The Goth Club

A.K.A. Should I buy the banana or kiwi flavoured lube?

The contract with my previous employer was not renewed when new owners took over (who then decided two weeks later that they actually did still need me. But they weren’t willing to keep me on the pittance I was being paid before, so fuck them). So I’ve been looking around for my dream job, something in events management. I’m sure most of you are familiar with the job hunting process. It’s long, grueling, and disheartening… at the best of times.

You submit your resume, a bog standard cover letter that you’ve mail merged with the position title, place of employment and HR persons name, because if you had to make a unique one for every role you’d go insane. And then you see the same job advertised next week, even though they never even sent you a bog standard rejection letter by way of reply. Bastards.

So it was a breath of fresh air when I saw one role that was actually basing its decisions on the actual quality of applicants work. Whilst you had to submit a resume, that didn’t matter nearly so much as following the process by which you had to actually apply. For starters, you had to apply on a specific date. Not have applications in by, nor after… But that one day only.

That’s not the most interesting part though. What truly set this job out from the rest, and I’m certain weeded out a lot of the standard applicants that just shotgun blast their resumes out there was that you had to design an event for this event management company. And not any event. You couldn’t just rehash an old plan you may have had lying around. You had to create an entirely new event, with budgets, mood boards, layouts, pictures, etc., of how you would announce to other people in the events industry that you had just been hired by this company.

What a fantastic concept for selecting candidates for a job! Actually looking and seeing if they’re capable of producing the actual work that you’re hiring them to do. It staggers me that more places don’t do this, but simply look at a resume, and often don’t even look past the education details, let alone to what you’ve actually done in your career so far.

Not at all like what (IMHO) I now consider the worst employment agency in Australia, with a poor record of data retention, and rude HR people that will reject your resume in less than 2 minutes after sending it… Is that even enough time to open it let alone read it?!

Either way, it got me thinking that there are all these jobs out there that seem totally goth, but simply aren’t when you get into it… Other than fashion and cosmetics retail, what out there is really all that goth?

• Owning the Haunted Bookshop
• Being a professional psychic / ghost hunter
• Grave digger and/or Mortician
• Forensics
• Drug Dealer
• Model

In fact, looking up “goth job” on Google even returns modeling… and porno, which is kind of modeling anyway. Now let’s compare this to what about 95% of the goth community are employed in:

• IT (Software)
• IT (Systems Maintenance)
• IT (Engineering)
• McDonald’s
• IT (Consulting)
• Part time modeling and creative arts career (Read: The Dole)

So what’s a guy to do if he wants a job outside of these areas, has training and experience outside of them, and yet still can’t find work outside? Give in? Certainly looks like a reasonable option. This is the great year of You Have To Give Up.

Or strike out, and be the most bizarre, attention grabbing whore you can possibly be.

And that’s what I aimed for with my event proposal.

If people are wondering what event I proposed… I think you’ll like it: Read it here.

And if you’re wondering, Im happy to organise your next function

Location: Insignia (corner of Flinders & Kings streets)

In short: Gulag = fun & cheap(ish) absinthe

Crowd Type: lazy-goths, ex-punks, Nick Cave look-alikes

Drinks: good prices on premium liquor, nice selection of beer.

Music: Too loud to make out things that weren’t punk.

You’d think from these post titles that I have something against Gulag.

Honestly, I don’t. I actually really like the place… most of the time.

I went again on Friday after getting somewhat screwed over on dinner plans (you people know who you are! Taste my emoticon of embittered darkness… ò_Ó ), and proceeded to have a good time for the majority of the evening.

The venue really is the sort of place that you tend to only see a goth club in as part of a movie. It’s how a goth club should look. And the drink variety is actually pretty decent, especially as there’s usually a good supply of Absinthe and nice whiskies and wines.

Mon’s done herself fantastic favours there with the venue selection.

