Some brief observations about going out in London:
1) It’s expensive. Just like everything else. I know I said I’m going to stop doing mental pound-to-dollar conversions, but I can’t help it. A £10 cover charge is $16! And that’s considered reasonable! Pretty soon I’m going to have to start promising these clubs my firstborn.
2) The music can be pretty weird, and the DJs are easily offended. As I mentioned yesterday, techno just isn’t cutting it for me. And when I suggest to the DJ that he play a seminal American class like “Baby Got Back,” he flat-out denies me. My feminine charm means nothing to these soulless turntable manipulators.
3) Guys actually dance. Like, a majority of guys. There’s little of that creeping-around-the-club’s-perimeter business. And they rarely enter my personal space without my explicit permission. It’s lovely. I feel like I can really express myself without the fear of some intoxicated, balding divorcée rubbing all up on me.
4) Unfortunately, guys also seem to think that “I love American accents” is an acceptable pick-up line. Well, gentlemen, all I hear when you say that is, “American girls are easy, like in American Pie, so I’m not going to waste my time getting creative.” Try again.
5) European young adults drink just as much as American young adults. So if you were thinking that Europeans develop better drinking habits because they’re weaned on wine with dinner and thus learn at an early age to drink responsibly, you are very wrong. Sorry. Drinking games and binge drinking exist here, too. I guess the youthful desire to obliterate ones liver transcends continental boundaries.