tags
comments: 0I hate clubs, clubbing; the whole culture and people that go along with it. This dislike is so heavy it seeps into innocent bystanders; people who happen to go clubbing get splattered by the awesome precision of my driveby anti-clubbing rage. A legion of assholes, perfumed, groomed, greased up, blinged up, dancing a thin disguise on an otherwise bald quest to get laid. The activity is almost as stupid as my irrational rejection of it, like some kind of bacteria that must be dispatched quickly, one way or the other.
Johnny finaly went through and cooked a meal for everyone, and it was really good. "Traditional 30 cent Taiwanese food" consisted of some saucy tofu and pork stew-like dish, a corn soup, and some japanese raw tofu. I wasn't feeling too good before dinner, but the night went fine. And then a promise caught up to me. I promised I'd go clubbing.
Even though they knew I hated it, people never stopped reminding me about the endless shifts in plans and hypothetical complications. Ceache told me at mola that there might be a problem because all of a sudden we were going to be packing 11 people; 6 male, and 5 female, and that we were going to be a little male heavy and might be denied entrance. This was probably the origin of the geyser of bile that I was unable to fend off after dinner, as I was notified that there was a dress code and that my shoes might not fit. I had other shoes, and I started to put them on when it hit me: "What the fuck?"
I fucking resent that. I resent it to hell, that I should have to primp myself and wear something acceptable to go do something I hate doing around people I normally also hate. This isn't some kind of reclusive reaction; I fucking love live music, lounges, bars. This is a survival instinct I've honed so that I can keep a safe distance between myself and the kind of people who get hair cuts twice a week and give half a shit about celebrity. So I realized immediately that it just was not happening, and this intense gut-wrenching hatred spread (naturally, unfortunately) in the direction of my good company. It was fucking stupid. The whole damned thing.
And I'm supposed to be in Europe right now. Holland at least, probably Germany (or a train in that direction). I had it all set up, and then my ass, knee, arm, and eyeballs all decided to up and break simultaneously. I had to break those plans off, and what's worse, I totally let down my brother. As close as 3 days before I'd fly out, it took me 15 minutes to shuffle in a pain addled penguin-like manner 2 lousy blocks to work.
Regardless, my decision was upsetting to more people than myself, and it should have been. We had dinner for like 4 hours and then 10 minutes before gametime I had to throw some childlike tantrum about how I don't like this or that and wouldn't do it. My girlfriend spent like 45 minutes getting dressed up all pretty and it couldn't have mattered less, except as an oppresive weight on my concience for the rest of the night. No matter how pure the intentions (she just wanted to go and have fun and for me to be with her), it didn't matter one god damn. And that's the real tragedy.
Back in high school, me and my friends used to play this game where we'd go into a public place and then say "Asshole" at an ever increasing volume until finally someone chickened out and lost. We'd play the same game with just about any word; 'Head' was also popular and less likely to get you expelled from the venue. Tonight's reaction was some ungainly regurgitation of the asshole game, splashed out onto the worthy shoes of clubgoers everywhere, because when you grow up you realize that the real loser of the "Asshole" game is everyone involved.
So I spared myself 4 hours in some dark shithole, watching a bunch of headless (brainless) chests bounce around to the tune of the worst techno "music" in the world mixed with the cranial echoes of the sipping noise on a $10 wuss drink, but what I got in return wasn't any better. Clubbing just fucking sucks; and being an asshole isn't really any better.