Ladies and gentlemen, your spiritual DJ is back on the microphone!
:)
(You know I've always wanted to say that.)
It has been a very important, and very transformational week for me spiritually and emotionally, and I wanted to go ahead and share some of the insights I've gleaned--and some of the more colorful moments as well.
It all began with my clubbing odyssey (yes, you read that right). For years, I had heard about the Dallas club scene--it was (and is) labeled by the conservative Christian community here as "evil," "wicked," and "of the devil." It was a silent (yet ever-present) force of danger in the eyes of the Christians I talked with and befriended in the months and years after I received Jesus Christ.
Some had partaken in the club scene themselves, and these were the ones I most (and least) understood. Memories of strip clubs, dance halls, and Saturday night party places can be haunting for some (particularly if those memories are associated with violence or an emotionally disturbing experience), and I suspect that their reticence toward supporting a night scene in which they had once been part stems as much from personal pain as it does a sense of misplaced loyalties. I understand that for some, healing involves removing oneself from a situation associated with terrible memories, and I respect (and always have respected) the Christians who have seen their "pasts" as things of pain and sorrow and wish, for reasons of their own, to move on.
I was always curious, however, about this mysterious (and yet centrally important) element of DFW life, so this semester I decided I would go to Dallas' world-famous Lizard Lounge. I promised a friend of mine several weeks ago that I would go that Friday--unfortunately, that was the week when another friend of mine (see posts below) threatened to kill herself. Then last Friday, since TCU was closed and I had the day off, I decided to spend the day (and evening) traveling to Dallas and looking for the Lizard Lounge.
As anyone who lives in DFW can tell you, downtown Dallas is far less friendly (and far more unsafe) than downtown Fort Worth, as a rule. Not only are there more (and more dangerous) panhandlers, but there are quite a few psychotic people here and there, as well as gang members who are far less willing to forgive and be forgiven than their counterparts "down the road." However, it is for this reason (among many others) that Dallas has always fascinated me whenever I have visited it--it is, to me, a slice of home, a city no different in character than any of the major cities where I grew up on the East Coast.
I made my way to Dallas early in the evening so I wouldn't have to run around at night trying to find this club (which could have gotten me killed)--and after 3 hours of mindless wandering from street to street (and asking one of the parking officials where it was, to a response of sheer incredulity), I finally decided to head back to the commuter train station I had used to travel into the city (narrowly avoiding a beating from a panhandler who tried to waylay me in the process). I made it, and boarded the train, chiding myself for stupidly wandering into a new (to me) city without having bothered to find out where my destination was.
Last night, I tried again (I got into town later than I had planned)--and after an hour of wandering through (mostly empty) streets and parking areas after dark (and narrowly missing a carjacking attempt--by inches), I finally managed to find (as I was busily cursing myself, the universe, the city of Dallas, and God) the Lizard Lounge. I entered (for free--they promised a free cover for the first 2 hours) and readied myself for an experience that would completely blow my expectations (and senses) away.
The sound system, the music, the darkness of the club--I was overwhelmed by the power of raw sexuality, celebrated and openly expressed. There was so much potential here . . .
The problem was that in the 30 minutes I stayed in the club, I was the only person there.
After enjoying the music (which was not DJ'd--it was a CD), I decided to head back to the train station so I could catch the last train back to Fort Worth. As I left, I saw a handful of people walking into the building, one of the girls screaming at the top of her lungs, and one of the women at the counter said something that I later realized was "this is probably going to be kind of a lame night."
During the next 30 minutes, I made a frantic dash to the train station . . . just in time to see the last damn train to Fort Worth rolling on its merry way down the tracks without me. (Obviously, as you can imagine, I was yelling, "SHIT!" at the top of my lungs.) (There was a lot of screaming going on last night. :))
After talking with a rather skillful panhandler who had a winning smile and a hustle second-to-none, I made my way back (using well-lit streets) to the Lizard Lounge, with the intention of spending the night there (it was open until 4am). What I saw when I got back . . .
The sound system, the music, the darkness of the club were still inviting, even more so now that a few dozen people had entered the main "lounge" room, some of them dancing. The light show had begun, and I expected that soon, one of the Lizard Lounge's DJ's would begin spinning some kick-ass beats capable of driving me off of my comfortable lounge seat and onto the dance floor. The vibe of the place was primal--there was an air of expectation that something at once barbaric and wonderful was about to happen (or could).
