Tonight me and Holly are going to a local gay bar (read-for guys) where once a month they host a dance called Hot Flash for the older ladies. It's supposed to be for older ladies anyway but I sure see mostly young things. You can tell it's for older ladies because it's from 6-10 PM. Afterwards we collapse and are in bed by 10:30, if we last that long.
I dance by myself unless my honey shows up. I dance with Holly. The music last time was terrible, really terrible. I'm hoping for better music. Some old music like Michael Jackson and The Pointer Sisters and Tina Turner. How about the Stones? Who can go wrong with real singers, not the super electronicized bumble-mouthed people today? I can't even tell if they are singing. Producers do weird things to the voices so I guess if you have a hot body and you're pretty, you can be a star. Aretha had pipes. That woman could sing, o lawd she could. Who cared what she looked like.
And I must speak about the pole dancers who show up eventually. These are young ladies who aren't wearing much and they gyrate on raised platforms with their belly buttons showing. They have nice belly buttons and rounded asses. And they're 23 or something. I guess I'm not hip. But I'm way older than they are.
So I'll wear a loose shirt and some shoes that will let me slide around on the floor. Before it gets crowded, I'll be able to do my best interpretive dances to hopefully decent music. My 5 Rhythms practice has spoiled me. As Clark calls it, hippie dance church.
Worship of youth. Phooey. As long as I can stand up and wiggle my butt, I plan to dance. Among the young who are filled with longing and dissatisfaction. There will be a few other gray heads out there.
This is where Felix and I were yesterday.