(no subject)
Eeeeeeep!
Maybe I won't hold a Games Night that weekend. I was just thinking about how I won't look 16 forever, and then I stumble across this chance to dance to Keoki and 2 Live Crew! The venue sounds neat, too. The Chill Room will have sofas of legendary softness. And there'll be lasers!
The only other rave I've been to didn't have lasers, or a comfy Chill Room, or any visuals. It was much more expensive than this one, and there weren't any famous DJ's spinning. Venom was the most renowned of the bunch- and I can hear him every Sunday, just two miles from my house! I went alone, and wasn't sure what to expect- but it was December 31, 1999. The sun was about to rise on a new millenium, and I was determined to dance my way into it. As my friends secured themselves in their basements or ran from the big cities, I looked for the biggest, most urban rave I could find.
I suppose the Y2K paranoia had latched onto the New York City-area promoters: the only rave I could find in the Northeast was in Southern New Hampshire, I think. Not far north of Boston. Like I said, I really had only a fuzzy concept of what a rave was. People in a crowded club dancing to techno for hours and hours. To prepare, I ate an uncomfortably large dinner and filled all my pockets with small bags of candy. Gummy Bears and other sugary stuff, since I figured chocolate would melt and salt wouldn't be desperately needed until after I stopped.
I got there early, based on a friend's advice. The layout was disappointing. It was in a pool hall, where the pool tables had all been pushed to one side. There was a dirty bathroom, and a very brightly-lit, extremely cold hallway inbetween. This hallway became the Chill Space, and I later made quite a few friends there. Despite the lack of comfy places to lounge.
The first two or three DJ's were horrible . . . I couldn't stand to listen to their crappy music, much less dance. I lay on a pool table and tuned them out, meditating and gathering my strength. As the night stretched on, the DJ's got progressively better. At first, I would dance for a time, and then move to the hallway to catch my breath, eat a bit of my stored sugar, gab with my fellow ravers, play with their marvelous toys, and drink handfuls of water from the sink. (Bottles of water at $5 each? I Don't Think So.) I was slightly worried. My candy was running low, and they weren't selling any food at all- only water and soda. How would I withstand the wave of hunger that always comes at the end of a night lost in dance? What if that hunger came in the next hour, long before night's end?
And then- I have no idea which DJ was spinning or what time it was . . . I found my groove, I hit my stride. There was no difference between my body, my spirit, and the music. We moved as one, and what consciousness I had was sprawled across the stars, far from the pretty bodies writhing around me. I came back to the rave itself when the Countdown started. Normally, I don't give a fuck about the Countdown- what significance does it have, besides the Official End of My Birthday? My New Year doesn't start 'til Beltane. But this year- what would happen? I could feel the whole room draw breath.
"3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . " even the announcer paused, and we all waited for the power to go out, the bomb to go off, the riot to start . . . nothing. "HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
Was it especially bonding, we ravers going through that tense moment together? The relief and joy flooded us, consumed us. We were alive, young, and dancing. We hugged and kissed with relish, though we were strangers. This night was my first experience with people who were on E. How delighted they were, to talk to me, to hug me, to connect fearlessly! Wonderful! If only the barriers could be lowered thus every day, to become best friends with someone you met only moments ago!
Anyway, I danced until dawn. I got in my trusty car and watched the sun rise on a new Millenium. (I'm warning you now: any snarky comments about the "real" start of the Millenium will be summarily deleted, you fucking dweeb.) Strangely enough, I didn't feel any hunger until I was halfway home. I feasted on biscuits and sausages and gravy at a Denny's. The glow I earned from the 7+ hours of dancing didn't leave me for weeks. Maybe months.
The only "visual" of the night was a guy the promoters dressed up in an odd styrofoam/neon outfit who danced like a robot. I suppose he'd have fit into Puzzlebox well. Rave Promoter. Now there's a profession for me! Too bad I don't have the slightest clue how to start. Two raves in four years (if I go to this one in a few weeks) doesn't exactly make one a member of the scene.
I'd like to attend a rave with my entire Friends List someday. But since that might be impossible, I'll settle for dancing the night through with doctorellisdee and catling. Maybe at some future Burning Man?
Meanwhile- anybody wanna rave with me on November the 29th?
