I’ve loved every visit. The spirit of the place rocks. Yes, it’s in Midtown (sorry). You can hop on the 6 train right after—don’t worry. It’s worth your time.

Enter Death of Classical. Death of Classical presents classical music and opera in New York’s strange and surprising places—catacombs, crypts, churches—delighting audiences with new ways to imagine the genre. And enter the Prototype Festival: a festival committed to “surprising our audiences and confounding their expectations” while centering diverse voices. Together, the two co-presented Tiergarten, an underground cabaret delving into periods of societal madness. The show aims to be unexpected, using creative explorations of the past to speak to our current chaos. In this reviewer’s opinion, it succeeded.

Tiergarten created a true cabaret. It blended opera belting with jazz ballads, burlesque shimmying, shadowed puppetry, and lyrical dance. The audience wove through periods of history, beginning in Weimar Berlin and moving backward through time until landing at the story of Adam and Eve. A charismatic cast guided us through these worlds, led by the charming Kim David Smith. The show did not shy away from the realities of our moment—or mirrored moments of the past: sorrow, pain, and seemingly never-ending panic. Instead, it sought to explore them through art. And even if the room already agreed with its politics, art connects us in a distinct and necessary way.

“We’re coming in with the same heart, but being in the room is such a comfort and such an inspiration,” said Master of Ceremonies Kim David Smith. Alongside donating, protesting, and voting, he said, “building community is really one of those things in the face of despair… and [shows like Tiergarten] are also a joyous and lovely time.”

Writer and director Andrew Ousley became both historian and puzzle master for this piece. He jigsawed together historical “tipping points,” from the late-stage empires of Rome to the overwhelming patriotism of the American Revolution. The cabaret format allowed him to jump across time periods while maintaining a sense of timelessness in the human condition. “When you share the same kinds of stories,” he told me, “it allows us to look at the echoes across time periods. It reminds us that so much more unites us.”

As for the space: we entered through the alley at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church on Carroll Street. Certainly an unorthodox way to consume cabaret—but the simple space felt cozy and warm. Patrons sat at tables or sprawled onto benches around the room. Ousley told me he puts great thought into every step of the performance, from entrance to exit, and I felt it—from the moment he skirted the room personally pouring wine for the audience. Each table enjoyed curated charcuterie, and a makeshift bar at the back of the venue allowed ample time for libations before the performance. “It is all about the welcoming and generosity of this shared experience,” said Ousley.

So many cast members charmed me immediately. Of course, Kim David Smith stood out as emcee. I felt genuine warmth in the way Ousley and Smith spoke of each other’s talents and contributions, and that kinship translated clearly into Smith’s performance of Ousley’s work. Smith struck a balance between a colloquial, confident, jovial tone while skillfully shepherding us between performances. Cabaret, he told me, is his entire life—where “I excavate and discover myself, where I commune with the muse.” That grounding energy was essential to keeping the piece cohesive, and he delivered it in spades.

Among the rest of the strong cast, I was particularly struck by the rich vocals of Amara Granderson. Her performance of “Strange Fruit” pulled at my chest—eyes wide, the room hushed. Her impassioned delivery of “Were You There,” performed in front of a burlesque Jesus, lived up to the show’s promise of diverting expectations. Yet Tiergarten never felt interested in shock for shock’s sake. Instead, it sought to understand these moments and their complexities. We felt deep sorrow—but also humor and levity. “The camp and the winking-ness are important,” said Ousley, “but vulnerability is the most important part of cabaret and drag culture.”

The most emotional moment, for me, came near the end of the show and felt like true catharsis: Liana Zhen-A and Dylan Contreras performing a contemporary dance to Max Richter’s This Bitter Earth / On the Nature of Daylight. A perfect song choice for two phenomenal talents. Perhaps I am biased as someone who dances a bit herself—but it gave me chills, and you can’t fake that. As they swirled around the stage, I found myself grateful to be surrounded by other New Yorkers, watching live performance with rapt attention—no screens, just presence, just community. I felt lucky, a feeling that sometimes eludes me in our current climate.

Art right now demands to be political. This moment demands all of us be political. It can be difficult to know whether joy and levity accomplish anything—or whether they are simply a break from the madness. But a break is necessary, too. Tiergarten made that break feel meaningful, allowing it to speak directly to what we’re all living through. Andrew Ousley told me this: “If anything will save us, it’s the vulnerability of allowing ourselves to love and be loved.” If we keep making art, if we keep confronting our collectiveness, if we keep examining the echoes of our shared human condition—maybe we’ll be saved from today, too.

You can find out more about Death of Classical here.

