While in Baton Rouge, I went dancing with my best friend, something both of us love and neither of us have done in a long, long time. Upon finding out that I live in New Orleans, my most persistent dance partner remarked, “And you come party in Baton Rouge?!?” I understand his incredulity, having lived in BR for seven years. But the party is about the people, not the place. And my best friend is my favorite person to party with whether the party’s at her place and involves boardgames, whether it’s at a coffeeshop or whether it’s out on a sweaty dance floor.
It’s been soooo long since I’ve gotten good and sweaty on a dance floor. At the end of the night, my chest tight from other people’s cigarette smoke, my legs sore, my hair soaked through, I wondered how it’s possible to let go of such a necessary thing. Long monogamous relationships and new cities aside, how did I ever fool myself into thinking I was too grown-up for things like this?
Oh yes, it might’ve been all the 19 year olds or the drunk zombies who wanted to dance with us. Or the fact that when a dance partner I liked found me, he was finally age appropriate but liked to tease me because I couldn’t name the artists of the songs we were dancing to. How do you explain anything on the dance floor? Let alone that for every activity and mood of my life, there is a kind of music, a song, a musician. And the *only* time in my life I like rap and hip hop or barely tolerate electronic is when I’m dancing. Just like I only want classical when I’m writing or focusing on something. And there are only like 3 songs from musicals on my playlist, though I absolutely ADORE musicals. There is a limited, limited amount of rap and hip hop in my playlist and what’s there has been vetted by good friends or physically installed by someone else (example: Flight of the Concords was introduced to my playlist by somebody or other checking out my iTunes and immediately making me 2 cds – Patty Griffin, Emmylou Harris and Flight of the Concords, I think he’s a bit schizo).
So my taste is extremely eclectic, but I generally don’t remember the name of musicians unless I fall in love with the music and take the time to find out a bit about them. Or I play them endlessly. I do like stories behind the songs, but there’s so much music in the world to listen to and only a few musicians can have my heart.
And that, guy on the dance floor, is my explanation for why I didn’t know the artists’ names, though you chose to believe it’s because I’m too young to remember the old-school stuff. It was a bit refreshing, though, to be teased for being too young, after dissuading 19 year olds and drunk zombies all night.
Coolness in the form of a website: something to feed my addition for new (to me) music. Cassette from My Ex, a website that has a story behind relationship-based mixed tapes AND includes the playlist and music for the tapes. I’m a happy, happy girl after that find.
To finish up, on another note, I think I should buy a lottery ticket today cause it’s getting kinda eerie how things that I have a feeling will happen keep happening. It’d be nice if it paid off in a pleasant way.