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Club Review October 2, 2007
Finally, A Real Elitny Underground Club
By Dmitriy Babooshka Browse author

My life is such a drama! Not a good drama, either, but the depressing Russian kind. You see, my iPhone was stolen just one week after I got it. This tragedy happened while I was at the elitny supermarket Azbuka Vkusa (you never find me at Kopeika!), and while I was in the ice cream section, some khachik swiped it from my back pocket. I know it was him because Azbuka's manager showed me the video later in the security room. I watched as my iPhone was stolen from me, yelling at the monitor, "Dima, turn around!" with tears in my eyes.

Luckily an event was on the horizon to help me forget about my phone.

I always dreamed of owning my own yacht, which is normal for such successful upper-middle manager like myself. So I was happy to join my friend Kostya for his birthday party on a yacht. Of course, he doesn't own it, not yet-he's still just a brand manager for a Hungarian dish washing soap producer, so he's got to rise up a few rungs on the ladder. Instead, he rented a yacht at VODNIK, the oldest and most respected yacht club in Moscow.

I was excited because for years now I've been wearing Paul&Shark and Murphy&Nye polo shirts and sweaters. But this was the first chance I had to wear them on a real yacht.

During our boat ride, I met some important players. One of them, Sergei, is a young militsia officer. We had a friendly chat about life. It's always good to have such friends in power, even if they are still lieutenants.

I told Sergei about my new idee fixe to invest into something spiritual which gives me power and respect. Sergei told me that for $2,000 he could arrange to get me a real "ksiva," or police ID, which I could then use anywhere like a magic wand.

He said that if I do this and get the ID, the way it would work is I'd be officially employed at his crime investigation department as an undercover agent, but I wouldn't have to actually appear at the precinct. Meanwhile, he'd receive my salary himself.

As any Muscovite, I understood the advantages to carrying this "ksiva." I can drive fast and drunk and not worry about having to pay a huge bribe. Or I could flash it and get free fucks from prostitutes afraid of going to jail. I could punish any khachik who tries to steal my phone. I could do almost anything I want, and my ass would be legally covered. I'd be like Superman!

On the ride back to Moscow from the yacht club, I was thinking about nothing but Sergei's offer. Was he serious? Will he cheat me? Isn't it too expensive? I didn't know the answers so I decided to put it off for now, consider the plusses and minuses, and save myself money that could be used for something else, such as a new Prada phone, or a sports tuneup for my VW Passat.

Later in the evening I went to the opening of a new club called VERSUS. From the name I expected a club straight out of the mid-1990s, when everyone (never me!) was wearing fake Versace or D&G jeans, and working in trade in fly-by-night companies. Or for international aid programs.

Let me point out here that the only reason I work for The eXile is that it helps me to get into clubs without the usual embarrassing wait at the entrance. So I called the PR girl for Versus and introduced myself as the club reviewer for The eXile. She said she'd never heard of this paper and started to hang up. But then, after an inspirational speech about the greatness of The eXile, she put me on the list, warning me that "Nothing, you hear me, nothing will go to print without my approval."

Versus is located in the basement of an apartment building right across from the Azbuka Vkusa on Mayakovskaya-yes, the very same one where my iPhone was stolen. It's a new building that's only three years old, and for some reason you never see any windows lit up at night. I don't know why no one lives there but the club promoters took a chance to use its empty underground parking and put a nightclub club there. I wondered if the owner of the building even knew that the club existed.

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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

Scanning Moscow’s Traffic Cops
Automotive Section
We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

Eleven Years of Threats: The eXile's Incredible Journey
Feature Story By The eXile
Good Night, and Bad Luck: In a nation terrorized by its own government, one newspaper dared to fart in its face. Get out your hankies, cuz we’re taking a look back at the impossible crises we overcame.

Your Letters
Russia's freedom-loving free market martyr Mikhail Khodorkovsky answers some of this week's letters, and he's got nothing but praise for President Medvedev.

Clubbing Adventures Through Time
Club Review By Dmitriy Babooshka
eXile club reviewer Babooshka takes a trip through time with the ghost of Moscow clubbing past, present and future, and true to form, gets laid in the process.

The Fortnight Spin
Bardak Calendar By Jared Lindquist
Jared comes out with yet another roundup of upcoming bardak sessions.

Your Letters
Richard Gere tackles this week's letters. Now reformed, he fights for gerbil rights all around the world.

13 Toxic Talents: Hollywood’s Worst Polluters
America By Eileen Jones
Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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