At the recent expansion-warming party for the Garage, everybody was
partying very much like it was 1999. Adding a grazillion more square
feet to the already mammoth Capitol Hill pool hall/bowling
alley/etc.—an entire two-story wing, with two more bars, four
more pool tables, six more lanes of bowling, and room for many, many
people to eat whilst looking out onto the fresh lanes—is a very
1999 idea, or at least an idea that probably seemed fantastic six
months ago. The new north wing used to be a parking lot. Now, a PR
person explained, the Garage can host your private party ranging from
15 to 1,200 people. You can park your time machine wherever.
No, no—the economy is not as bad as all that (yet). Right next
door to the PR event, in fact, in what’s now the Garage’s midsection,
a large and lively private party was also in full swing. The
acronym taped to the door sounded like a radio station, but proved to
be that of one of the largest “professional services firms” in the
world (which sounds like hookers but isn’t). At 6:56 p.m., two young
urban professionals of the male persuasion emerged from the acronymed
party and had a hostile exchange with another man, followed by brief
yelling, followed by one of the acronymed partygoers vomiting copiously
in the Garage’s courtyard. For the record: No real professional
vomits before 7:00 p.m., even if there’s an open bar. Points,
however, for going back in, presumably to drink more.
Inside the expansion-warming party, warmers galore enjoyed free beer
and wine from the new Star Bar, decorated with a green star that is
like a braille asterisk for a blind giant. Nearby a fish tank
houses exclusively red and orange starfish (unless the red and orange
ones ethnic-cleansed the others prior to the event). The liquor shelves
have millions of tiny mirror-squares adhered to them, which PR said one
of the owners had mosaicked by hand. This owner, Jill Young-Rosenast,
is also responsible for much of the Garage expansion’s art, which is
fantastic: in the Star Bar, small Plexiglas cases with what look like
outfits for Goth Princess Barbie (the best is off-white with what
appears to be a blood stain); in the dining area, shadow boxes full of
worn porcelain dolls that have been dismembered, so that one is
an arrangement of torsos, one of all arms, one of heads, and so forth;
at the bottom of the stairs, a penetrating grouping of glass doll
eyeballs. It’s all foreboding and elegant, and makes you want to meet
this Jill person.
Upstairs, in the new Echo Room, everyone admired (a) four large
glowing globe light fixtures with packing peanuts affixed all over them
to beautiful effect and (b) an enormous photographic mural of
tired-looking elephants on the march. The free drinks, scheduled
to end at 8:00 p.m., never stopped. 