~SATURDAY~
Jim and I decided to stay home and chill so that we'd be rested up for Dark Rave later that night. Before heading to the clubs, we went back to the Indian resteraunt we'd been to on Thursday. This time we ordered some sort of mushroom masala dish instead of aloo gobi. Good stuff. We were so hungry that we ate EVERYTHING. I alone polished off a nan that was distinctly larger than my head. But 'twas not in excess; we'd need the fuel soon enough.
We ran home to change into club-wear and grab our glowsticks before hopping the Bathurst bus towards the club district. At the station, I noticed some goth types headed in the same direction.
Did you know that bondage pants are still in style in Canada? I thought those went out, like, 3 years ago! But no matter. I really rather liked those pants. I almost cried when I had to put mine to rest. (And we all know that fashion is a stupid, cyclical thing, anyway. It's only good for social signalling.)
Since it was already after 11pm, we had missed the reduced fare for the rave, and there was no reason to rush in. Jim suggested that we stop by The Savage Garden for a while. The Savage Garden is a goth club, and therefore strives for an ambiance that screams just how evil it is. The decor strikes a sexy blend between industrial dive and UV-light dungeon. As for the clientelle, there was a varied crowd of corset-bound moppets, leather-clad barbarians with shaven heads, pierced and dreadlocked wraiths, vampiric women leading pet boyfriends on leashes, glistening PVC, electrical tape, black light responsive hair dye, maroon lace, striped stockings, and tattoos. Very cool.
Toronto goths don't dance like Houston goths (I can't speak for St. Louis goths . . . if there are any such beasts.) I guess you could call the Toronto style "coordinated rythmic thrashing." Although I wanted to try it, I couldn't quite muster the courage.
Confession: I used to think that Jim danced a little funny. He didn't look bad, per se, just strange. Of course I didn't say anything to him at Bauhaus last October, but my doubt remained. Not anymore. When I saw Jim dance at The Savage Garden, I could finally observe his moves within the context in which he developed them. And I have to say, he's good. Really really REALLY good. He looked great under the strobe lights. Damn.
After I'd had my fill of The Savage Garden, I dragged Jim over to Fun Haus where Dark Rave was already in full swing. Two handstamps and a pat-down later, we were inside.
In the blink of an eye, I found myself bathed in ultraviolet light as lasers swept across my vision. Despite holding my ears, I couldn't keep the bass from roaring through my brain. Figures danced on all sides. Glowsticks. LED's. UV body paint. Boots, wings, corsets, cat ears, head pieces, face masks filled with Vic's vapor rub, glittering electric jewelry, and shiny fabric.
I felt as if I had finally entered heaven. And everyone was dancing.
I danced, too. Hard and long. I danced liquid style, one blue glowstick woven between the fingers of each hand. I traced a million theoretical electron orbitals in sickly blue light. When I tired of that, I tied my glowsticks to strings and swung them around my body in a series of devilish arcs. Jim stayed by my side the entire time. He danced in his own goth-club style, but with a milky turquoise glowstick (at one point, three) in each hand. We looked fantastic.
The dancers of Dark Rave generated so much body heat that Jim and I had to take breaks outside. We almost passed out a few times (or at least, I did). But we didn't leave the club until we were too dehydrated to dance another step. Not until we'd been at it for hours. Not until the last glowstick faded.
On our way home, a couple off bums asked Jim and I if they could have our glowsticks. Jim threw six dimming glowsticks and a red string at the first bum, which shifted the rest of the bums attentions to this sudden bounty. During the scuffle, Jim took me by the hand and we strode away.
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