But I have two issues that burn like my genitals after a weekend of hedonistic indulgence on the goth scene itself (No, I kid… there’s no burning… the stabbing pains of Jaz stabbing me with a sharp object of stabbing tends to outweigh considerations of said indulgence. If only there were an emoticon for embittered sadness).

1) The music.

Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of music I like to dance to. Can’t be helped. Different strokes for different folks, it takes all kinds, united colours of Beneton, if a tree falls on a unique flower in the forest do environmentalists go to a Get-Up meeting with Peter Garrett?, etc.

But can we please do something about DJs having no concept of volume? I like “Baggy Trousers”. I have some, I wear them… But sometimes, I like to talk to people while I wear baggy trousers, rather than listen to a song about my attire while I go hoarse trying to convey some deep insight about why I’m so wonderful and I should run for political posts. The fact that I’m a trained vocalist, and can project at nearly 110dB, and people still have trouble hearing me means that the music is actually at the sort of noise levels that will cause permanent hearing loss. A volume monitor in the DJ booth, please!

I know the setup of the venue means that two insanely large speakers in a small room won’t get the sound out of that room very well without it being intensely loud, but it’s a small venue. The best sound level should not be three feet outside the upstairs door.

2) The People

And this is the part of when a goth club is no longer a goth club. When non-goths come in and the music changes to suit them, which ties in directly to my first point.

I get it. The upstairs bar closes, piss heads don’t want to leave. They hear music downstairs and come to check it out. Sure, that’s fine. If they can handle the people in ‘funny clothes’ and the music, let ‘em stay. There are plenty of ‘non-goths’ that like to hang out at the goth clubs (Zak, I’m looking at you) and that’s fine. I’m not one to say “you’re the wrong type, GTFO!”… But don’t pander to them and encourage them to stay!

Shit, if people wanted a club that pandered to hetero-socio-normative types, whilst looking goth, Goo would still be around.

Ok ok ok, I know the joke’s wearing thinner than the latex on a big blue condom that’s been used for 6 hours straight, but I need to ride it while it’s still fresh in people’s minds.

So if Moore had a heart attack over the movie, and a brain embolism over the Saturday morning cartoon for the kiddies, what would he be like if DC sold the rights to advertising companies?

And what would those ads look like? We figure, something like this:

Special thanks to The Theory of Everything guys for coming up with something this epic.

So as to protect the (amazingly not) innocent, names will be abbreviated to first initials. In the case of conflicting initials, a numeral shall be added.

We’re all aware of how amazingly slutty the goth scene is. Let’s face it, people in other scenes tend to stop going to clubs once they’ve managed to pick up. On the goth scene, once people hook up at clubs, they tend to keep going to see if they can get a combo chain. It’d be like Street Fighter, except if Cammy and and Ibuki got their kit off and started eating each other out in that little street mall in Asia while Ken was basically pumping his fist for something other than his shoryuken.

I’m at a house party this evening. M’s house. We’re the last to arrive, as I’d been busy killing radioactive super mutants in an American wasteland. Important stuff. I’d just gotten a new female companion, and a weapon called a “Power Fist”. It’s so amazingly appropriate, yet not. And so amazingly appropriate for what was going to happen this evening at the party… I just didn’t know it at the time.

The party is progressing normally with everyone watching video clips when we arrive. N’s there, J, D, M2, S (who happens to be a friend of W), and a bunch of other people I don’t know. This includes the 13 year old son of someone. Yeah, you arleady know where this story is going… but it’s the details that make it worth while, so keep reading.

So after going to play with B, the cat, in ohe other room, I arrive just in time to prevent M from levelling S2 for trying to get fresh with N. 15 minutes spent forcing myself between the two, trying to get M to calm down, and then chasing him down the street to make sure he didn’t do anything regrettable, we’re finally back inside, and calming down, and the party is proceeding at a swinging pace. Absinthe & Baileys were involved (although not at the same time. trust me, it’s a combo you will never see in my Friday Drinks posts), as well as numerous other libations, such as UDLs.