Maybe I won't hold a Games Night that weekend. I was just thinking about how I won't look 16 forever, and then I stumble across this chance to dance to Keoki and 2 Live Crew! The venue sounds neat, too. The Chill Room will have sofas of legendary softness. And there'll be lasers!
The only other rave I've been to didn't have lasers, or a comfy Chill Room, or any visuals. It was much more expensive than this one, and there weren't any famous DJ's spinning. Venom was the most renowned of the bunch- and I can hear him every Sunday, just two miles from my house! I went alone, and wasn't sure what to expect- but it was December 31, 1999. The sun was about to rise on a new millenium, and I was determined to dance my way into it. As my friends secured themselves in their basements or ran from the big cities, I looked for the biggest, most urban rave I could find.
I suppose the Y2K paranoia had latched onto the New York City-area promoters: the only rave I could find in the Northeast was in Southern New Hampshire, I think. Not far north of Boston. Like I said, I really had only a fuzzy concept of what a rave was. People in a crowded club dancing to techno for hours and hours. To prepare, I ate an uncomfortably large dinner and filled all my pockets with small bags of candy. Gummy Bears and other sugary stuff, since I figured chocolate would melt and salt wouldn't be desperately needed until after I stopped.
I got there early, based on a friend's advice. The layout was disappointing. It was in a pool hall, where the pool tables had all been pushed to one side. There was a dirty bathroom, and a very brightly-lit, extremely cold hallway inbetween. This hallway became the Chill Space, and I later made quite a few friends there. Despite the lack of comfy places to lounge.
The first two or three DJ's were horrible . . . I couldn't stand to listen to their crappy music, much less dance. I lay on a pool table and tuned them out, meditating and gathering my strength. As the night stretched on, the DJ's got progressively better. At first, I would dance for a time, and then move to the hallway to catch my breath, eat a bit of my stored sugar, gab with my fellow ravers, play with their marvelous toys, and drink handfuls of water from the sink. (Bottles of water at $5 each? I Don't Think So.) I was slightly worried. My candy was running low, and they weren't selling any food at all- only water and soda. How would I withstand the wave of hunger that always comes at the end of a night lost in dance? What if that hunger came in the next hour, long before night's end?
And then- I have no idea which DJ was spinning or what time it was . . . I found my groove, I hit my stride. There was no difference between my body, my spirit, and the music. We moved as one, and what consciousness I had was sprawled across the stars, far from the pretty bodies writhing around me. I came back to the rave itself when the Countdown started. Normally, I don't give a fuck about the Countdown- what significance does it have, besides the Official End of My Birthday? My New Year doesn't start 'til Beltane. But this year- what would happen? I could feel the whole room draw breath.
"3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . " even the announcer paused, and we all waited for the power to go out, the bomb to go off, the riot to start . . . nothing. "HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
Was it especially bonding, we ravers going through that tense moment together? The relief and joy flooded us, consumed us. We were alive, young, and dancing. We hugged and kissed with relish, though we were strangers. This night was my first experience with people who were on E. How delighted they were, to talk to me, to hug me, to connect fearlessly! Wonderful! If only the barriers could be lowered thus every day, to become best friends with someone you met only moments ago!
Anyway, I danced until dawn. I got in my trusty car and watched the sun rise on a new Millenium. (I'm warning you now: any snarky comments about the "real" start of the Millenium will be summarily deleted, you fucking dweeb.) Strangely enough, I didn't feel any hunger until I was halfway home. I feasted on biscuits and sausages and gravy at a Denny's. The glow I earned from the 7+ hours of dancing didn't leave me for weeks. Maybe months.
The only "visual" of the night was a guy the promoters dressed up in an odd styrofoam/neon outfit who danced like a robot. I suppose he'd have fit into Puzzlebox well. Rave Promoter. Now there's a profession for me! Too bad I don't have the slightest clue how to start. Two raves in four years (if I go to this one in a few weeks) doesn't exactly make one a member of the scene.
I'd like to attend a rave with my entire Friends List someday. But since that might be impossible, I'll settle for dancing the night through with doctorellisdee and catling. Maybe at some future Burning Man?
Meanwhile- anybody wanna rave with me on November the 29th?