BAR TO TRY THIS WEEKEND: Hart Bar

Back to Bushwick we go for this week’s recommendation. I didn’t think I liked Bushwick this much—but it keeps popping up in my life. Whoops. Hart Bar oozes cool. The space is cloaked in purples, pinks, and reds. A small window in the back doles out fries and other late-night necessities. Bargoers boogie on a dance floor small enough to feel exclusive, but big enough to stay fun. Some disappear downstairs for live music—or, on quieter nights, to talk in a more secluded space. A covered, spacious patio filled with seating houses those of us who love to debrief our friends for hours in a lively setting. Conveniently located near plenty of other Bushwick happenings, it’s worth making a stop the next time you’re in the area. As always, say hi if you see me.

Have a good weekend!

— Jen

Photo Cred: Kevin Condon for Death of Classical

Hart Bar

It is the story of the time a wooden goose figurine—lovingly adopted by me and my friends, was stolen right from under our noses in the cold, dead of night.

My friends and I adopted Groose (Group Goose… Groose… get it?) in August 2025. He’s a young fella with a magnetic beak and an Instagram account where we document his adventures. Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants is OUT, and Sisterhood of the Adopted Goose is IN. We pass him between us like divorced parents sharing custody. He comes to parties and events. He takes a mean picture.
(Side note: I highly recommend committing harder to bits with your friends. Makes you feel more connected. Why hang out normally when you could hang out and also include a fake goose?)

He’s endured chipped paint. He’s lost both legs, which we lovingly “operated” on with hot glue. Once, his beak fell off. We hide him in the back of photos like a Where’s Waldo character. We tag him on Instagram like he’s a real friend. He came to my cousin’s Hanukkah brunch. He’s just that kind of fella.

I kicked off this column talking about the Everyone We Know Party, a biannual event my friends and I throw where we send invitations to literally everyone we know. Groose attended the latest edition, of course. He’s an integral part of the group now.

The Everyone We Know Party includes a points system (again, we love a bit): meet a host, get a wristband. Collect all the wristbands, earn a medal. Easy. We sent out a glamorous photo of Groose rocking his glowstick wristbands and medal to demonstrate how the game works.

Groose showed up, partied hard as usual, and oversaw the festivities from the booth where we dumped our bags and jackets. Since we rent out a bar for these things, everyone there is either a friend or a friend-of-a-friend. But when the party ended… Groose was nowhere to be found.

We, of course, spiraled into a deep panic. Who the hell stole Groose?! We fired off a desperate text blast from the Taco Bell across the street, pleading for his safe return. We sent sorrowful messages in the group chat about how much we missed our guy. Hope felt lost… until my friend Taylor got a mysterious DM.

The account name: @gooseontheloose092025.
The message: someone had Groose and wanted Taylor’s address to return him.

Internet safety may be hanging by a precarious thread, but even the most lackadaisical user wouldn’t hand over their home address to an anonymous rando behind a burner account. We begged the mystery goose-napper to reveal themselves. We promised we wouldn’t be mad. (And we really wouldn’t have been! They said they were embarrassed—hence the anonymity. But honestly, a simple “my bad, guys” text would’ve done the job.) No dice. So Taylor gave them her office address instead.

Groose was delivered—footless—to Taylor’s office with a ransom note. I’m not kidding. A ransom note. The person admitted they thought Groose belonged to the bar and pocketed him accordingly. Which begs the question: why are you stealing random trinkets from a bar? In the months since, I’ve polled many people, and apparently folks really do steal from bars. Personally, that feels like a terrible thing to do to independent businesses, but I guess if someone is really into bespoke salt shakers, they can’t help themselves.

Anyway, Groose came home, ransom note in hand, and immediately returned to his lifestyle of group hangs and parties. We missed him dearly. Now, we keep him close—in a purse or a pocket whenever possible. We can’t let him drift too far, lest he be snatched again in the cold, dead of night.

And that’s the story of how partying turned into kidnapping. Stay safe out there.

BAR TO TRY THIS WEEKEND: Bibi Wine Bar

I freaking love Bibi. I love it. It holds a special, first-love kind of place in my heart. It’s that rare spot I started going to years ago and still love exactly the same way.

Happy hour lasts until EIGHT, which, to me, is critical. Some happy hour spots are for coworkers. You go because it’s near the office. Bibi Wine Bar is for your pals. You go to gossip. Their happy hour includes both drinks and food. Again: critical. Perfect for settling in.

The inside screams cozy, and it’s a fabulous date-night spot. If you’re going with friends, you’re steps away from East Village happenings, or you can hop on the nearby L train and head into Brooklyn. Totally worth the trip, in my opinion.

Nowadays, though, I tamp down the biggest facets of theater-kid energy left in me. I’ve channeled my overeager, attention-hungry side into heels dance classes and sharing poetry in intimate writing groups.

