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Alas, it is Saturday, and i’m a little pained up after a long day, and an even longer night. Hardcore soccer after six months of not playing will do that to any man, but going to a club and fighting the futile fight is also a pretty draining experience. (At some point in the night someone WILL be cockblocked by “Jesus”).
Ibiza is a relatively new club on first street in DC near the greyhound station. When we pull up, the line isn’t very long, but then again we are hellishly early for club time, being there at 10:05 to get in free. The first thing I notice is that at least 70% of people in the line, or working at the front are Asian. I know a Korean girl I met over the summer said she had a job at Ibiza, but I didn’t realize it was part of some, unseen Asian coalition. After a few minutes of idle conversation in the line, we enter.
I was 25% impressed. Only 25 because I don’t like going to clubs for a myriad reasons. Secondly, whne you step is there is a HUGE dounut shaped lounge area recessed into the floor. It looks pretty cool, but unless I was lucky that night, I probably wouldn’t be sitting there. I didn’t walk into the club going “wow”, but more like “hrm”. It was part warehouse meets hotel lounge.
The crowd at first was pretty mixed. A smattering of Black,White,Asian and Latino people. However, this would change drastically within only an hour of reaching the club. After another 45 minutes passed, I felt as If I was at a club in a foreign country. Almost everyone in the immediate vicinity was Asian. Many of the bartenders were hot Japanese-looking chicks, or part-time Asian male models, and a large number of the patrons on the dance floor were Asian as well. Now, I don’t mind the Asian thing, I’ve even dated a few Asian girls, but this was taking the club thing to an extreme. Not only do I dislike clubs because sometimes being a minority in certain clubs either really goes in your favor, or makes you the really awkward sweaty black guy dancing too fast in the middle of the club, but this was crazy.
I was in a majority minority situation.
I didn’t want to go to the club. I dislike clubs because they are very impersonal, overtly superficial and 99% a waste of my time. Though I might be wrong, I’m convinced that the nature of clubs only work for people who are (a) extremely attractive (b) a part of the social group in the club (c) club owners and affiliates. Either way, as the night went on my friends and I had a few stilted conversations with girls that ended up ignoring us (go figure) and then, jaded and disgruntled, I put forward the option to head to Wonderland.
Wonderland, as usual, was supposed to be my Friday night outing. Wonderland’s weird, almost Dimension X feel draws me in and makes me feel relaxed. There I know I can have fun. Big club full of cute Asian girls in the middle of DC? No chance.
When we are heading out we find out they have lost my friend’s credit card and his driver’s license. This adds another 30 minutes to our Wonderland departure time. For our wait, we are given a few bottles of water to drink( I swear someone got maced somewhere in the area, but they say that’s not club policy), but then a bouncer tells us we can’t leave the club with the bottles of water. At this point I don’t care. I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I won’t go to a club for a long, long time. I can never understand the atmosphere. Maybe its just me. Sometimes I think I am a cell-phone/club pariah.
Yes, a pariah.
Its not the most inspiring thought, but its all I can come up with. The club scene is a bit gay. Gay in the way that makes a guy feel like a loser when really he’s only a loser at big clubs :p
We head to Wonderland and reach there around 1:45 a.m. Even at that late hour, things are still swinging and I feel like slapping myself for going to Ibiza and spending too much money on drinks that cost half the price at Wonderland. The after effects of a work-laden-patronage-out-on-the-town are obvious. People are still chatting excitedly, a lot of people are drunk, and all around people seem “happy”. I know if I had come there at 11, I might have been there just in time to meet a nice little lady, just itching to chill with a Jamaican.
Sad.
We go upstairs and my friend follows this Filipina looking girl with a great body. She was wearing something that loooked like Moccasins, which was odd for early Fall fashion, but it worked. My friend kept commenting on her ass, and how great it was. Personally, I was in a blurry place. After a long stressful week, my Friday was completely wasted. The images that kept running through my head were seeing the single Asian guys that came in, all have girls on their arms about the time we were leaving.
“Argh!” I shouted.
My friend was trying to squeeze in on the girl with the indian boots, when Jesus (I kid you not) zooms in front of him, effectively creating a wedge between them both. “Damn,” my friend said.
“I got cock blocked by Jesus.” I laughed when I heard this. The guy was the splitting image of the stereotypical white-jesus. Long hair, fuzzy beard, calm-ish demenaour sans the halo. He was wearing a faded read shirt that read “Do it for the cookies!” (whatever that meant).
Wonderland started dying down and I ended up sitting on the stoop of my friend’s place a block away in a group of five, delineating on the discourses of attractive people and how much easier their lives are(I did not initiate this conversation). We sat and we drank beers. My friend who was previously cock-blocked by Jesus found a good chatting companion in the sister of a friend of my friend. As they were talking, I could see her comfort level rising. Even being cock-blocked by Jesus wouldn’t stop him this night.
After another forty-five minutes of pointless conversation, everyone was asking for food.
“Where is some fucking food!” the sister of the friend of my friend asked me. After scratching my head a bit, we ended up going to a 7-11 up the road (but not after trying to jump and grab onto a tree branch 19 feet above us…Twice.) During this time period, the sister of the friend of my friend calls my friend “cute” and shows him definite signs of interest. He is definitely “winning” as we like to say. I smile to myself, marveling how the after effect of Wonderland is so powerful, that good things flow even when we aren’t there.
