This evening, I again went to the club that has, in a way, almost become my home away from home for much of the summer. Having gone there twice during my mental trip weekend 2 weeks ago, I partly wanted to return to find out if the observations I had had while I was "nuts" would still hold with my mind again in state of calm. I also wanted to have a little fun :)

I figured that since the price of cover + drinks would be less than the cost to see a movie in a theater (at least given amount I drink on a typical outing), I can still afford to go there every now and then.

First, let's cover what I thought I had observed when I went to the club 2 weeks ago on a Friday evening. On that night, August 9, I arrived a little early. Around 20:00. (I had planned to get there even earlier, but meandered around town for a while first.)

Again, we're talking about my trip there 2 weeks ago. We'll get to the present evening a bit later.

I made a point of arriving early because I wanted to try the barbecue they had been advertising since June. I had never made it to one, but I thought it might be interesting. It might also be a good way to meet some of the people who I had seen repeatedly on the dance floor, but never gotten a chance to talk to. (100+ decibel music is not really conducive to conversation.)

When I arrived on the patio shortly after 20:00 on August 9th, the light was just disappearing from the sky.

I asked the one staff member I could find whether they were still selling bbq food, as had been indicated previously. He said he would be happy to cook up something for me. They had been trying to get people to come in early for food, but hadn't had much success. (Well, it does sort of defy the typical night club parameters of operation.) He powered up one of the grills, and began cooking some meat. Nice and done.

While the food was cooking, I got into a conversation with him and another girl, who was sitting at a nearby table; talking about the art of being a D.J. I was curious what it might take to become one. (Remember, at this point in time, I still had a day job as a software engineer. But I knew I wanted to get out of that job eventually, so I was considering possible alternatives. Realistically though, even really good D.J.'s can't do just that for a living. Only if you're Moby, maybe.)

Turns out this girl was a part time DJ, who occassionally did guest spots at this very club. She hadn't been able to do much lately though. Apparently, the competition is rather tough.

Then, her and the guy who was cooking the bbq began to talk the trade, throwing around musical terms, a few of which I understood, but was mostly over my head. Were they subtlely trying to test my knowledge and/or seriousness? No, probably just a couple of under-appreciated music afficionados getting into a brief moment of connection on things in life that really matter.

"So, Prodigy doesn't do 4/4 beats in any of their songs? Hmmmm...." That was my grand contribution to the discussion.

With a full stomach, and feeling like I had enjoyed a few good human moments with these two souls, I proceeded into the club, where the sound system was just warming up. It was going to be a good night of clubbing.

But my body was utterly exhausted. A little of my own physical tiredness seeping in, I plopped down on one of the couches in the bar, and almost went to sleep. But I couldn't allow myself that. Not here. No sleeping in a strange place. It wouldn't be safe.

But this almost felt like home, I had been here so many weekends.

No. I couldn't sleep here. Not yet. Just lay down and relax. But no sleeping. Must remain awake until home. My apartment. That was the rule.

After a few minutes of recharging my cells, I stood up again, and walked around.

On the dance floor, the DJ was weaving rhytms and melodies much darker than what I had become used to here. I mean, yes, they had done some fairly hardcore stuff earlier, but these vibes felt like pure, diabolical blackness. Hard to describe, especially given the mental state I was in. It just did.

Then, I began looking around the club again, studying the decorations. I was awed and horrified by what I observed again, now with these new "otherworldly" eyes (might also be defined as totally tripped out). The not quite lifesize crucifx with the skeletal form of a body hanging from the cross; the body is made from metal wire. A bright white strobe light points directly at it, flashing constantly throughout the evening. (It's been visible down the hall from the dance floor since around the middle of the summer, when they opened that back door to the public.)

A statue hanging on the wall, taking the form of a dismembered naked woman. (And yes, I know it's patterned after some famous statue whose sculptor I can't remember. Also featured in the Boxing Helena movie. Heh.) Demon statues everywhere. A giant mural hanging on the wall, depecting, in black and white, the forms of angels with wings on their backs, fornicating in some sort of celestial palace. Had that always been there before?

Yes, I believe it had.

Then, I went back, and observed people. The girls, some of whom I had attempted to flirt with on prior occassions. They were greeting the door guys, not as social friends, but.... coworkers?

I theorized (and was pretty certain of my theory at the time) that these girls had not been on the dance floor just for fun. They were being paid to entice guys to buy more alcohol. (Again, an unsubstatiated theory at that point. But I was quite certain of its veracity.)

The thought sickened me. Could this be so? Could this place really be that dark?