Despite this, I am still very charmed by professional improv. I can’t help it, okay? It is so fun! They just make it up off the top of their heads! Seamlessly! So creative! So silly!

So when I saw a video from Shitzprobe on my TikTok feed, I smiled at the idea. Shitzprobe takes Broadway stars who have not done improv and inserts them into their cast of exceptional improv performers. They use audience suggestions for a concept and create a one-night-only musical: singing, dancing, and a plot, all off the top of their heads. I caught a performance, and I had an excellent time.

I grabbed my best friend Emily (a staple of the column), and we met to see a show on a cold December Monday. We ordered a round and French fries and settled in for the show. Our performance differed a smidge from the usual. Rather than a traditional Broadway performer, it featured The Stuppets, a puppet collective from Stagetime NYC, as the special guests. The charismatic cast asked us for suggestions for the title of a never-performed musical. Naturally, someone suggested “Get Your Hand Out of My Butt!”, and the musical got going.

The actors managed to make that title anti-capitalist (slay) by placing us in an office and making the “hand in the butt” the hand of The Man. They created impeccable cast chemistry immediately. Between jokes about being in love with puppets, love triangles, and wordplay, we were also treated to truly excellent vocals. My extremely brief foray into improv educated me on how hard of a medium it is, and it blows my mind that these performers can do that in both spoken and song form. They effortlessly conceptualized jokes and delivered them in perfect harmony. As an audience member, you witness such talented performers and glean the bonus excitement of knowing this is completely unique to your crowd only.

We ordered a chocolate bread pudding for act two and laughed our asses off. Honestly, I can’t recommend Shitzprobe enough. For the quality of performance you get, the tickets are reasonably priced. Right now, they’re making stuff up at Asylum NYC on Mondays. You can check more out here.

It’s an awesome place to start a night—a few drinks and laughs are the perfect teaser for more shenanigans. Or, if you’d rather, you can end your night with one of their performances afterward and feel like you’ve had a classic NYC night seeing some of the best creatives around. World-class improv comedy on a random Monday night. NYC has that on offer, and you should be taking advantage of it. And hey, I think I’m being too hard on myself. I think maybe we need more theater-kid energy in 2026.

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BAR RECOMMENDATION TO CHECK OUT THIS WEEKEND: Dear Irving Gramercy

A few years ago, I was tasked with finding a good bar to take an out-of-town senior coworker in the Gramercy-adjacent area. I scrounged up Dear Irving Gramercy and it easily impressed the crowd. Generally, I lean more toward a dive-bar kind of vibe if I’m not going out dancing. But sometimes, you need a nicer atmosphere: an out-of-towner, a date, a bougie friend who won’t set foot in your dive bars. You should take them to Dear Irving Gramercy.

The key to this establishment is the back room. Soft velvet couches, plenty of seating. Old-school floral details. A chandelier. A Renaissance-style painted ceiling and chandelier. Aim for this room if you find yourself here. Select one of the many cocktails and maybe order an appetizer. Impress the person you’re trying to impress. And have a great night!

It’s still that time of year, folks. The time for joy and merry, themed outfits. The time to avoid Fifth Avenue if you need to be anywhere on time. The time when working in an office in Times Square, like I do, is even worse than it normally is (which is pretty bad, believe me). The holidays—with all the fun and silliness and craziness and Manhattan crowds. It can be a good time, but if you’re going to dabble in activities frequented by tourists, you need to be prepared to know what’s worth seeing and what’s worth skipping. I am a card-carrying SantaCon hater, but I am also easily swooned by a cute knick-knack market at Bryant Park or Union Square. On rare occasions, you can find me wide-eyed in awe, purchasing gifts at the gigantic Macy’s. Balance, people.

This week, I scurried up to Columbus Circle to check out Santa’s Secret—obviously, a holiday-themed event. This one is held on the fourth floor of The Shops at Columbus Circle, a building that beckons me as an extremely active Beli user. (Love Tartinery, love Momofuku Noodle Bar, need to try Bad Roman, need to try Per Se and Masa if my financial situation becomes amazing suddenly.) The event bills itself as a holiday-themed variety show, but for adults: burlesque and ballet and drag and themed cocktails.

First, you snake through a series of rooms leading to the theater, where you can interact with the performers. The decorations are cute, but the performers really make this part, lending that effortless “let’s talk and take a picture!” vibe that makes you breathe a sigh of relief—you don’t have to think too hard about what to say. You’re led to your table, where you can order food and themed beverages. I chose the tuna poke, because I have an affinity for raw food that simply cannot be broken by the chains of cold weather. I sat, ate my tuna-poke-with-chips situation, and waited for the show to begin.

