(I don’t know who’s photos they are… happy to credit whomever I lifted them from on FB. Gio, maybe? The last one is probably Gus.)
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I posted this back in April, to a private thing. At the time, I didn’t want to stir up any real trouble. But I think everyone has sorted themselves out a bit more by now. By way of editor’s notes, Chiaroscuro was a “goth/industrial” club in DC and Spellbound, in their own words, is “Alternative, Darkwave, and Industrial”… a Goth/Industrial nightclub.
Anyway:
At Spellbound this week, I had a regular attendee question me. They came up to me multiple times, and asked why I was there. I wasn’t dressed right, so I obviously wasn’t goth. I shouldn’t be there. So why did I go there?
Surprisingly, my first reaction wasn’t “Dude… you’re getting in the way of my intoxicated white guy dance, and numerous attempts to get shot down by that hot chick!” But aside from pointing out that I obviously had dressed up for a night out, I generally ignored him. What are you supposed to say, to such a ridiculously immature question?
I could argue that I’ve been attending since the night it opened, when I came out in support of a friend’s involvement, and Chiaroscuro before that. I could point out that Spellbound doesn’t bill itself as strictly “goth”. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how important these clubs had/have been to my life.
People I met in Chiaro turned into some of my best friends. At least one of them was wearing a pink suit at the time, no less. (And years later, as a wife and mom, she is still more of an awesome badass than any chain-draped, boot-wearing, pierced freak I’ve met since.) In fact, probably 95% of the people I’ve met at these clubs have been the sweetest, smartest, most interesting people I know. People who’ve supported me, comforted me, challenged me, protected me, changed me.
When I found out my father was in a hospital about to pass away, I had 16 hours until my flight, so I went to Spellbound. One awesome lady who didn’t even know what was going on in my life sat with me at the back of the bar all night and cheered me up.
More than once when I couldn’t deal with the crap in my own life, I was able to go to Spellbound and stare at the dance floor, listening to music I love… and just zone out for a while. As someone said to me this week… “attain a zen state”.
When I first started drinking, rather late in life, this was a safe place for me to learn. I felt safe, both with the staff and the people around me.
It’s brought me friends. It’s brought me business. It’s brought me lust and love. It’s introduced me to music and lifestyles and art I never would have known otherwise. I’ve been to other types of clubs, bars and events, and awesome as some of them were, they still didn’t match up.
With the help of their teams, Kelowna and Lori Beth created wonderful places to go, that have led me directly and indirectly to a place where I am very happy with my life.
So that’s kind of why I go.
So… drunk guy… you’re saying you go primarily to look like a cool goth?
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Often when I’m walking the streets at night, after being out with friends, (or while still in the act), I really have this urge to just wander and take pictures. Cities take on this whole new life at 2 or 3 AM on Fridays and Saturdays. Crowds fill the street like it was rush hour. And cars line up from corner to corner.People are loud and boisterous. Instant connections are made that last 30 seconds. The police can be seen around the edges, not so much strictly enforcing the law as encouraging people to keep the mal-drama to a minimum.
Sounds to me like the perfect place to take pictures.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Women in outfits that consist primarily of black leather cargo nets. Men in corsets and dog collars. A lady next to me — with blue and white bobbed hair — wearing a corset over top of a tiny, ripped t-shirt, and black fishnet stockings.
Discussions about internet access in churches, and usability in websites. Global warming came up as a discussion in there somewhere.
And rum. And coke. And more rum. And more coke. and… well… now Doritos and cold pizza.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
The picture’s a couple weeks old, but I still love it. It was a sort-of-miracle capture. I’m walking down the street, in the cold, while my friends are goofing around and walking at the same time. It’s dark, I don’t have a flash. Even shooting wide open on a 2.8 lens, all my shots were blurry. And then there was this one.
We’d gone out to a club (Spellbound) and gotten kicked out at about 2:30 in the morning, as usual. We were walking down the street to a crepe place that stays open ridiculous hours just for such stupid people. And Nguyet wanted a piggy-back ride.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
My bar scars have mostly worn off. I picked them up on Monday night at the Black Cat, for a show by Juliette and the Licks. A good rock show by any definition. But some of the stuff going on around the show kind of stuck out. The Juliette headlineing this band is Juliette Lewis, of many, many seriously fucked up movies. I first heard her sing on the Strange Days soundtrack. And she’s pretty good. But they aren’t exactly on TRL yet.
So when they tell me at the door that I can’t use my camera, (I know!) I thought it was awfully conceited. The “no still photo” thing at concerts is pretty stupid to begin with, since it doesn’t actually affect the performers bottom line in any way. And for the most part, it can only build grass roots support. And I’ve never met a band yet that tries to sell their own concert photography. So… you know… whatthefuck? Especially from a third string band on their first US tour playing a second string club on a Monday night.
