Sunday, April 08, 2007


One funny thing about moving is that you've reviewed all your belongings, but can't always remember what you decided to throw away. I've already found one coat that I could have sworn I had given to Goodwill. Yesterday I opened the closet to look for some shoes to wear dancing, since I knew my favorite pair had been thrown away.. I remembered taking a memorial picture of them last year. But there they were in back of the closet. Guess taking the picture made me think twice. I was ecstatic to see them and strap them back onto my feet ... it has been many, many months.

After work I went to Disko Nekro, squired by a very sporting Art Boy. The club is home to other goth nights on other nights of the week as well, and I wanted to see if it would feel safe for a solo outing. I think it would be OK: it's on a big street, and the entrance is surrounded by people milling around outside, like the Warehouse's used to be. The bartenders/bouncers seemed friendly without being creepy, and the dance floor was small but very respectful. I enjoyed it a lot. The club itself is apparently called Nicotine (DN is just the name of the night), but as it is in Hollywood, there is no sign. I drove around the block three times scrutinizing the door and wondering if it looked like there might be a club inside, rechecking the address I had written down, then finally just parked and walked in.

It's a tiny space: a narrow bar with red side walls, decorated with just a single giant mirror in an ornate frame and small hanging lights. Near the door is a cut-out space lined with black and white wallpaper and containing a single table, so the scenesters can sit there and judge you as you're walking in. I think every club needs just one table for this purpose. The dance floor is about the size of our dining room and completely black - no strobes or mirrors - which I really enjoyed. There's a ledge so you can put your drink down and guard it. The crowd was thin (everyone was at a concert, Wake the Dead, one bartender explained) and the music better for skulking than exuberant dancing: Touch, Worlock, Lullaby. (You know you have found a skulking rather than an exuberant club when Touch is the preferred "Spectators" track over Once in a Lifetime.) Still, everyone on the floor was just super about sharing the limited space, and nobody was skeevy. Everyone was very much dancing as if they were lost in the forest, so I joined in and had a ball in my own tiny forest. It felt great to wake up with sore feet this morning. The music may have been getting livelier as the hour grew later, but we were tired and bailed shortly after 1.

I will go back, possibly on a weekday; I can see that place getting impossibly crowded on a Saturday. I will also stock up on cash for future visits: There's no cover, but a gin & tonic, unsurprisingly, costs more than three times what it does at The Dock. But one of the bartenders gave us shots, which was very nice of him and which certainly never happened at The Dock, to me anyway.

Resurrecting my love of going dancing feels very appropriate for today. Happy Easter!

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