The first part of the experience: a singer who, honestly, went on for way too long. The guy next to me said, “Is this the whole thing?” to his wife, and he had a mysterious Eastern European accent, so it sounded very authoritative. After that, though, we were introduced to our host: the Ice Queen, who is played by a drag queen. It has been well established in this column that I love drag, so this was, naturally, my favorite part of the experience. She oozed natural charisma and fun, interacting with the crowd in ways that felt silly and organic, and she struck a great balance between luxuriating in the moment and keeping the acts moving along at a strong clip. The show ticked through many acts: a Black Swan burlesque number; a scandalous Nutcracker ballet; a truly showstopping vocal performance from the Gingerbread Lady (my personal favorite), to name a few.

Billed as an adult show, this show leans into it. It’s raunchy and sexy, and it wants you to giggle and blush and let your hair down. If you’re looking for a holiday experience for an out-of-towner, this one would work well for someone who wants to feel a little scandalous—but still in a silly, non-threatening way for the holidays. Maybe they’re from some boring Podunk, Ohio town where the vibe is very Footloose Thou-Shalt-Not-Dance. They’ll eat it up. And you can enjoy a good meal, a fun themed cocktail, and some drag and variety along with them.

Santa’s Secret is on through the end of the year in New York, Chicago, and LA. If that sounds like what you’re looking for, check it out.

BAR RECOMMENDATION TO CHECK OUT THIS WEEKEND: Coyote Club in Bed-Stuy

Coyote Club is chill. Sometimes, you want a bar that’s not too much of a Whole Thing. This is that bar. I mostly go with friends who live in the area, and I feel like I’m part of the neighborhood. It’s cozy, familiar, awash in warm orange lighting. It has a long bar and a seriously good booth situation (tall, plentiful). I am, as always, a sucker for a bar that has multiple things that charm me—and this one delivers: vintage memorabilia, pinball machines, a photo booth. I was taken there by a friend who said it would be a great place to flirt with people, and then we didn’t talk to anyone except each other (classic). But we still had a really fun time nonetheless.

I know some of you are looking to avoid Manhattan—either because it’s the holidays, or just in general. Live your truth. If that’s you, Coyote Club is a great choice. Let me know if you go, yeah? And if I’m there, say hey.

This week grabbed me by the shoulders and whirled me around. I ran the Hot Cocoa 5K with my friends on Saturday alongside over 2,500 other New Yorkers. The pre-run announcer hyped us all up by saying we should feel superior for running in the cold rather than snuggling in bed like everyone else. I appreciated that, but I appreciated the post-run pancakes at 7th Ave Diner more. I popped over to a gluten-free bakery crawl for my friend Taylor’s birthday and attended a holiday party in a lovely apartment in Park Slope. Both occasions involved baked goods and lovely conversation, so I have no complaints.

The holiday festivities continued this week with a visit to see Queer Without a Santa
Claus at the Laurie Beechman Theater. This was a parody of the movie The Year Without a Santa Claus. It combined drag, comedy, and burlesque for a raunchy retelling. It was…fine! PJ Adzima as Mrs. Claus absolutely stole the show for me: funny and quick and charming. The burlesque of Snow Miser (Dutch Baby) and Heat Miser (Artina Darkly) felt like a very distinct style compared to the style of Mother Earth (Zennifer Sage). All three, though, were very talented, and the Misers made me laugh.

There was a bit of a comedy of errors (missing props, a missed cue or two), and
sometimes I felt like the actors were in on an inside joke I wasn’t in on. It reminded me of when I directed a one-act play in high school and we’d throw in a bit we had been dying laughing at during rehearsal…only to find out during performances that the contextless audience didn’t understand what there was to laugh at. I suddenly found myself on the other side of that equation a few times. But it was fine, and I’m a sucker for drag (though I personally wish the amount of drag had been turned up about one hundred notches in this one). If you love this movie something special, this may hit a particular funny bone for you.

For me (and hopefully you), it’s looking like lots more holiday things for the next few
weeks. Take this time in, though. Before you know it, we’ll be staring down the barrel of January and February. Nothing but cold weather and barren calendars. And the whole time it will still be this cold, too. Ugh. Until then, I’ll be taking in as much eggnog and silly holiday-themed events as I can. Join me, why don’t you?

BAR RECOMMENDATION FOR THIS WEEKEND: Iggy’s on the Upper East Side

I have been to Iggy’s more times than a person reasonably should. Every single time I go, everyone actually talks to each other. Usually, it’s a cast of ridiculous characters. Iggy’s is a portal in which ridiculous people go in and come out talkative and ready to make friends. I have more random Instagram followers from Iggy’s than any other bar I’ve ever been to, including bars I went to regularly while abroad in Spain. I once met a set of humans at Iggy’s who we shot the shit with in the freezing cold outside for over an hour. We hung out with them four more times and then somehow never saw them again. I once sat for several hours with two friends of mine at Iggy’s while two guys explained their entire dating history to us, unprompted, simply for our entertainment. I briefly dated someone who was like, “Yeah, I’m a regular at this
bar,” and the bar was Iggy’s for some reason, and we went and chatted with all the bartenders and judged the karaoke song choices that night. I do not know why, but this bar is, for some reason, the cornerstone of the block.

