If I could invest in a new bar venture, I'd aim (cough) straight for the Gen X/Y hipster lesbian contingent, the very crowd that is quite literally packing the Eagle to the rafters this evening. Baby dykes of every stripe--from cherub-faced budding butches to svelte, inky-haired femmes--are streaming through the door to "Muscle," the club's monthly DJ night anchored by the mixing skills of Pink Robot proprietress Lisa Orth and Stranger columnist Kurt Reighley. After paying a highly reasonable cover charge of $3 and checking my coat with Paul (a man who could easily qualify as the friendliest doorman in the city), I order a vodka soda from the bar and make my way upstairs to check out the DJ booth. Orth is an inspirational spaz of a girl, bouncing manically next to her turntables and enjoying the smooth, crowd-pleasing results of seguing from Black Sabbath into Public Image Limited. She has no shortage of fans and the area surrounding the booth is growing prohibitively crowded. I slink downstairs, past the flickering images of a Scissor Sisters' DVD projected on the wall and head for the back bar, a partially covered outdoor area. Waiting in line for a second drink proves highly fruitful in the eavesdropping department; I hear a handful of folks reminiscing about the days when the floor of this back bar was covered in gravel, essentially creating an aesthetic comparable to a cat box. Suddenly heads swivel in unison to admire the entry of a dazzling couple, one sporting Marlene Dietrich-esque drag accented with a textbook-perfect pencil mustache, the other tricked out in resplendent drag-pimp style, complete with walking cane and a bright-blue coif. Someone needs to tap into this market pronto. HANNAH LEVIN