
During prime time, every 10 to 15 minutes, several climb atop the wooden bar and dance in unison to the down-home country music playing on the digital jukebox. Hot! Fun! Sweet as sugar. And, as I wrote then, how refreshing to

Two weeks later, upon my second visit, I declared, "Among bars above the West Village, Splash is feeling long in the tooth, G Lounge is entirely too haughty, Boxers is fab but a tad generic... And thus, Flaming Saddles is the new top dog among queer bars." Nice for New York mag to catch up with The Smoking Nun, eh? *

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