The Nightclub

Let me tell you about Nightclubs (or discotechs for all my Continental peeps). Sociologically, it is a Darwinian jungle made up of concentric circles. Designed to be a venue for self-expression, pleasure and meeting fellow nubile individuals looking for a good time, the nightclub is usually an overpriced commodified matrix of noise, sweat and awkward and often distance social interaction. Remember: the key to understanding the night club is deciphering the concentric circles which dominate its social structure. Let us begin from the innermost circle:

a. In the smallest, tightest circle, way out in the heart of the dance floor, huddled together in a cohesive weave of protection are the No-Men-Women. Yes, ladies, you have all been a part of this circle at least once--the group of women who are in the tired-of-anything-with-a-Y-chromosome-we-don't--need-men--all-we-want-to-do-is-dance tribe of femininity. Greasy men stroll up trying it with anyone in one of these estrogen hives and they give quick scowl and ejection, followed by the women looking at one another and then rolling their eyes, as to say, "ughhh; men!"

b. Then there are the Let's-have-fun-and-dance-in-a-group people. This is the second concentric circle, allowed to be in close proximity to the No-Men-Women because of their safety and seemingly harmless nature. Usually it consists of 4-6 people, men and women, on the younger side, and full of pent up drunken thoughts about trying it with someone on the other side of the circle. You see these types often in Oxford, mainly in the form of young Americans shocked that they are allowed in a club and not sure what to do next. Of all of the groups, this one is of least interest.

c. Moving on to another group which does not so much participate in the geometrical symmetry of the concentric circles but rather floats freely and unpredictably throughout the dance floor. That's right, the Drunken-oh-my-God-go-get-a-room-Couples. You know they met tonight; maybe they know each other's names, maybe they will actually speak to each other after the night is over--but we all know this group is characterized by their sloppy, sticky and usually uncoordinated attempts at what one deft observer calls "humping with your clothes on." Love it. It is a sight that reminds you of the mystery of human dignity; or not. Akin to picking a scab--it seems okay at the time, is relatively physically gratifying, and at least something to do--when you are bleeding and the wound stings, you wonder "what was I thinking?"

There are two more circles, but we will leave them till tomorrow.

I love living.


Keep it real,