1 North Saginaw Street
Pontiac, MI 48342
Oakland County
Phone: (248) 338-7337
Fax: unknownWebsite: no website on fileEmail: no email on fileHours: unknown
Dueling Pianos - About Us
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by F. M. on Are you a person of taste, decorum and refinement? Have a good look at the patrons currently in line at The Edison. . . Now, look down at yourself.. . . If you are not the kind of person who keeps a firearm under your car seat, a blunt behind your ear, or must repeatedly tuck the frayed cord of your Ed Hardy thong back inside your True Religion for Kirkland brand jeans, then you are at the WRONG place. Keep going down the street, around the corner, or back home. There's many amazing bars to patronize downtown and you should go to all of them because The Edison's shining bulbs have dimmed to weak flickers, its amber filaments exhausted with the nightly parsing of contrived patrician revelry through the years down to the dregs of Los Angeles. The shimmering glory I had recalled of The Edison was brilliant with moody intrigue, an innate nod to class and refinement without trying at all. As of last Friday, I hadn't been inside The Edison for over a year, but remembered the handful of times we had visited as outstanding, led by professional and astute doormen and bartenders. The clientele, a motley mix of quintessentially hip, modern and attractive LA professionals. This past Friday, my husband and I planned a surprise evening at The Edison following a fantastic dinner nearby for my two out of town cousins from Seattle & Long Beach, respectively. When we approached the door, a rotund man sprouting a perspiring head and a suit secured with what could only have been Velco, said we could not enter. Let me premise this by saying all 5 of us are over 35, professionals, and speak English as a first language. We even read and write it and well. The five of us are highly adept at configuring appropriate attire for various nighttime excursions. My husband owns a tuxedo. We are well-versed on world events, politics, art, food and bad acting. The rotund man burped out something about my husband and my male cousin not adhering to their "Strictest in Los Angeles dress code." My husband had on a dress shirt with French cuffs impaled by Dunhill cuff links and Prada shoes. His "ripped jeans" were of the darkest denim imaginable with no rips at all, but faint squares sewn like wallet-sized playing cards over his knees made by Rag & Bone. My cousin had on a dress shirt, dark jeans and a brand new pair of white leather shoes. In the meantime, the line began to lengthen as we moved aside embarrassed by the mondo man's ridiculous claims. I demanded to speak to the manager. There's a few things I can do on this planet and they include dressing well. If I am nothing, I am a woman of great fashion integrity and have great admiration (and a healthy collection) of all things couture, appropriate and classy. I am born and raised in Los Angeles. Hollywood, to be precise. I reside on the Westside, have a mortgage and have never been arrested, tattooed or inside a Wallmart. In all my years of entering clubs, restaurants and bars, I have NEVER been detained alone, or because of someone in my party, for a dress code infraction. NEVER. NOT ONCE. At The Edison's door, I spoke with a diminutive Englishman who claimed himself boss of the night. Wearing his only Zegna tie, though golden and attractive, it just made him seem shorter and more prone to not getting the many acting gigs he's surely auditioned for unsuccessfully in the past decade. He said I should have looked at the venue's website. I explained to him that we have been to the Edison many times in the past so there would have been no inspiration or need to peruse their website for possible fashion infractions. He looked up at me and said "no frayed jeans". There were no frayed jeans in our party. Then he had the sheer and degrading audacity to suggest I race over to the mall around the corner before it closed to purchase much finer and "appropriate" apparel for my husband and cousin to ensure their entrance to The Edison. If I was a man, I would have clocked him in the grille right then and there. No one suggests something like that to anyone in any circumstance. He deserves the condom with a hole, when he least expects it. My husband is the President of a large Movie/TV advertising firm with over 150 employees. He is a man that is not denied admission to a declining downtown club for jeans with intentional patches. We are people who host and attend large benefits and events. We are not Dockers wearing, strip mall working folk from 40 miles outside Los Angeles. We went to The Edison that evening to show my out of town cousins a good time with the additional desire of scouting the venue to ensure it could accommodate over 300 guests for my husband's company holiday party this December. I explained all of this to the Englishman. He either didn't believe me, was angry that he was working, his boyfriend dumped him, or his working Visa is about to expire.
by Margie Sobotka on So me and my girl Debbi were here religiously during the summer. I used to rave alot almost 10 years ago, and coming to the End Up made me realize the true power of music. I fell in love again with music after having the love lie dormant for so long. It helps to have a gorgeous sexy beautiful person (in more ways than one), be at your side while your spinning out of control. Hi Debi! Anywho speaking of Debi, tell me, where else, turn to your lover, and have the same readable look in your eye, while you both yell out ORANGEMOCHAFRAPACCINO!!.........kiddding, you yell out let's get the hail outta here, and lets go to the End Up main!!!!!!!! !! Thaaaaaaaaaank you!
