(Full disclosure: I have DJed and promoted this club night. Nevertheless, I can't help writing something about it. The three year ride has been too meaningful, and at times too meaningless, to ignore.)
The night was plauged by a mixer that kept shutting down, a really trashy LA DJ/closer with his own party-pix crew, at least one fight, my lingering sobriety, and the sticky nostalgia that probably comes from ending a long, mixed love affair with a certain time and place for dancing. Thursday night at Chop Suey was sweaty with dancing kids and 21-year-old me felt like it was time to move on from the 18+ scene.
The 'last Club Pop ever' was typically debauched and more crowded than usual. Stranger music editor Eric Grandy was seen smirking at the door around 11:45, then later dancing on the floor. Talent buyer and promoter Michael Yuasa stood outside, bumming my smokes and deftly flirting with everyone. Like you'd expect for a last-Pop-ever, a number of people seemed to come out of the woodwork, like ALT bro termites scattering across Capitol Hill. One particularly social bro, looking confused and out of place in a sea of queer club kids, introduced himself to me and a friend on the terrace. Not recognizing him, we asked "is this your first Pop?" in a tone that implied "are you an akward virgin?" Of course, he said no, but that he hadn't been for a year.
Taking the bait he asked, "Do you guys come here often?"
My buddy replied tersely, "Do you even know who I am?" before turning away and leaving the guy, by himself, right inside the 21- rope line that separates 'jail-bait' from 'social drinkers.'
It was one of those precious Pop moments that makes you sure you're a pretentious asshole, and also makes you competely OK with that. Can't wait for those chill party pix.
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