You know the world's gone wacko when a nostalgic tribute to the bathrooms at CBGB gets printed in the paper of record! Here's an excerpt from the article, written by Steven Kurutz and published in the City section on October 2, 2005.
[T]he bathrooms reach sublime levels of neglect and deconstruction. They are in the basement, down a steep set of steps. Strictly speaking, neither is designated as male or female, but one room contains three urinals and has the stripped, utilitarian feel of, say, a tool shed. The toilet is situated by itself on an elevated cement platform. A bare bulb casts a pale yellow glow.
The bathroom next door is, presumably, the ladies room. If so, it shatters the notion that women's bathrooms are cleaner than men's - although, above each toilet in a feminine touch, are hung rolls of paper like ornaments on a Christmas tree...
You often hear about the graffiti that has accumulated on the bathroom walls at CBGB, which implies a kind of artistry, or at minimum decipherability. This is misleading. Occasionally, you can make out a line or two, but, in general, there are so many layers of scrawl that the writings have bled together to become a kind of punk rock hieroglyphic.
Perhaps somewhere among the dark scribbles and the band stickers - Crushpile, Sons of Mothers, Country Club and the Porn Horns - is a clue to whether the club will be able to remain on the Bowery. But the only thing a visitor could decipher was a line written in ink on the ceiling that said that a band called Mindlessanity had urinated there.