October 29th - Skin Party: The Glow Edition @ Frequency Night Club

Hmmm. Last night - while being a strong example of places not to be attended by someone like me - served as a pleasant reminder of the both the joys and misgivings of the penniless,young 20-something days of yore. I probably should have heeded the obvious warning signs which I will list as follows:

1. The party was held at Underground ATL. Every city has a mall or shopping area which is sketchy during the day and best left undisturbed at night. Underground ATL is that one ghetto mall without any anchor chain stores and tons of cart displays. It's excellent for finding things sold on informercials or t-shirts featuring phrases that contain words like "ain't," "fo' sho," or "nahmsayin.' "'

2. There was no dress code on the invitation. It was assumed that the dress code was casual. It should have also been assumed that those likely to attend would be very young, strangely attired and most likely without the cash to purchase attire conducive to a peaceful and presumably upscale party scene.

3. Ladies were free all night long. It was a Thursday night, and though by tradition ladies night does tend to be on Thursdays, exclusive venues usually have a cut-off time for free admission.

Nevertheless, I and my perpetual date ventured out of the house listening to Mos Def's Auditorium. When we arrived downtown, I personally witnessed a block being "held down" and a couple of working girls on the track. Pulling into the Underground ATL parking garage, we were overcome by a rather ominous feeling. My boyfriend reminded me of how this place was the location of some shooting not too long ago by a rapist equipped with a cooler. I just noticed the lack of cars, a girl in need of pants and her cheerful date, and an inappropriately large number of young males loitering about the parking garage elevators. Outside of Frequency Night Club, there was a line of 80's fashion stricken, 21 year old fresh-faced girls and comically aggressive boys waiting to get in to what looked like a fairly empty venue.

Nostalgia washed over me. I thought back to my college days in New Orleans. My girl Sanita and I, on a budget of $20 each, would secure a suitable outfit and shoes, put money aside for drinks, go to Bible study and then get to the House of Blues before 12am to gain free entrance to hip-hop night. I looked at the crowd around me. Had I been this tacky? Had I been so obviously self-conscious? Had we tried to skip other people in line? Had the dudes always travelled in these crazy-looking packs? Early on, I had feared being stabbed without provocation. However, as I stopped and contemplated my past, I realized that none of these young people were going to engage in that activity. In my 20's, I had dared to go to such places because I knew other people my age would be there. Young people are frightening only because they possess a minimal amounts of reason and a maximum amount of energy. When I checked this one overly eager line-cutter, he cowered as if I was that one aunt who likes to use the belt. I relaxed. These were babies.

One of the few good things about being at a club with young bucks is that there is never a line at the bar. They don't have enough money to buy drinks. (Sadly, no wine was being served.) I immediately went to the reggae room and tied on a Tyku. We sat at the bar and watched the photographer set up while a few youth tried to dance so that no one else could actually see them dance. We laughed. There was one young guy who'd managed to secure a nice spot on a wall while a girl grinded her rump against him. I hope they knew each other. Every now and then, a half-naked chick with a weave and body paint would walk through the reggae room and into the hip-hop room. I guess these were the models who were supposed to set the theme of the party by wearing the glow-in-the dark-body paint. I was embarassed for them...partly because they were so young and partly because it was just so wrong. There was nothing artistic about the paint. It was kind of like an after-thought. One model had this "shit" walk which made me laugh as much as it made me want to protect her. Anyhow, another good thing about these types of situations is that one's old ass learns new dances. Last night, we learned how to do the "Sweep da Floor", which you can see in the video below. (My apologies for the darkness of the video. Remember how dark the clubs used to be at that age?) We both decided that we would visit a reggae spot in the near future after getting in some more cardio.

We went across to the hip-hop room where the majority of the youth were milling around. We noticed the slightly older youth making their entrances. These were mostly females who had sense enough to wear party-gear but did not yet possess the confidence to do anything more than stand in a circle with their equally shy friends waiting for some guy to buy them a drink. Sanita and I were definitely beyond our years in our day. We would triumphantly walk into the club in unison humming our theme song (Bug-a-boo) in our heads. Proudly flaunting our slim figures, we would find the center of the dance floor and generally act like we owned the club. As songs like Snoop Dogg's "Down 4 My N-words" and Crime Mob's "Knuck If You Buck" came on, our fellow partiers seemed to look around for permission before they showed any sign of individuality. Still, there were some, like this cute girl to the left, who donned their Halloween costumes with pride. You were hot, Honey. Enjoy the picture...but please be careful out there.

No, I'll never go to Frequency again. However, I was glad to have experienced what I did last night. It just made me appreciate maturity more. Until Halloween.....