Caffination

Last night I went to the second biggest indoor rave in Colorado (second only to Skylab, which I went to as well) which is called Caffeine.

The second I walked in, I though to myself "Oh. My. God. I forgot how much I miss big raves." Caffeine was, by no means, definitely not the biggest rave I've ever been to-- Skylab was about 25% bigger-- but it was still fairly huge and had a big main stage with a really cool light set up.

The theme for the rave was gardening. Seriously. The stages were all named after flowers and the main stage had this big honeycomb patterned light board that was cover in huge neon flowers and bees. The gogos were dancing in front of smaller light boards, so from a distance all you could see was their silhouettes; it was really cool. The bright stage set up coupled with the fact that the lighting tech in charge of all the lights and lasers and fog and other effects was really on top of his shit made for a fairly amazing light display for the whole show.

I wish I had thought to take pictures! When the albums from the pro photographers go up on Facebook, I'll jack a few of the choice shots so you guys can see what I'm talking about, because trying to describe it just isn't doing it any justice.

SO. Funny story of the night:
Ember and I had just parked my car and we were about to go into the rave when a cop called us over. I thought that he was going to card us (in Colorado, there's a legal curfew for minors) or search us or something (thank Rocket Jesus I didn't have a speck of illegal substance on my person) so we cautiously walked over to him and prepared for our budding night to be ruined.

Instead of getting all authoritative-Imma-make-you-the-bitch-of-the-law on us, he was like "Can I take a picture with you girls?! My friend doesn't believe me that people ACTUALLY dress like that for raves." Cue Ember and I looking down at our outfits. Ember was in a wrap-around, a bikini, fishnets, and fluffies, and I was in hot pink spandex and gogo boots. Both of us were kandied out like no one's business. 

We were like "Lols, ok!" and we took a picture with the cop in front of his motor bike. It was basically the funniest shit ever.

The rave itself was lovely. I saw tons of old friends and made a bunch of new ones. I got some fantastic kandi, too.

At one point, I had a very existential moment on the dance floor. The DJ who was playing was kind of shitty and the set was slowing down and I stopped dancing and looked around at all of the drugged-up, crazily dressed people around me and thought "Why am I doing this?" Why was I standing in the middle of the dance floor at a rave on this night when there were so many other things I could be doing.

Raving is not inherently bad, but it's not particularly productive, nor is it incredibly reputable. Why do I choose to devote so much time, effort, and money to a hobby that is so eccentric, controversial, and even dangerous?

As I stood on that dance floor and looked around at everyone just rolling and dancing and not giving a single fuck, I contemplated my choices and my life and my experiences. Then the drop came, and all at once I realized why I do what I do:
It makes me happy.

Raving, like every other hobby or activity I've ever devoted effort to, brings me joy. When it loses that effect, I know it'll be time to move on. But until then, I am going to continue to rage it up whenever I can.


Julia