Buzzlife Presents: A Nation Not-so New Years

Don't ask me why, but one of my favorite club nights is Buzz at Nation in DC. Nation runs three regular club nights: Alchemy on Thursday (Goth/Industrial), Buzz/Cubix on Friday (Raver/Breeder crowd), and Velvet on Saturday (Gay, gay, Liberace gay). Since New Years Eve falls on Saturday this year, Buzz decided to do their own faux NYE party last night to wrap the year up.


Even when it's faux, New Years at Nation is an equinox where the walls between the worlds of Alchemy, Cubix, and Velvet melt away for an evening. Busty goth girls in thigh-high boots and spiked belts are dancing beside GW Candy couples and shirtless Marys from Dupont who are confused when the night ends why DJ Blaine Soliel isn't spinning Sunday Mass over at Five.


There was definately no shortage of people looking to get their pre-NYE drink and dance on. DJ Rap was spinning in the main room, but I think Drum and Bass really had a bigger crowd that I've ever seen in there the entire night. The DJ (some Asian dude) was clearly spinning The Scratch Perverts from Fabric Live 22. For a moment, it was almost like being in London (then again, not so much).


For most of this year (since the deck opened in the Spring), I've been running into these three girls from Winchester every time I've been there. In line, on the deck, in the main room, whether the place is packed or empty. George the Football has met them many times, Jason may have met them, I know Michael Wright has met them. In any event, it was looking like I might not run into them last night when I happened upon a fight in the D&B room. After five bouncers tackled Steve the drink-stealing Douche Bag and threw him out, I looked at the people in front of me and it was the Girls from Winchester. For joy!


One guy kept trying to nail his girlfriend in the main room, definately not a closer.

Some Velvet dude who was glowing like a feind kept getting harrassed by two rednecks from Old Town Manassas who were rolling out of their minds.

There was something up on one of the boxes that resembled a girl dancing, but it was more like a tranny convulsing to show off her hormone-grown boobs -- thrashing against the beat.

We may not have had a leap second, but we had an evening of drinking and text messaging, of uncomfortable small talk and overdosing, of gyrating white boys and sweaty asian girls. Yes folks, this is truely what dreams are made of.