r v l . c o m

Yesterday I had the good sense to escape the perfect conditions Amsterdam turned on for Queensday weekend and lock myself away for ~9 hours, inside a dark, hot and smoky nightclub, where a little soiree known as Rapido was being held.

Shortly before I lost the ability to use my limbs for anything other than dancing, I snapped the couple of photos below. They don’t really show much, but as you can see, it could be any dance floor in any country. In retrospect, the party was actually great. The music was vocal (3 Madonna tracks!!), there were lots of rooms to explore playing different music, the toilets were free (hello.. is this Amsterdam?) and the drinks were reasonably priced.

I was literally the most out-of-shape person there however. I think I even saw the security guy who had to frisk me throw up in his mouth a little. Diet starting tomorrow.

Usually at these parties, the music is so loud it makes conversation of any quantity or quality an impossibility. As a consquence, I actually find them quite introspective experiences - again that whole feeling of being around lots of people but not really having to interact with them (thanks in part to pair of fantastically party-appropriate M by Madonna sunglasses).

One aspect of human behaviour, or maybe just mine, that I can’t quite rationalise or explain yet, is that when one is on a dancefloor, why does it feel like the rest of the world has ceased to exist? I even noticed this at the GSA swim team party recently, where the dancefloor was about the size of my kitchen. I found myself totally preoccupied with standard dance floor thoughts; “who is looking at me”, “who should i be looking at”, “what was that person thinking wearing that outfit”, “does this count as waving my arms in the air like I just don’t care” and so on. And then when you finally step outside again, that wave of realisation - “oh yeah, there is a world out here”.

I wouldn’t describe myself as a hard core party goes by any definition (ok, maybe compared to my parents). But as soon as I step onto a dancefloor, any where in the world, large or small, all previous thoughts about work, study or Britney’s pending comeback album seem to just disappear and it’s like my whole brain is occupied by just movin’ and shakin’. What is that about?

Maybe I have some kind of undiagnosed medical condition - dancefloor-induced suspended reality syndrome (DISRS). Its not all together unpleasant to switch off every now and then, leave your worries at the coat-check, but I just don’t understand the how and why of it all.

Strange.