Not Enough Dicks on the Dance Floor

Bret and Jemaine of Flight of the Conchords once argued that there were too many dicks on the dance floor. The dual meaning being that there are literally too many sausages flinging themselves around on a dance floor and too many douche bags wielding said sausages. In Williamsburg, there are very few places left to dance, what with the Whole Foods/Urban Outfitters onslaught (and 16 Handles thrown in for good measure). Once upon a time, in a minorly gentrified land before Dunkin’ Donuts on North 7th, there was The Cove and Public Assembly to dance the night away at. The places that are still left hold very little in the way of men occupying the dance floor.

What you’ll find at a venue that welcomes dancing is, if you’re lucky, “men” in nondescript clothing color schemes slightly swaying their hips so subtly that it looks like nothing is actually happening. And maybe nothing is. Because you generally need a dick to be able to have anything going on downstairs in the way of artful movement. What Williamsburg needs is to bring the dicks back to the dance floor. Because, yes, in fact, real men dance. They don’t just sit there like a potato and drink Miller High Life to help further sprout their spuds.

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