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Random Magnet: Animal MagnetismBy Candice Holmes
A social life cornerstone of the youngish, hip, and varyingly poor in New York City is the wonderful event known as an open bar party. We love them especially when they are mixed with that always elusively welcome addition: free shit. A plus is if they have the veneer of being something that might be fashionable and/or give us a little culture. But really, it's all about the booze. On a recent Saturday night, I dragged a friend off to one of these parties after dinner. I had spent much of the night fretting about the timetable. It was meant to run from 8:30 pm to 12:30 am, but I, a savvy veteran of these things, knew that unless we were in the door by 10 pm, all hope of free vodka and/or beer was lost. It was my first visit to Volume, a newish club that I've heard about as a good dance space but had yet to check out. She and I traipsed through the dark industrial streets of Williamsburg feeling confused. This adventure was reminding me of why I've mostly given up doing things in Williamsburg: it's not a neighborhood meant for stumbling onto something by chance and almost impossible to comfortably navigate alone, my lifeblood as a solo intrepid. So many of the venues are scattered in the outskirts or on dark side streets that I, the consummate trooper, feel slightly uncomfortable about trekking alone. Especially since everyone around there travels in packs and I'm always the odd person out by default. When we got to North 11th Street and realized we were facing a plain warehouse instead of the club I thought was supposed be there, I remembered why I loved modern technology. I used Dodgeball to get the exact address and it turned out we were two blocks off. We strolled over to the right place to find the street was choked with people and wood crates piled 20 feet high. The lumber cast sinister shadows over everything and all I could think was: "it's pretty unlikely that I'll be traveling this street alone!" Inside milling about were our youthful brethren. The event was advertised as a magazine party/art exhibition, but I sardonically noted that there was no real indication of anything besides a run of the mill party. The sponsor logo was being projected onto the wall and a few prints were in the dark corner of the room so people wouldn't have to really pretend they were interested in it. We strolled about the place, a warehouse with 3 partitioned rooms. One room had a wall being projected with a collection of video images, running the gambit from porn to anime with some abstraction thrown in. That's culture for you. The main room was massive with bleachers lining the side and mattresses covered with plastic bags to give the appearance of gym mats. My friend and I were having high school flashbacks sitting around. The whole thing really did play like a school dance. The "bars" consisted of tables with liquor and mixer bottles and a keg on the floor. It was as if we were all having a party at the high school of our dreams. We stood on line and got our drinks that were clear up your sinuses strong: a glass of vodka with a splash of red color rumored to be cranberry juice. MmmÉjust how we like it. My cross section of the young theory was proved as I ran into countless people I knew from all around town and we greeted each other with knowing smiles and "I'm about to get a refill!" Another thing these parties are known for is good music and the two DJs on the decks didn't disappoint with a selection of long lost old school hip-hop tracks. The crowd flailed around appreciatively in that non-rhythmic hipster way. I had a minor celebrity spotting as I recognized the actor who played the villain in Honey (among other things) as I stood in a quiet corner near the phone. I debated with my friend on the line if I would be less or more cool if I told him that my favorite line from the movie was his - or even that I saw it at all (it was free). We decided it would be amusing, but like a chicken, I lost my nerve.
All was blissful until the murmurs of the open bar closing sent shockwaves
through the rooms. I ran into another friend who was running around
in a panic, trying to figure out which station was still the giving
out the free booze. Everyone congregated at the makeshift bar at the
far corner of the room, now only serving from the keg. It was every
person for themselves, as the line became monstrous with people obnoxiously
jockeying for position. I found myself trying to be a good girl and
stay civilized, but the rudeness and skippers tested my patience. Between
the girl on the right who not only eased past me and smacked me with
her flipping hair but had the nerve to talk shit as if I couldn't hear
her and the one on my left who tried to strike up a conversation with
me so I wouldn't notice she was trying to skip me, I was tres peeved.
Especially since I don't even drink beer and was just getting a cup
for a friend. The tapped kegs signaled the end of the party to most.
After all, there's no point in hanging around some place and paying
for drinks when it's empty. Besides, the school motif was becoming downright
oppressive as we sobered up. Flashbacks of real drunkenness at school
dances interrupted by teacher trouble startled people out of party mode.
Unlike real school, now that we were bored, we were free to go.
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