At Zubar, we ran into the ever-fab Norma Jean Abraham ("Honey, I don't know what's going on with these clubs - they're all crazy"). By then, however, it was too late to feel upbeat about the nuttiness of nightlife. At 4:30 in the morning all clubs tend to feel like bleak terror domes. The feast of Halloween, a ritual celebrated with the fervor and intensity of carnival, was over, and life was aftermath. We even thought, for a brief moment, that Charlie Frissell of the Cameo might be right about the beloved stomping grounds: "The Beach is oversaturated, not as hip as it was. This year is just a repeat of last year. You got Deco's, that looming monster. The Synagogue up on Fifteenth. I don't know, that might be interesting if it ever gets going. But really, there's nothing new."

Actually, there was something new. Last weekend's long-awaited Hippodrome opening festivities - the Friday-night press party and debut, the Sunday-night gay party "Big Sundays at Hippodrome," coordinated by Robert Vickery and Bill Mayer, featuring X-rated house-music queen Liz Torres. And in the not-so-new category, the Boomerang party for the "Thunder on the Beach" motorcycle round-up. Bikers. Hip orthodontist bikers. Models. Homosexual high jinks. Truly advanced club craziness. What a town.

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