Last night, my friend, Vince d’ Prince, sent me a text message that read “Binibini tyo.” I need not even reply to such messages, it’s as sure as day turns to night. I only need to show up. An hour after (and I’m still contemplating on what to wear), I received another message (a surprising one) this time from my friend, Baurtwell. “Pare, na-raid Binibini!” With which I replied, “Ano? Paano na mga alaga natin?” And I meant every word of that, with the sadness of an old mammal.
I have always wanted to write something about Binibini – my favorite “club.” For some reason, I always felt it would turn my blog into another (and my most feared, but inevitable) adult site. I know I have not yet introduced you (reader) to the place, let alone the lovable human being I morph into when I’m there, but my urge to write about this incident is strong.
For the unaware, find the nationwide-famous landmark Lydia’s Lechon along Roxas Boulevard and you’ll begin to understand Binibini. Let’s just leave it at that.
The place was raided last Tuesday. Yes, all clubs are prone to being raided, but I know Binibini has it’s own share of “informants.” Unfortunately, a minor secretly engaged in “gimmick.” Again, for the unaware, “gimmick” is doing it within the premises (VIP rooms; and now I know you are beginning to understand this post). Last night, the place was closed, no hint of life whatsoever, it was a sad, sad sight.
You must think I am a sad, sad man; most probably a dirty old one. Yes, I am a man, not quite old and not quite young, but I am every bit as dirty as you are. This place is different I tell you. A place where everybody knows my name (our names). A place (workers and customers) for real people, with real problems (therefore real happiness). Taboo is nothing.