"Happy Birthday Frank Barron!

Frank Barron reporting, your midnight tour guide, your personal gadfly, your late night scribe. It's 11:11 upon my arrival at FB's for the duration of my term, and  tonight has all the makings of something special. Just landed in the Queen City from an extended stay in Tuscany to celebrate the one year anniversary of the little lounge we call affectionately call FB's. I apologize for the hiatus, but hey, the wine in central Italy ain't gonna bottle itself. You ask, Is the Funky Bastard the place to be tonight? Is the Harvard rowing team bitter after after the Yale defeat? Of course, so let see what we can find.

In an effort to chronicle the night's greatest quotes, Peter Mclaren comes through with the winner early on. While speaking about his travels in Europe, he says, "I shot a boar ox from 250 yards in the middle of the night in Portugal". And he's not a man who would exaggerate such things, So what will become of the corpses of the boar ox, you ask, "The foxes will have them". Speaking of foxes (nobody segways like Frank Barron) I am introduced to the lovely Hiromi Oshima of International modeling and Playboy magazine fame. No higher compliment could be paid, when she describes yours truly as "the Hugh Heffner of Cincinnati", and this is from a lady who knows the man. Hey Hiromi, I'm not nearly that prolific, but if you're down, You know where to find me. Nevertheless, me and my crowd shuffle off to the new RH basement lounge.

My inaugural trip downstairs through the "Recreational Habitat" reveals more wonders than could be expected. With more personalities per square foot than anywhere else in the west of the Alleghenys and east of the Rockies. Described by some as your weird neighbor's basement during a 70's swingers party. Now add a guy with a Basquiat shirt, Donkey Kong and Ms Pac Man full size arcade consoles along with a DJ spinning Jimi Hendrix, a bar, two girls dressed in "Swiss Miss" outfits, an instant photo screen, glow in the dark glasses, Scott Sheridan in a sombrero, and Cincinnati's Mayor Mallory posted up by the entrance and you get an idea of the scene, and all this before the clock strikes midnight, as we await the next progression of old school sequel moments.

An elderly gentleman says to his wife, "Finish your drink and let's get out of here." A sentiment not shared by many, but no offense taken, I guess they didn't have many watering holes like this during the Eisenhower years. I know that denim and silk didn't mix way back when, but who wants to leave when the women are now flooding the floor space like this, and one thin young lady in a black dress catches my eye. The mood is cool, Recreational Habitat is a hit, and now the light playing off the walls and camera flashes feels as though we are all swimming in a life-size underground aquarium.

Of course the night could not be complete until the notorious Afroman (scream "Holy Afroman") hops out of a mini van and proceeds to perform a rousing edition of "Because I Got High" and places a cherry on top of the night. This is what's known as a memorable moment. True to form, he shouts "Let's get drunk tonight, let's get high tonight, I don't want to die tonight." Hey, me neither, and the Octoberfest traffic can be a killer.

As I leave the festivities behind and make my way through the downtown streets, I'm reminded of how fast a year goes by. Always remember this, not just everybody can go where Frank Barron goes, but if you're sexy, you can gain admittance to FB's. Regents and rapscallions, stiff shirts and stylemakers, playmates and politicians.. Some said it wouldn' t last, but the critics were wrong once again. One day the foxes may have the corpse of this place, but not yet. Happy One Year to one hell of a cocktail lounge. The nightlife, much like myself, lives on to see another day. 

FASHIONABLE BEHAVIOR - JUNE 8 2010

Frank Barron reporting, your midnight tour guide, your personal gadfly, your late night scribe. It's 11:17 upon my arrival at FB's for the duration of my term. The DJ is spinning. the lights are low, and the Blue Chip City's premier place to be seen / cocktail dance lounge is hosting a bevy of our favorite people. For tonight, the town is a buzz with the taste of the city.

It was a night of 1000 martini glasses as the ladies literally poured in by the busload. From the overdressed to the underdressed, the "right" crowd was in full attendance. The dance floor filled up quickly tonight, to warrant standing room only status as the warm up DJ Phatboy spins in full effect.

