First of all, I’m not one of those people who’s going to sit here and talk about how tattoos are STUPID unless they have a specific personal meaning to the person with the tattoo, i.e., “I got this after my grandma died because she liked kittens” or “Me and my bro each got one of Megatron because we love Transformers” or even “That’s my dog’s name, and that’s his paw print” because honestly I just don’t think that’s true. I don’t think a tattoo has to be some kind of dedication or private joke or commemoration or anything. In fact, I’d definitely respect someone WAY MORE for just getting a tattoo because they thought it looked cool, as long as they could admit it. I feel this way because I’ve begun to have a sneaking suspicion that not all of these supposed background stories are legitimate!

Here’s the problem; I always thought that tattoos were about the individual. That the whole idea was to further accentuate a person’s uniqueness with a unique piece of art, whether to commemorate an event, or just because they wanted to do it. The key word in my opinion is unique. And that’s where it gets a little hazy. If tattoos are about uniqueness, WHY DOES EVERYBODY’S INK LOOK THE SAME?

Why do I suddenly know a million people with koi fish tattoos, or skull tattoos, or butterfly tattoos? How are these people convincing themselves that they’re being original and that their art is important and meaningful when it’s something everyone else has, that they just picked out of a fucking binder?

There’s exceptions to every rule of course. The odd person might actually really be into butterflies and really associate themselves with the symbolism, and maybe they designed the butterfly tattoo themselves, so at the very least, we can be assured that the specific art on his/her hip is a unique piece, the only one of its kind.

But in general, I’m beginning to believe the rule is young people, inspired perhaps by liquor, or a burst of rebelliousness, or some desire to get noticed more, are showing up in tattoo parlors with some half-assed ‘story behind it’ that they dreamt up on the bus ride there, flipping through a few flash binders, and choosing the exact same image.

And the hilarious thing is, you can’t really call someone on it, can you? Nobody’s actually willing to talk about the issue. It’s the same reason it’s considered rude to call some sixteen year old girl an idiot for getting pregnant and having a child with some guy twice her age she met at a party; what good is it going to do? It’s not like they can ‘take it back’ and just correct their mistake, learn from it, and move on. The permanency of the art is what forces people to stick to their guns. Maybe they’ve already realized that they’re not the only ones in the world with a koi and some kanji written on their ass, but whatever their reason, you can bet they’ll be coming up with some kind of heartbreaking anecdote explaining why that particular bit of top-selling clip art is forever needled into their pores.

And so the circle continues, and tattoos lose more and more meaning and individuality. Nobody can just come right out and say that folks with mass-produced ink (who believe they’re hardcore) are basically idiots who don’t get the point. Ten years down the road, people who refuse to get tattoos will become the new counter-culture.

So I guess in summary, I’d like to point out I don’t actually have anything against tattoos, in theory. I think they’re actually often really beautiful and interesting. They enhance a person’s attractive characteristics more often than not. My gripe is with (A) people who got meaningless tattoos but won’t admit it (isn’t it okay just to have art for the sake of art? There doesn’t HAVE to be a story) and (B) people who get tattoos that are supposed to be meaningful, except that the art that they choose is mass produced and overused.

Anyway. That’ll do for now.

Let’s get right into it shall we?

I hate clubs.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind crowds, I love loud music, I love dancing, I love scantily clad ladies. I don’t even have a problem with alcohol, really. I drink socially. But when you put all these things together, you essentially always end up with a ridiculous shit-show.  I don’t know when it started happening, but ‘the club’ as I know it basically shares several common characteristics that have nothing to do with dancing or music or fun times. Maybe Calgary just has cruddy clubs. And maybe I’m just I big downer.

Honestly, I don’t really know how to begin describing my frustration. I don’t know wear to start in order to make a compelling argument, so I might jump around a lot. Let me try to describe my night, last night, let me try to help you place yourself in my shoes.

So we take a cab to the club. None of us currently have a car, and even if we did, everyone with a license was pre-drinking. The bus takes too long, I guess, and cabs are cheap shared, so yeah, we hop in a cab, go to Radio Park. I liked the place (in comparison to other clubs) almost immediately. The DJs there are great and they play totally danceable music. It’s not a huge place, but it’s big enough. The decor is pretty cool. It’s interesting, and clean, but not pretentious, like at all. I don’t even think they have a dress code. I’m all for that. Naturally, there was nobody there. A place that really seems like all sorts are welcome, and it was dead. Oh, and the drinks were damn expensive, but whatever.

So people start dancing a little, even though the people I came with were a little slow to get up and join in. It was feeling better already. This is what clubs are for. Show up, have a drink or two, get on the floor and shake it till the reason you’re shelling out six bucks for a drink is because you’re exhausted and thirsty, not because you want to black out and wake up with an ugly tattoo you don’t remember wanting.

Then the people I’m with decide they want to go. There’s no one here, so we should go somewhere where we know there’ll be a lot of people. We’re on Macleod Trail, by Heritage, so… naturally, the vote is the Back Alley. <sarcasm>Awesome.</sarcasm>

Those of you who live in Calgary who are reading this will generally understand my lack of enthusiasm. The Back Alley is generally known as the Crack Alley. The biggest, dirtiest, raunchiest club in the city. It’s huge, drinks are generally cheaper, and the clientele is… you know… fun. My girlfriend made a comment about how, at least, the Alley always has a lot of energy. I can’t disagree. Energy is important in a dance club, I think. Even the played-at-ridiculous-volume music is of a pretty good variety, but you can’t enjoy it, because whoever they have there on Fridays (I think it’s a local radio personality, Red Dog or something like that, but I’m not sure) won’t fucking shut up. I’m serious.

