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A Night at the Cat Club

By on November 3, 2012
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PG-13Written by Sarah Tuttle-Singer.  Sarah is Jewrotica’s social media guru.

Every Thursday night during my last two years at UC Berkeley, my friends and I would drive across the Bay Bridge from Berkeley to San Francisco for a night of revelry and bacchanalian experimentation at Cat Club. The venue was renowned in the area for playing the best assortment of ’80’s music, and for attracting a goody bag of club-hoppers including the Euro-Fabulous, the Body-Modified, the Hells Angels, the Boys-into-Boys and Girls-into-Girls, the prerequisite college students, and even a few folks who danced to ’80’s music before it became kitsch — you know, back in the actual ’80’s. I loved Thursday nights: I would shimmy into black pleather pants so tight they squeaked when I tried to sit down in them, and line my eyes with heavy kohl.

I fell madly in love with ’80’s music during my time at Cat Club. The perky, upbeat songs were addictive, and unlike most clubs, which take themselves way too seriously, Cat Club was always fun. And, given the close proximity of the youth hostels to the club, there was a true international flavor on the dance floor: When “Come on Eileen” began to play, the Irish would whoop and holler. When the first few bars of ‘Land Down Under’ filled the club, the Australians bulldozed their way into the center of the action. And as soon as ’99 Luft Balons’ came on, a gaggle of screaming Germans would flock to the middle of the dance floor.

My girlfriend, K, knowledgeable in all things alcoholic, introduced me to the best club drink, “Bull in a China Shop,” a concoction of Red Bull, Grenadine, raspberry-flavoured Vodka, and lots of those sweet red cherries. As soon as we got to Cat Club, I would saunter up to the bar, flirt with the incredibly beautiful tattooed bartender, and order my new signature drink. Warmed by the vodka and fueled by the Red Bull, I’d get up to dance, and usually, after another Bull in a China Shop chased by a few free beers, I would end up with my girlfriends in the cage, bumping and grinding and attracting a lot of attention.

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Social media guru of Jewrotica, Sarah Tuttle-Singer is a writer for the Times of Israel and Huffington Post. Sarah lives in Israel with her two children and is - in her own words - quite dangerous when bored.
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  • Classic. I identified with the internal conversation you had upon meeting Heinrick. (“So where were Oma and Opa back in 1941 when my relatives were being herded off to Auschwitz?”)

    Like most Ashkenazi Jews, I come from a family of Holocaust survivors and – somewhat to my chagrin – I have found myself subscribing to this same line of internal questioning when meeting and befriending Germans of varied ages.

    I will be visiting Berlin this December on a leisure trip, so it will be interesting to see how that experience feels for me. But, when I lived back in Riverdale, some community members would give my husband flak for driving a “Nazi mobile” (BMW). So if we can be made to feel guilty about a car choice, you better bet that our baggage and guilt will be mighty powerful when it comes to choosing a mate – or even just a hook up buddy.

    Thanks for sharing your story, Sarah!

    • Thank you so much for posting such a great comment — I look forward to hearing about your experience(s) in Berlin 🙂 xoxo

  • What an incredible story, I actually can’t believe that I can relate! I had something similar, minus the gay boyfriend and the hook up. I met Sebastian at an Upper East Side Halloween party and was immediately drawn to him. He, too, was a poster boy for the Aryan Nation and extremely interesting. But, unlike you, the alcohol in me made me question the whereabouts of his Grandparents while my own Grandmother was rotting in a concentration camp in Poland. Let’s just say that that ended our exciting evening, especially when he got all defensive about his Grandparents serving in the SS (as he put it, they were doing what everyone else in the Country was doing and they were no different). Sometimes I wonder, what could have happened if I didn’t actually ask the question…

  • We interrupt extensive #Election2012 coverage in order to give you an extra special glimpse into my (ancient) sexual history. Hi Dad. I hope you’re busy campaigning and not online right now.

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