Lord of the Dance (Machines)

Special K told me several months ago about a funny dude who works an IT gig at the NYPD by day and turns into a dancing maniac by night. She claimed he quaffs pink cosmos the entire evening, whirls around the dance floor like the Tasmanian Devil (or, perhaps more appropriately, Carlton from "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air"), and sweats through his dress shirts—and that he graces a different boite every night of the week.

I told her I had to see this for myself, so we ventured one school night to Gaslight, a festive bar in the Meatpacking district where the crowd runs the gamut from NYC glossy and button-down-donning ballers to hip hop-loving chill types and international nerds (it's been around forever, and will likely remain when only the locusts roam the streets of the Big Apple). According to his synchronized MySpace and Facebook dance schedule, Wednesday equals Gaslight for Mandar Dance Machine.

Having beaten Special K to the bar, I ordered a Patrón Silver on the rocks (Special K's signature drink--they don't call me Single White Female for nothing). No one was dancing, so I surveyed the scene in hopes of spotting this fledgling NY nightlife legend...and was crestfallen when I didn't see anyone matching his singular description. I felt something akin to the acute frustration of those who search vainly for Sasquatch.

Suddenly a smiling dude appeared out of nowhere at the far end of the bar. He was swaying back and forth to the music, an intent, focused look in his eyes as he listened to the pounding beats. I looked for the tell-tale cosmo in hand—JACKPOT! It had to be him.

Sure enough, fueled by his first pink cocktail, Mandar began a dizzying, dazzling combination of acrobatic pirouettes and jeté entrelacé-inspired moves that transfixed the entire bar--some in awe, some in terror. Others turned to flee, halted only by the teaming downpour outside.

It became readily apparent that he not only has a devout following and fan club, but Mandar Dance Machine is extraordinarily plugged into the dancing nightlife scene around NYC. He was even texting song requests to DJ Willy Won Tyme. Thirty minutes after he hit the dance floor, Mandar was 100% soaked through. I asked if he'd ventured outside in the rain. He said, "No...that's, um luuuuvvvvvvv juice!" Heavens!

The genesis of the Mandar Dance Machine phenomenon? His friend Rappstar said it all started one Wednesday night when he lured Mandar out for a chill drink. But Mandar said he wanted to find a bar where people dance, so they wandered to the Meatpacking district, having heard that a whole lotta shakin' happens there. The pair sauntered past Gaslight, where Mandar laid eyes on a beautiful bartender through the open window. As he was immediately captivated by the fair maiden, in they went. DJ Willy Won Tyme played something that stirred the dozing Flashdancer within Mandar, and he suddenly took to the dance floor like a (somewhat crazed) fish to water. Rappstar had never seen anything like it...indeed, no one has. And the rest, as they say, is hot-steppin' history.

We know you want in on this, Ladies. According to his social networking profiles, Mandar enjoys surfing the Web, aerobics, hiking, stock picking, fighting for digital rights, mud wrestling with naked women, fighting crocodiles Down Under, taming orangutans in the wild and bungee jumping in his bathroom (whatever on God's Green Earth that means). Find him on Facebook or MySpace!