My year in music... if you give a shit.

I've always said "I'm bad a favorites". I like things differently. So I won't be any good at the Top Albums or the Top Singles lists. Instead, here are my things to note about a year in music 2010 style... dare I call it: Mary's Music Moments of 2010. Fucking alliteration, can I be any more of a nerd?

Favorite song to turn the radio way WAY UP!:
Sleigh Bells - "Crown on the Ground"
Check out a poor quality, fan video HERE

I will gladly blow my speakers on that one. Their debut album Treats dropped last summer, so I may be a little slow on the pick up. Part of my hold up was every time I got back to my computer I could never come up with the band name. A lot of "Bells" on the scene, right? I don't know how many times I asked, "You know that song they've been playing on the Current with the dope beat and the static-y mic?" No one seemed to be able to satisfy me with an answer. Memory jogged last week. Album purchased. And it's quickly becoming one of my favorites. Can't wait to catch this Brooklyn duo in person.

PS. Don't check out their website.... it doesn't make them look awesome...

Favorite album to belt out while alone:
Florence + the Machine - Lungs

I know I bought this a year ago Christmas, so technically it must have been released in 2009, but the airwaves caught on mid 2010 with "Kiss with a Fist". Guttural and fun to sing along to. That bass drum driving your pulse and your voice box trying to keep up. If you are braving the sing along - be sure to have the track playing loud... most chords are no match for Florence's. What I really love about this album though is how sweetly dark it is. I grow tired of music that takes itself too seriously, and lyrics like "I said Hey, Girl with One Eye, Get your filthy fingers out of my pie" fit my sentiments exactly.

Check out one of my favorite tracks - Drumming Song - OFFICIAL VIDEO

Favorite female-lead girl-crush:
Oh yeah, that goes to Florence too...
We all have them, don't we?

Favorite live performance:
Dirty Projectors

Hands down!! It surprised the hell out of me too! That September night could go down as one of my all time favorite concerts. Go out and buy Bitte Orca (extended edition, that includes some nice acoustics stylings on the same great tracks [bargain price of $5.99 on iTunes today] ). I had an older album of theirs, Rise Above, and liked it enough but didn't hit the replay that often. It wasn't until I saw them live that I fell. And FUCKING HARD! Eating up anything any band member has had it's hands on. The trio of female voices were so incredibly on point with harmonies tighter than tight - it dropped the jaw of this former-singer. Throughout both albums those voices are used percussively. Live, it was UNREAL!

Perfect example, check out this live footage - Remade Horizon - LIVE

God I love that shit! To add a little romance to the love affair born that night, that show was also a killer first date for me. Bom chikka wa wa!

Favorite let down:
Haley Bonar

Now, there are some bands that are Make-or-Break when it comes to live performance. The aforementioned being the epitome of MAKE. Locally grown, Haley Bonar, was my breaking point. Now, I'm not saying she doesn't have a beautiful voice with a great album as a result, but this is the year's concert that I wish I would have just stayed home.

Why do I feel like it's important to tell you this? Because, I really liked her. I overplayed Big Star like What! I was excited to see her live and.... she broke my heart. The music was good and fine (aside from her attempt at a larger band ensemble), but I walked away not liking her as a person (how is that possible in the singer/audience relationship? I dunno, but it is somehow). She seemed ungrateful to be there with us, we were inconveniencing her somehow or maybe it was fucking PMS. Either way. I haven't listened to her album since and I'm sincerely bummed about that! I wanted to love it SO BAD!

Favorite ringing in the ears post-show:
The Black Keys

I loved every minute of that tingle. I would have taken my ringing ears right into the second night's show if he hadn't been sold out. There aren't many shows that I would be willing to pay a $35 ticket price twice to see the exact same set... enough said. Their album release Brothers easily made my most played list. It also made me back track to Attack & Release -n- beyond, and dig up Dan Auerbach's solo album (Keep it Hid) and side projects (Blakrok). Bottom line, good dish-washin' music. It gets me through every time!

Favorite song to get me through the work day:
Cee-lo Green - "Fuck You"

I don't know why, but this song always got stuck in my head during paid hours. Ok... maybe you know why... I always found myself belting out the chorus in my tight-quartered-office until I fumbled my way to 'the' lyric. As the song goes, "Fuck That Shit"! We all learned how fun swear words are to doo-wop to. The radio version being less than satisfying. Still a track that's just as catchy as Cee-lo tends to deliver... Ooo OoO OOO!


Others on the Over-Play list (I have my reasons...) :
The Tallest Man on Earth - The Wild Hunt
The xx - xx
Vampire Weekend - Contra
Ray LaMontagne & the Pariah Dogs - God Willin' and the Creek Don't Rise
The Dead Weather - Horehound
Yeasayer - Odd Blood
the Books - The Way Out
Spoon - Transference

There are too many more... I don't want to do this anymore...

Bring It In or Back

It's below cold outside. The sun is beaming though. Bouncing from snow pile to snow pile. I slip my way towards my Toyota and mentally prepare for the morning sit-still-and-freeze-in-my-car thing.

My car starts, which is good. I have no reason to believe that it won't. I can probably still count the amount of times I have started this engine. But for some reason, I doubt it will rev up each time I feel this kind of cold. I don't trust this car. This car with it's cruise control, power locks and strawberry scent. It's the strawberry that makes me skeptical, I think. Doesn't seem trustworthy.

I promised myself, forever ago, that on cold days like this, I will wait through whichever song starts up on the radio. I figure it's a good couple of minutes for the engine to start the warming process. Having music as the time limit somehow makes the wait tolerable for me.

The starter kicks over and roars into Fatboy Slim. I'm suddenly wanting to break my own promise. For some reason the idea of changing the radio station didn't occur to me. Instead, I sit in my own irritation.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvnHtO6daQM

This song is Milwaukee High School of the Arts. Specifically, this song is the choreographed Step routine I created for Ms. Jordan's aerobics class. I can still picture my knee high kicks and flailing punches. Sexy in my puffy, checked nylon shorts. In navy blue.

I try to shake the image and the song out of my head. 1998 would let me go that easy!

Jan. 1, 2010 - My clothes are all clean. Washed before making the return trip home to the Twin Cities. The cutest little shirts and skinniest little skinny jeans were all available for the picking. For some reason, I woke up in the morning, looked at mountain of clean in front of me and chose a sweater I bought in '98. A gray knit that hardly covers my navel. I haven't worn this sweater in a few years. I'm not even sure why it's made it through all of my textile purgings. Not to mention ... why the HELL would I want to start out my year dressed as 1998!

The last week of 2009 started me on this path, I'm sure. Friends from middle school. Friends from high school. Stories of the 90's. The decade was supposed to jump forward, and I'm pretty sure I took the short bus backwards this time. If the year is 1990 for me, that puts me in First Grade. Oh man... I better find a smaller shirt.

My brain is redirected to Fatboy Slim. After about the 30th "Right about now", I give up on the Funk Soul Brothers and put the car in gear. At least, I have the icy ruts in the road to focus my attention now.

Why the HELL didn't I turn the damn radio dial?!?




























"Hi" from 1990!

Fortune Telling

 I walked into my house at exactly 11:30.

30 minutes prior I was chatting up half of the band at the bar.

This brain of mine.

Microwaved Mammals

I bought a tasty artisan bread a few days ago that I haven' had a reason to cut into yet. A while back I learned the trick of keeping good breads in the microwave to prevent them going stale. It is an amazing trick!

A couple days have passed. No memory of grocery stores or time I might have had to do that chore.

Tonight, with a short stop home between work and the concert of my life.... I pop open the box of radiation to quickly warm a bite. The door swung open and I thought there was a mammal in my microwave! I seriously flashbacked my memory to any instances of vermin or pets that may explain a now-dead-usually-living creature. I couldn't think of anything to explain it.

Mmmm... rosemary bread.

This brain of mine.

It is possible I will be writing again from my usual post-show high. Especially with the early show. I love early shows cause I'm an old lady at heart. But.... I do have tomorrow off. I may need to party with the band... in which case I will be home by 11:30.

Crowd Mentality

Sometimes it is easy for my self-conscious to dig itself into a hole when surrounded by a group of strangers, but it isn't long before one single stranger can have me scrambling back up to the surface.


Last night, single ticket in hand again, was the first time I considered eating the $20 bucks I spent on Grizzly Bear. For a second after work I didn't think these feet would start moving again. I refused to let myself down and knew that once I got there it would be great. The show would be great.


I go. But I go with the baggage of uncertainty. Which is a heavy bag to carry entering a room full of strangers. I find my usual spot along the railing upstairs (I've admitted to my height and refuse to stare at someone's neck all night, though I am considering buying the most ridiculous pair of platform shoes solely for concert going). People watching is what gets me through until the talent is ready. I love me some people watching at concerts. The dim lighting at First Ave lets me do it unabashedly too. Checking out everyone and their moms, you notice certain things. You notice everyone donned their 'going-out' style. Everyone is with their friends screaming to each other over the conversations happening next door. The amount of 'cool kids' and the amount of 'not cool kids' that still managed to show up with friends ... starting gnawing at my brain.


There I am, in my dirty work jeans and hoodie. There to hear music, not bat my eyelashes. Taking the solo wide stance in an effort not to be encroached upon. Thankfully, the shortest of shorties comes along around 10:00 and squeezes next to me. This girl proceeded to bore the fun right out of me. I don't know how the dude she was with kept up with his "That's hilarious" and "You're so funny" 's during her twenty minute story about figure skating. I don't know how people are willing to feign interest. Man, I hope that guy got laid for his efforts.


This was also around the time I was put into a trance by BeachHouse and exploring some crazy rhetorical thoughts. The sea of heads below all had the categorical male cow-lick. I started thinking women need to represent and start loving themselves some music. All the concerts I've been to lately have been 85% wiener. Pondering that moved me into mind-blowing territory. I started thinking about how that guy with the shaved head and stretched ear lobes probably lives in the green house on 26th and Emerson. That all these people exist in my same world and we were bound to cross paths. Eating in the same restaurants. Walking down the same streets. I wondered how many I serviced in my customer service days. I later recognized one of my customer crushes from back in the day... so I know there was at least one.


I needed to stop this thinking and BeachHouse needed to quit with the spacey music.


Once I put my Boredom Blinders on. I was gold. I heard nothing but the sweet, sweet music. My ease dropping (shut up, don't pretend you are above it) reminded me that this mass of people surrounding me was just a bunch of individuals - the nerds, cool kids, boring-ass McGee's, and dirty-ass-solo-rocking Me's.

Acclaimed Dancer

"Mary is an incredibly hard worker and does her job often with a smile, if not a song or little dance."

Even my boss can’t help but notice my groovin’ movin’. My place of employment isn’t spared from my whistling. I shake the stress away. It’s always been my way. I’d rather dance than worry. And I’d rather make someone laugh with my ridiculous moves than remain still and serious. We did an extensive annual review this year. After three sessions, the quote above was final say on my performance. Ha. That’s going in my permanent file. My boss then forks this written silliness over to her boss, but she doesn’t have a boss right now … so that sentence got handed to our President instead. It is now widely known that I am dancing on company dollars. Awesome.

I caught the Swears

All day at work, a co-worker and I kept telling each other to "Stop fucking swearing!" Our profranity has flown off the wall - out of control. We fuel each other's verbal fire. Swearing is contagious and I caught the bug. I've been spending my days in the company of foul mouth men. So it was inevitable, I've become a bit of a cussin' sailor myself. For some reason, especially in my writing, profanity just feels sooooo good.

After an afternoon at work swapping back and forth "Try Saying..." jokes (started by an E-mail  Forward chain and exagerated by our own imaginations....)

Example:

TRY SAYING: She's an aggressive go-getter.
INSTEAD OF: She's a f__king bit__.

TRY SAYING: Perhaps you should check with...
INSTEAD OF: Tell someone who gives a sh__.

TRY SAYING: He's somewhat insensitive.
INSTEAD OF: He's a pr_ck.

Laughing all day at that and this is what I came home to - an e-mail from my mother in response to my post yesterday "Why?Oh NO!". Read below for a mother approved version of my previous post. Editing credit to Mommy Dearest:


*********************************************************************************

To: Mary
Sent: Tuesday, Sep 15, 2009 at 6:14 PM
Subject: RE: [Marymeant] Why? Oh, NO!

Oh boy…be careful at the concert and watch your language….see below for a completely edited revision.

Love

MOM

-----Original Message-----

Sent: Monday, September 14, 2009 at 7:32 PM

Subject: [Marymeant] Why? Oh, NO!

These are the thoughts that keep me up at night.

Bored with Internet Explorer, 400 Blows, The Weakerthans, and A Dud Avocado, the only other reasonable thing to do was sleep. I crawled into bed around 10:30 thinking of my much needed rest before the 14 work day ahead of me. Lying there, with one knee pulled up to my chin, waiting for sleep… I had the most horrible realization.

I really do spend a lot of time thinking about music – What I might find next. When can I buy tickets. Those lyrics to that one song. Album release dates. Shows I’ve seen. Shows I can’t wait to see.

Last night, the normal musical excitement was twirling around my brain. I was sooo stoked that one of my favorite bands, Why?, was coming to town again. I bought my single ticket ages ago. I already told work they are going to have to hire a union stage hand to replace me for the night. Life stops for Why?. Period.

Amid all this excitement there is back-story. Remember the excitement though. Never forget the excitement!

(if I had video capabilities I would insert a Wayne’s World Flash Back transition … here)

Early in the year I was set out to meet new people. I joined all these clubs (only to realize I don’t need any more middle aged friends) and succumbed to an online dating site. The listed favorites on people’s profiles were often conversation starters.

For one guy in particular, the contact initiator was the fact that both of us were Why? fans. The guy was nice enough, but a pussy CAT who wouldn’t ask me out and I was too on the fence about him to be the aggressor. E-mails went back and forth and then started to slow with time… and umm... interest... After about a month, I would randomly get e-mails telling me I was the coolest person he knows (we hadn’t met, dude, you have no idea how cool I am!). He repeatedly sent strong language my way that may be flattering if deserved, but this was completely undeserved and, quite honestly, constructed fantasy.

Needless to say … I got totally weirded out. Really fucking amazingly weirded out! The less we talked the more persistent he became. Even after my attempts to sever the conversation, he continued stalking me multiple times a day and sending me e-mails telling me he missed me (I’m not sure how you miss someone you’ve never met?). I ended up blocking his account. This protection method is troublesome. They can stop him from contacting me, but they can’t stop him from visiting my profile and jerking off to my face every night ? doing perverse things to himself. That was graphic and insensitive (YES!!), I apologize, my mom would not approve … she would edit my text. But that's what it felt like ... invasive.

That was months ago and long been forgotten. Fast forward to last night.

These are the thoughts that keep me up at night:

“Yay, I’m going to see Why?”

“It will be so awesome”

“Too bad it’s all ages”

“I am going to dance and dance”

“Maybe there will be eye candy there”

“FUCK!!!!” OMG!!!!!!!!!


 

My long been forgotten was just remembered!

He knew I went to the last show. I know he’s as big of a fan as I am. I hope he doesn't hope to see me there. The Triple Rock is hardly a place for hiding. There’s nowhere to run from a guy that thinks you are the coolest in the world. OH NO!! After all these goings on, I peg him to be the type that would come over if he saw me … especially if I’m there alone! If I’m there alone, he probably won’t ever leave! He’ll think he’s doing me a favor by giving me his company.

SHIT! I can’t watch this show in the ladies room! I CAN’T!

If memory serves me correctly his profile specs put him at a height less than my own. What if he can’t see and wants to sit on my shoulders! This is bad news. Nothing good can come of this!

I’m so bummed! My over the top excitement just climbed piggy-back onto outright terror!

The potential for catastrophe is too great … I gotta find myself a date to this show! RIGHT….DO IT!!!!!!!

--

Posted By Mary to Marymeant at 9/14/2009 05:18:00 PM AND EDITED BY MOM 9/15 AT 6:10 pm.

Why? Oh, NO!

These are the thoughts that keep me up at night.

Bored with Internet Explorer, 400 Blows, The Weakerthans, and A Dud Avocado, the only other reasonable thing to do was sleep. I crawled into bed around 10:30 thinking of my much needed rest before the 14 hour work day ahead of me. Lying there, with one knee pulled up to my chin, waiting for sleep… I had the most horrible realization.

I really do spend a lot of time thinking about music – What I might find next. When I can buy tickets. Those lyrics to that one song. Album release dates. Shows I’ve seen. Shows I can’t wait to see.

Last night, the normal musical excitement was twirling around my brain. I was sooo stoked that one of my favorite bands, Why?, was coming to town again. I bought my single ticket ages ago. I already told work they are going to have to hire a union stage hand to replace me for the night. Life stops for Why?. Period.

Amid all this excitement there is back-story. Remember the excitement though. Never forget the excitement!

(if I had video capabilities I would insert a Wayne’s World Flash Back transition … here)



Early in the year I was set out to meet new people. I joined all these clubs (only to realize I don’t need any more middle aged friends) and succumbed to an online dating site. The listed favorites on people’s profiles were often conversation starters.

For one guy in particular, the contact initiator was the fact that both of us were Why? fans. The guy was nice enough, but a pussy who wouldn’t ask me out and I was too on the fence about him to be the aggressor. E-mails went back and forth and then started to slow with time… and umm... interest. After about a month, I would randomly get e-mails telling me I was the coolest person he knows (we hadn’t met, dude, you have no idea how cool I am). He repeatedly sent strong language my way that may be flattering if deserved, but this was completely undeserved and, quite honestly, constructed fantasy.

Needless to say … I got totally weirded out. Really fucking weirded out! The less we talked the more persistent he became. Even after my attempts to sever the conversation, he continued stalking me multiple times a day and sending me e-mails telling me he missed me (I’m not sure how you miss someone you’ve never met?). I ended up blocking his account. This protection method is troublesome. They can stop him from contacting me, but they can’t stop him from visiting my profile and jerking off to my face every night? That was graphic and insensitive, I apologize, my mom would not approve. But that's what it felt like ... invasive.

That was months ago and long been forgotten. Fast forward to last night.

These are the thoughts that keep me up at night:

“Yay, I’m going to see Why?”
“It will be so awesome”
“Too bad it’s all ages”
“I am going to dance and dance”
“Maybe there will be eye candy there”
“FUCK!!!!”

My long been forgotten was just remembered!

He knew I went to the last show. I know he’s as big of a fan as I am. I hope he doesn't hope to see me there. The Triple Rock is hardly a place for hiding. There’s nowhere to run from a guy that thinks you are the coolest in the world. OH NO!! After all these goings on, I peg him to be the type that would come over if he saw me … especially if I’m there alone! If I’m there alone, he probably won’t ever leave! He’ll think he’s doing me a favor by giving me his company.

SHIT! I can’t watch this show in the ladies room! I CAN’T!

If memory serves me correctly his profile specs put him at a height less than my own. What if he can’t see and wants to sit on my shoulders! This is bad news. Nothing good can come of this!

I’m so bummed! My over the top excitement just climbed piggy-back onto outright terror!

The potential for catastrophe is too great … I gotta find myself a date to this show! And I'm sorry for whichever lucky bastard gets to be buffer! I'll buy you a drink .. or four...

Independent to a Fault

My work day could have made my night go either way. A mentally and physically exhausting day. By the end of it, I was ready to fight someone. Sharp tongue waiting for it's chance. Part of me wanted to head home and fall asleep at 8:30pm. The other half of me wanted to go out on the town. The later half of me tends to fail. As much as I want to go out with friends.. my independent nature often forgets to go there. I just like hanging out with myself so damn much.

Independent to a fault.

I have a month of single ticket shows to go to. I know I love the band and I know I have to see them live. I don't care what the fuck the rest of the world is doing, I need to be at this concert. I buy a ticket. I never even think to invite someone along. I may mention it to a friend but I never pursue it to avoid the lonely stance at First Ave. So... day of show. I go alone. I shake my ass. I talk to the assholes next to me. I hold beers bigger than my face. After seeing Atmosphere this week, I realized the only part I dislike about going a show alone - the post-concert high becomes an utter buzz kill. I'm all high on adrenline and maybe the second-hand weed. Ready to bounce off the walls from the awesomeness I just witness. And all I get to do is sit in a parking lot alone for 20 minutes before someone lets me back into the pay station line. This is usually when I call home at midnight, waking up my mom to tell her what a great time I had. Ha. My poor mom.

What am I talking about? Right... tonight could have gone either way. When I got home I needed to wash my skin of it's negativity. I showered and dressed myself in a manner too cute for staying in. Skinny jeans aren't for lounging. Couch sitting will undoubtedly lead to numbness in the lower extremities. I needed to go out or go to bed. But I never called anyone. So I made an amazing meal, put on some booty music and opened a bottle of wine. My night in became a night out. Dancing around my apartment. Getting a little tipsy. Every once and a while I would pass a mirror, catch my ass in the reflection and think I should hit on myself.

I'm pretty sure I just listened to Montell Jordan three times. I have a fully choreographed dance and a fantasy about my karaoke appearence.

I had a bottle of wine... I shouldn't be blogging.

Testing One, Two, Hey, Hey

I am learning that I miss formatting. I tend to write offline in Word and then publish online and lose all my hard worked formatting. Tonight I am beginning to explore the options of posting into this blog as is. Ideally, I think I need to figure out a way to link to my documents through another server. Today I wanted to play around with file formats. So... You should be able to click on each picture below and it will open into a full sized page. Maybe this is annoying. Yeah, it is probably is annoying.

Intro to what's below - I was reading through some old college papers and realized that I was sorta smart at one point in my life. I've said before that my college education was writing and I loved it. After sitting here day after day at my computer and coming up with musings on poop and music, it was weird to read a critical analysis. I had something intelligent to say. An argument to make. An aim to persuade. I am hardly doing that with all my poop talk. I miss the structure and dissection in this type of writing. It's a very different use of language and purpose.

Yes, what is posted below is a college paper. But it's a college paper about hip hop and guns and penises! I figured it was the only one that people may make it to the second or third page of. I will warn you - there are nearly 162 uses of the word 'masculinity' and some gross generalizations. Even I was a little annoyed at myself by the end of it.

My major was fucking awesome!

Driving Beat

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krL6gbR-9bA

Take a second to watch the video above. Don’t worry … I’ll be here when you’re done.

Music is a huge part of my day, every day, without fail. During my performance season I have little say on the background track to my work day. Brahms, Dvorak, Shostakovich, Haydn are likely choices. I really can’t complain about hearing amazing musicians make amazing music all day. So I won’t, because I love it. But when the band’s away the mice may play? I even confused myself with that one.

Summer is a quiet time for the administrative offices. There’s a hushed and slow pace among the cubicles. For me on the other hand, summer is the time to rock. I have half of the floor to myself for maintenance projects and the only way to get through maintenance projects is with music pushing you through. There is just something wonderful about cranking a wrench to The Black Keys.

The Music Room is abandoned to the rest of the staff. No one has reason to travel to my side of the world when it’s just me over there. For that reason … I blast my PA with some obscene music. Really, I don’t think I have ever put a work appropriate CD in that player on my own time. On occasion I get an awkward encounter when a co-worker walks in on the lyrics:

In Berlin I saw, two men fuck in a dark corner of a basketball court
Just the slight jingle of pocket change pulsing

But mostly, my rockin’ out goes unnoticed. I think my department is rather used to hearing me sing to myself throughout the day. They know I can’t make it through the day without a rhythm to it.

This week however I have had the above song stuck in my head. I just want to repeat those words over and over. And I do! Today was the first time I was censoring my own self-singings. Each time I would start out with an enthusiastic “I might like you better baby”, then my brain would catch up to what was coming out of my mouth as I passed the reception desk and I would gracefully end it with “Ba-ba ba ba-ba baby”. Still I never really learned my lesson; I was trying to play that song off real-casual-like for the rest of the day.

Maybe I am making too much of this. Maybe my co-workers would like me better if we slept together. You never know.

Shorty got low.

I feel like something could come from the dance floor. I’m not really sure what that is, so I figure I will just talk around the dance floor and maybe something will come out. That kind of sounds like I’m going to puke on the Tilt-a-Whirl. Ready? Vomit.

The urge to shake your ass outside the privacy of your home can happen to the best of us. It happened to me this weekend. The funny thing is … I hate the idea of going dancing. I hate the atmosphere. I hate how hot and musty it is bound to get. I hate having my style cramped by a crowded dance floor. I need room for my genius. I hate having beer spilled on me. I hate the junk that is guaranteed to grind on me. I hate the one drunk girl that isn’t that hot and tries too hard. I hate the explicit voyeurism. Really, the whole ‘going out dancing’ thing kind of disgusts me … in theory. But somehow without fail, despite all that, the night will end up a good time. Man, I love to dip it down low.

Enter Wild Onion (I know, I know). Getting there early is the best way to avoid the dance floor drunken grind. The toughest part about an early arrival is you have to go big and balls out. No one else is on the dance floor. So it’s just you and your friends out there holding your own, with the rest of the bar watching and waiting for the night to start its boogie.

For someone who doesn’t like attention and for it being too early in the night for the liquid courage to take affect, I’ll have to admit to my self-consciousness. I’m there to dance and that’s just what I’ll do, but the track won’t jump from song to song without a hyper-awareness of my own body. Every time my hips get caught up on the beat, I notice it. Each time there’s a slightly ungraceful transition from one step to the next, I wonder if they notice it. Or when I catch myself making that stupid, concentrating face, well that I just laugh at.

Still, music bumping and booties following suit always equals a good time.



The male/female balance always interests me. Women go to the club to dance with their friends. I’m sure some women go to dance and finding men may be an added bonus, but I don’t know those women. I only know women that are there for the sole purpose of dancing. This night I was with a married woman and a lesbian, so it’s a valid statement to say they weren’t looking for dudes. It seems that dudes show up at the same venue, to hear the same music, and drink the same booze for a very different reason.

To make a generalizing, ridiculously sweeping statement – Dudes come to stare and hope for the occasion brush on the ass. For the most part, guys don’t dance, which is why I don’t believe they are there to get down (maybe dirty, but not down). They are too reserved in their bodies to let it fly off the handle. The irony there is women love a guy that’s cutting up the floor horrible style. To dudes, I say – embrace the disgrace! Your utter lack of suave doesn’t matter. What matters is the ladies will make you look damn good, no matter how terrible you are. Seriously! Let us make you look good! Every lady loves a man mad-dogging the face of humiliation and settling the score with a dance off!!!

Oh part of me really wants to categorize the type of men in a joint like this, but part of me thinks that’s horrible and people wouldn’t realize that I write for humor first and world view second (it may even be third or fourth). I will say this …

My male encounters for the night:

I fell in love with the Asian dude in his forties that never stopped dancing. He showed up alone and rocked the hardwood like a pro. Completely content in his solitude and letting the beat flow through him.

I was bothered by the middle aged men that fly solo and grab the benches at the counter surrounding the dance floor. They never talked to anyone. Never looked like they were having a good time. And never, ever looked away.

I found out later that a guy was dancing with me that I didn’t even know existed. He never addressed me, or got close enough for me to acknowledge him. Instead, I guess he just danced around me and made it look like were together. Weird.

Another guy took the direct approach and flung his arms around me and Jess. Jess likes girls. Jess’s body completely shut down at his advance and became very still, which made me laugh my ass off and made him mortified. He avoided that side of the dance floor for the rest of the night.

Another dude stopped me on my way to the bathroom, after hearing his southern drawl, I told him that I was sorry he was from Texas and went on my way.

The point is - that is a lot of dude action for a night when you aren’t looking for it. By the time we left, the place was packed and disgusting. It was a sausage fest (a term I recently said to my mom and it made her very uncomfortable which made me laugh very hard). The guys outnumbered the gals by 3-1, easy. If guys really come dancing for the ladies, the percentages aren’t in their favor.

Still, music bumping and booties following suit always equals a good time.