Anyway, you’re at Iggy’s for the karaoke. This isn’t karaoke rooms (which will inevitably be a recommendation from me later). This is a stage in the back of the place that brave soldiers hop on top of to serenade the crowd with Shallow or Wonderwall or You Oughta Know. Get to the queue early to make sure you can get up there. There’s a photobooth and standard drinks. You’re in proximity to some of the more Happening Happenings on the Upper East Side (relative term) before you inevitably scoot downtown for the real goings-on. If you meet someone ridiculous, drop a comment to let me know that it’s not just me, please!

What is the by-proxy party, you ask? It is the art of showing up to a party as a plus-one, despite not knowing anybody else at the event. This is often a staple of relationships (see: the lonely boyfriend sipping a drink in a corner at seemingly every birthday party I’ve ever attended), but it’s a crucial thing lonely Gen Z-ers need to be doing with their friends. This isn’t showing up to a party where you know some of the attendants. This is showing up to a party where you know nobody except the gracious friend who agreed to take you. This is forcing yourself to mingle with total strangers. This is saying, “I just know my friend,” when someone asks how you know the host.

I’ve recently become well acquainted with attending the by-proxy party:

The Rooftop Birthday Party of a Friend of a Friend of a Friend:

I was attending a concert with my best friend when she mentioned that she had run into an old friend who invited her to someone else’s birthday party, who she also vaguely knew. I know that makes no sense. But I didn’t need explanations—this party was on a rooftop and would have cake. We showed up as somewhat mysterious additions in very cute post-concert outfits. At the proxy party, you have the ability to be mobile and introduce yourself to whoever. Who cares? You’ll never see these people again.

We bonded with a stranger over cake—she had flown in from LA for the party. She told us all about the guy she was dating out there because we’re strangers. Then we turned our sights to flirting with some of the attendants, and I even scored a date out of it. This could be you if you attend the by-proxy party!

The Downstairs Neighbor Housewarming:

I was at a normal party with a friend of mine when he mentioned his downstairs neighbor was having a housewarming party. They had met once in the hall, and the neighbor told him and his sister (his roommate) to drop by. My friend brought tithes: a bottle of wine and some deer meat from his farm back home (no lie). He invited me to come, and I figured, why not.

This apartment party was mostly filled with 22-year-olds who had graduated from NYU about 45 minutes ago. In that sense, I felt a bit out of place. But I did trade Instagrams with someone who was not a fresh-faced, jort-wearing undergrad. She was, instead, a few years into a career in publishing, so we could talk writing and books.

The Friend’s College Friend’s Sister’s Boyfriend’s Birthday:

I recently attended a by-proxy party again with my best friend. (Maybe the by-proxy party is just me being codependent on her?) This one was for the boyfriend of her college friend’s sister. I was so removed from this party I was practically wallpaper.

It was held in a truly horrible bar that had crypto references and AI art all over it. Not good. But there was, once again, cake and new faces to meet. I scored an invite to hang out with the college friend and her sister when the college friend is back in town (yay!).

I’m passionate about all of us getting the hell out of the house more. Sure, I love cozy nights in, and some people are really just homebodies. But I’m telling you—the screens are killing us. We need to be out there, meeting strangers and behaving like we’re characters in old sitcoms. Everybody should party and mingle themselves out of the loneliness crisis. Maybe start with a by-proxy party.

BAR RECOMMENDATION FOR THIS WEEKEND: Acme

If you don’t have a by-proxy party this weekend, dancing is always a good choice. I checked out Acme this past weekend with a friend of mine and had a blast.

There are distinctly Brooklyn clubs and distinctly Manhattan clubs. This is distinctly a Manhattan club, with its packed table service, shimmering disco ball, and tall women dressed in short skirts and tall boots. If you’re only into the Brooklyn club scene, then this isn’t your gig (and I love and respect you for that regardless). But they play really fun pop music with lyrics—which is sometimes what the doctor orders rather than house or techno. It’s also a fun place to feel scene-y and wear a cute outfit.

My friend and I popped by after dinner. The booming bouncer announced to the line that it was now tables-only service, but then a woman popped up and said, “Just you two?” and ushered us inside. Try your luck as just a duo not too late into the night if you’re worried about the sometimes sticky door.

