Land Of 1000 Dances

 I love the nightlife. I love to boogie. 

Or rather, I used to. There was a period in my life, now so long ago, that I would head out most weekends to shake my booty on the disco dance floor. A good deal of this behavior can be traced directly to my consumption of alcohol. Which was considerable. As was my interest in twisting and shouting amid throngs of other like-minded individuals. 

When it became clear to me that the obvious solution to the problem of asking girls to dance, only to be politely turned down (or not), I started to build up my courage to follow Billy Idol's advice and dance by myself. This put a pretty solid kink in the program that others had set for themselves in regard to the mating ritual. Friends of mine were in target acquisition mode from the time we arrived at the bar and paid our cover. They were looking for someone who might say "yes" to more than a turn on the floor to "Rock Lobster." 

Not me. I was looking for open space. I was going to have the fun I paid for at the door, and I did not require assistance. No assistance other than keeping the beer flowing and the music loud. It was somewhere during this time that I acquired a reputation for being "a good dancer." A great deal of this was earned primarily by letting my inhibitions drop to the level at which I felt comfortable moving about, alternately channeling Elwood Blues and David Byrne. This had the amusing effect of having women flock to me because I was "so fun to dance with."

And there's your irony. I had checked the apathy box, which was exactly what made me so very interesting. Not that this ended my evenings in any sort of coupling. Quite the contrary. By the time all those pitchers of beer had done their work, I was ready to be poured into the mail slot on the front door of my apartment and left to sleep off all that magic. 

By the time I chose to stop drinking, this behavior was deeply ingrained. Many was the night that I would find myself in some of those same nightspots, but instead of the watered-down beer that I had once consumed by the pitcher, I was now swilling just the water. Which saved me a lot of money. And considerable hangover. 

And every so often, when the moon sits in just the right position, and the music is just loud enough, and there's an empty spot on the dance floor, you can find me out there. Shaking my groove thing. With a few dozen of my closest friends.