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Some time during the summer of 2012 Exhale mutated into Evolution, a multi-use venue for anyone who could pay the rental fee, gay or otherwise. The space has potential which the owners never exploited when it was a gay bar. Evolution is as poorly promoted as Exhale was so many events I would have attended came and went unnoticed. At least it's easy to get to and has a reasonable amount of parking available so it's worth a visit to see what the venue has grown up to be.

Jon Taffer, the host of the TV show "Bar Rescue", says "Bars can’t be something to everyone, they need to be everything to someone." Sidewinders needs to take the hint. The owner/operator Koi Le has succeeded in making his bar nothing to anyone. Is it western? Dance? Twink? Leather? Sports? Drag? Well, it's a little of everything but not enough to have a defining personality. Or personality of any kind. And it's amazingly inconsistent for a bar that's trying to cover all bases. There may or may not be a cover at the door on any given night. Your bartender may be prompt or completely absent. Your drink may be over-poured or under-poured (sorry, has never been dead on for me). The music may be selected for the night, or cable feed, or a random MP3 library. The leather event you attend may be followed immediately by a drag night. The professional drunks who won't leave you alone may be belligerent, or trashy, or just tacky. You roll the dice when you go to Sidewinders, but rest assured, it'll never be more that merely average.

If this private club lost its smoking permit the bar stools would be empty overnight. The bartenders are competent and friendly and remember guests and their drink preferences, and that's good. But the hospitality ends there. Because of the bizarre business model (they're classified as "lodging" through some strange twist of logic at City Hall) it's never clear who the managers are or who's responsible for the lack-luster offerings. The interior resembles a VFW hall right down to the folding tables. There's someone who knows how to double-click an MP3 file masquerading as a DJ, the music selection is complaint driven. A middle-aged lesbian will go will go to the booth and complain "Why haven't you played this song yet?" and it gets played. Then another middle-aged lesbian will go to the booth and complain "Why haven't you played THIS song yet?" and so it goes all night long. Too many patrons come from Santa Fe and make it clear they're fabulous because they come from a small town overrun by Californians with no gay bars of its own. Groucho Marx once said "I don't care to belong to any club that will have me as a member" and ASC's patrons should have taken the hint.

It takes a lot of gall to charge $10 to get into this dump. The raw space is pretty cool but what the owners did with it is pathetic. The dance floor is made of OSB, the chip-board used to build houses. You'll recognize the furniture from Big Lots. Are those shower curtains hanging from the rafters? Cocktails are served in the flimsiest plastic cups, shots are served in the tiny bathroom Dixie cups your dentist uses for mouthwash. The DJ's are perpetually stoned or whacked out on X and spin the most tedious 90's dance tripe, the effects lighting comes from Spencer Gifts. Half the patrons are fat straight girls accompanying their twink gay boy friends. If you have any self-respect you'll skip this tacky disco and instead hang out at one of the sidewalk hot dog carts and laugh at the tragic klub kidz staggering in and out of EFFEX.