For the faint of heart, take caution: there better be some gratuitous dancing ahead.Tonight, we are going to a new bar in Camden Town called The Flowerpot. Fancy, no? No, it isn’t a new establishment—sadly, it’s closing at the end of the month after what I understand to be a great run—but it will be our first time attending this swanky little place. And the first time you step into a new place, there is something magical that happens: you determine, quickly, if your night is going to be awesome or if it’s going to be shit. Sometimes you can be wrong (usually the result of too high hopes), but first impressions typically paint a pretty helpful picture.
I can already feel the dance floor pulsing: I am in a rowdy mood. Tonight, dear friends, is going to be a good, good night. It’s one of those nights that you start with Pour Some Sugar On Me because nothing gets you going like that song. (Am I alone in this?)
Here is something you may or may not know about me: I am a pole dancing competition winner. Sure, it was nothing professional, and it might have been a little more underground than I make it out to be, but I still won a pole dancing competition in the winter of 2009. Good times. But why share this little tidbit of information? Who actually needs to know that their friend, son, acquaintance, grandson is the winner of a competition that promotes loose and filthy behavior? Here is why it’s relative: tonight, I want to dance until I die. Aggressive, dirty, silly, lewd dancing that just makes everything so indescribably fun and adventurous. Tonight is for the girls who saturate pop music in sweat and the boys who make dancing feel like more than rhythm.
Turns out, tonight was not what first impressions made of it. Turns out, it was still pretty cool.
The Flowerpot, while described to me as a dance club by one Ben Hertel, is anything but. It’s more of a glorified mid-town venue for emerging artists on little tours around the county or, if they’re lucky, the nation. Let’s get real. I wanted to fucking dance. I wanted to move around and throw myself into the lights and let them guide me home. Oddly, it didn’t matter what I wanted. It simply wasn’t the place I wanted it to be; The Flowerpot could only be itself, and it is not a dance club.
The first band we heard tonight was called Transfer and they are based out of San Diego. It was easy to pick out their American influence amidst a crowd of Brits and I did not mind hearing some familiar sounds in a big new territory. They played some cool stuff: reminiscent of The Killers and an odd mash up of Duffy and Kings of Leon. Eclectic, I guess? I couldn’t help but think that Laura (Lowrah) and Dan would have been totally at home.The second band was made up of 4-5 guys that all wore costumes. My mind goes right to Ryft, but it definitely wasn’t them. They played some MGMT at the end of the night which everyone enjoyed. The lead singer really loved what he was doing: you could feel it. When an artist has that much love for their craft, you appreciate it much, much more.
No one was enjoying themselves nearly as much as Jenny and I were, so the gang retreated to Leicester Square to find some food to help sober up. Who knows if they found it…we’ll see in the morning, me thinks. I hope they’re all right. Nicole and Izzy: YOU WERE DRUNK J
So now it’s quarter past midnight and that means it’s one day closer to November. November. No matter how many times I say it, it won’t settle in. I have less than two months left here and that sucks. It sucks because you never expect to form relationships so fast; regardless of how amazing the people are, it’s always a surprise. You’d think I would have caught on by now that strange connections with people are a specialty of mine. I have this odd ability to form bonds with others. The bond then acts as some soul sucking device and forces me to put all have into maintaining that relationship or trying to strengthen it. Sure, it’s devastating when things don’t work out the way you want, but it’s awesome when that connection lasts and people are exactly who you thought they were. Personally, it’s caused a great deal of anguish, even in this short chapter here, but I would have it no other way. Go big or go home; give it all you have or don’t waste your time trying. It’s reckless and impulsive: it’s me!
I guess it’s that same impulsivity that I am starting to understand is something neat about me. I am learning to love and embrace it here in this little city of mine. It’s that same impulsivity that leads me to tell you things like: “I won a pole dancing competition.” And you know what? I was damn good.
Still young in London,
Josh
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