Unfortunately, the DJ did not begin his set proper until around 11pm or so, when some people had gotten tired of waiting. And when he did, he made the mistake of resorting to rock and roll or '80s heavy metal songs at points in which dancers were beginning to establish an atmosphere of (for lack of a better word) electric joy in the room. After a (long) seat of house beats, the crowd peaked around 1am and begin to steadily thin out afterward, so that the Lizard Lounge closed approximately 1 hour early.
(Sad but true--sometimes even nationally recognized night clubs have an "off" evening . . . )
Here are some of the highlights of the evening, however:
1. I saw several men and women breakdancing, a phenomenon I haven't seen (out in public) since the 1980's.
2. I got to see a man on the dance floor working it with 3 (that's right--3!) women, 2 of whom were lesbians. At one point (they were standing directly in front of me at the time), either the man or the non-lesbian woman got too close to one of the 2 lesbians, and her partner yelled at the top of her lungs, "Keep your hands off my girlfriend, bitch!"
3. I saw (obviously) several women shakin' their money-makers, but the most memorable of the bunch was a supremely well-built dirty blonde who made her way to the upper dance stage (which was directly in front of the main projection video screen) and totally got into "superfreak" mode, to the delight (and catcalls) of over 100 male and female bystanders.
4. As the crowd was thinning out, 2 couples (also directly in front of me) began doing the bump and grind, kissing as their bodies writhed in unison. (I was trying not to watch, so that I wouldn't get a black eye from one of the men, but it was an incredibly erotic experience.)
The most significant thing I saw or experienced, however, had nothing to do with the music or with sex--at around midnight, a random guy wanted to borrow my ashtray (which I wasn't using). He proceeded to introduce himself, and during the next hour, the two of us sat and chatted--just chatted. He was surprised that I had made it to age 33 and never clubbed before--I was surprised that he was an economics major (with his long red hair and goatee, he didn't look the part).
In all of the raw sexuality of the place, the mood, the crazy people doing crazy things, here I was having a normal conversation with a normal human being.
That's ultimately what the club scene is all about . . . normal human beings relaxing, having a good time, and engaging in conversation with one another.
Does it matter that this conversation takes place over a bottle of cold beer, or in a dark, crowded room filled with gyrating, pulsating human sexuality? Does it matter that the words "God" or "Jesus" aren't mentioned in this conversation?
I don't know, my friend--but I do know this . . . last night, I met a fellow wayfarer on the road of life, and in that moment, I knew friendship. I hope he did as well.
:)
(You know I've always wanted to say that.)
It has been a very important, and very transformational week for me spiritually and emotionally, and I wanted to go ahead and share some of the insights I've gleaned--and some of the more colorful moments as well.
It all began with my clubbing odyssey (yes, you read that right). For years, I had heard about the Dallas club scene--it was (and is) labeled by the conservative Christian community here as "evil," "wicked," and "of the devil." It was a silent (yet ever-present) force of danger in the eyes of the Christians I talked with and befriended in the months and years after I received Jesus Christ.
Some had partaken in the club scene themselves, and these were the ones I most (and least) understood. Memories of strip clubs, dance halls, and Saturday night party places can be haunting for some (particularly if those memories are associated with violence or an emotionally disturbing experience), and I suspect that their reticence toward supporting a night scene in which they had once been part stems as much from personal pain as it does a sense of misplaced loyalties. I understand that for some, healing involves removing oneself from a situation associated with terrible memories, and I respect (and always have respected) the Christians who have seen their "pasts" as things of pain and sorrow and wish, for reasons of their own, to move on.
I was always curious, however, about this mysterious (and yet centrally important) element of DFW life, so this semester I decided I would go to Dallas' world-famous Lizard Lounge. I promised a friend of mine several weeks ago that I would go that Friday--unfortunately, that was the week when another friend of mine (see posts below) threatened to kill herself. Then last Friday, since TCU was closed and I had the day off, I decided to spend the day (and evening) traveling to Dallas and looking for the Lizard Lounge.
As anyone who lives in DFW can tell you, downtown Dallas is far less friendly (and far more unsafe) than downtown Fort Worth, as a rule. Not only are there more (and more dangerous) panhandlers, but there are quite a few psychotic people here and there, as well as gang members who are far less willing to forgive and be forgiven than their counterparts "down the road." However, it is for this reason (among many others) that Dallas has always fascinated me whenever I have visited it--it is, to me, a slice of home, a city no different in character than any of the major cities where I grew up on the East Coast.
I made my way to Dallas early in the evening so I wouldn't have to run around at night trying to find this club (which could have gotten me killed)--and after 3 hours of mindless wandering from street to street (and asking one of the parking officials where it was, to a response of sheer incredulity), I finally decided to head back to the commuter train station I had used to travel into the city (narrowly avoiding a beating from a panhandler who tried to waylay me in the process). I made it, and boarded the train, chiding myself for stupidly wandering into a new (to me) city without having bothered to find out where my destination was.
