Monday, June 2, 2008
Memorial Day Weekend Update Part 4: Dancing It
It's Saturday night, the supposed "big night" for the Nevermore. This is their first Memorial Day, so no one knows quite what to expect.
As we walk in, we see that it looks much the same as it was the night before: a dimly lit bar, with a few tables off to the side, where people munching on bar food. It looks good to me, but then again, anything on a plate looks good to me.
The bar becomes more crowded and I wait to see what will happen when it's time to remove the tables to clear the dance floor. Will there be attitude from the woman who is still eating her fried calamari? Or will they simply take it from her?
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I go to the bar to pick up a couple of beers for Larry and I, and when I turn back to the dancefloor, all the tables are gone, as if lifted up by strings or dropped through trap doors. I'm actually disappointed to have missed it. I need to get out more.
The DJ booth seems to be nothing more than a darkened broom closet in the corner. It is so dark that I never actually see anyone in there. Could it be a ruse? Maybe they're just telling us there is a DJ there so that we don't know it's really just a laptop connected to the speakers hanging from the ceiling.
I secretly can't wait to get on the dancefloor. I wait to see where the music goes and discover that, sadly, it goes all over the place.
The music is a bizarre and annoying mix of 80's cliche songs and bad, bad dance music you've never heard of before. C&C Music Factory! How unexpected!
I wait for the electric slide to come on, because it's all very "wedding music," which is never a good thing.
I spot a familiar face and try to warn Larry, but it's too late. "Laaaaaarrrrrryyyyy!" I hear over the music. It is "Martin," a vile creature that Larry hates. Larry, trades insults with this hyena in pleated shorts.
LARRY: I thought you were dead.
CREATURE: That chair is red so the blood won't show.
I decide to ignore Martin, visualizing him being consumed by a ravenous pack of wolves. I turn my attention to the dancefloor.
Famous people are everywhere.
"Amy Fisher" wears a denim jacket, a short white skirt, and flip flops. The flip flops alone would make it justifiable homicide if I were to "accidentally" shove her into the french doors of the adjacent restaurant. Larry and I hope that Mary Jo Buttafuoco doesn't show while doing our best impersonations of her, while talking out of the sides of our mouths.
"Amy Fisher tried to kill me!"
"But I love my Joey!"
"Paula Abdul" wears a micro mini flared skirt, paired with blocky black heels and a very busy top. Paula likes to scream and gyrate while she dances. Her attempt to "sex it up" comes via pouty lips and a scrunched up face. Paula can also do deep squats that bring to mind "going in the woods." When "Thriller" comes on, Paula screams so loud that she can be heard over the music - from the other side of the room. I might kill Paula if she weren't such good material.
"Mary Jo Buttafuoco" has shown up after all. She has dyed her hair red, and wears teal from head to toe, including her eye makeup.
I wonder if I'm ever going to get so old that I start to clap along to the music from the couch, like the man sitting next to me.
After four beers, I hear a familiar song start to play. It is a remix of Hung Up, and the only decent song to play all night.
"Finally, they play something good!" I scream into Larry's ear.
"Then go dance!" slurs Larry.
I get up and dance, trying not to fall into Elaine territory, but still have a good time.
Just as I'm thinking of leaving the ever-thinning dancefloor, a group of people come in, fresh from a wedding. "Eminem" immediately heads for the dancefloor and begins to strip. He takes off his tie and throws it on the floor. He peels off his burgundy jacket and throws that to the floor as well. I can imagine him waking up the next morning and wondering why it's covered in footprints and smells like beer.
Eminem's style of dance is a lot of pointing and spinning. I guess this is the preferred dance style if you'd like to get the attention of the entire resort.
I notice that a lot of the people at the bar seem to be looking in my general direction - and laughing. Paranoia sinks in, until I turn around to see that Amy Fisher is wasted. She is now hanging on to her boy friend (not boyfriend) and has lost the ability to pick up her feet, which now shuffle about lazily, threatening to slip out from under her and land her on her ass in the form of a painful split. When it looks like security is about to throw her out on her ass, her friends drag her out, one on each side of her. She hangs onto them for dear life.
We decide to leave, knowing that all the entertainment for tonight is officially over. Maybe tea dance will be better.