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28 September 1998 |
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I have a gaping hole in my foot where a blister used to be. That piece of personal real estate's tenure as a blister was apparently short-lived; by the time it was discovered, the top was off already. I need new shoes if I'm gonna do much more dancing. I refuse to say where I got these particular blue canvas thick soled shoes, and it didn't really matter, as they were incredibly comfortable. "Were" is the operative word. Add to the list new pants and a tank top that's a bit thicker than my trademark A-shirt. I was a fashion disaster in narrow-legged jeans. The T-shirt was fine, but I took it off when it got hot. Might as well have been nude. Necessitated a trip to the restroom to switch the shirts around. It was a party I'd got word of via GRID, the Global Rave Information Database. It's a weekly party, apparently, called "Deep" held every Saturday night at DuPont Circle in DC. The sis and I got there a bit early, as the website quotes a start time an hour and a half earlier than the actual. This proved to our advantage as we escaped both ID check and cover charge as a result. In return for restroom info, I bought a Jack and coke that proved to be five times more Jack than coke. I sipped this tentatively and we both smoked as the bartender and some lovely friends discussed the well-worn Bill and Monica situation. It was bawdy talk and pretty entertaining. I'm not above participating in that kinda thing. Eventually some people began to arrive and someone set up a register by the door, so we discreetly moved into the dance area and picked out a nice edge-ish spot. The music was hopping. The crowd was not. It took well over an hour and a half to get some kind of moving thing going on the floor, despite the pioneering efforts of a few individuals, including myself. The most impressive of these was a guy in enormous jeans and an orange T-shirt, a very tall very thin redheaded freckle-faced boy who moved fluidly every limb, making the most of the lights in his hands. Once the floor began to fill, the sis got up and danced some, too. She's good, I was impressed. We each rebuffed our share of would-be seducers (ahem-lame-hem) and at one point a water bottle filled with what tasted like rubbing alcohol went around. I took too big a draught of that, but was able to contain my coughing and sputtering until after the benefactor had moved on. I danced a lot. A whole lot. Here, two days later, I feel I may never walk properly again. I'm terribly out of shape. My buzz was diminished sufficiently by the time we left, and the night walk with the freshening breeze only helped that along. Connecticut Avenue is a bit twisty heading back north, so it was tricky getting and staying on it, but the sis' navigation skills got us over that and it was smooth sailing all the way home. Yesterday's adventure was another gathering with the Daveworld DC outpost. This time one of our friends who had not been able to make it to previous meetings was there, which was quite a treat. Being a pediatrician, Dr. E. is a bubbly guy, rather energetic and fun to talk to. We got there, a pizza joint in Bethesda, via Metro this time, from Greenbelt Station. Half the group was there when we arrived and then came Dr. E. Our last member was a bit late for having to pick up someone at the airport. We had worried that our vegan friend wouldn't have any options at that restaurant, but they had veggie tortilla wraps that turned out very suitable. Some of us had pizza of one kind or another, and the sis and I had appetizer samplers, which were so very generous that we still have leftovers. We all posed in front of the wind/water sculpture at the Bethesda Metro station before departing our various ways. The late Metro ride home, combined with a fight with the destined-to-be-ex-Huz, put us pretty late on the road, and very damned late getting back. Look at my ass. It's draggin. I owe the Huz a weekend, since we got out of turn a couple weekends ago, so it seems a midnight tour of the monuments is a good bet for next Saturday night. The kids are watching The Fifth Element on the TV and VCR the Huz gave us. I need a speaker with an RCA jack to plug into the VCR, though; the sound on the TV is broken beyond speaker replacement. This movie is very different when stripped of its remarkable music. Joy thinks I'm cool. She thinks I am so hip. Oh God, she couldn't be more wrong. We pitched a contest and advertising proposal at the marketing guy from Blades Board and Skate today. I think she got the idea that I was some kind of coolness interface between the guy and her, or something. The way I saw it, she was the business end, and I was the geek end. I was there to lend my expertise, such as it is, in the soda industry as complement to her marketing ideas. She thinks he was impressed by me. I really couldn't tell. She thinks she is so uncool. That isn't the case. She is very professional, in a modern and hip way; nothing to worry about there. We had a very productive meeting, gleaned a lot of insight and good intel. Now we can set some more realistic goals with respect to advertising and marketing within the realm of the skateboard scene, and the admirers and wanna-bes thereof. On the way back, we discovered that we mesh rather well. I am laid back and patient, a quality-of-lifer, whereas she is aggressive and ambitious person. In other words Joy = Type A, Spring = Type B. I find her impressive and amusing. So much is contradictory about her. In one instant she is such a strong feminist, and the next a princess. She keeps surprising me. --Spring
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