I wish I was more qualified to write a proper eulogy, but quite frankly I wasn't the most avid of attendees. But it still comes with great sadness that this weekend marked the passing of one of the areas night time landmarks. Without question the greater Boston area has suffered another devastating loss in the name of gentrification. This past weekend was the last hurrah for ManRay. Say what you will about the club's reputation
or clientele, but whenever something that has been around for 25 years plus closes down you know it will be missed.

So here's what I remember.

I would never go willingly, "but sometimes you gotta dance." By no means was I a regular, but random Saturday nights (always Saturday, not Friday night for those of you in the know), my uber-cool girlfriend would always talk me into going. And as much as I hated to admit it, it was a lot of fun.

Going for the first time I needed to ask my somewhat edgier roommate about what to wear. His suggestion: anything black, the tighter the better. I knew that this meant either leather or vinyl and I didn't think that a few nights a year demanded an entirely new life-style change, but this did lead to my brief shopping flings at Allston Beat. Traditional club wear be damned. I also remember running into a classmate of mine there who certainly seemed to be in his element. Sadly (luckily) I was never able to ascertain the rumor that one of my profs was a regular, who was known for wearing some very non-class appropriate attire.

If there was ever a place to break out the leather chaps and bondage gear this was the place. And I saw that and much more (less) than I could of imagined. If I had one word to describe ManRay it would be writhing. Interesting people dancing to synthesized sounds, wearing interesting outfits and always teaming with energy, mostly sexual, but that's a good thing.

Maybe it was seeing my girl writhing around in a boa and fishnets. Maybe it was being 19 and carrying a flask full of whatever we could get our hands on. Maybe it was the utter freedom of being who you were and no one giving a fuck about any of it. And the fact that they handed out single-serving sizes of water-based lubricant and tootsie pops was always a nice touch. Whatever it was a night at ManRay was certainly not your standard night out, but running jokes aside I always had a good time.