![]() ![]() Mark Vanhoenacker, a pilot, calls it Aeroese, and has a longstanding fondness for it: “ We’re instructed to pronounce three as ‘TREE’ and nine as ‘NINER’, and 25,000 as ‘two-five thousand’ (more specifically, ‘TOO FIFE TOUSAND’), not ‘twenty-five thousand’, because experience has shown that these modified pronunciations are less likely to be misunderstood. The language of the skies is like the language of the road, but less profane … more altitudinous.That’s how powerful its juju was … Gay bars are therapy for people who can’t afford therapy temples for people who lost their religion, or whose religion lost them vacations for people who can’t go on vacation homes for folk without families sanctuaries against aggression.” People went in, and when they came out, they weren’t just drunk-they were different people. It’s long gone-made extinct like too many wonders by gentrification and Giuliani-but for a hot moment in the ’90s, it was the single most fabulous place in the galaxy. It smelled like mildew, urine, cheap vodka, and Designer Imposters body spray. It was off Tompkins Square Park and Avenue B, when Tompkins Square Park was still a place you’d go to to buy drugs. Like all great gay bars, Crowbar was a dump: dark, low-ceilinged, shitty sound system. In the grim aftermath of the tragedy in Orlando, Richard Kim pays tribute to gay bars as institutions: “ My first gay bar was Crowbar.
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