Ravers scare me too

Just like their hippie cousins, ravers also scare me.

Ravers in their Rainbow Brite fluoro colours, skimpy stripey Lycra clothing, glow sticks, face paint, pigtails and twirling props subscribe so wholly to their look that it can be a fine line between admiration for their dedication and fright by their determination.

At the Green Room in Flagstaff I watched these girls all decked out raver style dance with glowing props like hula hoops, twirling sticks, those nunchuck-skipping-rope type things and body paint dance on a stage in front of the DJ box.

I thought I’d seen it all, then out came a chick brandishing a plastic Aladdin sword with flashing bulbs on the handle. She rested it in between her blonde pigtailed dreadlocks and danced. Then she balanced it on her hip and danced. It was kind of raver meets belly dancer, and the seriousness on her face just made her look ridiculous, so I laughed out loud and covered my mouth in abject horror at the sight.

Then I knew I’d seen it all when a nude looking silhouette started dancing behind a backlit white sheet. With a proper look I discovered she was wearing underwear or a bikini, or at least something that gave her silhouette a visible panty line.

Completely overwhelmed by the ‘entertainment’ and people watching the eccentrics, I had to take my leave. There was just too much going on for me to process and I couldn’t even take it mildly seriously.


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