-At the wise, old age of twenty-eight, I’ve long since given up on going to any lounge or club that might be hard to get into or involve waiting on line.  I’m so over that shit.  But every once in a while – in a moment of weakness – I’ll agree to go out somewhere and soon find myself arguing with a chick wielding a clipboard while I’m barred from entry by a gigantic bouncer.  The weekend should be about unwinding with friends and drunkenly hitting on everything that moves – not about paying a cover just so I can go inside and take a fucking piss.  Yet bars continue to crop up that cater to a certain crowd – call them velvet dopes – who don’t realize that oftentimes the longer the line outside, the lamer the situation inside.  The twentysomething drinking experience is in rapid decline, so here are a few suggestions on how I would make nightlife more about going out and less about getting in.

-Let’s take all of the bathroom attendants out of the exclusive clubs in LA, New York, and Miami, and put them in the restrooms at airports and sports stadiums – where they’re desperately needed.  It’s a waste to have attendants manning bathrooms in clubs when their sole purpose is to provide obnoxious kids a cleaner surface to blow lines off of.

-Each major city should have a designated district of karaoke bars, thus preventing me from walking into one by accident.  Nothing is worse than enjoying a quiet evening of binge drinking with the boys when suddenly some chick starts belting out “Like a Virgin” from a karaoke machine set at fifty decibels louder than the space shuttle launch.  In a perfect world, karaoke would be limited to bachelorette parties and Tokyo.

-Just like certain restaurants have a B.Y.O.B. policy that allows you to bring your own wine, clubs should let you bring your own bottles of liquor.  You would still pay for beer, mixers, as well as a small corkage fee.  OK, admittedly, that would never fly, but at the very least, let’s stop referring to paying $500 for a bottle of Absolut as bottle “service.”  It should be more accurately described as getting torn a new asshole but at least having a place to sit down and rest it.