From The Envoy
Well into our inauguration high, a group of friends and I arrived at Greenhouse, New York City's first eco-friendly nightclub on Varick Street in SoHo. They were having a party in honor of the new Prez, including two screens with the ceremony on a continuous loop, and unlimited, complimentary glasses of absinthe. I couldn't think of a better way to drown out the memory of the past eight years.
Moss and shrubbery lined the windows. Two spaceship-like heaters and a massive bouncer in aviators guarded the doors. At 15 minutes to ten, the line behind us had wrapped around the next two blocks.
I knew that Greenhouse was run entirely by wind and solar power, but I wasn't quite sure what that entailed. Would there be heat? Would there be water? Would the crowd be wearing Birkenstocks? Or even worse, business suits?
Once inside, I was instantly mesmerized by the recycled glass ceiling, made up of 5,000 individually hung crystals (designed to "emulate a rolling landscape," according to Greenhouse's website, but really just designed to trip out drunk people). Synth heavy techno blasted through the speakers and there were green lights flickering about. I felt like I had entered the swanky version of a Eurotrash rave.
My friends ran to the back of the club to claim a spot in the multi-tiered V.I.P. section. As I approached the bar to take advantage of the free booze, the bartender eyed me up, scoffing. He seemed like a perpetual scoffer. Unless his mandatory uniform (made by Bono's sustainable clothing line, Edun) was a bit itchy that night.
The 124-proof absinthe was provided by Lucid, a company that does not joke around. It tasted Ouzo-esque, like black liquorice mixed with poison. How I managed to get down one glass was a miracle. After that, I decided I'd rather pay for my next drink than endure a "complimentary" hangover the next morning.
My friend Jessica went back to the bar-Nazi to start a tab for us, and returned with organic-vodka-cocktails, along with the news that they cost $15 each and there was a $50 minimum. I then realized how Greenhouse afforded its bamboo walls and transparent tables with animal shaped shrubbery inside. Eco-friendly did not mean wallet friendly.
After a while, the DJ started spinning some songs I could actually dance to ("Paper Planes"), even sing to ("Boys Don't Cry" and "Don't Stop Believing"), and I was able to shift my mind away from the blow to my cash flow.
A particularly poignant moment was when "Gangster's Paradise" came on, out of nowhere. We made our way to the upper-tier of the V.I.P. section, befriending a guy dressed as a British colonial soldier, or a pirate, or something. We attempted to speak in sign language to attractive people in the crowd below us, inviting them upstairs.
For a club like Greenhouse, which Jessica compared to an NYU hipster ("It just tries WAY too hard"), the actual crowd was refreshingly unpretentious. A certain Entourage cast member worked his way through the main floor and no one seemed to hassle him. There were no Bridge-and-Tunnel guys trying to grind up against me, nor were there Williamsburg-ites throwing around the word "gentrification" in conversation, oblivious to the irony. I wondered if I had fallen off the face of New York.
Before long, my friends and I were dancing about the crowd, introducing ourselves to everyone as if we owned the place. We chatted up a couple from Montréal. Tiana was a beautiful bisexual figure model and Joseph, who donned a full out twirly mustache, did artificial intelligence research (I did my own Google research the next morning, and found out he wasn't lying).
There was a sense of euphoria in the air that night; the perfect mix of green lights, Absinth, and Obama-fueled hope. Or maybe it was the fact that we were all united by a purpose, even if it was just to get drunk in a way that didn't harm the environment.
Unfortunately, all good nights must come to an end. This party ended at 2 a.m., when bouncers cleared the V.I.P. section for a "concert." Apparently, two guys with microphones, shouting, "when I say 'O', you say 'bama'" is a musical performance. My friends and I politely watched for a few minutes before storing the numbers of our newfound acquaintances and deciding it was high time we left.
But as luck would have it, Jessica's coat remained upstairs, guarded by the same bouncer who wears his aviators at night. I approached the steps to ask for permission to ascend once again, but he grabbed my wrist, pushing me away, consequently leaving me with my first "Indian burn" since elementary school. All was not lost, however, as an even bigger bouncer retrieved Jessica's coat and removed Mr. Sunglasses.
If I ever go back to Greenhouse, it will only be to find this Incredible Hulk and give him kudos. I'm all for sustainability, but sustaining my pride (and the green in my wallet) is more important than solar-powered sound systems.
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