We boogied to Charli XCX and ABBA and Tate McRae and Katy Perry. They also pulled out a couple of hilarious indie throwbacks: “We Are the People” by Empire of the Sun, “Kids” by MGMT—songs I love but don’t hear much in the club. Believe me, though, I welcomed it.

We worked up a real sweat on the packed dance floor and then disappeared into the cool mist outside. If you’re in Manhattan, this is a great choice.

I have been to exactly one New York City club via a promoter. The place: The Fleur Room—35 floors up at the Moxy Hotel in Midtown, circa 2023. The reason: a friend of a friend of a friend knew a promoter and he needed more girls in the club. I had an out-of-town guest visiting, a craving for something new, and a few free hours on a Friday. The method: a hastily thrown-together Instagram group chat where I was instructed to dress fancy (no sneakers or jeans!) and drop the promoter’s name at the door.

The club was packed—shoulder-to-shoulder, wall-to-wall bodies. The promoter, a gorgeous dirty blonde in her late twenties, poured the promised free drinks: two bottles of vodka with orange juice and cranberry juice arranged haphazardly on a couch in the back. I struggled to dance, whacking strangers with my elbows, before abandoning ship and dragging my friend to a bar downtown. I was 24 and already suspected I had aged out of the promoter lifestyle.

So imagine my surprise when, on a run of all things, my friend Lauryn casually revealed that she used to be a promoter girl. And not just occasionally. When she moved to the city—21 going on 22—she was out multiple nights a week. This from the same Lauryn I now most often see while exercising together, sipping mocktails, or lounging on my couch binging old sitcoms. I was gagged. I was aghast.

Of course, I needed details. What is it actually like to be a Promoter Girl™? Is it fun? What’s the appeal? Come with me to find out.

THE SCHEDULE

I always assumed promoters were just a weekend thing. Even at my wildest (shout-out sophomore year at Syracuse University), weeknights were for homework or watching TV with my roommates. But Lauryn? At the height of her promoter era, she was out nearly every night.

Mondays were for Tao, where promoter girls got dinner before the club opened. (Hearing this, I immediately understood why a broke 22-year-old might happily score free dinners just for being pretty.) Tuesdays were her day off. Wednesdays meant Marquee—people paid serious money to see DJs Lauryn watched for free. Thursdays through Saturdays were a rotation: she didn’t love Nebula, Paradise was hit-or-miss, Etiquette offered dinner with a show and a front-row perimeter of promoter girls. PHD and Public were great rooftops; Lavo attracted the creepiest men; Somewhere Nowhere was generally a reliable good time. Sometimes her promoters would get her into the harder-door spots like Little Sister, Gospel, or Paul’s Baby Grand.

In exchange for her face and presence, she got free coat check, a big bowl of mixers, a big bottle of vodka (as I experienced), and her own table. Typically 10–15 girls per club. The regulars formed a little community. On freezing nights, she’d swap winter boots and a puffer for a dress and heels at coat check before disappearing into the belly of the club.

THE HIGHS AND LOWS

As we sat in my living room, Lauryn emphasized how rare it was to find a good promoter—especially a woman. She had three: one primary woman and two men she occasionally used. I hadn’t known that dynamic existed; my one experience had been led by a woman. But Lauryn had heard horror stories. Male promoters controlled the best venues, and many female promoters struggled to get real footing.

“You have to be really safe, because there’s a dark underbelly to everything,” she said. “I had good promoters, but a lot of them can be scummy.”

Despite the reputation, most nights weren’t wild. Many of the girls weren’t there to hook up or do hard drugs—they liked EDM, dancing, the thrill of escapism. (“Otherwise, why go out every single night?” she added.) Sure, every so often a VIP invited her whole crew up to a penthouse at 5:09 AM. But the main downside was the obvious: nothing is free.

“You’re getting free drinks, free entry…because you are the product,” she explained. “That’s what people are buying—the chance to gawk at you and talk to you.”

But Lauryn has always been smart. She vetted promoters carefully, stayed aware, and knew her limits. You need a critical eye in that world. Even so, she looks back fondly—likening it to freshman year of college, when everything feels dizzy with possibility. But those days are behind her now, just like my own questionable sophomore escapades.

And me at 27? Please. I do not have the energy anymore.

We all do silly things while coming of age. (Please tell me it’s not just me.) And as long as there are beautiful women, clubs will use them to lure men through their doors. Lauryn was young, fun, and in the thick of it—then rode off into the sunset. I still can’t believe it. But the Instagram followers and grainy Snapchat memories don’t lie: she truly lived the promoter girl life.

BAR RECOMMENDATION FOR THIS WEEKEND: Elsewhere

Growing up is realizing you do not need a promoter to dance in New York City. You can, sure—but I personally don’t have time for that. If you want to move your body without overthinking it, Elsewhere is a solid bet. Yes, it’s a basic suggestion from me. Yes, some nights feel oversold. Yes, you have to buy tickets. But on the right night? It’s electric.

