Tale of two clubs

Perhaps it was the perks of a (seemingly) long weekend or a random stroke of ambition, but for once in my life, my most bizarre (and rewarding) nights were on a Sunday and Monday. After a long weekend of interesting endeavors (from seeing Shaggy at the Wilbur Theatre, to "Gone Girl" (2014) to a failed attempt to experience the Museum of Science’s Astronomy After Hours – aka a free planetarium) I was pretty worn out. Trust me, the appeal of three-sizes-too-large sweatpants from my middle school, a cup of decaf tea (hey, my roommate is concussed) and a Taylor Swift music video marathon seemed like the dream, but sometimes, especially at this age, it’s worth going out. Surprisingly, two excursions sort of fell into my lap through the awesome events that clubs at Tufts provide.

In an impromptu Joey-ride invitation, my friend invited me to see one of his fellow comedy club members perform at an actual joint. Thrilled to provide my support (and to snag a few Sunday-night laughs) we found ourselves near the Harvard Book Store standing outside a large red building with a sign blaring “Hong Kong Restaurant.” After a quick series of phone calls to our respective mothers -- what can I say, we’re good kids -- we trotted up three flights of stairs and found ourselves in the attic of a Chinese food restaurant. Standing there were two Tufts students selling “tickets” (or collecting $10 for admission through the door) and a dimly lit area beyond the threshold. The television sets blared "TheHoneymooners" (1955-1956) and "The Abbott and Costello Show" (1952-1954), and the walls were lined with large comedy posters -- some signed, such as one from Mike Birbiglia himself. The Comedy Studio has been around for eighteen years and has seen some greats, such as the aforementioned Birbiglia as well as Louis C.K. The host was a distinct man with a goofy, yet commanding disposition that kept the night quite interesting. While the performers ranged from some incredibly witty modern comics to your typical expectation for a low-key comedy bar in the attic of a Chinese food restaurant (i.e. middle-aged, plump, Bostonian men with harsh accents and an interesting take on the world – and the Red Sox), the outing itself was an experience worth having. After the show had ended, it was super great to be able to say thank you to all the performers and really embrace the intimate setting.

The next night a suite-mate offered an interesting proposal: accompany her to a salsa club. If you couldn’t have guessed, I am one of those losers that likes dancing a lot but really, truly has two left feet, so of course it took about two minutes of fluctuating encouragement before my friend and I were like, "what the hell, let’s go with her." The cool thing is if you RSVP with La Salsa in advance they pay for your T pass (both ways!) and admission to the club. About a minute walk away from the Central Square T station, the Havana Club was a blast, but surprisingly mellow. A large town-hall-style room with a red ambiance, and the perfect music volume, it was such a hoot. While I hate saying you have to try it yourself, my mediocre grasp of the English language really won’t cut it. From the very accepting vibe, to the music (from Spanish tunes to a salsa remix of Miley Cyrus’s "Wrecking Ball" (2013)), I, as an awful dancer, felt welcomed and encouraged, and danced my face off. Also, simply watching the talented dancers was truly a highlight.

Overall, it was a weekend of interesting experiences with no regrets, facilitated by my Tufts education. Who can argue with that?