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2 Hours @ Campus Thursdays

By John Russell

It’s 1 a.m. when we get to Splash and we’re literally just in time to take advantage of my buddy Chris Ryan’s comp list, which closes, like, right now. In under the radar and already pretty drunk from the shots some weird dude bought us at Phoenix earlier, we head downstairs to order more drinks.

Splash. Thursday night. Twinks and Chelsea boys and lots of pop music. It’s not my usual scene, that’s for sure. But that’s sort of the reason we decided to come. It was either this or some viciously hip party on the Lower East Side. And there’s something comfortingly unintimidating about Campus Thursdays.

Downstairs we pay a visit to those formerly infamous bathrooms and then make our way to the bar. Steve Sidewalk is spinning pop music and we’re trying not to ogle the—probably straight?—bartenders. I know this is supposed to be Splash’s lounge area, but there’s not much lounging going on. Every square inch of this place is filled with cute young things dancing.

Upstairs it’s not much different, but the music does skew a little more dancey, remixes of the pop songs being played downstairs courtesy of DJ Vito Fun. We spend something like 15 minutes trying to remember the name of that redheaded porn star who works the bar and decide that it’s Blu Kennedy, but maybe we’re wrong. Not sure. Then we debate whether he’s a top or a bottom in real life and whether it’s true that he dyes his pubes. We decide that, tonight at least, the bartenders are way hotter than the go-go boys, except for that one—Brandon—who used to be in HX all the time. My drinking buddy ends up on a stripper pole and someone takes a picture.

I keep expecting to see some queens show up, but the party is surprisingly drag-deficient. I’ve heard that Splash doesn’t let women in on certain nights, but that’s certainly not the case tonight. Still, the dance floor is ruled by throngs of twenty-something gay boys, partying like it’s, you know, Thursday night!

Downstairs again, two of the go-go boys are grinding against each other in the shower behind where the DJ is set up. They’re slick and wet and hairless, and I wonder what would happen if I just got in there with them.

More Lady Gaga. That Leighton Meester song that’s totally my new guilty pleasure. It’s nearly 3 a.m. and I have one last drink with Splash’s general manager/king of all gays, Dougie. My bar buddy has disappeared into the sea of boys so I bum a cigarette from some Brazilians outside and call it a night, thankful that, unlike the cute college boys inside, I don’t have class tomorrow.

Campus Thursdays at Splash, 50 W 17th St., splashbar.com.