I love the rooftop in summer (saw Coco and Breezy there last year) and wandering through the different rooms when it’s cold out. If the DJ is on point and the crowd is vibing, you’ll dance. And dance. And dance.

Most nights out, I prefer bar-style venues (more recs coming, don’t worry). But I save a few nights of the year for a bigger club moment. Used correctly, an Elsewhere night can catapult you straight through the next week on energy alone.

And if the vibes are off? Walk one minute to Jupiter Disco around the corner and try your luck there. Win-win.

This sums up how I thought I felt about the opera. Sure, I like the opera…I think. I live for the drama, obviously, and opera singers have got to be the best singers around. But there was always a ceiling to how much fun I could have, outside of the superiority complex you get from attending. Would I ever truly get it?

Enter Heartbeat Opera’s 10th Annual Drag Extravaganza, Orgy and Bess. All the talent of a classic opera but make it campy and fun and silly and weird. What if Bess from Porgy and Bess landed in 2025 NYC, met up with other reimagined opera legends, and confronted the tropes of opera together? This answers that question. I’m so glad they let me come along for the ride.

TWO GALS AT THE OPERA

I enlisted my best friend to accompany, which is perfect because she actually knows what she’s talking about. A college music major, I knew she’d make me seem much more knowledgeable than I actually am. You don’t need an encyclopedic operatic knowledge to understand this show, though, so it’s great for beginners. For more seasoned vets, there are plenty of inside jokes for you to enjoy, too.

We arrived at the historic Judson Memorial Church right across from Washington Square Park. Fun fact: Judson was a place of queer political gathering in the 60’s and 70’s, participated in pride under its own banner in the early 1970s, and was one of New York’s first compassionate church for those suffering with AIDs in the 1980s. A fitting place to house this event! It was an excellent host, shrouded in purple and pink lighting, and set simply with an orchestra on house left and a bare raised stage. It hit the right balance of big crowd feel and intimate gathering.

I LOVE drag shows for many reasons: the creativity, the artistry, the comedy, the energy of the crowd. The performers in this show hit all those beats, in an opera, and they did it with SPECTACULAR vocal chords and cleverly updated 200-year-old songs.

1. Creativity: Such a fun way to reimagine opera! I didn’t feel like I had to be an expert operatic devotee with my monocle and my top hat on. I loved that this was 90 minutes with no intermission. It is accessible and funny, but it doesn’t compromise on quality. Thumbs up.

2. Artistry: All the performers brought their A game for this one. Bess, played by Bernard Holcomb, sang with an incredibly rich tone and had my favorite reaction faces of the cast. Angela Yam as Cio-Cio-San had my favorite comedic timing (and my favorite outfits. Her outfits!!!). Lucia (Jamilyn Manning) hits notes I couldn’t dream of, and The Patroness (John Taylor Ward) had me in stitches. Sishel Claverie in the Pants Role had awesome chemistry when finally mixed with our familiar characters. I loved looking up each of the cast online afterwards and being blown away by their resumes. New Yorkers are freaking cool.

3. Comedy: I laughed out loud many times in this performance. If you don’t trust me, my best friend also laughed out loud many times in this performance.

4. Energy of the crowd: The room felt warm and inviting, and the performers really facilitated that feeling. They interacted with the crowd periodically in a way that felt fun and not gratuitous. I was seated right behind Lucia when she caressed and serenaded the man in front of me, clad in his orange beanie. Crowd members swooshed large fans when the performers resonated with them. We were part of the vibe. It felt like the perfect marriage of drag and opera.

We giggled, we laughed, we clapped, we cheered. An awesome outing to the ~opera~, thank you very much. Afterwards, we grabbed mantis at nearby Tashkent and debriefed in the park. Two positive experiences over here. We then met up with another friend for a drink, our good moods setting us up for a great rest of the night. Thanks, Heartbeat Opera!

I think you’d like it, too.

If you haven’t seen a single opera, I’m telling you: this is the place to start. Or maybe you’re sort of halfway there, like me? Heartbeat Opera is a great place to have fun and reimagine your expectations for the art form. Operatic experts, don’t fear: you’ll love this, too. The performers are too talented to disappoint you. Heartbeat Opera’s Drag Extravaganza did unfortunately wrap up this weekend (boo). But if you’re intrigued, Heartbeat Opera is staging an adaptation of Manon! on January 27–February 8th at The Space at Irondale in Brooklyn. It’s worth your time!

