Why I Hate Miami Beach Clubs

A recent discussion about club bashing at Miami Beach 411 has inspired the following rant. While club culture is fun for some and extremely important to tourism, you couldn't pay me enough to go to a local club and here's why:

Nostalgia ... as a Miami native, I miss the old days.
Back in the 1980s when most of today's club goers were still in diapers, you could get into a spot like the Cameo or the Kitchen Club, listen to great alternative music and not have to take on that extra job as a Publix cashier just to support your clubbing lifestyle. And the pickle bucket at Wolfie's was really good at 2 am. And Cactus Cantina ... oh, I'm gonna cry now!

I may not be rich, but I have class.
Clubbing attracts the wealthiest scumbags on planet. Money and class don't necessarily mix.

Clubs and assholes mix quite well, however.
A night at the club wouldn't be the same without some belligerent and dangerous thugs thumping their chests with their gorilla size egos. Sometimes people get shot and clobbered at clubs. You never hear about that kind of crime happening at the Van Dyke jazz lounge, do you?

What did you say? Whaaaa?
I don't want to start wearing hearing aids until I'm 80. My iPod causes enough hearing damage, thank you. Boom boom bass with no melody line blasting like a jumbo jet turbine doesn't do my ears good. Seriously, that powerful vibe should only be on my magic rabbit, if you know what I mean. When I go out, I want to talk to my friends and not end up with a case of laryngitis by the time the evening is over.

If you're at a club, you're indirectly supporting drug culture and some weird mafia scene.
I had enough of seeing friends of mine lose their careers and lives to cocaine in the 80s. Don't care for that shit. Over it. And it's there ... in the bathrooms and behind secret handshakes. No thanks. REALLY no thanks.

$20 well martinis served with a 30 minute wait from an arrogant bartender.
No additional comment here.

It's called dancing, not fornicating.
Everyone dances like a drug-crazed baboon. What happened to the art of dance? These days it's not Fox Trot but Hot Twat. Every woman dances like she's a hoe-bag stripper or pole dancer, and that's all good, except that she's not actually working a shift at Tootsies! Oh and the dry humping couples, that's just lovely. Look, if I wanted to see couples fucking, you know what kind of club I'd go to in Broward. If you want to bump uglies, get a freakin' room at El Nido on 8th street.

People stress out about clubs.
"zOMG what am I gonna wear? How am I gonna get in? OMG OMG OMG!!!" Listen people, there are children starving around the world, the cure for cancer still hasn't been found and homeless people are sleeping in their own vomit in the alley right behind Washington Avenue. Get a grip and sense of perspective.

You put yourself under unnecessary scrutiny to be judged.
It's a club, for pete's sake, not the gates of heaven! Listen, life is bad enough as it is to have some random doorman tell me my big fat Cuban ass isn't good enough to get past the velvet rope. Let me tell you something: Maria never waits in line for stupid shit like this. Love, career, prosperity, the first orgasm while making love to a man you love and a good movie with a tub of buttered popcorn ... those things are WORTH waiting and working hard for.

The dress code makes pasties look like convent wear.
In a city where even the mannequins are double D's, I wouldn't dress the part, even if I was back in my skinny bitch body. I mean even a Collins Avenue hooker looks more elegant with her tampon hanging out than the typical club chic skank. What ever happened to sensuality and leaving something to the imagination? Listen women, if I can see your nipples and your skirt is so short you're leaving your vaginal excretions all over the place when you sit down, then that's not a dress, but an over sized maxi pad you just paid good dollars for at Bebe on Lincoln Road.

Who are you kidding?
Clubs are all about SEX SELLS. You're paying for a mental vacation from your day job. Is your life that boring and is that the only culture you've ever been exposed to? It's a theatrical experience, for sure, but it's not the same as going to a great show at the Fillmore. Bring the sexy into other aspects of your life and maybe you won't feel like you have to mortgage your house to be cool. Clubs are elitist, exclusionary and overpriced by nature, so who wants to be part of that bullshit?

There's more to Miami than clubs.
With what you spend for cover and bottle service, you could probably grab a show at the Arsht Center, have a fabulous dinner at a gourmet restaurant, cocktails at a lounge and still have money to spare for the South Beach cab driver that's going to mistake you for a tourist and price gouge you.

Photo credit: The incredibly talented Miami Fever at Flickr. Wish he was still photographing Miami!