We're pathologically social. We're professional leisurists. We're burrito lovers, bar flies, art whores and music nerds. We dish the good dirt, and we'll risk a parking ticket for a cheap sample sale. Sometimes, we blog drunk.
Is Opera worth singing about?
Are you all sick of me talking about Opera yet? Don’t worry: This might be my last post about the new club for a while because…it kind of sucks.
The whole point of going out is to have fun, but unfortunately the staff at Opera doesn’t seem to see it that way. On Friday night, the black-clad security team treated the people waiting in line like they were criminals—screaming at them to stand still on the narrow sidewalk, looking at the girls as if they’d all committed fashion crimes.
I wanted no part of this scene. I left my friends to hold our place in line while I sauntered up to the bearish doorman—press badge and business card in hand—to explain that I was there to write about the club. He said I could either ditch my friends and come in by myself or stand back in line. Seriously? Who goes to a club alone?
A couple minutes later I saw Suk Sung, head of marketing and promotions, and asked if he'd let us in. Suk, who had given me the scoop on Opera and had asked me to write about the club, basically gave us the hand and ran away. (I should tell you that my friends all looked hot in mini skirts, shiny hair and glossy lips.) Then we called promoter Zen Freeman, who'd put us on the list. And, nice guy that he is, he came out and escorted us in.
Victory!
We walked through the fog "curtain" and "ooohed” and "ahhhed" at the fancy arched ceiling as we made it to the bar. After the hour-long debacle outside, it was time to get drunk. (Maybe that's their trick for getting clubbers to work up a thirst and spend all their money on booze.) Of course, it took 45 minutes to actually order those drinks—which cost $45 bucks for a beer, one vodka cranberry and two kamikaze shots—and by that point we were all annoyed again.
We thought dancing would cheer us up. But my friends didn't like the DJ. I thought he was pretty good, but a little booze goes a long way with me. Instead we watched Rex Lee bump 'n grind; observed the ratio of young girls to old guys (about 70 to 30); and scored some free lemon drop shots, which I have to say were really yummy.
Best part of the night? Crawling into bed.
Trackback URL: http://blogs-losangeles.metromix.com/vmix_hosted_apps/66/post/839/trackback/
