I Hate Night Clubs

I think I am officially growing up. Or maybe I'm getting old and boring? Either way, I am *done* with night clubs.

(Note: JT, if you are reading this, please take no offense. I just needed to rant when I woke up this morning!)

Lest you think that I am simply a boring person, let me assure you that I spent many a night in bars and at raves in my early 20s. I lived and breathed DJ and dance culture. I even (I'm embarrassed to admit this) gave away all my old favorite acoustic albums, because I thought that my love affair with electronic music was real and would last forever. (Oh, I cannot believe I am going to post this on the internet. How mortifying.) I thought that I would never be one of those people who fooled themselves into thinking that fulfillment could be found cozy at home on a Friday or Saturday night. Once in a while, maybe, but certainly not most of the time. (If I'm really honest, that probably had a lot to do with my boyfriend at the time, and the fact that our relationship was contingent on my willingness to participate in the activity of choice for him and his friends... but regardless.)

Now, as I circle round to my first Saturn return, my tune has changed.

This week a dear friend asked me if I wanted to go see Bassnectar on Friday night. Having been at least on the periphery of "tribal dance culture" in Vancouver since I first moved here, I was familiar with the name (he's a legend) and thought that this was likely to be an occasion worthy of rallying the troops and beating the severe homebody-ness that has overcome me in the last year or so. I agreed to go, and she said she'd buy tickets.

So last night rolled around, and there I was, at home, wearing comfy clothes, engrossed in a novel with a cat on my lap and a bag of yarn ready and waiting to be knitted into winter coziness. (I sound like a grandmother.) But I was on the hook for this $28 ticket, and I love this dear friend, so I got gussied up and headed out the door. And as soon as we arrived, I kinda knew I should have stayed home with my book.

The first sign was the coat check asking $3 an item – which meant that my hoodie and my jacket cost me $6 to keep safe. Offensive, in my view.

Second sign was the drink prices. I didn't get one, but it was one of those places that charges $6 for a piss-poor domestic beer. Which apparently people are willing to both drink and pay... which brings me to the patrons. (Yes, I know I'm on a ridiculous rant, but indulge me. Or just stop reading if you're annoyed.)

I think my biggest problem with night clubs is that they are full of people... who enjoy night clubs. I should be fair here and mention that Bassnectar seems to attract a diverse crowd of Burners, hippy freaks and club kids, so I shouldn't pool them all together, and I should also say that I had several friends in the crowd, but I'm still going to say... Who ARE all those people, and WTF do they do the rest of the time? Who are these plastic girls and these clueless guys? Who are these fucked-up drug abusing weirdos? Why do they have to get so drunk and high that they can't even tell when they're flailing around and into other people on the dance floor? Worse, what's with the ones who are so self-absorbed that they blow through the crowd with complete disregard for anyone who might happen to be in their way, acting like they own the place because they have successfully managed to mold themselves into an official "desirable girl"?

Why am I so judgmental and negative?

Really, I probably could have overlooked the rip-off factor and even the annoying people, had the music really turned my crank... but it didn't. I'm sorry, Bassnectar. I can see why other people love you, I really can, and your enthusiasm is infectious. But your beats were a little too heavy for me, probably because I'm old and boring now, and frankly, the sound wasn't great either.

So that's it. I don't do night clubs. Don't invite me. Intimate underground gatherings, maybe. House parties, sometimes. Summertime outdoor live music festivals, usually. Dinner parties with good friends, certainly.

Home with my knitting or my guitar or a loved one or two, hell yeah.