I Still Hate Clubs.

"Man, as much as I try to like clubs, I just never can.”

- Ravi, in a cab to our hostel from Pacha in Buenos Aires, circa 7am.

I’ll give it a shot. Different countries, different cities, it’s always the same. You go show up, pay a cover, wait forever to get a drink and then pay enough to sponsor a small child in Africa for it. It’s loud, it’s crowded, and there are sweaty dudes everywhere you look.

So on Saturday night, we decided to go to E-Werk for 90’s night. I had been to the chill, bar side of it for a few beers earlier in the week, so I didn’t know what I was in for, but when we got there, look at that! A bunch of sweaty dudes! Oh, I'm sorry, you probably couldn't hear me. "LOOK, A BUNCH OF SWEATY DUDES!"

That being said, it was actually a pretty solid night; far from some of the shittier nights that involved night clubs. I did get hit on by a dude in the bathroom (maybe he interpreted my “Sorry Dude, I don’t know German” smile and nod as a “HEY GIRL” smile and nod), but the rest of the night was pretty awesome. I think 90s night made it okay – I mean, who can hate on the techno version of “Quit Playin’ Games” or some throwback Spice Girls. I could go without ever hearing the Macarena or Mambo No. 5 for the rest of my life, and be thrilled about it, but there was good company and drinks were pretty cheap, so no complaints. At a certain point, I just kinda took off because finding a doner kebab became priority number one. Turns out most restaurants/food stands aren’t open at 3:30 in the morning – one of the few German failures (along with their unwillingness to jaywalk, the fact that most everything is closed on Sunday, and there are no English movie theaters).

This got me thinking about various attempts to enjoy clubs, and the bad experiences that came along. In no particular order:

- Any club in Vegas where we get bottle service – Oh, hey girl that pretends to be interested in us in order to get a couple free drinks out of us, goodbye $500, sorry douchey guy that “accidentally” bumped into me while walking by and gets all militant about it, and hey bouncer that’s telling me to leave because I’m not allowed to swing from a branch over the pool at Tryst.

- Club La Vela – Panama City Beach – any time any of us tried to tried to talk to a girl, there was a huge black dude in a throwback jersey to swoop in.

- Pacha – Buenos Aires – If you’re not on some sort of hardcore drug, don’t even try going there. And if you do, expect every single person in there to be on some sort of hard drug. And try not to beat up that dude with all the glow sticks. And I’m not man enough to stay out till 9:30 in the morning. Sorry.

- Ministry of Sound – London – 7 pounds for a Rolling Rock bottle?!? I’m sorry, is this shitty lager infused with truffle oil?

- Dante’s – Windsor – Yeah, there were some good times here, but most of the time I was too concerned with convincing people to go to the Honest Lawyer or the Casino instead. Or babysitting drunk girlfriend. Good times!

That being said, it’s always about who you’re with, not where you’re at. So all the above stories are extremely memorable, because in spite of the loudness, pricey drinks, and douchey people, you can always say, “Hey, remember that time the bouncer tried to kill Dom cause he was dancing on the stripper pole?” or “Hey, remember that time that we went to that shitty club, and then had to sleep in the car and go to Waffle House at 5 am because Nate went home with that girl in the National Guard and wouldn’t let us into the hotel room?”

And those are always the BEST stories.

Song of the Day (In the spirit of the 90s) : "Informer" - Snow

Book of the Day: You Shall Know Our Velocity! - Dave Eggers