Clubs Suck

Guys,

Here's a terrific opinion piece from the Guardian, a UK publication. Mr. Charlie Brooker tells us something we ALREADY knew-that nightclubs suck. I'll intersperse some of my wit & wisdom amongst his thoughts, but not much. Mr. Brooker did such a bang up job on trashing clubs that there isn't a whole lot I can add to the mix.

I originally ran this in December of 2008. I thought it was time to rerun it, so my newer readers could see this...

------------------------------

Nightclubs are hell. What's cool or fun about a thumping, sweaty dungeon full of posing idiots?

I went to a fashionable London nightclub on Saturday. Not the sort of sentence I get to write very often, because I enjoy nightclubs less than I enjoy eating wool. But a glamorous friend of mine was there to "do a PA", and she'd invited me and some curious friends along because we wanted to see precisely what "doing a PA" consists of. Turns out doing a public appearance largely entails sitting around drinking free champagne and generally just "being there".

That's not so bad-getting champagne and getting PAID to drink it...

 Obviously, at 36, I was more than a decade older than almost everyone else, and subsequently may as well have been smeared head to toe with pus. People regarded me with a combination of pity and disgust. To complete the circuit, I spent the night wearing the expression of a man waking up to Christmas in a prison cell.

"I'm too old to enjoy this," I thought. And then remembered I've always felt this way about clubs. And I mean all clubs - from the cheesiest downmarket sickbucket to the coolest cutting-edge hark-at-us poncehole. I hated them when I was 19 and I hate them today. I just don't have to pretend any more.

I never liked clubs, either. Your sentiments are similar to my own. The only reason I went was to either enjoy some music and hang out with some buddies, or try scoring some chicks. I wasn't too successful at the latter, as clubs aren't my scene. Clubs are better suited for extroverted, 'peacock' type of personalities-IOW, attention whores. Since I'm not one of those, I never did well in clubs...

I'm convinced no one actually likes clubs. It's a conspiracy. We've been told they're cool and fun; that only "saddoes" dislike them. And no one in our pathetic little pre-apocalyptic timebubble wants to be labelled "sad" - it's like being officially declared worthless by the state. So we muster a grin and go out on the town in our millions.

Isn't THAT the truth! I played along for a while, pretending to like them. However, when I seldom went to them, that kinda blew my cover, know what I mean? When I was in the Navy, I took my grandfather's advice; when I headed out on liberty, I headed the opposite direction the rest of the guys took. They went to the bars, while I went snorkeling, sightseeing, stuff like that. To me, that was more cost effective and a better use of my time...

Clubs are despicable. Cramped, overpriced furnaces with sticky walls and the latest idiot theme tunes thumping through the humid air so loud you can't hold a conversation, just bellow inanities at megaphone-level. And since the smoking ban, the masking aroma of cigarette smoke has been replaced by the overbearing stench of crotch sweat and hair wax.

I just LOVE the imagery you use here-ouch! Just the sensory impressions of your description is enough to dissuade me from ever going into a club again-not that I was ever big on cigarette smoke-yuck...

Clubs are such insufferable dungeons of misery, the inmates have to take mood-altering substances to make their ordeal seem halfway tolerable. This leads them to believe they "enjoy" clubbing. They don't. No one does. They just enjoy drugs.

Drugs render location meaningless. Neck enough ketamine and you could have the best night of your life squatting in a shed rolling corks across the floor. And no one's going to search you on the way in. Why bother with clubs?

To see and be seen, man! Or, so attention whoring sluts can strut their used up, disease ridden stuff. I used to go skating down on the Jersey Shore when I lived down there. Some of the towns have clubs, so I'd see the habitues lining up outside. WTF do people wait in LONG ASS LINES to get into these horrid places anyway?! They'll wait for hours to get in to a trendy club! Even then, they might not get in! You have to have the desired 'look', so you'll blend in with the clientele-gag. There are articles on the web that tell you how to build rapport with the bouncers, so you can get in to the club quickly. Sorry, but that BS doesn't qualify for my time or interest. Sorry I digressed...

