Issue #03/58, February 10 - 24, 1999  

I was supposed to write a piece about a new gay club for this issue. It's called "Palladium," I think, and the editors of this newspaper seemed to get a big kick out of forcing me to go there. They kept telling me that my beard would be a big hit. We compromised on the club issue since I really didn't want to go to Palladium alone--not that I don't respect gays. Anyway, they sent me to two places, one older and one brand new.

The older one is called Tsentr, and it's probably the biggest failure of a club in all of Russia. I can't tell you what a horrible experience I had there. I was told to expect lots of teenagers, which I should add really upset my girlfriend (sorry, Amy! you know I'm only doing this for my journalism CV!), but what I didn't expect were all the scary-looking flatheads. Really, it was like there was a flathead convention going on there.

If there was anything uglier or scarier than being stuck under a roof with a hundred flatheads, it was being stuck under the roof of a failing mall in Missouri with a hundred flatheads. The concept of Tsentr was, I guess, the "mall" concept: you've got your video games, your mini-bowling alley, your laser tag, your billiards, and in the tsentr of it all, a huge stage and massive dance floor. The problem was, and is, that the 6,000-capacity hall had no more than about 200 kids in it on a Saturday night. When I was there, what had to be the worst Russian pop group in history--Koshki, Myshki, i Saltykova--was lip synching and doing some clusmy aerobics routine. The only concerts my girlfriend Amy and I have been to in the last five years have been shows like Phish, the Who reunion, Lillith Fair, and that sort of thing--music with a message, I guess you could call it. So I'm just not used to that empty, bimbo music. I'd never seen more glum faces, guys and girls with their heads flat on the tables, in my life.

I split early and went to to a new club, Shosse. Shosse means "highway" in Russian, and it's located in a pretty hard to reach place not far from Aviamotornaya metro station, down in Southern Moscow.

Shosse is definitely the "Lost Highway" of Moscow. I mean that in the good sense. In every way, it's the opposite of Tsentr: it's smaller, there are no bandity (unless you count the fellas in the back room who run the place), the girls are all excessively attractive, nubile and young (sorry Amy, but I have to tell the truth here!), and the music is what you'd call quality techno. Shosse is a two-story set-up; on the first floor, you have your usual rough doormen and garderob, along with the smelly Brezhnev-era toilet. Walk up the Dom Kultury-style stairwell, and you've got a choice of cheap billiards, packed with ski-capped kids and techno girls in futuristic techno clothes that Dr. Evil could have designed himself. On your right, you've got your basic bar with about ten cheap tables. Beers are incredibly cheap and run the gamut from Baltika to Corona (the latter go for a mere 40R a bottle, and are good "dyev-bait," as Chen once put it).

Then there's the dance hall, really two floors of pulsing techno for the jilted generation. When I was there, I saw these two older Azerbaidjani guys give it a college try on two girls, who rejected them over and over. You'd think all that ill-treatment by militsiamen would make these guys a little more humble, but they overcame their troubles to sexually harrass these girls, and I say, good for you!

On the balcony, the kids were either washed-out on something or other, or else dancing along the railing. The club has more of a "tusovka" feel than a large club feel, and was less than half-full when we were there. I'd definitely recommend it to eXhole readers.

As for me, well, when I got home, my girlfriend made me sleep on the couch. "You're starting to become one of those shallow expat jerks," she said. I figure this whole sleeping on the couch thing won't last long, though. In the meantime, we've received a few predlozheniye for replacements for me, but a lot of them are just guys who want free drinks. Fellas, you've got to send in writing samples! This space is still open, and until someone takes it from me, my relationship with Amy is going to be on the rocks. Help us, guys!