Sunday, May 20, 2007

Rube Goldberg Goes Dancing

I don't think I've been to a straight club before. At least not one that wasn't The 'Sco, Doesn't count. I have to say that I did not get what I expected, both positively and negatively. Our case study: The Velvet Dog.


  • I did not feel completely out of place. I knew clothes-wise I'd be okay (thanks H&M!), but you know body-wise I'm not exactly Hottie McHottiehots, Ph.D. There was a good looking crowd, but as I was discussing with Carla, the lookers seemed to have happy and healthy hamsters running things behind their eyes.
  • I honestly was worried that I'd be a little old, even at 24. That might be the case at 18+ clubs, but since this was 21+, I shouldn't have been concerned too much. There were people of all ages there and I was actually near the average age for where I'm at (usually the bowling lanes) for once.
  • Downtown Cleveland is pretty hopping on Friday nights. There were people walking around and taxis were all over the place. I've never experienced that in Detroit, and most likely never will.

  • The place was empty. I know there was a baseball game but maybe there was something else going on that kept the crowds away. We were there at 11 and it was as if we got there as soon as the place opened. Not so great for dancing. Also, the club advertised 3 floors of dancing. I thought that would mean different music on each floor, but it's just a way to spread people out.
  • Also not great for dancing: the music. When we arrived, they were playing what I could assume was a new Gwen Stefani song. This was followed by Fergie (Y-U-C-K), soon followed by Nelly Furtado, another Gwen Stefani song, Pink (best described here), ANOTHER Fergie song, ANOTHER Nelly Furtado song, Cyndi Lauper (only half of that song), and Black Eyed Peas. That's 2.5 Fergies/Hour, or per capita, or whatever. Is the Top 40 really made up of 7 people? Oh, and the songs were the radio edits. The hell?
  • The bathroom has someone monitoring things. I suppose that's to prevent people from getting freaky-deeky, which I guess is fine if laughable. Bounce, the gay club I sometimes go to, just has a sign that reads "Please -- One to a stall." Anyway, all was well and good until I went to wash my hands. As soon as I step near the sink, the guy turns on the faucets for me then holds the soap dispenser so that he can put soap in my hands. I realize when you go dancing, there is a certain expectation that your bubble of personal space is quite limited. In exchange, everyone else's bubble is limited as well and everyone seems to be in agreement that unless you're being an asshole about it, there's no sense getting bent out of shape if you keep bumping into people. The bathroom should be an exception to this. I am fully capable of washing my own hands, thank you.
All in all, the experience was okay. We didn't get to do much dancing, but we did end up at an awesome martini bar before the night was over. I think this was a chance to get my feet wet without going overboard.

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