Club Thumping

Night clubs are peculiar organisms, stimulating intense physical exercise at the cost of its patron’s health. For example, inside a club music pulsates like an electronic heart pumping remixed tunes through every shadowy corner, wet bathroom, and cluttered kitchen. Arriving from the cold, patrons placing their hands against the glass windows or doors can literally check the pulse of the party. Boom boom boom ba-boom. The music draws in dancers like a diver draws a breath before the plunge, opening doors occasionally to exhale swirling wisps of smoke, odors of beer, and evaporated sweat. Yet the health of the dance hall demands a high cost: the accumulation of large tab deposits, the death of alcohol-depressed brain cells, and great pain and disorientation the following morning.

For someone who feels hung-over after a thirty-second workout, night clubs would not contribute to my overall health, methinks.

In spite of – or perhaps because of – this aversion to movement, Pat, Tiff, and Katie invited me out to listen to a DJ friend at one of the local restaurants/bars two Saturdays ago. It was all very kind and wonderful; although, I do not believe that they realized the scope of how truly dull and boring I actually am. For my defense, I tried to warn them over the weekend that my personality did not lend much to drinking, dancing, or conversation outside the realm of movies, books or Middle Earth. Anime (greatly misrepresented as “Japanese porn” in my family) and black and white movies encompass a large (if sole) percentage of my TV viewing; recent color programs like American Idol, Lost, and the local news are mostly ignored, thus limiting most normal dinner conversations:

“So, did you see E.R. the other night?”

“Uh . . .no, sorry.”

“Oh, . . well you probably heard that Simon . . .”

“American Idol? *cough* . . . no, probably not.”

“Ah . . . um, did you know about the four-alarm fire downtown today?”

“A fire downtown, really? Wow, ‘fraid I missed that too. You see, I was reading an excellent Incredible Hulk graphic novel, when Super Napon Robo came on. The main character started shouting something, which they translated as ‘the answer to life, the universe and everything . . .’ so of course, I had to shout 42!”

“. . . Check please!”

So in the end they ignored my objections and insisted I come along anyway. Apparently my arguments only served to strengthen the general consensus that I required some training in social competency.

Frankly I just do not see the problem. My ideal evening typically involves a Lazyboy, some iced tea, and one or multiple combinations of the following:

a) a good game,

b) a good movie,

c) a good book.

Unless interrupted by an extended trip to some far off locale, a dangerous (though rare) sojourn to a lost continent, or opportune visit to Borders, I prefer a quiet night home with my stories. It is for these reasons that I have maintained a simple, happy life full of wonder, magic, second-hand adventure, tea-stains . . . but sadly no girlfriend. Katie suggests that this is an unconscious cry for help.

Thus the club. Our party was seated directly in front of the DJ, placing us near the large ear-shattering speakers and the large gyrating rear-ends of the dancers. “Hey!” Tiffany shouted as one tall gentleman whipped his leather-encased rear into her head. Patting her head, the dancer apologized and continued to twist, twirl, shimmy, and shuffle around his partner, who in contrast remained rooted to the floor, clapping her hands sporadically to an unknown rhythm. That was more my speed and said so. Patrick, no great dancer himself, laughed and agreed. Katie however only sighed with uniquely sisterly resignation that seemed to say “Worthless. Totally worthless. I’ll never get any nieces or nephews at this rate.”

Not all the evening was absurd, though. To my female readers this may sound chauvinistic but few scenes exceed the beauty of girls dancing. If my readers mistake my thoughts for misogyny or the sex-starved ravings of a closet pervert, you are free to believe such misconceptions. Yet the sight of girls on the dance floor from my perspective is at once sexy, energetic, lovely, gentle, strong, graceful, delicate, and above all beautiful. Through dance, women personify all that men – or at least this man – lack. Even to a song as ribald and asinine as the “Booty Call” – at which I should note all guys empty the dancing arena – women exude dignity, charm, grace, and above all a beauty that far exceeds any age, appearance, or even sense of rhythm.

Nevertheless, I did not stir to enter the dance floor. That was their temple, not mine, and accepted my exclusion with dignity. I ordered another iced tea and asked Pat for the score of the basketball game. He rattled off some numbers, which I failed to hear, long since deaf after the second verse of “Baby Got Back.” Nevertheless, as I sipped my fifth raspberry iced tea, pretending halfheartedly to watch sports while gazing at the electric goddesses gliding around the dance floor, my manhood felt well intact. If a young lady had caught my eye, I might have easily gathered the liquid courage, sauntered over, and with a devilish smile asked “Hey, baby, you up for a little one on one PVP action later tonight near the Ruins of Stonehoard Keep? We can trade mythic armor, if you know what I mean?”

Katie, I would not count on being a aunt anytime soon.

