More often than not, today's clubbing experience goes something like this: You stand outside in a long line that's blocked with a velvet rope, waiting to be given a nod by some self-important tool with a clipboard in his hand and an earpiece in his ear. As you wait, some barely dressed bitch burns you with her cigarette, and the menacing bouncer eyes you like he wants to kill you. Then you pay a $20 cover for the privilege of hemorrhaging more money on $15 cocktails, being surrounded by a crowd that's raging on drugs, and watching some overhyped European DJ press "play" on his laptop and send untz-untz music coursing... More >>>