Now obviously, at this point in my evolution, I was not totally against the idea of paying people of the opposite gender for their company. But if people are being paid to be in my presence and listen to my stupid jokes, then I want (1) to know about it, and know exactly what the terms of the encounter are, without any foolish trickery, and (2) I would prefer pay them directly myself.

Sickened, tired, and wanting to go home and contemplate, I left the club before 22:00 that night.

Back at home, I of course had to check my email. That was where I got into a "discussion" with someone I had known for a while via the net.

Short on patience, and full of stress from work and the club afterward (where I had intended to unwind), I read a message which seemed... well... less than patient or calm. The last message sent to me contained frequent use of the acronym "WTF" in response to some earlier wild ideas I had expressed.

I went berserk. My paranoia index was maxed out. I vented. Probably not the best idea.

It was in this state of mind that I composed this fine piece of literature.

That was just the beginning of that weekend.

Be careful with fire. It can lead you to truth, but it can also burn you.

...

Two nights later. Sunday. The end of my insanity weekend. I went BACK to my club!

Well, actually I ended up spending most of that evening on the 16th Street Mall. I got sidetracked, you see. But that's another story, if I ever decide to write about it here.

I don't think I spent more than 15 minutes in the club that Sunday evening. When I came in (around 2300?) it was just too depressing. There must have been no more than a dozen people in the place. They had Lord of the Rings playing on the projector, and all the tv's. It was cool, but, given the context, it was too depressing for me.

A bunch of doped out lonely people, sitting in a bar, some of them barely conscious, and in the background, they were still playing soft goth music on the dance floor. I walked over there. Nobody was in the room, save a couple of club employees.

When I ordered a sprite from the bar, there was a woman standing there, who was... well... she seemed hopelessly, profoundly sad. She talked to me for a little while about... life and stuff. Yikes. It was nice to have an attractive stranger talking to me about all this personal stuff, but... Wow. How do you handle that?

I couldn't. When given a chance, I backed off for a few minutes, and drank in solitude. I wanted to talk to her a little more, but this was ridiculous.

The bartender was talking to her now. I thought about approaching her again, and trying to strike up a slightly more upbeat conversation, but I never got the chance. She went home. I'm 99.9% sure the bartender sent her home, because of the way he was talking into her ear right before she left.

It was the right thing to do. She was obviously drunk, and didn't need any more of this bar tonight. But I wanted to talk to her a little more anyway. I was pissed at the bartender for sending her away. (In the back of my mind, the theory that "they're all being paid to screw with your head" reared up again, but I didn't give it too much heed.)

Well, in rhetrospect, I think he did the right thing. For all that bartender knew, I could have been some creepy dude who was going to take ruthless advantage of that woman, when she was obviously in an impaired state of judgement. I could have given her some sort of disease or something, which she doesn't deserve. (I had seen that bartender a few times before, but not enough to know him well.)

Well, the bartender was actually pretty cool to me too. Showing me a little of how some of the stuff works behind the bar.

But ultimately, the environment was again too much for me to handle in my mentally wacked out state. Just as I was about to go out the door, I heard a familiar, forlorn song coming from the dance floor. I went back in to listen before leaving. I later realized why it was so familiar. I have the same song, on the cd they gave to everybody, back in May.

Complete lyrics.

Lord of the Rings was still simulataniously playing on the screens. The Shire. With this mournful music running in the background (and at full volume in the dance room). Bizarre.

I left the club that Sunday night, and went home. I thought I might never want to return there again.

...

Friday, August 23, 2002. Out of work, and sick of sitting around the apartment all day by myself, I decided I could afford a few bucks to visit my old club, and find out if it was indeed the nasty place I had perceived two Fridays before, or the depressing gloom from the Sunday two weekends earlier.

I arrived shortly after 21:00, standard door opening time. As had been typical during my visits earlier in the summer, the crowd was initally very sparse. I bought a nice full glass of beer from the bar, and wandered into the dance hall.

The music playing was indeed the darker, more intensely sadistic weave I had remembered from two weeks earlier. The patterns of the lights was also meaner. I hadn't been imagining things. Earlier in the summer, I had remembered them playing lots of late 80s New Wave Europop on Friday nights.

Now, there's nothing wrong with New Wave. I like that too. But sometimes, a loyal regular wants to hear something different after a few weeks. I shared the sentiments expressed by the two music people I had talked to two weeks earlier. It's about time we got some really DARK music in here.

Well, the dark manic stuff didn't last too long. After about an hour, as more people filed into the club, they started playing the lighter stuff again. Well, I like that too. There's nothing wrong with a little Depeche Mode. Or the Sisters of Mercy. They're good. (Tonight, they played both back to back.)

