the old man in the club

This is the drake in Houston. I have never been to the drake. In fact, I have not been to any club club since roughly the mid-1990's, when everyone would rush the dance floor when the DJ played "This is how we do it." The fact that I have never been to the drake, and until recently would probably never have even contemplated going to the drake, does not stop me from reading the reviews of the drake posted on sites like Citysearch. I love reading reviews for clubs. It's like watching Flavor of Love 2 but more painful since the reviewers' dubious literacy is on full display.

To me, the most fascinating part of the reviews is that there is a raging debate going on about this club's door policy. Can you believe there are actual clubs with actual doormen who actually dictate which lucky souls get in and which ones don't make the cut -- in HOUSTON of all places? At any rate, the main question on the review boards seems to be: "Is this club racist?" The reviewers' answers tend to fall into one of four general categories:

1. "No, this club is not racist; I know this because I got in."
2. "Yes, this club is racist; I know this because I did not get in."
3. "Yes, this club is racist, but that is a good thing because it keeps people like you out." and
4. "No, this club is not racist; you didn't get in because you're tacky and they only let 'classy' people like me in." I LOVE it when people describe themselves as "classy."

So why is this all important? It isn't. But Blaine and I were invited to a going-away party at the drake next Saturday and I am psyched to be the old lady in the club. IF we get in. . .