Bash Compactor: The Weekend from Hell

| 13 Aug 2014 | 07:41

    Halloween’s known for ghouls, demons, goblins, witches and evil spirits. Bad energy swirling around is expected. So why was I surprised the Bloody Mary Burlesque Halloween Ball at Good Units was invaded by ogres and monsters? Not just in costume, but in uniform and plainclothes.

    Last month, the first Bloody Mary hosted by party pros Susanne Bartsch and Desi Monster, was absolutely fantastic. This time, however, instead of a treat, we got a trick. Since it was the party of the Halloween weekend, I arrived uncharacteristically early at 11, but there was already an unruly mob with a line around the corner. “Follow me!” I advised my two costumed friends, cutting to the press line. Then I saw the mobs being shoved by the bouncers from Hell. “I can’t even get to the bathroom or buy a drink,” one friend moaned. “Some random dude came up and insisted I buy some drugs,” another pal dressed as a robot confided. “Seemed more like a narc than a dealer.”

    From then on, I covered the party from the almost-as-crowded-as-inside West 58th Street sidewalk. “What’s going on in there?” party monster Herra*C, festooned in Baggies, asked plaintively. I had no idea, stuck as I was outside, playing paparazzi. Apparently I missed promoters AlieNatioN, Glitter Bombs, Uberhouse and The Zand Collective ensconced in the sardine can downstairs. I’m told guests entered the party through an entrance that looked like a giant vagina, which sounded like a good time.

    Trying to horn in on my chat with a macho fireman, a local block organizer named Amanda told me Good Units has a 450-person capacity. “I heard there might be 1,000 people down there,” she said. The undercover security details at the door of the Hudson Hotel scowled and snarled at the crowd. “The party’s over,” someone barked.

    The street was jammed with taxis, fire trucks and police vans. People were exiting the club steadily. “Let’s just go to Club 57! It’s right around the corner!” said feather head-dressed Jean Avant-Garde Sablande. Inside, I bumped into designer Stephan Keating wearing a red wig. “I’m dressed as Bloody Mary and those bastards at Good Units wouldn’t even let me in!” he complained. I’d never been to Club 57 before. Luckily, it was a huge venue, jammed with the escapee freaks from Bloody Mary but lots of shirtless gay boys sans costume. But there was no hassle, and the security guard smiled and asked me why I was leaving early when I exited shortly thereafter. Now that was a treat. — Gerry Visco