….with the requisite nod to Beck. Was in one of the local dance/live music clubs. As a passive partaker in the nightlife, I go to many such places, and I tend to notice patterns. Such as, what types of people tend to patronize the late night pubs/clubs/… While this may vary for (say) the likes of Attica or Zouk, which are pure dance clubs, some of the same patterns may be apply there as well.
So, what fauna do we have? Oh yes, this is extremely un-PC and so on.
Rocking the dancefloor, one shill at a time
The cock teases. Sorry for the profanity. Oftentimes, you see a group of girls together. Sometimes they are all smashing. Sometimes, some are, some aren’t. Sometimes, none are. Regardless, they all dance together, and usually venture to the middle of the floor, then go back to their corner, hollering, high-fiving each other, and having a fun time in their group. This is all fine and dandy, but approach them and see how far you get. Maybe one of them will engage, flirting/dancing/knocking back drinks (that you buy for her), but try to get past the basics and see how far you get. All of a sudden they’re busy, have something to talk about, or simply give you the could shoulder.
This is okay. When all the cockteasers are hot, except for the vague hint of lesbianism, I can handle and even understand their use of the alcohol-fueled, barely controlled male libido on full display; grrl power. When some/or worse, all of the groupies are less than Perfect-10’s, the ploy skids towards ridicule. Case in point, last night, at the particular place I was at, a wannabe CT group was in action; one of the girls had the required attributes: a dolphin tattoo, navel-bearing spaghetti-strap shirt, and ripped jeans. Only that her haircut was simply wrong, so were her glasses, and her dancefloor moves were less than uninspired (oh yes: Chinese girls can’t dance. Which is usually OK, as most of them don’t try to). She gave the impression of being Suzie the Secretary on her big night out, when she can shine and all that. Only that no one was paying attention, except for a loser dude with a beer gut and a bald spot. No, kneeling if front of that dork was not cool, you dweeb.
I will get to this later, but making the right moves isn’t enough. Someone who has it in him/herself should make the moves.
Moving on. Who else do we have there? Oh yes, it’s the office team. Usually Western/bule/gweilo/ang moh/laowai/farang/gaijin, this valiant group consists of fearless Powerpoint warriors, fierce change management experts, shrewd HR managers, or other assorted similarly-boring corporate shills. If I said Asian girls can’t dance, just wait ’til you see Sandra the Aussie expat busting a move. Most Westerners I know can’t dance, and dance only for the hell of it, to amuse themselves, making complete twats of themselves in the process. Big-boned, freckled, washed blondes with serious coordination issues and no self awareness jumping up and down to Black Magic Woman, Viva La Vida and It’s My Life with the same energy and abandon, air guitar and all. Not forgetting the worst of it, the single white dude tearing it all alone in his world. Unless he’s Alejandro Fernandes, no man should attempt to do that. (In fact, this whole contingent would be booed off the floor in any Latin American country).
Not to say that I can dance. I cannot, neither can I sing. A good enough reason to avoid making a fool of myself by attempting any of the following.
And yet; you have the simply cool girl. Last night, that was the singer of the band. Efortless moves, efortless, entertainment ability, all smiles, and a huge ability to connect with everyone and say the right thing. Having the right shape and size also helped. Some dumb *bleep* will say that this can all be learned from a Self-Assurance for Dummies book, but unfortunately it cannot. You are born like that, or aren’t; the best you can do is not do more damage.
Moving on. Who else do we have? The working girls. Hanging together as a group, throwing glances towards any potential customers, this (most often) Filipina contingent is in a slightly precarious position, strengthened as the night advances and the secretaries and the change management experts call it a night and their male escorts are left hanging with increased levels of alcohol and testosterone. This group is usually complemented by maids and shop girls on their night off, only looking for fun or perhaps more (and thus, confusing further the said male population who is not quite sure if the wallet or the tired pickup lines should come out first).
And yet. One does on rare occasions see masters even in such confused environments. Such as earlier this week. Portly, balding Western executive type walks in with two ayam, whose combined age (and weight) was half of his, if a day. The girls were stunning, and took complete control of the dance floor, making all the starfish flutter to the sides. They had amazing energy, they had moves, they bounced up and down for the whole hour they were there, and not a strand of hair was out of place, not a bead of sweat was produced. Meanwhile, the lao ban stood by, drinking, eating (pizza was ordered, which the girls somehow managed to scarf down between dances), making tentative dance moves – but restrained – there was no need to show off or to impress anyone. This guy was in complete control and so were his proteges. And then, when the time was up, a quick nod and the guy was on his way. The girls dutifully followed, no questions asked, no tantrums and no sass. And the stage was thus yielded back to whatever secretaries were left. It was an amazing scene, reminiscent of another one I can’t quite talk about – which separated the men from the wannabes just the same. And yes, John the Powerpoint warrior had his floor back where he could put on his moves who weren’t impressing anyone. Happiness regained.
Where does this leave me? I’m not a dancer as I already said, so I suppose I’m one of the quiet observers guzzling their beer in the corner.
And I’m OK with that. Though, when I was with Kitty at Titanium….
Definitely Indonesia offers quite a lot to the anthropologist!