True to my theme, DJ Mia Guzman (miaguzman.com) was fashionably late, showing up at 12:45AM. After numerous flight delays, Mia had arrived (minus her luggage) an hour earlier creating a fashion emergency. A pair of size 8 shoes & a sexy size 4 dress were needed. Stylist Adhrucia Apana to the rescue! She raced to her home in Indian Hill, threw together an outfit, dodged downtown traffic and took Mia to the party just in time for the "late night push". I', told Mia's stylized set included a wide range of everything funky from Miike Snow's "Animal" remix by Mark Ronson to Cali Swag District's "Teach Me How To Dougie". But enough press release material. Our DJ is gorgeous, and I've been known to say that's what really matters?

F.B.'s very own VIP Host Logan Hiudt was celebrating his birthday in style popping bottles w/ family & friends at the Big Yellow Chair. The West Coast Laker game ends and now a special presentation of "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" is on the screen, and it still translates, causing me to ponder. Just why in the hell was there never a sequel to that timeless classic. That new Usher hit "So Many Ways To Love You" OMG song is penetrating the crowded scene at this point.

Duffy Money was celebrating her "22nd birthday" in the Rabbit Hole! (So you mean to tell me she's only been consuming alcoholic beverages for one calendar year, really?) She didn't last long disappearing before Mia's "fashionably late" arrival. Nevertheless, the joint is packed with more than enough eye candy to smile at, most notably the gal with the golden "Swiss Miss" pigtails.

Alas my night is fit to seek closure. Another swell evening at FB's was now logged safely in the record books. I dash to my shuttle just in time for my overnight flight. Frank Barron's got commencement addresses and wedding toasts to make. As for the the crowd I leave behind, they look to be in great spirits, and I'll sleep easy tomorrow knowing they're in good hands.

FASHIONABLE BEHAVIOR - with Frank Barron

5-3-10

Frank Barron reporting, your midnight tour guide, your personal gadfly, your late night scribe. It's 10:42 upon my arrival at FB's for the duration of my term. The music is cool. the lights are low, and the Blue Chip City's premier swanky gathering spot and cocktail dance lounge is catering to the blue bloods. For tonight, your best polo shirt is required at the annual Preppy Party, where wealth is welcomed, and greed is good.

As I make my way through the plaid pant crowd gazing at the Sheridan Open leader board, the verbal exchange: "I like your bow tie"..."I like your bow tie", was heard more than once (and let's face it, it's so hard to find a good bow tie nowadays). There are enough sweaters tied around Lacoste shoulders to populate several 80's teen movie villain auditions.

In my double pastel Ralph Lauren ensemble and fox hunting loafers, I separate myself from the other trust fund babies and make my way behind the velvet ropes where I had the good fortune to be seated beside the always delightful Kim Sheridan and her completely adorable friend with immaculate curly hair reminiscent of Felicity, both smartly adorned in their finest private bording school attire.

There are sparklers now at every table as well as cran-apple juice that reminds us all of our days at Oxford. The playlist is quality, but let's be honest, dancing was always for the middle-class, and dancing in public is for the poor.

As Caddy Shack fades into Wall Street I'm wondering how many of tonight's Ivy League idealist will be swept away in the next wave of corporate corruption. Nevertheless, if your looking to stumble upon some bitchin' stock tips, you've picked the right watering hole. Speaking of stumbling, the homeless man dancing to the juke box tunes is a treat that even the most privileged amongst us can savor, and since his drinks were on the house, it's a win/win situation for us all.

The best dressed attendees realize how important it is to accessorize, just ask our host who's head to toe in tailored blue and white seersucker or the popular tennis tour professional, Francis Ballsworth, who stole the show with an outfit worthy of a Wimbledon Final, complete with "Head" brand racket and racket cover sponsorship. "May the fortunes smile upon you in Roland Garous this summer, Francis!"

Alas my evening must come to a conclusion, I have an early tee time at the country club in the morning, and my driver gets all persnickety when I'm late. As for the preppy crowd, ask any of your more fortunate friends and they'll tell you, "Greed is good?" Possibly... But remember, you don't have to be wealthy to be rich, and if you're lucky enough to be both, and I hope you chose to dress the part.

FASHIONABLE BEHAVIOR Vol. 2 (4/9/10)

Is it better to be lucky or good? Frank Barron reporting, your midnight tour guide, your personal gadfly, your late night scribe. It's 11:11 upon my arrival at FB's for the duration of my term. The lights are low, and the Queen City's premier adult playground and cocktail dance lounge is buzzing once again.