All above images credit to Russ Rowland

BAR RECOMMENDATION FOR THIS WEEKEND: Midway in Williamsburg

If you all go to Midway, can you promise to be cool? I don’t want anyone screwing up my reputation here. We all have a dive bar we have a soft spot for, and this is mine. I love the wall of pinball machines, even though I suck at pinball. I love how half the chairs are peeling and almost always scattered in a nonsensical way. I love the pool tables where I have scouted out Brooklyn men for my friends with a penchant for tattoos and mullets (results may vary). And most importantly, I love a photo booth! My entire fridge is cloaked with photobooth strips of my friends and I around a city, and only places I really like make The Fridge.

Reasonably priced drinks in a two-tiered space with lots of fun side quests. Come here before you go dancing or come here just to chill with the people you love. You’re in a great spot to hop to other dives if you so choose. And if you stop by, you may find me there, so say hi!

What qualifies me, you may ask? Well, I’m a young person trying to have as much fun as I can in New York City. Importantly, I’m an active participant — not a passive one. I have tried-and-true spots, but I’m always on the hunt for new ones. I love dancing the most, but I also love sitting in a dive bar booth with my friends, just talking. I adore the whacky events cooked up by the bizarre creatives in this wonderful city, and I’m always browsing for more. I want to share the best of the best with you all.

My friends are active participants too. If we need to, we’ll create our own fun. We throw a biannual party called Everyone We Know, where we invite…everyone we know…to a bar at one time. Friends, coworkers, siblings, crushes, exes — you name it. If you know one of the eight of us (lovingly called the Partycule, per our group chat name), you get an invite to come hang out, drink, dance, and mingle all at once. These parties pack out a bar with over 200 people and fuel our gossip tanks for weeks. We’ve watched friendships blossom and dates turn into relationships. It also provides a crucial service to any friend group: introducing tertiary characters who can slip in and out of our lives as needed — people we nickname and then gleefully track as they weave into our stories.

Case in point: one of my friends has a boyfriend whose friends have provided excellent fodder. When one of them became single and texted me to ask me out for dinner, I said yes and put it on the calendar. Then he DM’d another member of the Partycule three days before our date…to ask her to dinner. Sure, go date around, king — but maybe don’t double dip in one friend group! I canceled, but we didn’t revoke his invite to Everyone We Know the next month. We are a kind and benevolent clan.

So imagine my shock when, at Everyone We Know — me in my cutest zebra-print dress, chatting with somebody’s coworker — he walks in…holding hands with a new girlfriend. Honestly, fair play to him for getting wifed up that fast. My friend Dana sprinted across the bar to alert me and the other almost-victim. After one cursory lap around the party, he slipped into the bar next door, presumably to escape questioning (or our wrath?). It made me laugh for a solid half hour and gave us a hilarious “remember when?” story for the following fortnight.

But that energy is why I love nightlife in New York City. I love spotting a surprise girlfriend for a tertiary character — at a party I threw, not over Instagram. I love being able to hop on a subway and be wherever the fun is. I love weird events with weird themes and postgaming them at a bar near someone’s apartment. There’s so much to do, and it’s impossible to be bored. And isn’t that what it’s all about?

BAR RECOMMENDATION FOR THIS WEEKEND: Fine Time in Bushwick

New favorite dive bar just dropped! Fine Time in Bushwick has so many ideal dive bar qualities. My friends and I popped in after a rooftop local garage band performance — which is a very Bushwick sentence.

Drinks are reasonably priced and the location is convenient. The backyard is super solid, with plenty of seating. But most importantly: free food. Yes, you get a hot dog with your drink, which is key for me — leader of the hot dog revolution currently blossoming online. (Sure, it’s a bit dinky — maybe three-fourths the size of a normal dog — but it’s free, so I won’t complain.) There’s also a popcorn machine tucked into the back right corner. My friends and I filled and refilled a hot dog tray with hot, salty kernels and squeezed together on tall barstools at the counter. We steadily ordered beverages to secure our spots and could actually hold a conversation without yelling.

If you need a reliable go-to spot — this is a good one.

Next on the Playlist…

We’re heading into the wild heart of the city for this one: ORGY & BESS, the 10th annual drag-opera extravaganza from Heartbeat Opera, at the legendary Judson Memorial Church.

Imagine this: an uproarious, fierce collision of glam, wit, and operatic chaos — the staple of a drag show meets the swells of the opera canon — where Bess, freshly liberated from Porgy and Bess, stumbles out of the 1920s and into 2025 NYC, meeting heroines like Cio-Cio-San and Lucia along the way.

We’ll be there, drink in hand, seats locked, ready for sisterhood, arias, big hair, bold costumes — and that magical moment when operatic tragedy turns into drag party energy. Because yes, things will get messy, they’ll get fabulous, and they’ll absolutely get unforgettable. Party with us by getting your tickets HERE.

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