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NYE06: Fluid Review
You Can Never Go to the Same Party Twice
Did you go, what do you think? Post a review / comment.
2006-01-02/Montreal
MONTREAL -
CLUB SODA –
flu·id (fl d)
n.
n.
A continuous, amorphous substance whose molecules move freely past one another and that has the tendency to assume the shape of its container; a liquid or gas.
That’s what last night was in a nutshell. Over the past 12 or so hours, I’ve been trying to put my finger down on what exactly it was that made Fluid such a good party and the answer was found at dictionary.com. Fluid was the answer to my New Year’s needs because it continues from one year to the next to fill the needs of its guests.
Entering the room a little early, I had the opportunity to be able to see Soda at its emptiest of the evening. Only myself, Justin (Adler), at least 10 bartenders manning the 5 bars, some security staff, a couple of the guys we met from Fluid, and a DJ setting up on stage occupied the large venue. However, the tranquility was broken a few moments later when, at 9:15, people began flowing into the hall.
A DJ was up onstage with two percussionists playing some of the normal poppy music you would expect to hear, but the congas gave off a tribal sense that managed to shake even Gwen Stefani’s music out of its normal rut. Many of the guests at this point were standing around, slowly mingling. I was saving my energy for later, when I knew the vibrations would be more intense.
Empty beer cup in hand, my cohort and I headed to the bar to interview some people and grab some drinks. A man was standing there with his girlfriend, and I tried to interview them while Justin picked me up two cups of vodka mixed with Guru as well as whatever he was drinking. While his girlfriend wasn’t quite the talkative type, shying away from my microphone (was I coming off too aggressive?), he confessed to me that the one drink he would refrain from ordering at this or at any club, was a glass of milk. I was worried about him. A lack of calcium could lead to a shrunken appetite for party-going. And with a girlfriend like his…
With our drinks refilled, we once again entered the fray of people on the dance floor. Beautiful women filled the hall, and the party was beginning to liven up.
I could have spent New Years with friends of mine, but I think a New Year calls for new people. And where better to meet a plethora of interesting and unique individuals than what has been the crossroads between French Canada and otherwise underage Americans.
I must admit, I don’t understand the appeal of working on the biggest party night of the year. I had stopped by a fast food joint for a quick bite of dinner/eating contest earlier, and the woman behind the counter saddened me. She couldn’t have been anything over 19, and yet she was being subjected to the toils of labor when she could be out celebrating.
I too was in this position – sort of, having to focus on my journalistic responsibilities instead of the party. But when push comes to shove, work must come before pleasure. I had made a promise to the promoters that this magazine would host a review and, sound quality permitting, audio clips of some of the guests, and dammit we were going to keep that promise.
With much more alcohol than I should have consumed being processed by my liver, the night was spinning wildly out of control – in a good way. The reclusive VIPs kept away from the common-folk, who were bumping and grinding each other in search of a companion to return home with. Or at least to share a midnight kiss with.
The stroke of midnight came and went. The party continued. The bars kept pouring. The smoke-filled air continued flowing into our lungs.
Fluid somehow managed to break our strict, serious approach to this party. We were no longer outsiders looking in; as 2006 dawned on us, Justin and I became involved in the party, assuming the shape of our container. It crashed down on us like a tidal wave, sucking us in only to spit us out once more, at 3 in the morning, when they had to usher the guests out.
We hung back for a moment, glad that we didn’t have any overcoats to grab in the mad dash to the door. Looking back over Club Soda, one may have compared it to a natural disaster. 6 hours before, my partner and I saw a clear floor, the blank slate of the New Year smiling gently up at us. But as people were exiting the building, the floor’s new face showed itself: encrusted with empty cups, some ripped clothing, and bearing lots of this party’s namesake.
2006 is now at hand and it doesn’t feel that much different than 2005. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that time is fluid - a continuous, amorphous substance.
Edited by Justin Levy
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