PARTY SCHMARTY

HEAR ME NOW! I do love me some good old-fashioned choo-choo trains—ever so! So romantic. So retro! (Well, retro in the United States, not civilized places, like everywhere else in the world.) Even/especially the ones that don't go anywhere ever. The older the better! Old trains are right up there in my heart next to parasols and knickerbockers and pennywhistles and moon pies (also, the Buttsex)—and Ben DeLaCreme, which is fitting, since our first and very most important must-do thing happens in an old train (SQUEEL!) that is now somehow a completely stationary Chinese restaurant in SoDo (huh?) and Ben DeLaCreme hosts (SQUEEL SQUARED!), so it's all gravy, baby. (Choo-choo!) Now pay attention! It gets a bit weird here, because the event is a top-drawer drag show featuring (in addition to Ben, of course) Kitten LaRue (who is sexy) and Lou Henry Hoover (who would be my perfect man, had he the all-important penis), but also our dear friend DJ Nark comes on to spin, combining to create a show/party hybrid force that they're calling "the weirdest, bangin'-est, most-tucked-away cheese platter of showbiz dance-party realness" and/or "A Sophisticated Sh*tshow for Swanky Skanksters." The Orient Express, 10 pm, $6, 21+.

THE MONKEES AT CENTRAL CINEMA

Weep ye children, for lo! the ravages of time are dreadful. Case in point: Davy Jones. Dead, dead, dead. Which is somewhat better than what happened to most of the rest of the Monkees, who got to live but got wrinklier than muggy dog balls and older than dirt's uncle. (Barring, of course, Micky Dolenz, who was, even then—and remains to this day—rather dazzlingly hideous). Tonight we shall reflect tearfully upon the fresh, young springtime that was the Monkees then, way back in their psychedelic then, with two hours of their corny, colorful, eponymous television show. Come. See. Remember. Cry. Central Cinema, 7 pm, $5, all ages.