Last night I found myself in a conundrum of freaks and weirdos in the NYC West Village.  After twenty minutes of figuring out how to cross 6th Ave (even the police couldn't tell me where to go), I ended up at Le Poisson Rouge for a killer Halloween party.  I'm usually not a club type, but the owners are Marc's best friends, and the nights that we go are not your routine meat markets.

I thought I was just going dancing.


There was a freak show.

And cabaret.

And burlesque.

It was enough sword-swallowing, black lace, fishnets, Liza Minnelli-style singing, false eyelashes, garter belts, contortion, guys in kimonos, and chair-dances to last until next Halloween. 

I wouldn't mind, though, if I happened upon it again sooner rather than later.

I've always been gleefully curious about cabaret and burlesque... carnies and what-have-you.  What is it about that dark comedy that thrills us so?  Doesn't it always seem like they have a secret?

Here we go, Day 79: