Parties with actual food are amazing. Not just perfunctory nonsense
but things I would like to go back to for a second and even third helping. The
food took effort and naturally it taste delicious and it makes an excellent
chaser for the red wine and vodka I’ve been mixing and chugging. Sure, I like a
bag of cool ranch Doritos as much as the next guy, but it really can’t hold up
to miniature steaks, caprese salad, and pasta puttanesca. Plus it gives me
something to do when my mingling hits a snag. Oh don’t mind me, I’m just
enjoying the party in my own way: by stuffing my face.
From our first middle school dance to our last retirement
home shuffle, dance parties will always be the same. Women will take up the
center going crazy and having the time of their lives while most of the guys (there
is always a Travolta superstar in the mix) will awkwardly stand to the side
clutching a drunk until being forced to join in and pretend like they are doing
these lovely ladies a favor. Okay I’ll totally buy the fact that you’re not
having a time a half. Whatever you say man. Is it sad or comforting that we
never escape the same holding patterns from our preteen years? An existential
question for the ages.
Nothing makes somebody at a party feel old than when you
refer to their friend as your friend’s mom. Also it takes away their agency as
a person. Here is an accomplished woman and yet I only know her as the woman
who gave birth to a dear pal of mine. A male pal too. The loathing I felt, oye
I would never wish on anyone else. Oye!
This one is exclusive to me, but I can talk about things
before 1995 and not be seen as some sort of weirdo. Ah the pleasures of
listening about 1970’s New York with artists and former hippies will never
cease. Add in the occasional story of meeting Lou Reed and all is right.
Funk music with the occasional disco aside kills with all
crowds. Everybody loves dancing to the hits of the 80’s. “Bad and Boujee” on
the other hand is a song meant for a very specific generation.
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