Sunday, January 21, 2007
Is that with white or brown gravy?
Last night we went out in Greenville for Protege's fiance's birthday. An inkling went through me that maybe I should get some cancer sticks cuz there would be much drinking and standing around, two things very conducive to smoking. However a recent law was passed that outlawed smoking inside bars and restaurants within the Greenville city limits. There were other smokers and we had to go outside to smoke just like we were in New York City! How metropolitan of us. And the best part was when we made it home, our clothes didn't reek of smoke.
As I was getting ready for the night on the town, a shirt caught my eye in my closet. It's a khaki number that has a vaguely corduroy/velvet texture but the part that really stood out was the suede patches on the elbow. That's right, freakin' elbow patches. This shirt had to be worn. And I really hope it offends someone somehow. It's that kinda shirt. It was also a Christmas gift from my grandparents and I hadn't worn it yet, so it got the nod.
Some other friends had a party the previous night and since I was drunk on Fri. night and I'm advancing in age, I decided not to drink. My body can't handle 2 consecutive nights of drunken debauchery and since it is one of the few intoxicants deemed legal without a prescription in this country, I decided to pass and be the designated driver for the night. I had some Grand Marnier when we got there at 10 pm and then had water the rest of the night.
My all-time favorite part of the night was around 1 or so. Outkast's "Hey ya!" was being played and so I was doing some throwback dancing, specifically the mashed potato. Some guy walked by and saw it and gave me the slash across the throat move that means "stop that." I said "it's the mashed potato! Come on!" That was about it but I successfully offended at least one "cool" person at the club. I thought I was gonna do it with my elbow patches but it was my dancing that got the job done. Also, if there is a better song from this millenium to bring back some long dead dancing moves than Hey ya, I don't know what it is.
I respect dancers. Actual professional dancers. I cannot dance. I embraced this fact long ago and now just try and shake and move to the beat and do what makes me feel good. I'm not trying impress anyone and even more so now that I'm married and get to go home with a girl no matter how spastically I dance, so there!
It was fun though. They all had a good time and I had an okay time and got the satisfaction that I was being responsible and making sure my friends and wife made it home safely and jail-visit free. But while I was sitting there I couldn't help but think about Rob and the plight of the bouncer. Granted they are getting paid to be there, but it really is exactly the same, night after night, day after day. I had a small glimpse of how that job can grind on your soul and psyche.
We're continuing her birthday extravaganza by dining at the Melting Pot tonight. Off to shower and get so fresh and so clean.
As I was getting ready for the night on the town, a shirt caught my eye in my closet. It's a khaki number that has a vaguely corduroy/velvet texture but the part that really stood out was the suede patches on the elbow. That's right, freakin' elbow patches. This shirt had to be worn. And I really hope it offends someone somehow. It's that kinda shirt. It was also a Christmas gift from my grandparents and I hadn't worn it yet, so it got the nod.
Some other friends had a party the previous night and since I was drunk on Fri. night and I'm advancing in age, I decided not to drink. My body can't handle 2 consecutive nights of drunken debauchery and since it is one of the few intoxicants deemed legal without a prescription in this country, I decided to pass and be the designated driver for the night. I had some Grand Marnier when we got there at 10 pm and then had water the rest of the night.
My all-time favorite part of the night was around 1 or so. Outkast's "Hey ya!" was being played and so I was doing some throwback dancing, specifically the mashed potato. Some guy walked by and saw it and gave me the slash across the throat move that means "stop that." I said "it's the mashed potato! Come on!" That was about it but I successfully offended at least one "cool" person at the club. I thought I was gonna do it with my elbow patches but it was my dancing that got the job done. Also, if there is a better song from this millenium to bring back some long dead dancing moves than Hey ya, I don't know what it is.
I respect dancers. Actual professional dancers. I cannot dance. I embraced this fact long ago and now just try and shake and move to the beat and do what makes me feel good. I'm not trying impress anyone and even more so now that I'm married and get to go home with a girl no matter how spastically I dance, so there!
It was fun though. They all had a good time and I had an okay time and got the satisfaction that I was being responsible and making sure my friends and wife made it home safely and jail-visit free. But while I was sitting there I couldn't help but think about Rob and the plight of the bouncer. Granted they are getting paid to be there, but it really is exactly the same, night after night, day after day. I had a small glimpse of how that job can grind on your soul and psyche.
We're continuing her birthday extravaganza by dining at the Melting Pot tonight. Off to shower and get so fresh and so clean.
# posted by Seth @ 9:17 AM 
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