How far over the top can something go before it overflows and spills back down to the bottom? I found out a couple weeks ago when the River West club Reserve suffered an identity crisis, turning into “Captain Morgan’s Tattoo Lounge” to launch the rum company’s new dark variety, called Tattoo. “Chicago’s most influential social tastemakers, VIPs and select guests” would be in attendance, crowed the invite, “only those wearing specially delivered leather cuffs will be granted access.” Dennis Rodman, spokesperson for the booze, was slated to make a grand entrance on a Harley, then head inside for a Q and A session.
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At the bar I did shots of Tattoo, which tasted like Jagermeister, off an ice sculpture of a motorcycle and ate a box of White Castle fries from a tray proffered by a man in a tux. On the dance floor, Jade Dragon’s George Pappas was tattooing a dragon on a man’s back while young ladies danced around in thongs, their tits painted silver. Woo hoo.
What kind of social reject spends Friday night doing yoga? The kind who craves an “alternative to the smokey bar scene,” says the studio’s Web site, in the form of an “invigorating candlelight yoga class accompanied by great live music.” Midnight is actually when the class ends. I showed up a little after 10 PM braced for interaction with hippies sitting around in a drum circle. I imagined some of them would have thick dreadlocks and wear clothing made from hemp. As it turned out, except for the two dudes in attendance, I’m pretty sure I was the only one with pit hair.
The room was all wood paneled, like your grandparents’ basement. A little plaque hanging in the center behind the bar said TIME OUT, the name of the joint, in primary colors. Right after Kirk Hammett’s last guitar squeal faded into the night, OMC’s “How Bizarre” started up on the jukebox and all these jocky dudes started cracking up and wiggling around to the beat. By the time the chorus started, about ten of ’em had crowded together, singing at the top of their lungs. Next came the Spice Girls’ “Say You’ll Be There,” then Cinderella’s “Don’t Know What You Got (Till It’s Gone),” all accompanied by more of the same tomfoolery.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photos/Andrea Bauer.