When the Licks finally come on stage around 10, the entire band came out and took their place except Lewis. She followed in an incredibly forced entrance after the band started playing. Her “show lines” came out like lead weights between songs. Only when she seemed to forget her lines, or stop caring about them, did she seem at all interesting or real.
The show only truly excelled when she shut the fuck up and started singing. Angry, skinny, little woman songs about being … well… and and horny. Good shit, that is. Thankfully that’s all that’s on the CD I picked up afterwards.
But you always pay for it the next morning. There really should be some service that comes around after club nights and picks up your laundry for you. That mixture of cheap cigarettes and expensive beer is nowhere near as charming the next day.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Juuuuuust when I thought I was out… They draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag me back in. After finally having ripped all my cassette tapes to MP3, Autumn goes and gives me a new stack of tapes. These however, I may be able to finish in 1 or 2 nights.
Note to anyone coming to the District: Do not lean through a window and talk to cab drivers. Get in the fucking car. If it turns out you don’t have enough money, you can always get out again. But once you’re in the vehicle, they’re required by law to take you wherever you wish to go, within the Metro area. There is no need to question them from the curb as to wether they will take you somewhere. And if they do simply roll down the window and ask you where you wish to go, you’re better off telling them to piss off. Besides coming damn close to being illegal, it means they’re looking for a passenger going one specific route. The likelihood that you’re going that route is pretty bad. So shut up get in the fucking cab. I’ll thank you, and they 15 cars backed up behind the taxi will thank you.
We now return you to you’re regularly scheduled Sunday night stupor.
So I went out with friends to various places Friday night. (Pictures now available from your local gift shop or in the snapshots section of this very website.) When we started out at The Black Cat, I was depressed to find out that Rainer Maria will be playing there this coming Friday. Depressed, because I will be in East Bumpafuck at the time, watching the utility truck bucket rides. But if you’re luckier than me, go see them. The few songs I have of theirs are great. Sort of a female-fronted, intelligent, hard rock band.
You know… as Kier would say, any night not spent in front of the TV alone is a good night. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t wish to cause serious bodily injury to one of my friends before the night is through. It would be all fine and well, but for … well… a complete lack of knowing what we were doing. I’m all for spontaneity. But to me, that’s the ability to make quick decisions with little or no supporting facts or information. What we had was a complete lack of decision making. We had 45-minute committee discussions followed inevitably by the least successful of all possible outcomes. The cutest moment of the night did come, though, from Autumn’s boyfriend, (a seemingly nice guy), somehow deciding he had enough testosterone–despite his metallic, zebra-pattern, club shirt–to order 7 people–3 of whom are over 6 ft. tall–into a sports car, so we could go to Adams Morgan. (A place you really must experience at 3 in the morning on a Saturday to appreciate sobriety and good footware).
It’s been a while since I got home at 4 AM.
Did I mention the call-girls have been evicted? Right. The day after they had one man in their bed, another waiting in the hallway, another downstairs trying to remember their apartment number, and one more show up just in time to see them all locked out of the apartment when she forgot her keys. This is the point where we find out her pimp had the doorlock changed without telling the rental office. After a brief interlude with the last contestant on The Price is Always Right in the laundry room, everyone was seen leaving the scene in a yellow taxi cab.
And I bet they didn’t ask the driver if he was going their way.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I should be too old for this. But I don’t care. I’m having fun, despite myself.
By 10:30 tonight, I was ready to go to bed. But that’s when Kier called to let me know they were headed for the Black Cat. Aaron was celebrating his birthday with a crawl down 14th Street, finishing the fun at the club during their Brit-pop night.
It’s obviously going to be a good night when you walk in the room and see your friends surrounded by beautiful girls.
And sugar. Lots and lots of sugar tonight. Candy on the tables. Cheap sodas at the bar.
God help me… even though I’m a skinny white boy with no rhythm, I danced for the first time since college. Danced terribly, no doubt. Probably the person people nudge their friends to look at. But it was fun, and who cares what people say about you when you’re having fun.
Got my ass pinched twice, too. Never saw exactly who did it, but I’m fairly certain it was guys both times. You know… no one has pinched my ass since I was in Puerto Rico.
That’s this week.
Last Saturday, a really fucking-cold night… we were at Chiaroscuro; a one night Goth club down in Southeast. Didn’t dance, so it wasn’t as blood-pumping. But I was surrounded by hot chicks in fetish wear; so it had it’s benefits. Cool clothing shop on the premises, where nothing is over $20. But the best attraction was probably the really hot, freaky lesbians making out in the back. Straight out of really cheesy porn.
If only I didn’t reek of cigarettes when I got home. Not even cigarette smoke… just cigarettes. Tobacco… filter… paper.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
