Review of Nocturne Club Night in Philadelphia - it Sucks, and Not in a Good Way

I wiped the lipstick off.

After staring at my pale image in the bathroom mirror, I reasoned that black wasn't my color. I slicked my blond hair back, giving me an Eddie Munster-esque hairdo. Soon, I was clad in my black "Rocky Horror Picture Show" shirt, black jeans, and black worker's boots.

You would think I was on my way to a cat sacrifice, or to brew some sort of concoction that would give me straight A's in school. Actually, I was going to a club in Philly, Shampoo. It was Wednesday, Nocturne Night.

I have never been to a club, and I have never dressed "goth." I usually sport jeans, a button up shirt and flip-flops, my hair primped like I stepped out of the 70s. But for the next hour and a half, my friend, who wishes to be anonymous, and I would be angels of darkness.

I waded through the darkness, smoke and sweat after descending the stairs of Shampoo. I entered the first two rooms. The other two rooms were only open to adults over 21.

The Main Floor was semi-packed. Strobe lights flickered, the only illumination on the dance floor.
Everywhere I turned were piles of people sucking down cigarettes and dancing like the zombies in the "Thriller" video.

Half the people looked dead.

The other half looked almost dead.

I glanced at my reflection in the round mirrors plastered on the wall resembling shampoo bubbles. "Oy vey," I said to myself rolling my eyes. "This is going to be a 'fun' night."

At first, I was excited to be in an environment that looked like a fashion show at Halloween Adventure. The girls weren't too bad looking, except for the fact that their make-up was spray-painted on with industrial strength paint.

Making no attempt to talk to the ladies, I leaned against the empty bar. The DJ played Angels of Darkness music.

My friend and I walked to the large, wooden boxes lined up against the wall. We shimmied our way atop them and watched the room try to dance.

One man wearing wing-like pants that had a chain linking the legs together marched in place. He then tried to break dance by sitting on the floor and lifting himself off the ground repeatedly.

People literally danced to the beat of their own drum.
Across from my seat was a woman groping herself. Her silhouette resembled a creature from the film, Alien because of her layered dreadlocks.

I considered dancing but decided I didn't want to hurt myself in the process. Instead I playfully danced the Macarena in my seat.

A song called "Rough Sex" by Lords of Acid screamed through the club. The singer sang lines while everyone repeated "sex" after the line.

"Pure," said the band.

"Sex," we yelled.

"Deep!"

"Sex!"

"Hard!"

"Sex!"

"Rough!"

"Sex!"

My throat hurt from yelling, "Sex!" My friend and I left and walked to the White Room, a tent that is connected to Shampoo. The top half of the ceiling is gone so the clubbers can see the not-so-starry, city skyline.

Besides a burly man talking on his cell phone, the room was completely bare. My friend and I sat at a table.

A ground level, "STD ridden hot tub," as I called it, was in the corner. Techno 80s music blared, which was much more pleasant than the so-called "music" playing in the Main Room. We sat here for 20 minutes.
I began to yawn.

My friend and I tore paper. With the pieces of papers, we made "ripped paper art."

I wanted to dance, but I actually have rhythm, so I decided I wouldn't. I guess Nocturne isn't the place for people under 21, especially for someone like me.

Others, like Bill Volante, 23, from Clifton Heights, go to Nocturne almost every Wednesday.

"I go to have fun, dance, and see friends," Volante said.

I thought this experience would make me open my eyes to new things. Boy was I wrong. I was so bored.

There was hardly anyone in the place. The few that were there weren't very welcoming. My friend and I weren't in a "clique."

I spent the majority of the night wondering what it would be like to gouge my eyes out with my credit card.

Anything was more exciting than Nocturne.

The whole experience was a waste of time and precious money I earn making a little over minimum wage at Chuck E. Cheese.

I think I'll stick to the lighter side of the tracks. Now my friend wants me to go to Woody's, a gay club in Philly, because she went to Nocturne with me. But that's another story.

Nocturne is on Wednesday nights at Shampoo. It is all ages to enter, and 21, with I.D., to drink.

For more information on Shampoo go to http://www.shampooonline.com. Shampoo is located on Seventh and Willow streets in Philadelphia, Pa. To call the club for additional information you may reach someone at (215) 922-
7500.