Common Denominators in Discoteques

The following songs will always, always, always, no matter where you go, play in sweaty smokey grindy clubs:

For this, I am grateful.  Especially the last one, which makes me dance so hard people get out of the way.


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I meet Ákos (Ah-kosh), who speaks as much English as I speak Hungarian.  Our conversation is one long game of charades.  His eyes are slow-drunk, delicate sage-green rings that are glued to his cell phone as he shows me picture of a baby girl (not his), earrings (yeah, I don't know either), and takes down my prized facebook information.  "Nem mobil!  Dancing!" I tell him, and we dance our way to the floor, packed with grinding university students, hands waving as house music plays.  Standing by the bar, while I wait for him to buy me a drink, we talk geography.  I don't know how this began -- it was sometime before we clinked glasses of palinka and said egészségére, but after he showed me the earrings picture.  


In what I feel is a quintessential drunk-guy-thing-to-do, he makes a heart with his hands, says "Hungary," and a smile creeps on his face as he tilts his head slightly to one side.  Then, one hand chopping the air in a downward motion (picture hands scowling and shrugging) and with twisted lips, he spits disdainfully: "Slovakia," (Nem), "Romania," (Nem as well), and just as quickly his hands quit dissing other countries and go back to shape his unsteady heart, "My Hungary.  I love my Hungary."  I love his Hungary too.


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And speaking of music, I wish you could hear the hallways between periods at the schools where I teach.  They sound like children shuffling and bassy dub-step, which is pumped at full volume through the speakers.  If you close your eyes, it could be a disco.  So far I have not heard any of the classic club stand-bys, but I have heard "All I Want for Christmas is You" and way more Skrillex than I would care to.  


This is the kind of music that is bumping as the kids hang out in the hallways:

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We all know what happened when I was in South America.  Cumbia, the ridiculously boppy and poppy music that I couldn't stand when I arrived, eventually became my jams.  Please, please, kérem, save me from dubstep!


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