Tonight, our dear friend Fringe (you remember—at the Eagle? You owe it five bucks?) celebrates all things Burning Man. This is an endeavor of which I approve, as my very pro stance on nude (and mostly nude!) hot artsy stoner guys all over the damn place faaar outweighs my very anti-sand-in-everybody's-damn-pubes-forever stance and/or my pathological terror of sunlight by about 20 kajillion miles. And this little "Fringey" Burning Man is just like the real Burning Man, except that if they burn some dude, the cops are seriously going to come, it's held in an old leather bar, and it's blessedly sans the wretched pube sand, the punishing sun (damn you!), and the stupid, stupid lottery (damn you, too, stupid lottery), but blessedly retains a respectable amount of hottie artsy-stony freaks baring their hottie artsy-stony flesh, which is kind of the point if you ask me. And there's like a real Burning Man–like CAMP involved, you guys (Camp Conception—not, please note, "Conception Camp," because that tends to remind one of "Concentration Camp," and I'm certain that's not what they're going for at all), so you know. It's got AUTHENTIC BURN-YOUR-FACE-OFF BURNERISM HAPPENING! Also, it's a bit less of a communal exercise in artistic living or whatever and much more A TOTAL ALCOHOLIC RAMPAGE. And God knows there's nothing wrong with that. The Eagle, 9 pm, $5, 21+.



THIS IS A THING WE MUST DO. (SO MOTE IT BE!) And why? Of course it's because MORRISSEY! A personal all-time favorite who, for reasons beyond mortal understanding, can leave me quivering in a heap of scrumptious ennui or lead to spastic spontaneous dancing freak-outs and/or weeping if I'm not careful, and I've never been able to admit this to the world until now because STOP LOOKING AT ME IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH "HAIRDRESSER ON FIRE."* Tonight, the darling Dee Jay Jack breaks out his formidable Morrissey-spinning powers all night, all for the love of the Lucky Lisper and his Piccadilly Palare. (*Note: This is a lie.) Pony, 9 pm, free, 21+.