A recent visit to Manhattan by some Brooklyn-dwelling Canadians on a mission to be shameless tourists for a night resulted in a couple hours at Lucky Cheng's. I protested, then hid as I ducked into the East Village tourist trap, and eventually tried to make the best of it. But it's what you'd expect: Midwesterners and screeching bachelorettes gawking at drag queens as they sip neon cocktails that taste like off-brand candy gone bad. It's no surprise that EVers aren't exactly heartbroken that the bar is moving to Times Square. I could barely choke down a strawful of this Windex-blue sickly sweet "Orgasm in a bowl." At least I now know my snobbishness about the place wasn't unfounded. I came, I gagged, I ran out before anyone I knew saw me.
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