Grandpa vs. Clubbing

Most of my friends will tell you without hesitation that dance clubs are not my scene. I much prefer a “lounge” kind of atmosphere, and usually avoid “clubs” altogether.

This makes me something of an outcast among The Gays.

It’s a simple enough explanation: when I go out, I’m looking forward to spending quality time with people. I want to have conversation, share a few laughs, have a tasty beverage or three, and sometimes enjoy a live performance of some sort. (I mean theatre or music, people. C’mon now.)

When gay friends (often YOUNGER gay friends) get excited about going out to a dance club, I just can’t relate. I don’t dance, under any circumstances, so that doesn’t offer any excitement for me. I get cranky when clubs have music cranked up so loud that you can’t have a conversation with someone one foot away, no matter how much you shout.

And if the place is so crowded that people are knocking into me left and right, making me spill my often-overpriced drink, I’m certain to get pissed off in a hurry.

This is hardly a surprise to anyone who knows me socially — I’ve written in the past about my “elderly ennui” and how it sets me apart from most gay men I know, and my profound love for hotel bars instead. But even still, I continue to get incredulous responses from acquaintances (again, mostly younger gay men) who don’t seem to understand why I’m not as excited as they are about going out to clubs.

Let’s be clear: I don’t dance. I don’t generally like drag shows. I hate cramped, overly loud places where people stand around and can’t move or sit. Please don’t take it personally, as I’m glad that you enjoy those places, but I’d much rather be lounging somewhere.

Now, kindly get the hell off my lawn.

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