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Journals of an
Insane Genius -- January 1999
Its late Friday night and Im sitting in a parking lot
waiting for my buddy Melissa and her friends to meet me.
Were going to The FineLine, an after hours dance
club in Tucson. Ive never been there before. Mel told me
that it would be different.
The passenger side door opens and a dangerous looking young lady
wearing a leather jacket and dressed all in black starts to climb
in. Initially I think that Im being car jacked before I
realize that its Mel. This look is quite a contrast from
the professional appearance she maintains at the office. After a
quick stop at Circle K to stock up on cigarettes, Hansens
energy drinks, and assorted snacks we hit the road. Despite the
fact that she knows I rarely exceed the speed limit unless there
is a compelling reason, Mel is pestering me to hurry. Apparently
you get a free drink if you arrive before midnight. Right after
she tells me this an extremely localized gust of gravity pulls
down on my right foot.
This is it, Drachman Street. Turn here. Mel
instructs.
I follow her directions, and at precisely 11:50 I pull into... a
vacant lot. Mel is crushed. The FineLine was her absolute
favorite club for years and it has somehow disappeared without a
trace. Mel swears she was in the club less than six months ago.
We wander across the street to an all night Texaco station.
Apparently the graveyard shift offers little in the way of
entertainment and the cashier has been waiting all night for some
comic relief. In response to our questions he casually informs us
that The FineLine is no longer across the street. Mel coolly
replies that she had noticed and begins to interrogate him. It
turns out that the building was sold and the new owner evicted
them and tore everything down.
I cant believe The FineLine is gone. Mel
laments.
Oh, its not gone, the cashier states,
they just moved to another location.
Mel controls her fist of death and politely asks for the new
address. Ten minutes later we arrive. As we head for the entrance
Mel asks, Did I mention you were going to be frisked at the
door? I informed her that she hadnt, and loudly
wondered what kind of place this is.
Dark. Black is the most popular color here, both for the ambience
and as a fashion statement. Its also quite loud, at least
near the dance floor. A constant stream of techno-industrial
metal with a thumping dance beat washes over a sea of writhing
bodies. The dance floor is illuminated by black lights, which
cause anything light in color to glow. The walls are painted
black, which would normally give the appearance of being inside
of a cast iron stove, except for the artwork.
There are paintings everywhere. The best I can describe most of
the pieces is by saying that the artist was disturbed, and I
dont mean that the phone kept ringing while they were
painting. Within the context of the rest of the club this type of
art is quite suitable, and indeed there are some very good
paintings. There are also a couple that look like they belong
inside a cast iron stove, so I guess theyre right at home
as well.
Due to our navigation problems we didnt get there in time
for the free drinks, but as it turns out they lost their liquor
license when they moved and are waiting for their new one. Not a
problem for me since I was driving and not planning on anything
more than the one free drink anyway. Mel just came to dance, and
she jumped right in. Not one to be timid, I waded onto the dance
floor.
I used to avoid dancing before I came to terms with the fact that
I will always dance like what I am, a thirty four year old white
boy with no rhythm. But the first thing I noticed when I looked
around was that despite my genetic predisposition to sub-optimal
dancing, I would not be the worst person out there. Indeed, most
of the dancers were following the technique first made popular by
the animated Charlie Brown Christmas special, find
one move and stick to it. That gets old quickly to me, so I have
fun duplicating first one persons move and then
anothers. Of course Im a big klutz and with the
crowded dance floor Im bumping in to people. But I quickly
learn that no apology is required, or even desired, unless you
actually knock somebody down.
I become aware of a couple of people on the dance floor that are
apparently dancing to a completely different song than everybody
else. For people that remember phonographs, its like
theyre dancing at thirty-three and a third while everything
else is moving at forty-five. I wander over to where Mel is
dancing (nobody at The FineLine dances with a partner) and point
this out to her. She gives me a dare ya look and
suggests I give it a try. So with the music thumping out at a
hundred miles an hour I do my best to imitate David
Carradines Tai Chi workout tape played in slow motion. The
most interesting part is that where I felt like I was in
everybodys way before, they are now giving me a huge amount
of respect and actually making room for me.
Im impressed by the diversity of the crowd. Normally I
would expect this to create tension, but The FineLine is about
dressing up, dancing, and having a good time. Being different is
celebrated here. There is a large section of vampires. These
people dress completely in black and use all black make up and
fingernail polish, doing their best to appear undead. The other
thing about this group is the attitude. They dont associate
or even acknowledge the presence of non-vampires. I assume this
is what becomes of people that read far too much Anne Rice. The
baggy look is still in, and there is a substantial crowd wearing
jeans with legs large enough to serve as emergency shelters
should the weather in the club change unexpectedly. There are
quite a few people trying for the gang-banger look. Some of them
arent pulling it off very well, I suspect they could use
some lessons in attitude from the vampires. The college boys are
out. They prefer clothes that shine under the black lights. Quite
a few of them remove their shirts before hitting the dance floor.
Most of them should probably spend a little more time in the gym,
but there are a couple of hard bodies. There is a small
contingent of cross dressers present. This surprises me the most
because normally people that enjoy this tend to stick to clubs
where the majority of people have similar interests. There are
also a few loners, people that refuse to be categorized. One is
wearing a crown and a flowing purple cape. Another is out on the
dance floor in a gas mask. The smallest group is the one I belong
to, people that look slightly out of place. Not knowing what to
expect I was in jeans and a T-shirt. Next time Ill know
better.
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