Lately I haven't been much for going out. I could say times are tough or I'm just over going out, but the truth is I'm just plain lazy. I do love going out, but getting dressed, driving, paying for parking, fighting my way to a drink...ugh, it's enough to make me want to just blast the i-pod in my living room while creatively making drinks from the remnants of bottles from parties past.
With that said, I'd been itching to go dancing more than a tap dancer with restless leg syndrome (seriously, when did this even become such a big deal that to garner a name and a pill to boot!). So after getting gussied up, yes gussied, sometimes Wild West slang just works, we ventured to the land Bravo made me want to set ablaze, South Beach. Once there we made our way to quite possibly the coolest bar/lounge not only on Lincold Rd but all of South Beach. Buck 15.
Describing Buck 15 is to know it. Nestled atop Miss Yip's chinese restaurant this place can possibly accommodate 12 people comfortably. This of course translates into finding upwards of 300 people crammed together on an average night. Then there's the fact they've either no real discernible air conditioning or just can't be bothered to pay the electric bills because it is HOT in there. And not "oh it's a little warm in here sir I may just get the vapors" kind of hot. No, no, I'm talking "Holy Hell by way of a lava pit I think my blood may just be congealing as we speak where it not for the fact that our words turn to vapor as they hit the air."
And yet I completely love this place.
Aside from being a cardio class with liquor, which I understand is the actual description of most Bally's aerobics classes, the music in this place is phenomenal! Last night alone the mix ran the gamut from Blur, James Brown, Michael Jackson, Gwen Stefani and The Cure. A truly ecclectic blend that brought out just as ecclectic a clientele.
South Beach isn't exactly known for complacency or uniformity, but when I find myself literally laughing myself into a fit, it's definitely the result of seeing a man just clearing 3'3" staring up a man easily 3 feet taller. And please note this was a shockingly short man, none of that weirdly proportioned midget stuff here, no sir. Then there was the Eastern European sounding woman who bumped into me for what I still think was the sole purpose of advising me that the next song was by Lisa Stansfield. Now I enjoy the spit-curled singer as much as the next guy but well, no it wasn't the next song was Kelis' "Milkshake." Damn her and her iron curtain tongue setting my expectations up only to be dashed!
While the night ended prematurely at about 3-ish, maybe it was the right time. After all there's such a thing as too much of a good thing. Well, at least until the next time I get the hankering to sweat while dancing, which is always welcome...unless Richard Simmons is there.
That'd be weirder than an Eastern block, Lisa Stansfield loving non-midget.