On this night I'm immediately recognized and whisked into the premises. There I'm introduced to this week's birthday girl, and just so happens she's a stunner. In my impromptu process to memorize her face I completely forget to memorize her name. Damn, such are the perils of the fast introduction. She says "nice to meet you" as if she may really mean it, I absorb the moment and move on.

I'm escorted by the proprietor to my own reserved table. Hey, looks like Mr. Barron is stepping up in the world, and I've brought my new Armani shoes out to mark the occasion. As par usual I decline any liquid spirits and take my seat. Remember kids, Sitting is better than standing, and you can get away with so much more. Staring at the bar, I think of how the array of bottles are set up like an intricate art installation (I wonder if I can make a fortune off some sad curator with this concept).

As the DJ kicks on my favorite song, I'm distracted by a particular female visitor to my reserved table, she's nicely equipped with puffy afro, light leg warmers, (how cute) and heels. In my mind, we share a moment without saying a word. I'll regret not getting her numbers, but I have my rules. Never approach a woman until you've seen her twice. Plus, when Frank Barron's on assignment, Frank Barron's on assignment. Sorry lovely, I'll either see you later or in my dreams.

Nothing better than fresh women prepping for pictures. By the poses, I can only imagine the photographer saying, "Give me sexy kitten". Just then 2 girls saunter in wearing silver Red Bull backpacks. I don't pretend to know their purpose, and since they leave two minutes later without distributing beverages, God only knows. The DJ's selections are now taking hold, finally the dancing girls begin to come to the forefront. Now is the time to separate the men from the mannequins, and as the night grows longer the heels get higher.

Well, my hourglass is running out of sand, the phone needs recharging, and it's already past my bedtime. You already know my catch phrase, "Every night has a story, and Frank Barron is it's biographer." And now it's time to go (my import turns into a pumpkin after midnight). But not before being hit with a $50 parking citation from Cincinnati's finest. Hey, I never said It was lucky, luckily for you, It's just that good.

Frank Barron

FASHIONABLE BEHAVIOR - with Frank Barron

FASHIONABLE BEHAVIOR

with Frank Barron

Friday February 26th, 2010

Frank Barron reporting, your midnight tour guide, your personal gadfly, your late night scribe. It's 10:35 upon my arrival at FB's for the duration of my term.

It was fine to see that the modern club rule that "no song will be allowed to play more than 65 seconds before the DJ must mix in another song" was strictly observed, and when Salt N Pepa's "Shoop" comes on. I'm doubly grateful. White belts with blue jeans are in this season, but this season is almost up. The ratio of women flocking to the rest room compared to men is approximately 38 to 1, and the male dress code seems to be overly influenced by Maroon 5. Kill Bill is on the flat screen, and the Red Bull is starting to take hold.

Amazing that in 2010 you can kick on "Genius of Love" and it still gets the party jumpin'. Balloons in the VIP section reveal a birthday of some sort. I'm betting this 29 year old song may be older than the birthday girl. As for the party, I'm not invited, and Frank Barron doesn't invite himself. Ducking photographers and blending in with the wallpaper will be my only challenge, and the fight between Uma Thurman and Go Go Yubari explains itself without words.

The service is excellent, but I'm here for the scene. I mean the women, oops. I mean the scene. I'm all about the decor, and did I mention that the service is excellent. If you ever questioned if the Midwest knows how to do the whole "cocktail lounge" thing, then you really should leave the coast more often.

Gazing at the beautiful chandelier, I spot the female of whom I'd most like to pursue, but she's holding hands with another woman who's holding the hands of another man. Before I can figure out this arrangement I'm distracted by the four "over served" dancers enjoying every song as if it were their last. One of which takes special interest in me. Her friend chides me for not being more receptive. I give my standard "I'm on assignment" smirk, and we choose to forget the moment. The spot is layered with friendly smiles and the occasional pretentious face. I'm speaking to you, hot thing with the Burberry purse. No hard feelings though, I'd gladly trade places with your boyfriend (and that also applies to the lady entering at 12:10 w/ the North Face jacket, you know who you are).

I get approached by a woman who wonders if I represent the media, I tell her I represent myself. I then say "Stardom is an eggshell", just to give her something to ponder about. If I look suspicious, it's suspiciously amazing, and this is on a night I forgot to bring my glasses. It was a good evening at FB's, as one day passed on to the next, I've got a plane to catch in the morning, and with that I exit into the frozen night, Frank Barron is ghost.