Last night, I tried again (I got into town later than I had planned)--and after an hour of wandering through (mostly empty) streets and parking areas after dark (and narrowly missing a carjacking attempt--by inches), I finally managed to find (as I was busily cursing myself, the universe, the city of Dallas, and God) the Lizard Lounge. I entered (for free--they promised a free cover for the first 2 hours) and readied myself for an experience that would completely blow my expectations (and senses) away.
The sound system, the music, the darkness of the club--I was overwhelmed by the power of raw sexuality, celebrated and openly expressed. There was so much potential here . . .
The problem was that in the 30 minutes I stayed in the club, I was the only person there.
After enjoying the music (which was not DJ'd--it was a CD), I decided to head back to the train station so I could catch the last train back to Fort Worth. As I left, I saw a handful of people walking into the building, one of the girls screaming at the top of her lungs, and one of the women at the counter said something that I later realized was "this is probably going to be kind of a lame night."
During the next 30 minutes, I made a frantic dash to the train station . . . just in time to see the last damn train to Fort Worth rolling on its merry way down the tracks without me. (Obviously, as you can imagine, I was yelling, "SHIT!" at the top of my lungs.) (There was a lot of screaming going on last night. :))
After talking with a rather skillful panhandler who had a winning smile and a hustle second-to-none, I made my way back (using well-lit streets) to the Lizard Lounge, with the intention of spending the night there (it was open until 4am). What I saw when I got back . . .
The sound system, the music, the darkness of the club were still inviting, even more so now that a few dozen people had entered the main "lounge" room, some of them dancing. The light show had begun, and I expected that soon, one of the Lizard Lounge's DJ's would begin spinning some kick-ass beats capable of driving me off of my comfortable lounge seat and onto the dance floor. The vibe of the place was primal--there was an air of expectation that something at once barbaric and wonderful was about to happen (or could).
Unfortunately, the DJ did not begin his set proper until around 11pm or so, when some people had gotten tired of waiting. And when he did, he made the mistake of resorting to rock and roll or '80s heavy metal songs at points in which dancers were beginning to establish an atmosphere of (for lack of a better word) electric joy in the room. After a (long) seat of house beats, the crowd peaked around 1am and begin to steadily thin out afterward, so that the Lizard Lounge closed approximately 1 hour early.
(Sad but true--sometimes even nationally recognized night clubs have an "off" evening . . . )
Here are some of the highlights of the evening, however:
1. I saw several men and women breakdancing, a phenomenon I haven't seen (out in public) since the 1980's.
2. I got to see a man on the dance floor working it with 3 (that's right--3!) women, 2 of whom were lesbians. At one point (they were standing directly in front of me at the time), either the man or the non-lesbian woman got too close to one of the 2 lesbians, and her partner yelled at the top of her lungs, "Keep your hands off my girlfriend, bitch!"
3. I saw (obviously) several women shakin' their money-makers, but the most memorable of the bunch was a supremely well-built dirty blonde who made her way to the upper dance stage (which was directly in front of the main projection video screen) and totally got into "superfreak" mode, to the delight (and catcalls) of over 100 male and female bystanders.
4. As the crowd was thinning out, 2 couples (also directly in front of me) began doing the bump and grind, kissing as their bodies writhed in unison. (I was trying not to watch, so that I wouldn't get a black eye from one of the men, but it was an incredibly erotic experience.)
The most significant thing I saw or experienced, however, had nothing to do with the music or with sex--at around midnight, a random guy wanted to borrow my ashtray (which I wasn't using). He proceeded to introduce himself, and during the next hour, the two of us sat and chatted--just chatted. He was surprised that I had made it to age 33 and never clubbed before--I was surprised that he was an economics major (with his long red hair and goatee, he didn't look the part).
In all of the raw sexuality of the place, the mood, the crazy people doing crazy things, here I was having a normal conversation with a normal human being.
That's ultimately what the club scene is all about . . . normal human beings relaxing, having a good time, and engaging in conversation with one another.
Does it matter that this conversation takes place over a bottle of cold beer, or in a dark, crowded room filled with gyrating, pulsating human sexuality? Does it matter that the words "God" or "Jesus" aren't mentioned in this conversation?
I don't know, my friend--but I do know this . . . last night, I met a fellow wayfarer on the road of life, and in that moment, I knew friendship. I hope he did as well.
posted by Brian Bly at 10:30 AM
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