The Glowstick Posse vs. the Children of the Night

Last night, I made it to CelebreNoir at Dizzy G's for the first time in months. For those lucky enough not to live in North Carolina, this is the only regular goth event in the Piedmont Triad area. I danced until my legs turned to jelly; by the end, my ears were ringing, and I smelled as if someone had been ashing in my hair for the entire night. It was the most fun I'd had in, well, forever.

The DJs were, suprisingly, spinning good music. I saw many friends and acquaintances, some of whom I did not know were even in the scene,reminding me of the eternal problem of club scenes--you meet people with similar interests and they can't hear you over the music. (It still amuses me that movie and television directors turn out scenes of people having normal conversations in dance clubs, instead of shouting fruitlessly in each other's ears and gesturing like bad mimes.) Two girls were putting on one hell of a show on the dancefloor, although, sadly, I suspect that at least one is quite straight and a show was all it was...so what do I have to rant about? The invasion of the the WDPs, that's what.

WDP stands for Wrong Damn Party, which is exactly where this specimen of subhumanity is. The ones in question were pseudoravers--they had glowsticks and came for painfully upbeat electronic music, but many looked jockish, they were dressed in either preppy or hip-hop clothing, and, black and white alike, had no sense of rhythm whatsoever. However, the "WDP" name isn't quite that easy to earn--one must arrive for the Wrong Damn Party and act as if it is the fault of everyone else that it isn't the event you were expecting, and that the different scene one has stumbled into is either horribly threatening and/or somehow fundamentally wrong. That is exactly the look the black-clad crowd was getting from these raveschmoes.

Admittedly, there is a permanent techno room upstairs in Dizzy G's, and a rave that starts at 2 AM. However, this does not explain the WDP crowd beginning to trickle in at 10 PM, and staying downstairs. When the children of the night didn't go away, the glowstick posse crowded into one little section of tables and glared daggers at the rest of us. They continued to pour in, and for a while outnumbered us lot who were supposed to be there, but even then they stuck to their section and their hostility, except when they occasionally emerged to dance badly and get shot down by the opposite sex...or what they took for the opposite, anyway.>D One particular dancing doofus, while getting in our way, kept his glowstick clamped in his mouth as if here were smoking it--the ever-compassionate Damien K suggested that somone should have smoked him, and I am afraid I myself had fantasies of Annie Oakley-ing the object out of his mouth, preferably from behind him.

By midnight, "we" were fairly thick on the ground, and had succeeded in chasing out all but a few WDPers--but that changed as 2 AM approached. As it got towards 2, though, the earlycomers got pretty thick again (well, plentiful. They were thick to start with.) This time, they clustered all around the edge of the place, looking impatient...I had the absurd image of a battle breaking out, to the accompaniment of the West Side Story score rearranged in clashing goth and house styles. Silly as that was, I was still watching to make sure I could bolt for the exit. I didn't need to, but the impression of them trying to chase us out was very not appreciated. The night was fun, but, thanks to this, by the time I left, I was more than ready.

I am perfectly aware that cross-subcultural understanding is a Good Thing, and there are goths who act just as badly, but...this lot were really stupid. People, if you stumble into the wrong scene, play along, don't get in the way, and for God's sake don't act like the existence of a different crowd is a personal affront. Thank you, and good night.

--DadyTengu
10 Feb 2002

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