I think I get it though, with regard to music selection. It's a similar pattern. The people who are intensely into the music, like DJs, want to have something that's on the edge. Something out of the ordinary, to cut the blandness of mainstream. Die hards like it too.

So they get to experiment, and play all sorts of wierd stuff during the early part of the evening, before most people have arrived. That music is more complicated, harder to dance to, less familiar, and maybe a bit more disturbing to the nerves.

Then, when the big crowds pour in, they cater to the bulk of the customer base. Play some New Order. Maybe a little old school Nine Inch Nails. (Again, there's nothing wrong with that from this listener's perspective. :) When the volume needs to be turned up, play some Ministry. Ah... Ministry....

About the girls/employees: Yes, I believe I was right, at least in part. Some of the girls I have seen there dancing regularly are almost certainly employees of the club. They discreetly walk behind the bars (past signs marked "Employees Only"), but only for brief periods of time. Unlike the male helping hands, who almost always have shirts with big letters "STAFF" printed on the back, there is nothing to indicate to a casual observer that these women might work for the club.

As to what their official role is, one can only guess. For all I know, they help carry boxes during the day, and get to come in and party with free drinks during the evening as a benefit. Honestly, I don't know.

I'll backtrack on the theory that they explicitly try to entice customers to buy alcohol. I have never seen this occur, nor have any of them attempted to get me to buy beer I otherwise wouldn't have, either for myself or them. As far as I can tell, they come in, hang out on the dance floor, talk to a few people, occassionally wander behind the bar, and then return to the dance floor.

For all I know, maybe they're not even on the payroll. Maybe they're just friends with people who run the club, and have been around long enough to have earn their trust. I really don't know.

In truth, this characteristic would apply to a very small percentage of the females I observed. Most of the women in there are customers, just like everyone else.

Still, I have to accept the very real possibility that when I deal with people around there, cincumstances may not be exactly as they appear. (I seem to be learning that about a lot of places lately. The office and the club.)

Trust No One.

Earlier tonight, I also again observed the bizarre decorations. I concluded that, yes, some of this imagery is WACKED OUT. That electric chair prop (not too far from the metal, strobe light lit crucifix) is another one. In darkened lighting, it almost does look like some guy might have gotten fried there.

As I looked over the place again tonight, after having danced my ass off for three hours, I decided that, yes, I go for this stuff. Somewhere, somehow, it turns my spirit on. I dig those angelic bodies in the picture, laid out like slabs on the heavenly concrete, ready to be fucked by their celestial masters.

Call me a twisted psycho if you like.

As for the people... Well.... After another experience tonight, I'm not convinced that the flirting problem is entirely on my end. I know I'm often shy, but even when I transcend that, there has to be some kind of activity on the other end of the line. Otherwise, it's dead.

This evening, on my way to the bathroom, I noticed a girl sitting alone at a table near the corner of the bar. She appeared to me to be a little sad, maybe? Her eyes were staring off into space. But she was very pretty.

After taking a few minutes to work up my courage, and passing by a couple times, I decided to try to strike up a conversation. I asked if I could sit next to her. She had no objection. So I did. Neither one of us said anything for a few moments.

I asked her what might have motivated her to come to this club tonight. She shrugged, and said she thought she was going to meet somebody here, but "they" hadn't shown up. (They "they" pronoun may now be officially used to describe a singular non-gender-specifec entity. It's proper English. So says somebody who knows.)

Hmmmm.... Well, she didn't seem to mind talking to me, but certainly didn't seem very lively about it either.

Someone else walked by -- I guess this was somebody she already know -- and they started into a conversation immediately. Was this the person she was planning to meet? I didn't know. I couldn't hear them above the music. And apparently, she became so involved in this conversation, she forgot I was even sitting next to her at the table.

I don't think she noticed when I stood up and walked away, back to the dance floor.

An hour later. Midnight. My feet were tired. I had been dancing intensely. I decided that it was time for me to go home.

On my way out of the club, walking through the bar, I looked back at that table. There was the girl again. Apparently, whoever she was planning to meet had still not arrived. She was staring off blankly again. I wanted to talk to her, but I could not. This time, it was not shyness that stopped me. It was the simple knowledge that no matter what I said or did, she wouldn't be interested. I could try to listen again, as I had before. But if she didn't feel like talking, then there was nothing I could do.

For some intangible, irrational reason, my heart wanted to touch hers. But not tonight.

I left the club shortly after midnight, and returned home. I think I'll probably go back there again on future occassions. I like that club.

[CUT, PRINT]