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FEATURES
Monday, May 4, 1998
THE MAROON TIGER
. PAGE 9
The Rites and Rituals of Clubbing
By Brian L. Thompson
Editor-in-Chief
"Men go to dubs to meet
women and women go to have
fun," the saying goes.
If you believe that, you
probably also believe that you
can fly with pixie dust and a
happy thought, and your
name should be Big Baby
Jesus.
I suppose that females
spend the hours of preparation
that go into getting ready for
a club — the showering,
curling, spraying, and the
ritual of picking out just the
right clothes — so that their
girls will compliment them.
Besides, I don't know one
man who will pay a $10 cover
charge just to meet women
when you can see the same
women wearing the same
things at Club Woody for free.
I had a chance to go to
Club 112 and 559 last month;
two different clubs with two
completely different
atmospheres. The females that
I went with had different
motives for going. One looked
for her girl part of the night
and the other was interested in
expanding her "[dating]
clientele." I went because it
was my birthday. Both came
out of the club with numbers
while I got none, and my ears
didn't stop ringing for three
days.
Although these clubs are
worlds apart, the types of
women remain the same.
Fellas, we're most likely to
run into the A-type female. If
you dance all up on her, she
probably won't mind. You
may even exchange numbers.
After you wait the requisite
amount of time before you call
her (2-3 days so you don't
seem too anxious), you may
even hook up. Should you
meet a girl you really like and
you're lucky, you'll both be
interested in each other even
after you orgasm weeks later.
Or, once the bumping and
grinding ends, you'll both
utter those words which
everyone says but almost
nobody means, "I'll call you."
The B type females are the
ones who usually don't want
us dancing all on them and/
or just dance with their girls.
They're the
ones who will
usually be
called lesbians,
or some other
expletive, if
they decline
when asked to
dance or give
up their phone
numbers.
I've only
seen Type C at
559. These are
the females
who either a)
need five feet
of room on all sides when they
dance so they won't hit
anybody, or b) end up getting
humped or bumped on the
dance floor. Some of them
have gold teeth and/or gold
hair and a good number of
them are probably
overdeveloped fifteen-year-
olds passing for eighteen so
they can get in.
Fellas, ladies, do not be
disillusioned. Mr. Right and
Ms. Right do not exist in the
club. Even if they did, what are
the odds that you could hear
what they were saying
anyway?
By Stefan Chase
Contributing Writer
You've got the sexiest
outfit, the hair is workin' it,
and females are in free before
11!!! You know what this
means — it's ladies night out,
and we are definitely going to
tear the club up.
But why all the trouble?
The ridiculously expensive
party gear, the five-hour wait
at the hair salon, and the
application and reapplication of
makeup and fingernail polish
— just to get the
mere ten dollar
club fee
waived? Girls,
is it really
worth it?
ABSOLUTELY,
according to
the majority of
the AUC
women.
"Yeah, it's
a lot of trouble
getting
yourself
together for a
night out, but
when you are finally ready to
go, you feel like you're the
bomb," says Simone Cade, a
Freshman at Spelman.
Furthermore, when
women enter the doors of
Atlanta Live, Club ESSO, and
Club 112, the men confirm —
with a plethora of
compliments — that our hectic
preparation regimes do not go
unnoticed.
But wait a minute guys,
our rationale for "dubbin"' is
not so petty as to simply
receive cat calls, pssss's, or the
saying every girl has heard,
"Girl, you look good, can I get
that number?"
Just watch us out on the
dance floor, twisting and
turning, and yes, even
grinding. You'll see the smiles
on our faces, and the laughter
you will hear speaks for itself:
We are having a good time and
enjoying every moment of it.
Mingling, dancing, flirting —
it's all in the name of fun.
Unless, of course, it has
another name: 'soul mate
searching' !
All right, so I'll confess,
not all of us pursue Saturday
nights just to get our "groove
on." As Shironda White of
Clark Atlanta University puts
it, "I always have this idea in
the back of my mind that I'll
meet the man of my dreams."
She does admit, though,
this might be a tad bit
unrealistic, for the simple fact
there are a billion other girls in
the same club, who have the
potential of dreaming her
dream man away.
Nevertheless, this hidden
agenda of finding "the one"
serves as reason enough to
participate in the rituals of
"dubbin."'
When it comes down to it,
the musical beats, the dance
floor, the profiling and
attractive characters, and the
hip atmosphere of a club are
enticing within itself. Whether
she goes to party, to dance, or
to find a man, chances are, as
long as a girl gets in at no cost,
and drinks (non-alcoholic of
course) are free, she'll be back
again.
So ultimately, with a little
time on her hands, what girl
wouldn't want to take an
opportunity in doing her part
to "tear the club up"?
AMiller'sTale
Continued from page 8
calling this?" Yasheve
interrupts. He suggests a title:
"The Man in the Black Mask."
I sneeze and snort loudly and
pretend I don't hear.
Shortly, Yasheve returns
from the bathroom. He
apparently had to temporarily
purge himself of his
pigheaded company. What he
doesn't know is I sampled
three of his French fries. But he
won't miss them. The grease-
soaked container is about half
full. Anyway, he says, "Rigid"
is written by someone whose
first love is movies. He says it's
a how-to guide to sex. I don't
tell him about what I've read.
Yasheve doesn't know
what kind of response to
expect from this book. He's
already gearing up for the next
one.
Cleaning his
fingernails
on a flimsy
paper
napkin, he
takes a final
look into the
cardboard
container.
There are no more fries; I
checked.
I suggest to Yasheve that
we sit over by the window. He
takes the seat across from me
and partially unzips his
backpack. I stare at his food.
The smell and hot steam of
fried potatoes makes me
salivate. I swallow several
times to stifle my hunger, and
curse the five dollars I lent to
Bob last Friday.
Yasheve answers my first
question in his smug, collected
manner, with a cheek full of
food. He says "Well," then he
makes me wait until he
finishes chewing. But I give
him my best calm poker face
in return. Two can play at this
game, Miller! "I was bored. I
wanted to do
something,"
Yasheve finishes
to answer why
he wrote "Rigid"
and found the
publishing
company
Addenadon. He
had money to
spare and had completed so
many manuscripts that it
seemed a natural choice.
In the fifth grade, instead
of going to recess, the class
would sometimes ask him to
read stories he came up with,
including a satire on Dickens'
"A Christmas Carol." Then
Yasheve endured a period of
writer's block in college, and
wanted to regain that forward
progress.
"Sometimes I just want to
die. Sometimes I don't think
life is worth it," he says
indifferently as if still
considering food items from
the menu.
I ask him if he has
anything else to say for
himself. He does not. That's
when he simply slips a hand
into his backpack and lays a
little black book on the table
between us. Watch out world,
Addenadon is here.
“RIGID”
is written by someone
whose first love is movies.
He says it's a how-to guide to sex.
