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burn down the disco
Friday night, The Two Least Likely People on Earth to Go Clubbing — that would be Ang and I — did exactly that. And not just a regular club but a “megaclub,” because what’s the point of going through the drive-through if you’re not going to Super-Size it, right?
Oh, baby.
While Alex was home swigging NyQuil, Ang and I walked through the kind of blustery ass-freezing wind only proximity to warehouses by the river can produce, debating whether it was acceptable to take a cab eight blocks. It is not.
Outside the club, and despite our names on a guest list, there was a half-block long line, or as I like to think of it, my ego’s nemesis. I know this reeks of all sorts of unintended superiority, but I kind of have a rule about not standing on line outside a club because not only do you look like you are trying to provide evidence to passers-by of your own self-worth (or lack there-of), what place have you ever waited on a street like a fool to get into that was actually worth it once you got inside? I’d argue, few to none. But, our friend Doug was spinning in the Reed Room, all of our favorite people were inside, so with the smoke from the street meat perfuming us, wait we did. And it didn’t kill us.
The front of the line introduced us to not one but two wristbands — yet still, one short of the trilogy we would need later to get into a VIP area — a stout 4’10” woman whose definition of security was running her hands along the inside circumference of our skivvies, and a bag search. I was briefly worried I’d be publicly humiliated for my old lady therapeutic hand cream and a cell phone more than two years old, but these items, along with the shiv I’d packed in my boots, passed gleefully under the radar.
Inside, we waded through stairwells, hallways, and a tunnel to find a bar where, in likely the most telling part of this already-too-telling story (along the lines of, “is this a costume party?”), Ang and I asked the bartender for a glass of wine.
“There’s red and there’s white.”
“What kind of red?”
“I can assure you,” she sneered, “it’s nothing fancy,” while Ang and I debated extensively whether she was being a mega-bitch or should be applauded for her honesty.
Because this is the kind of story best quit while behind, I’ll just round up the rest of the evening from here: Doug was awesome, and our friends teased us for avoiding the coat check line and carrying our coats around, not feeling flattered when men grabbed us on the dance floor, and being our typical and unapologetically square selves.
I will now resume listening to my 20-year-old Smiths albums, and confining my dance moves to the club in my living room.
Burn down the disco
Hang the blessed DJ
Because the music that they constantly play
It says nothing to me about my life
comments (11)
Now you and Ang went clubbing? Without me? That means I will have to wait another 20 years before getting you guys to go out dancing with me. Not that I would want to go to Crobar. I mean, I would go for Doug but otherwise not. Was the whole place full of guys trying to look like they were Growing up Gotti?
1 | Hurricane Marge | February 27, 2006 07:54 PM
Because you ended this with the Smiths, you are officially now my favorite.
Don't tell my husband.
2 | ombra | February 27, 2006 10:21 PM
Club...hrm...yes I vaguely remember those... I believe we called them (or it as it became) "The Bar" and that name encompassed all of one downtown street, to include a very meatmarkety place called "The Ritz" in which you did not drink because if you HAD to pee, you were screwed. Bathrooms existed, but you could never GET to them through the throngs of GIs and Cadets and other miscreants. It also included, for a time, a country bar or two in the ghetto...where men shaved and ironed their jeans, but still tried to dance with you while perching their beer (MGD most likely) atop your shoulder. *shudder*
God I'm old. *sigh*
3 | Teresa | February 28, 2006 12:42 AM
Hang the DJ indeed.
I'm with you on the club dodging, Smith's enjoying night's and I'm all of 23.
4 | Lucy | February 28, 2006 02:09 AM
I saw the title and then the song was in my head, shimmying at my desk and all. Yes, I can make it through this day...thanks!
5 | Stacie | February 28, 2006 09:52 AM
It's good to do things like that once in a while, even if all it does is remind you of why you don't.
Teresa-
We are from the same neighborhood. I have no doubt that "Ritz" is still full of the same people!
6 | L | February 28, 2006 05:56 PM
Disco...wasn't that big in the 1890's? :) lol
7 | Shannon | February 28, 2006 08:02 PM
Sounds like Smitten's Smiths reference went over a certain reader's head.
8 | Hurricane Marge | February 28, 2006 11:26 PM
Ah, this is how i typically "roll" in clubs, wondering half the time how the hell and more importantly, why I am there. Not feeling flattered by the groping me...
9 | writersbloc gal | March 1, 2006 07:08 AM
You really should of brought your camera to this event. If no one else, I would have liked to see them!
Anyway, are you coming to the Oscars on Sunday? I was looking forward to cupcakes or some other delectable. Wear your best gown!
10 | jocelyn | March 1, 2006 04:47 PM
aww, its an ass throwing good time...I can't WAIT to go to NY to club, right now I play in Ybor City in Tampa :)
Its hip-hop and reggae now for this white-girl-who-dances-like-shes-Puerto-Rican. Erica Badu on the wafer thin right now. Groooovin.
I am old (36) and I don't know any songs by the Smiths...I guess I need to check this out.
11 | Jezzie | March 1, 2006 09:53 PM