“Like I Love You” by Justin Timberlake gets everyone doing their Michael Jackson impression on the dancefloor… “Ain’t nobody love you like I love you. You’re a good girl and that’s what makes me trust you. Late at night, I talk to you. You will know the difference when I touch you…”
I’m not a big fan of clubbing. I never really have been, particularly because I never really liked the music they played there. Over the past few years I’ve been more open to different music and must admit I have voluntarily started listening to stuff I had never explored before. A good thing really. My taste for J-Pop would have stood no chance if I vehemently continued to deny new types of music. I think I pretty much listen to every type of music now, but most of the genres in moderation. Variety is the spice of life, and what better than fresh herbs and spices?
Q and I had planned ages ago to go to the last Zen event (Zen Anime) at Ministry of Sound and it came to pass on Thursday. He’d been to MoS a few times before, but I’d never been. Keep hearing it’s good, etc. and on Zen Anime night I could seriously picture myself cutting some rugs to Ayumi’s tunes. Q was busy Wednesday and Thursday all day, but agreed we would go to MoS in the evening. The event started at 10pm and after a few conversations with his voicemail and a few text messages, I still had heard nothing from him. By about 11pm I still had not heard from him but came to the conclusion that something had come up and he wouldn’t be making it. I might have relegated him in the friendship ranks but I knew he was better than that and something unavoidable must have come up for him to cancel without notice (I found out the following day that it was because he was being kept with his friend who was being tested for being over the limit by dodgy equipment at the Police station). I almost didn’t go but decided to go anyway. The night was still young and there was still enough partay in this old man. I put on Shirt A, ran my fingers through my hair a few times and asked to borrow my uncle’s car to drive up there but he insisted that he drive me instead, which worked out better for me because dancing feet weren’t meant for pushing car pedals.
Driving through central London at that time was an experience in itself. The streets were still fairly busy with clubbers and bar-lovers. I always wondered how most of them would get home and upon hitting the corner of Tottenham Court Road, I found an answer. There, outside Virgin Megastore were suited and booted drunkards assembling themselves like sardines, with individual sleeping bags and/or aluminium foil wrap to keep warm through the night. I was used to seeing the homeless practise this, but it was strange seeing suits attempting to sleep it rough in the same manner. A really bizarre scene indeed, because it was the first time I’d seen live turkeys wrapped in foil.
I got there a little after midnight and was expecting a fairly big queue, but it was small. The only delay in getting in was the time it took to have their security check for anything that could be used or improvised as a weapon. There were 2 gates with metal detectors; one for the guys and one for the girls, but by that time there were hardly any girls trying to get in, so the security guards evened out the line in the crowded men’s queue. First time I’d seen metal detectors at a club too (to keep out metallic implements of warfare and people dependent on zimmer frames who still believe they are in their early 20s).
I’d been told beforehand that the club itself was fairly small, but I didn’t realise it was going to be that small! Judgement was not and could not have been impaired by alcohol because I stayed off the devil juice (that turns blithering idiots into clumsy blithering idiots). The music was quite good to dance to in all rooms. The most popular room was the main one playing R&B, garage and anything that you might have heard on Kiss FM. My favourite type of music there was being played in the middle room with the bar, but there weren’t too many revellers there shaking their stuff. Most were in the middle room for the purposes of slamming tonsils with shots at the bar (some of whom would be slamming toilet bowls with their ill faces later).
All in all it was enjoyable because it was a good atmosphere; nothing like the other clubs I’d been to, and around all the unfamiliar faces there, ended up meeting L there too. I had never been to one of those themed events nor one of those “Asian Nights” so it was an experience (amongst over things, an experience of feeling like one of the tallest people in the room). Dancing was fun, but in the back of my mind I was trying not to make eye contact with would-be gang members or girls that might be fending off unrequited love from would-be gang members. Plus, I tried to look as least threatening as possible, so as not to attract attention from the guys with weapons or the girls whose boyfriends are guys with weapons. I jest, of course, but it was fairly amusing watching some of the token gang-member types leaning against the walls, with sunglasses propped against the bridge of their noses, smoking self-rolled cigarettes. I thought the whole look was a fabrication for the movies, but well, I guess life does imitate art.
The following day I’d have to do it again, because it was a joint B-day outing for H and I. I decided to go with shirt B and recycled the hair style from the previous night. Went to Thai Square (Minories) for dinner and then headed downstairs to the bar/dancefloor area. Shani was telling me about a new show coming on TV soon, called The People’s Record (if I remember correctly) which is kind of like a crude Guiness Records show for semingly ordinary members of the public. His friend had been talking with one of the researchers for the show and needed someone hairy for a challenge, involving a lot of sticky tape. The challenge was to cover the hairy person with strips of tape and remove them quickly one at a time, and see how many strips could be removed before the victim gives up. So, with Shani possessing a body most similar to an ape, they passed on his phone number and he was called up. This came as a bit of a shock to him, but he figured why not, it would be his 15 minutes of fame (as Andy Warhol said). But before he agreed to go through with it, he said he’d call up his girlfriend first to check if that was alright; leaving the decision ultimately with her. He called her up, she said “No,” so he had to call the researcher back and tell him that he wasn’t going to be on their silly show. A shame really, but at the same time, not so bad because we can still continue to call him by his favourite terms of endearment: “The Beast,” “Gorilla Man,” “Big Bad Baboon” and “Planet of the Apes.”
It took a while before everyone would step to the dancefloor (especially the guys). I’m always the first guy on the dancefloor in our group whilst the rest continue their binging until they reach that all important threshold level of drunkeness where they start thinking they’re John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever (regardless of what day it was). It didn’t help that the DJ played cheesy disco hits for well over half the time before moving onto modern teeny bopper hits, then onto 80s oldies (the good stuff). The DJ was mixing any song up in any way and you didn’t have to be a professional DJ to notice the disparity in beats between Robbie Williams’ “Let me Entertain You” and Blue’s “One Love” (the latter of which I’m sure they played 2 times too many, i.e. twice). Amongst all the bad mixing, Shani and I were taking bets on whether the DJ had a real mixing deck there, or just had a computer with Winamp running on it, using the cross fading option to change between songs. He/she/it was that bad! Also, it must have been lesbian’s night out that day too because there were a lot of women canoodling and consoling in each other that night. Yes, I was wrong to jump to conclusions early, but my suspicions were confirmed later when one of the strange women on the dancefloor untied W’s top (and would possibly have continued trying to disrobe her if she hadn’t run away). Despite the abundance of women trying to be men and undanceable music, it was another fun evening and it seemed everyone had a good time (thanks in part to the wonderful invention that is the Strawberry Martini and the vision that is City boys attempting to dance). At the end of these sorts of nights, my cheeks are always sore from smiling.
Quote of the day: “I don’t eat beef. I just eat burgers” - Sanje (trying to be a good Hindu)
Random animal picture of the day:
[”Screaming Turtle,” taken by Eric at echeng.com]
