Random collection of anecdotes....now!
PFunk and I decided to step back in time last week and hit our old Wednesday night dance party. Before we were old enough to go to bars, some of us would go dancing every Wednesday at the same place, which specialized in the "alternative" dance music of the 90's. This year, they brought Wednesday night back with the same theme, perhaps to lure old people like us back, since their recent theme nights seemed to result only in shootings in the parking lot.
When we went back in the day, it was usually a cute mix of goth kids and raver kids which traded off the floor when Marilyn Manson led into Daft Punk. Of course, they would all be together by the end of the night when Lords of Acid came on, because songs that use the word "pussy" appeal to the broadest scope of teenage malcontents.
It's strange, but I guess I always must have thought that as soon as I moved into the business world, that "goth" as a style had just gone out. No one ever wears black lipstick to my office, and my favorite bars never have djarum smoke wafting around....so I must have assumed that scene was over.
But it was in full effect last week. We saw a kid that could not have been more Trent Reznor unless he's been buying Trent's DNA off eBay. And the slight tweak to the goth scene is that all the guys that do the long black trenchcoat- now look like they're going as Neo for Halloween and are desperately searching for the Matrix instead of ways to irriatate their parents.
Anyway- the club's attempt to pander to the goth scene is really the most ridiculous part of this story... On Wednesday, they stick a piece of white plastic with a black skull on it to the Busch Light tap and market it as "SKULL BEER." All of these kids dressed in black get to go up and order Skull Beer for a $1.25, but they're really swilling Busch Light- probably just like their father at home who "just doesn't get it." I was giggling about that all night. Or I was just giggling because I drank three Skull Beers....I mean, $1.25 is a good deal....
So, now I'm back in the soul-sucking city of Orlando again. I've been really busy at home, so I brought every magazine in the house with me to read on the plane. I get a ton of magazines, I just never make time to read them- and with my wedding coming up, I also had every wedding magazine in the world. Since my briefcase now weighed 100 pounds, I wanted to read them as fast as possible and start leaving them behind on planes for the truly bored. I tore through the wedding magazines, travel magazines, and money magazines; and then had nothing left but Fiance's Maxim. Which I bought him as a "gift" because I like it. When I used to read it, it didn't have quite as many bikini models in it, but it did still have a whole article on weird sandwiches, which is why I always liked it in the first place. But now that it has so many sexy, sexy pictures- I kind of felt weird trying to read it on a plane...next to a six year old girl and her mother. But it was the only magazine I had left, so I just kind of leaned over it after I noticed the mother staring at one of the Desperate Housewives with a disgusted look.
Last time I was here, I took a cab to my hotel, which cost approximately 1 million dollars, because it was twenty minutes away. Cabs here are disgustingly expensive. So I decided to do my company a favor and take the shuttle yesterday because it's significantly cheaper. They sell you a ticket over the internet, and put a time on it to trick you into thinking there will be a van available at that time. Instead, when you get there, a rude woman hands you one of those light-up pagers like you get when there's a wait at a restaurant, and tells you that the bus will get there in 40 minutes or less. Then she gestures to the concrete sidewalk and says, "Have a seat, we'll notify you when we're ready." So I sat on my suitcase and started reading my Maxim again. And of course, when the bus did show up, I got sat with a little boy. He was totally staring at every page, so I gave up and started answering email. I noticed he was staring at my Blackberry just as I was writing an email to Wink about how a little boy was reading everything in my lap. There really is just no concept of personal space when you're traveling. I guess because there is no personal space. I had to keep apologizing to the girl on my left, because every time my Blackberry went off it vibrated against her hip too. So I think at the end of the week, I'll just use the savings from the cab to rent a blimp to take me to the airport. I'll fill it with offensive materials and do cartwheels. Except that I already have my return shuttle ticket.
Since I always complain that Orlando has no soul, immediately after checking in, I went to Banana Republic to buy clothes. Sure, I have a Banana Republic at home, but this one is different. I was flipping through a rack of pants when the song playing changed to some sappy love song. I looked up briefly to notice two girls kissing. Now, that's fine, I don't care if two girls kiss...but then they starting seriously making out. And that's not really cool for anyone, because heavy tongue action just doesn't have a place by reduced price angora sweaters. But whatever, maybe it's "their song" or something. However, after 90 seconds of making out, I noticed that they both walked to different tables and started folding shirts- because they work there. Seriously, I worked at the mall all of my teenage years, and we never made out with each other when the store was open. Unless we were in the store room. And I know how those in-store music systems work- you're going to hear that song eight times a day. Do they make out every time they hear it? Is it like one of those theme restaurants, where the staff jumps on the bar and dances at certain times?
Oops. I forgot to wrap this all together, which should really be easy, but I'm hungry, and it will take me forever to find breakfast for less than a billion dollars here. So that's it. Enjoy your week. |