Again, I understand the concept of revving up a crowd by yelling at them, but at literally every song climax I tried dancing to, it was ruined by this moron yelling. You see, when the mic comes on, the music gets muffled a bit to allow the guy’s words to come through clearly. So right when the song is getting to the best, hardest, coolest moment, this dude would suddenly pop on and be like “FUK’N SCRRREEEEAAAMMMM” and kill the vibe. Try to imagine you’re having mediocre-to-average sex, and getting close to an orgasm, thinking, hey, this isn’t so bad, orgasms are nice. So it’s coming, and just before it happens, your partner leans down and screams in your face “MAKE SOME FUCKIN’ NOIIIIIIIISE!” The moment is totally lost. By the time he’s done yelling, you’ve realized the climax has come and gone, and you hardly felt it because you were too busy being irritated by this freak.

The dance floor was packed. This is usually a positive phrase, but I mean it when I say packed. Sure there weren’t a lot of people at Radio Park, but at least you had room to dance. I think that’s important. I think it’s cool to be surrounded by warm bodies, all moving to the beat, but it shouldn’t feel like a mosh pit. Shifting from one foot to the other and throwing up devil-horns isn’t really dancing, is it?

Where am I going with this? I think what I’m realizing as I write this is that I don’t hate the concept of clubs. My issue is more with the people who go to the clubs. But really, it’s just a big circle. Clubs give people what they want. The money spent speaks for itself. Why would they change?

There’s a prevailing sense of conceit when it comes to clubs, I think. Most clubs, anyway. Like, you put on your best clothes and go out dancing and have a good time, but it’s not that simple. Everyone seems to be wearing the same kind of stuff. Like there’s some kind of club uniform that the masses need to keep track of so they can stand out by… looking like everyone else? What exactly that style is tends to fluctuate depending on the club, but there’s still this idea that you better be cool if you want to get in. It’s not really true, but the idea is propagated.

So what you get is hundreds of people who are trying to be something that they aren’t, packed into a dark building together. They drink because they need alcohol to loosen up, so right away you have a problem. Folks that aren’t typically outgoing have now become outgoing. People who spend the work week together setting a standard of behavior are now totally unpredictable. So either they spend the night trying to convince each other to calm down, or they separate, and abandon one another. Why is this? Because club-goers are selfish.

It’s totally true. Work with me here. You’re going to celebrate the beginning of the weekend. You’ve had a hard work week or whatever, and you’re going to let loose. Sure you’re with friends and they’re so awesome and hip, but really, tonight is about you. It always is. Get drunk, dance your ass off, leave with someone good looking. Because of this mindset, people who show up as a group almost always split up. That wouldn’t be a problem, except at the end of the night, everyone’s drunk and everyone’s deaf. Nine times out of ten, there’s always a straggler or two that the others have to wait around trying to find, because that person’s not checking their phone because they can’t feel it vibrate or can’t hear it or whatever. Or they dropped it in a gorramn toilet.

Ask someone who went to a club the night before if they had an awesome time. The majority of them will not say yes, they had an awesome time… usually you’ll get a vague answer about how it was crazy, and someone got injured, and they got sooooo drunk, or lost their phone or whatever. When did “batshit nuts” become another way of saying “totally sweet”?

No, don’t think about it, I’ll tell you. It didn’t. In any other context, saying something was ridiculous or nuts is generally a negative thing. So why do people insist on doing this every weekend? Why do they go back? I spent something like sixty bucks last night, okay, yeah, I’m cheap, whatever… but I don’t know where that money went! And I don’t really know what I was paying for. I didn’t get anything in return. By my logic, you give money to somebody because you’re getting something out of it. The highlight of my night was a couple delicious slices of pizza that I purchased once I finally got myself out of the damn club.

If you were looking for a clean summary of my frustration, sorry, you lose. My first blog post is as long as an essay but not as well put together as one. If I had to make a thesis statement, it would be that the problem with clubs is that they attract young people who get together and act like retards, and it encourages them to. Clubs are just a massive promotion for alcohol companies. They’ll do whatever they need to get you to buy the brand.

So in conclusion, I guess I’ve answered my own question. I do know when ‘the club’ started becoming what it is today. About the same time that it stopped being about the dancing, and the music.

As I reached the top of the steps, the first thing I noticed was the burner. It seemed to be glowing brighter than I’ve ever seen a burner glow. Wow, I thought to myself, I’ve never seen a burner glow that brightly, and proceeded to shrug it off and take the pot off the burner. As I had guessed it would be, the pot was dry and a bit damaged. What I DIDN’T expect was for my foot to start screaming in intense pain. Reflexively, I dropped the pot and fell on my ass. Over the next second and a half I realized all of the following:

See that? That’s my pinky toe. I ripped off my sock and that’s what was underneath. I looked up, and there was grey gunk all over the floor.

That’s right. You guessed it. My burner somehow got hot enough to liquify the metal in my pot.

When I picked up the pot, the super hot liquid stuff DRIPPED ON MY FOOT. When I dropped the pot, the liquid metal (or solder, or whatever it was) splashed all over the floor. That thing I’m holding up there is a hardened puddle of liquid metal stuff. And it burnt me. It burnt me and proceeded to cauterize the blood to my toe.

I am in no way exaggerating or making this up. It happened like a half hour ago.

Anyway. Kinda cool right?