Broadening our horizons.

So I made Rob go to the only dance club in Saratoga late last night—Thirteen. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on us, I assure you—after just having polished off roughly $40 of rare cheeses and a bottle of Tinta de Toro, to a soundtrack of John Coltrane and Robert Johnson. We don’t usually hit up places that have a 3:1 bouncer-to-patron ratio. The tiny tables that changed color were a huge hit with us.

What can I say—I had an itch to dance. So I did my best to shake my tail feather solo while Rob casually leaned against a wall sipping a beer. We were both a little distracted by the music videos projected all around, as neither of us makes any real effort to become familiar with stupid popular music. After some Black Eyed Peas, Usher, requisite Gaga, and some other thumping, trance-inducing number, we came to the conclusion that we were seriously out of the loop—and happily so. But it also neutralized some of my judgmental tendencies. I said to Rob, my eyes lingering on a group of girls singing along to every word, “Can you imagine if they were playing the Drive-By Truckers, or Derek and the Dominos right now, while projecting images of Patti Boyd, Duane Allman, and Jane Birkin partying it up?”

I had a minor zen moment thinking about a place like that: beat, holey velvet couches; leather poufs on the floor, drinks served in mismatched, colored glass goblets, and huge potted palm trees that someone’s always falling backwards into.

[Perfect venue to test-drive my new Gryphon sequined mini skirt. You can't tell from the 'ambient lighting', but it is the most radical shade of royal blue.]

Now I just have to figure out how to get someone to start a club like that… and how to keep it in business. If the disastrous playlist I picked out for our wedding reception is any indication, people don’t really want to hear CCR anymore when they’re getting their sip on.

-Carey

p.s. I will say, though, in its defense—if you’re doing the Caroline St. thing and you don’t want to wait 15 minutes for a drink, this is actually a good place to hit up prior to 1AM. We could actually hear each other talk and it didn’t smell like pee, a la Gaffney’s or the Tavern. Thirteen, I’m not hating on you, gurl.