Fly NYE
Wednesday, Dec 31, 11:45pm
Fly Nightclub
2015. 20–15=5. It’s the average age, I think, that most of the people in here were when Fly Nightclub first opened almost 15 years ago. Fresh and frisky. We enter good old Fly on this frightfully cold winter evening at 11:45pm, and the club is just filling up. As we whisk past the lengthy line to catch the end of DJ Sumation’s opening set, I wish everyone outside a happy New Year, knowing that some of these latecomers won’t make it inside before the clock strikes midnight. A lineup is the worst place to be. The other worst place to be as the year begins is outside on the sidewalk having a cigarette. Yes, even though Fly has a spacious patio where everyone has always been allowed to smoke, new bylaws now prevent partygoers from doing so. Even though smoking is the only reason anyone would need to go out to a patio in the middle of a wintery night, the enclosed space in front of the club is blocked off, forcing people onto the sidewalk like displaced homeless huffers. Inside, however, the night is about to be set on fire as Sofonda — surrounded by four backup dancers — leads the riotous crowd on a 10-second countdown that culminates with white balloons bursting onto the dancefloor before her seven-minute showstopping performance. But stealing the countdown spotlight are dancers Logan and Ryan, who break rank to cross the stage and exchange a midnight kiss in front of the approving crowd. I almost forgot that this is a tradition. Another tradition is introducing audiences to new talent. Tonight it’s American pop singer Skye Stevens. Singing his catchy “Pass the Keyz” in a light-up leather jacket, he keeps the energy up post-Sofonda. The night now belongs to headliner DJ Mark Falco. The year, however, belongs to us.

Rolyn & Alex

Ariel & Tom

Skye Stevens and his light-up jacket

Logan & Ryan

Star & Jeffrey

Pitbull: Whiteout
Thurs, Jan 1, 12:45am
The Phoenix
2015. 20+15=35. It’s the average age, I think, of most of the men at Pitbull’s NYE Whiteout party. Mature and manly. The countdown has long since passed and the new year has begun as we make our way into the sea of white-clothed — and partially clothed — men on the dancefloor of the Phoenix. Promoter Francis Gaudreault gushes about his team of go-go guys; they’re wearing matching, sparkly silver Speedos, and they’re shooting wads of confetti into the crowd with their massive cannons. Some stop to reload while two guys lie down on the stage to receive intimate midnight kisses from sweaty admirers on the dancefloor below. As we cruise to the beats of DJs John Caffery and Shane Stiel and pass by beard after beard after beard, I wonder if the hot, hairy, mountain man look will pass this year? I predict that handlebar mustaches trimmed to precision and waxed with Astroglide will be the next big gay-daddy look. It’ll be more than a conversation starter; you’ll actually be able to lube up your partner while licking his cornhole. Practical. And speaking of cornholes, a few guys are wearing nothing but butt-exposing, hole-highlighting jockstraps. I’m not sure how I feel about this. We’ve all been on the dancefloor when someone lets one rip. A little bit of fabric between you, us and your potential fart is, to me, a polite courtesy. Unless you’re a go-go guy on a podium several feet above my nostrils. Then I’m all for it. All eyes are on them. This year, however, all eyes are on you.