Night Moves

Dress the part at spacious Club Rodeo

Baile todo la noche at Club Rodeo, the Tejano club on North Lamar Boulevard, but only if you're dressed to impress.

My friends Lisa and Chris and I showed up at the hot-spot ready to shake what the Lord gave us, only to be denied entrance because of a tiny, almost insignificant dress code violation. I was good to go, as was Lisa, but Chris, he was wearing shorts and flip-flops; this is frowned upon (as it should be). The space, combining the dance floor and seating areas, is huge. In fact, I don't think I've seen a club with more seating room. To the left of the entrance are a few tables and a wall lined with booths; opposite there is a plethora of small round tables. Naturally, crowded as it was, the tables were in high demand, so while I secured one, Lisa sauntered over to one of two pink-lighted bars and picked up our first round.

I find that the word "Tejano," for obvious geographical and historical reasons, usually carries western connotations. Without a doubt, the two cultures are related in form and fashion, but I'd never seen a Tejano club that was so southwestamericanized (Disclaimer: southwestamericanized is not a real word; I just made it up). Huge murals of vaqueros riding bucking broncos in a cactus-spotted desert covered the walls. There were colorful, dazzling lights beaming back and forth across the dance floor and "That '70s Show" was playing on a big-screen TV in the back. And no, there were no Spanish subtitles; that would have been too perfect. Still it was as if the '70s packed up, headed west and developed a taste for Spanish.

Lisa came back bearing Herradura shots and Corona chasers (when in Rome). The Rodeo was populated with patrons between their 30s and 40s, with the occasional token 20- or 50-year-old. It would be correct to assume that the dress code matched the décor; the ladies wore skirts or blue jeans with blouses, while the men, much like their decorative counterparts, wore blue jeans, button-down shirts and cowboy hats. No one, real or painted, was wearing shorts and/or flip-flops. (You see, Chris?)

It would have been rude for Lisa and me to sit and stare and not partake in the dancing, so with the Tejano tunes sponsored by 98.9 La Ley blaring, we left our table and headed out to the dance floor. A quick-paced two-step ruled the Rodeo. Men and women stepped in and out, keeping pace with each other and the music. I always feel a bit nervous at any venue that sports a country-type dance motif because it's so regulated. The good men and women at the Rodeo knew what they were doing. There might have been some room for split-second decisions -- whether to spin or dip -- but a method was in play, and not knowing the "rules" is always a bit unnerving until you get going.

Our spirits were dampened by the fact that our amigo was denied entry, but that pesky feeling was no match for high-alcohol drinks and high-energy dancing. Lisa danced merrily all night to poppy, Tejano tunes and I learned a few things.

One, never trust your friends to dress themselves -- always indicate the general idea of what is acceptable in advance; and two, I should buy a cowboy hat. I often find that I want one, yet never do I make time to get one, or even find a place to shop for one.

Both of these lessons should come in handy for my next trip out to the Rodeo.