Aug 28th
The Gypsy Rose in Dublin
I was back in Dublin last week for a few days and went to meet my brother in that new pub where The Viper Room used to be. What an awful name to call a club, the Viper Room. I went there before and in the toilets instead of seeing the usual jovial black man dispensing soap, he was slumped in a toilet cubicle pretending to have died of an overdose like River Phoenix.
But now its The Gypsy Rose. With Bruxelles having revamped and upped their prices and with Fibbers ‘not being as good as it used to be’ for the past 20 years, this new pub is swarming with rockers looking for a new home. And that’s understandable really. But this is also the reason why I was moved to write about it.
I love studying group psychology and dynamics, like in every classroom there is the messer, the kid that can draw, the smelly one etc becasue we readily seek and adapt new roles in a group environment. We’ve all been in a situation where you find yourself vying for role of funny guy. I served on a jury before and there three lads who wanted to be leader, after an hour one of them chose to be the funny bloke and the second in line just admitted defeat and became the leader’s lapdog. We’re all idiots. Naked apes the lot of us.
And in the Gypsy Rose you could write your sociology thesis. Take a new ‘rocker/metaller/I’m different’ friendly venue and throw in every dope who considers himself a bit of a character or an eccentric rogue and watch them strut,pose and lay claim to this new territory. Maybe one lad always wanted to be known as the bloke who drank tequila in Bruxelles or the best headbanger in the Rock Garden and now is their chance to get in first. It’s a gold rush. A race to take up the vacancies for phoney personalities and characters.in In The Gypsy Rose, which is only open a few weeks it’s open casting. The majority of metallers think they are so out there, hard drinking heroes when in reality they are immature twits. Just as, if not more guilty of vanity and snobbery than a bloke who gets his haircut twice a month and irons his shirts.
I got stink eye from a bloke who obviously wasn’t impressed to see another muscular bastard with short hair drinking Guinness. HE wants to be the bloke with short hair who drinks Guinness in The Gypsy Rose. I was stealing his fake thunder. I saw one bloke come in with a red bandanna, see that loads of men were wearing a red bandanna so he goes in to the toilet and takes it off. There was also a lot of people with scribbles all over their face but I think they were probably relieved to see others in the same boat. The same sinking boat. You are now 35-40, unemployable and vacant. You used to be the mad one, maybe in your group you still are but it’s over for you.
It’ll probably be another year before I return to Dublin and I will eagerly visit The Gypsy Rose on Aston Quay to see how the ant farm worked out. I wish I could watch it all on a time lapsed camera from here. Grown men preening themselves. Staking their claim. Cultivating characters.
It’s over. Give it up. Cut your hair, extract all those shit piercings and conform. I did years ago and it was the best decision I ever made. Don’t paint yourself into a corner. Move forward.
(Read one of my comics about the same thing here)
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