We ended up getting to the club around 12--which is unfortunately late for Philadelphia-- and missed a sizeable amount of trance and drinking.
So it’s a good thing I fuckin hate trance.
That was harsh, let me rephrase.
I hate trance music, I hate trance crowds, I hate trance beats, I hate trance culture.
That was still harsh.
I loathe trance. You end up in this club nodding to simplistic drum hits, strobing paparazzi lights blinding you, with the combined effect transforming every minute into another 15. It becomes an endurance challenge. Your friends are like, Just stay 20 more minutes! So you wait an hour, and somehow, through some mess up in chronology, there’s still 5 more minutes to kill. A slow painful death.
But maybe I’m a little melodramatic.
One of my friends leaves to go look for the people who are supposed to be here by now and I’m alone at this table in the dark part of the lounge. My eyes roam around the room and I have bizarre fantasies about starting fights from petty provocations. This guy comes over and pushes our coats out of the way claiming the area for him and his friends, and then I confront him with something like, What the fuck man? And he’s looking all angry and irrational and soon there's a flurry of elbows and fists impacting jawbones at uncomfortable angles.
Snap back out of that reality.
I’m still sitting here in this dank basement of a lounge. Where the hell did he go?
I ascend the staircase into lighting and fire.
When you start your own club make sure you employ a large number of “Feelers.” Feelers are the hot girls paid to wade through the crowd and touch and rub and massage everyone they pass with a casual yet provocative hand motion. There are usually one or two at a club this big. They make you have that feeling, the one where you know you’re feeling good but you don’t know why. Well that’s why. Subconscious activation of the temporal regions of the brain through delicate manual stimulation.
You probably won’t realize it. Though drink enough and you might speak some accidental truth:
“The chemicals in my body are telling me I’m having a good time!”
A guy gives his friends a rousing emotional speech about how they should attempt to communicate with some cute girls in the club surrounding. “This is it! We’ll never be back here again, so it doesn’t matter what we do!” It’s a brilliant sermon, and his hand gestures match the sincerity and tone of his voice. Never the less, an hour later he’s still with them, all standing in a circle sipping beer and looking anxious.
“Americans… can not dance to trance music.”