All being fairly drunk, and gawth, N decides that M2 needs more makeup so that he can look like Robert Smith. We all pile into the front room to watch this go apace. Then N decides that everyone else needs makeup, and proceeds to do it for M. During this time, two of the other girls (who have names, or initials, but I forget them) decide that they’re going to smear their makeup over each others faces and breasts. Well, it’s a party. It’s a goth party in fact. So nothing too out of the ordinary… Until D and M2 decide they’re going to join in. Still not too unusual. Four people all making out on a couch happens all the time… Until M1 and N also decide to join in… And someone cracks out the video camera.

I should point out that this isn’t 3 couples being coupley. This is one couple, an engaged girl, a guy that looks like he’s straight out of the video clip for Lullaby, a mid 40s bald atheist jew with cancer… and someone else.

Normally, I wouldn’t be so rude as to post all of this. It’s private intimiate details. Except that D had basically been jabbing me in the kidneys with his elbow the whole time, because I’d actually been sitting on the couch that this all broke out on, and he forgot my girlfriend’s name again even though he’s known her for about four years now. Yes, I’m petty, but only when he’s funny.

At this point, in steps the husband-to-be of the engaged girl who is know getting the milking treatment from the other two girls, and has D going down on her while M1, M2 and myself watch on. Most people’s reaction to a situation like this would be shock, or outrage, or extreme violence. Did I mention this was a goth party? Yeah, his reaction was “Hold on! I’ll go get the video camera!” True to his word, 30 seconds later, we have a videographer in the room. After about 4 minutes, said videographer gets bored and hands the camera back to the husband-to-be.

It’s about now that the 13 year old kid stumbles in, and does what any kid that age would do when confronted with a scene like that. He tried to make himself the center of attention. To his credit, he did it using Beavis & Butthead references. Considering that the show is officially older than he is, that’s kind of impressive. He’s loaded up with the idiot MTV culture of the mid 90s. I’d have given the kid kudos, if I hadn’t been trying to figure out some way to jerk off without anyone noticing at the time. Once again, a 13 year old with a Tshirt pulled over his head screaming that he was Cornholio would generally stop most other people in their groin friction… but this is a goth party… and his dad was the one holding the video camera at the time.

Responsible parenting kicked in a few minutes later, and I now found myself in charge of the video camera. I try to do everything I do to the best of my ability, and photography is no different. Admittedly, I haven’t shot porno before, but I’d just seen Zac & Miri, so I felt pretty confident I could pull it off without getting shit all over my face. After a few minutes to figure out this particular camera, it was all good. Smooth zooms, slow pans, dollying. I had it all going on. I was a one man D.O.P.P… The second ‘P’ is for Porn. This is about 20 minutes in now, and the makeup that had been applied, inadvertantly triggering this entire episode, had now been smeared all over faces, chests & pants. Most of the people on the couch were now resembling Mentats, with a smearing of spice about their lips. Or it could have been herpes. Most likely, it was neither, and merely some lip gloss gone wild. Smears about. Hands groping. Breasts heaving. Ladies sighing. Men groaning. Thighs spaniking. Buttocks beaten with a riding crop. It’s all getting quite erotic.

Until D gets out the barbeque utensils.

I’m not even joking.  It’s at this point that my master piece of porno in some way gets turned into DVD commentary footage for his band. As it turns out N is not turned on by being scrubbed with a degreasing brush. Some people aren’t particularly fans of being spanked with a spatula, and no one liked having their nipples tweaked with the tongs. In my opinion, it was all too reminiscnet of one of the Saw movies for people to be really comfortable with it. And so the orgy inevitably fell apart before I’d even managed to get my other sock off.

Had I only thought to have shoot this on my phone instead, using an internet connection and a credit card portal, I’d have been a few grand richer this evening.