Anyway, I'd be skating in these shore towns, deriving my entertainment from people watching (cheap and better than the clubs), and I'd see the guys and gals lined up outside, hoping the club's bouncers would let them in next. The chicks would be dressed in the skimpiest, most provocative outfits imaginable! Shoot, they were dressed like whores! Come to think of it, they LOOKED like whores too, and I don't mean in terms of dress, either; I'm talking about that hardened, used up look so common in the modern, enlightened, empowered woman these days; guys call it 'the thousand cock stare'-how true it is. Uzem & Luzem calls modern women bad, amateur porn stars; judging by their dress & demeanor, I'm inclined to agree...

On a more serious note, there is a drug called Extasy. Entire TV programs have been done about Extasy! Guess what it's known as? They call it 'the club drug'-things that make you go hmmmm...

"Because you might get a shag," is the usual response. Really? If that's the only way you can find a partner - preening and jigging about like a desperate animal - you shouldn't be attempting to breed in the first place. What's your next trick? Inventing fire? People like you are going to spin civilisation into reverse. You're a moron, and so is that haircut you're trying to impress. Any offspring you eventually blast out should be drowned in a pan before they can do any harm. Or open any more nightclubs.

Ouch! Tell us how you REALLY feel, Mr. Brooker!

Even if you somehow avoid reproducing, isn't it a lot of hard work for very little reward? Seven hours hopping about in a hellish, reverberating bunker in exchange for sharing 64 febrile, panting pelvic thrusts with someone who'll snore and dribble into your pillow till 11 o'clock in the morning, before waking up beside you with their hair in a mess, blinking like a dizzy cat and smelling vaguely like a ham baguette? Really, why bother? Why not just stay at home punching yourself in the face? Invite a few friends round and make a night of it. It'll be more fun than a club.

Not to mention the fact that most females in the clubs' target demographics are CARRYING DISEASES! Seriously, gov't records show that a whopping 44.8% of women ages 20-24 have HPV; that's almost half, or ONE OUT OF EVERY TWO WOMEN YOU'LL MEET IN THE CLUBS! Almost half of the young women you see out on the street are carrying HPV, or human papiloma virus; that's the virus that causes genital warts, cervical cancer, nice ailments like that. BTW, they aren't CURABLE, either; once you have them, you have them for life! Can you imagine having a nasty disease like that for life, just for a screw? Even if you're successful in seducing a chick you met at the club, do you really want to 'do the deed' with her? I don't think I would; sex is good, but not so good that I want to die or get an incurable disease from it...

Anyway, back to Saturday night, and apart from the age gap, two other things stuck me. Firstly, everyone had clearly spent far too long perfecting their appearance. I used to feel intimidated by people like this; now I see them as walking insecurity beacons, slaves to the perceived judgment of others, trapped within a self- perpetuating circle of crushing status anxiety. I'd still secretly like to be them, of course, but at least these days I can temporarily erect a veneer of defensive, sneering superiority. I've progressed that far.

The second thing that struck me was frightening. They were all photographing themselves. In fact, that's all they seemed to be doing. Standing around in expensive clothes, snapping away with phones and cameras. One pose after another, as though they needed to prove their own existence, right there, in the moment. Crucially, this seemed to be the reason they were there in the first place. There was very little dancing. Just pouting and flashbulbs.

Surely this is a new development. Clubs have always been vapid and awful and boring and blah - but I can't remember clubbers documenting their every moment before. Not to this demented extent. It's not enough to pretend you're having fun in the club any more - you've got to pretend you're having fun in your Flickr gallery, and your friends' Flickr galleries. An unending exhibition in which a million terrified, try-too-hard imbeciles attempt to out-cool each other.

Mind you, since in about 20 years' time these same people will be standing waist-deep in skeletons, in an arid post-nuclear wasteland, clubbing each other to death in a fight for the last remaining glass of water, perhaps they're wise to enjoy these carefree moments while they last. Even if they're only pretending.

When I last went to a club (how long ago was it?), we didn't have the MEANS to take pics of ourselves. People would have done so if they could have; the only reason they didn't was because camera phones hadn't been INVENTED yet. All these have done is to reveal the attention whore lurking within. It's always been there, but it wasn't as readily apparent, due to the lack of technology that makes it possible.

Like I said, I couldn't add too much to that missive. Mr. Brooker hit that one out of the park...

MarkyMark