Dudes: you need to get your asses down to Club Min Laguna Beach. For real. It’s about as crackin’ as OC gets. There’s way too many hot-lookin’ women dancing by themselves. In fact, there’s morewomen than men. I know I’m probably the most virile guy around—no, seriously—but I can’t possiblybe expected to break them all off. Fridays there are good, but Saturdays are the bomb. DJ E-Nospins mainstream rap for the ladies, which I’m down with, yo. Lil’ Jon and the East Side Boyzare all right by me. It’s located atop the Japanese restaurant Mosun, so if you’re a big enough baller, they’ll bring you and your cohorts a dank (albeit pricy), giant platter of sushi. Word to the Rainbow Roll. Oh, and you might as well order it from Kelly, the hottest waitress in Orange County. If you’re super-loaded, you can rent the stage for 600 bucks, or half of it for three. The VIP tables that ring the dance floor can be had for $200 minimum, and the top-secret VIP room runs a cool $500.
VIP host Kevin(who happens to be in an Oingo Boingo cover band) is entrusted with ensuring that there’s a paucity of wackness; he succeeds beautifully. He explained to me that M’s going on its fifth year in business, which is dope when one considers the kind of turnover these places go through. Part of the reason for its unyielding, iron-like grip on the collective psyche of Laguna clubbers: the staff is totally cool and friendly. Kevin sat me down and chatted all night. Drinks all around! You’d think I was Danny Elfman. Dead Man’s Party! Little Girls! Respeck!
Some things seem to require knee-jerk hate. Like go-go dancers. I want to think they’re unnecessary and demeaning (holler at your gender studies classes!), but in all honesty, they’re fucking harmless, and, damn it, they’re aesthetically pleasing. Especially after a few Tokyo Iced Teas. What exactly is a Tokyo Iced Tea, you ask? It’s quite possibly the most insanely delicious drink known to man: vodka, gin, rum, triple sec, sweet and sour, and Midori Melon liqueur garnished with a lemon. You’re welcome. Enjoy.
Literally a two-minute walk north of Club M is The White House, which puts M’s longevity to shame: this spot opened in 1918.Word on the street is that Warren Hardingfrequented it back in the day. At one time it was the spot for reggae. On this particular evening, it was the place for a barely decent cover band who go by The Trip. They actually had me going with some really cool shit like “Need You Tonight”and “Pour Some Sugar on Me”until they incensed me with a Blink-182song. In a weird way, they reminded me of Tony Blair: filled with the potential of greatness, yet ultimately proving to be a disappointment. And a liar. If you’re actually interested in some seriously good reggae, though, check out the White House on Sunday evenings, when Kitakaperforms. Dude’s got an amazing voice. It’s a restaurant by day, and the eggs Benedict kick some serious ass.
The GM of the place, and son of the owner, Demetri Catsouras, is a cool-ass dude. He getsit. He makes people happy. Greeksdo that. He sat me down and chatted all night. Drinks all around! Dead Man’s Party! Little Girls! Oh, wait. Wrong spot. But you get the gist. Maybe I’m just that beautiful. Or maybe it’s just respeck.
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