Then I remember that I haven’t been called “cute”, “attractive”, or much less anything for as long as I can remember (even when I was dating ). So again, my Friday night was a waste.
But I learned two things.
(1) There are a LOT of Asian people in DC
(2) If Jesus-cock blocks you, its to point you in the direction of something garaunteed.
Today is Saturday, hopefully I can “win” this weekend, or I will jump into a pot of boiling oil, or just watch C-Span for hours on end to torture myself.
peace
Okay.
My title is horibbly deceptive. Last week wasn’t the greatest week, but I did feel like I accomplished a lot. With an 18 credit load, lack of sleep and feelings of mania crawling up my back, I still managed to do a lot of design-work, kept blogging and deal with my course load for classes.
My most interesting part of last week were my late night trips to Kinko’s to make this birthday gift for my ex-girlfriend. Yes, yes, I know what you are saying, I’m a loser.
I went to a meeting today for my school paper and one of the offered articles related to OCD. I wonder if I have a compulsion when it comes to design and writing. Maybe its my outlet, or my mojo or whatever. But there was one night after traveling for about an hour in total time (walking, waiting on bus, then walking some more) the Kinkos I went to was locked. I thought about smashing the large glass pane and doing my copying then. But I doubt the officers would believe I was trying to spend a few bucks doing copies.
So it was a long, involved week, with emotional ups and downs, and the release of that emotion during the weekend. It got released because the week ended. Today was an amazingly productive day. I did a ton of homework, two cartoons for the day, a presentation for class, and i”M about to start doing some script editing. Maybe I’m not doing as much as say–the CEO of GE, but i’m trying to maintain. I’m idle and e-mailing random people on the “w4m” section of Craigslist as a social experiment. Who knows, maybe it will give me something to write home about.
ciao
Okay, my title really has nothing to do with anything. I’m just trying to get more subscribers with catchy title headings. The demands of my day to day have been starting to get to me already. I have scripts to write, papers to hand in and i’m always up and down as the cartoonist trying to get something done. Add to that some design work, several books to read and the “bachelor” life and you have a recipe for burnout. So i’ve been using what little free time trying to get back into my gaming.
Gaming has always been a fun enterprise for me, and now with my new computer, I think I can start feeling that nice squishy feeling inside I used to feel when I was 18. In my Freshman year, I had no computer for the entire first semester, and I was envious, because all the guys in my dorm were playing Counterstrike till the wee hours of the morning. For those who don’t know what Counterstrike is, is was a “mod” (meaning modification) based on the original Half-life game engine. Half-life is one of the most successful video games in history, and Counterstrike is certainly the most successful Mod ever. Either way, the game works on a Agents versus Terrorists split. Either you are a terrorist, using Ak-47s and other weapons worthy of a cell, or you are a counter terrorist, meaning your guns and armour are better …sort of. Either way, coming from the stilted internet in Jamaica at the time (we had a measly 56K at the time), I was fascinated. Not only could I play online at blazing speeds, but with SIXTEEN people at once! It was amazing. Needless to say, when I got my computer in Spring of 2001, I didn’t sleep. Actually at the time I was suffering from severe insomnia, but Counterstrike was there to keep me company. I can’t describe how it feels for a guy who existed in a non-broadband society to jump into the bosom of super-fast downloads and ridiculous bandwidth. It was like a drug.
So flash forward seven or so years, and i’ve gone through a few gaming evolutions. My game of choice since day one has always been ID software games, since Wolfenstein and Quake are tattooed on my left butt cheek. (kiddding). As these games got more awesome, my sucky system couldn’t play them. It reached a point where all I did on my machine was write, and do graphic design because I couldn’t play any video games properly. I had a Gateway, which was a 1.2 gHz machine with I 512 megs of RAM and a 30 gig harddrive for two years. The harddrive died a few times, and then I upgraded to a bigger drive, same machine. Then one day I felt my computer crashed (actually it didn’t ) and rushed and bought what would be dubbed ” THE BEAST”.
Here’s where the story gets interesting. Currently i’m on “BEAST” number four, but I think that name is jinxed, so I’ve dubbed my new machine, “The Piccard”. Beast number one was a cool Pentium 4 with a gig of SDRAM (really really good ram). It worked great for a few months, but the started making noises like the kid in The Grudge when I was playing and then it died. Enter beast number two. This I actually bought from a friend of mine when he upgraded. This was a better machine, with a 64 bit chip, 1 gig of RAM and a bigger harddrive. I could play heavy hitters like Doom 3 and Half-life 2 on this one. Not maxed out (meaning all settings put to high) but I could run them. Then that died a mysterious death. Then my most recent machine ( you can check an earlier blog relating to my computer woes with that one) started acting funny and now… THE PICCARD is here.
This machine is a beast. It PWNED halflife on max settings. it PWNED Bioshock two and Quake Wars. If I wasn’t tired from school, jaded from lost love and a little bit hungry right now, I would be playing games into the wee hours of the morning. I thought it fit that I devote a blog to my new computer. A cool, dual-core “beast-esque” machine with Windows Vista (gay…) and enough bells and whistles to keep me well into next year. Like Piccard, I will go where no one has gone before.
Into the max-out-everything-verse. :p
