The first thing I did after Daniel Nolan's excellent talk tonight was watch that Huckabees movie. It was okay -- the acting was good but the script was uneven and unfocused. It had some Being John Malkovich properties, but it wasn't nearly as good. After the movie we went to a bar, and then back to the department to eat post-talk leftover food and drink my hard liquor.
Then a few of us went to a crazy nightclub. While it was gay night, there were a fair number of straight girls. I hadn't danced in a long time, and pulled every trick I knew. I must be in pretty good shape, since I was keeping up the twisty-leg dance and the knee-walk for serious amounts of time. People were watching and enjoying, especially when I kneewalked forward and then sharply reversed direction. I was doing my best to amuse the ladies, and Howard told me that I was generating a large number of utils. Still, attempts to parlay dancing-induced amusement into something bigger (someone dancing with me? or talking with me? dare I hope?) failed. Goodness knows I tried.
By 1:45, I'd lost a lot of skin on my knees, my pants were a mess, and I was done with dancing by myself. I staggered back against a wall, exhausted and resigned. Two lesbians -- a blonde girl and a short Southeast Asian -- were passionately making out against the wall a few feet away. Some guy tried to join in, but they spun away in my direction. I stood an arm's length away, watching them do things I haven't done in 8 months. I watched for ten minutes before offering to hold their drinks. They declined, but kept going right there for five more minutes before leaving the bar.
There is some justice in the world. What one gives, in the economy of voyeuristic pleasure, is returned.
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