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7 thoughts on “Club Thumping

  1. Mikie I think you need to loosen up. You need to find yourself a women. Now she doesn’t have to be outgoing or anything. Even if you find a girl like yourself, one who likes to sit around and read their life away (some might call her a hermit but that’s okay). You need someone who you can spend time with and share a love for life with! Find some attractive girl that works at Border’s…then you get a girl and a discount! Going through life without someone to love (ahem, other then your family and books) is like reading a book that drones on forever about nothing, no climax, no catharsis, no protagonist or antagonist, just nothing. A lady friend would, okay the right lady friend, would fill your life with joy. She will keep you on your toes, always guessing, but always wanting to come back for more. I think you should make a vow to go out on two dates a month until you find the right woman. Just think of it as another life experience!

    Sorry if this is jumbled and sounds like crap. I am sick and have been laying in my bed for the better part of the past 36 hours.

  2. Hey troll,

    First of all I want to comment on the grammatical mistake that I found while reading this dull and almost never-ending blog. The last line of the blog it says and I quote, “Katie, I would not count on being a aunt anytime soon.” The grammatical mistake that I found is that is the “a” prior to “aunt.” As you can plainly see “aunt” starts with A, thus needing an “An” (see how I used an.) Besides that one problem that I found I think the blog was a little interesting. I agree with Tiff about the loosening up and finding a girl, but I didn’t really feel like or have time to read the rest of her comment. I am telling you however that you need to find yourself a woman. Bring her home to the troll cave and show her what you learned in the graphic novel. But most importantly grow a pair! Dude if you don’t get out on the dance floor and live you will never know what your missing out on. Life is all about mistakes and if you don’t fail and screw up a little. Some of the most beautiful things in this word are screw ups, look at “LIGERS.” Basically go out and screw up and embarrass yourself and live your life. Lose yourself and get out of the basement so I don’t need to share a room.

    SS out!

  3. Wait a tick . . . so what you’re saying is that improving my love life could get me discounts? At bookstores?! Whoa, this adds a whole other layer of benefits to this dating thing.

  4. Ok Ok OK. I want to first start out introducing myself. Hi Mikie and everyone else. My name is Katie and you will remember me from such postings as Club Thumping and well every other posts. I find Club Thumping to be completely inaccurate. Let us start from the beginning…..

    It was a blistering Sat. night in let’s just say Mayberry. I had gone out to dinner with some friends from high school. After dinner I was going to meet Tiff, Pat, and our other friends at a local bar not too far away. On my way to the bar I thought to myself, ‘self lets call Mikie and see if he would like to partake in the drinking festivities.’ So being the sister that I am, I called and said, “Mike, I’m coming to get you, so you can lighten up and get drunk!” I told him I would drive so he could drink. Well after having a long and miserable convo. with him on the phone and listening to how much he did not want to come, he gave in to my charm. As I drove to bar he went on and on and on about how he did not want to be there and how much he hated this, that, and the other. I found myself wishing that 1- he would have stayed home, and 2- I myself were the drinker and he the driver. So as it was we got to the bar and I drank like a good Irishman would after a battle. Needless to say, Mikie drove home and I fell asleep not pasted out, fell asleep and did not have to hear him complain anymore! This ladies and gentlemen is how the night went! Mikie needs to get out more so that I may be able to become an aunt and turn his children into little party animals. So that they may teach their father how to have some fun!!!
    Good evening and farewell for now!
    ~Kt

  5. Lies! Fallacies! All lies and fallacies! I seldom complain but prefer to wine from the privacy of my own home. Without the noise. Without the requisite dancing. With friends, family, and a good movie.

    All of this in truth negates the sultry seductive stranger but with the right movie, say . . . To Have or Have Not. I can have my seductress and drink to her too . . .

    “You remember how to whistle don’t you? You just put your lips together . . . and blow.”

  6. Loved that movie!
    But I love dancing, too. I might be a book-worm, but I’m also Indiana Jones if he were a female, and Happy Feet on the dance floor.
    I must agree with your family: go out, man! Find female and breed :))
    In order to find females, you need to move a bit on the dance floor. Girls love to dance, even the geeky ones.

  7. Actually I enjoy dancing quite a bit. Even took a Latin Dance class back in college. I never really learned to shake my hips or gyrate like the teacher instructed (after several explanations that Irish men simply cannot move like that) but had fun. Danced the samba with my sisters at the last several family weddings; nearly tossed Bree through a window too, which she surprisingly found entertaining.

    Other times (in public) I resemble Rodney Dangerfield in Caddyshack: legs flying in several different directions, arms akimbo, head awkwardly pointed at 90 degree angles. It’s ugly. Everything comes together with family and friends though; even if it’s ugly, they don’t seem to mind.

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