June 25, 2012
The last time we had a dance party a neighbor was so pissed about the loud music and late hour that he trampled the garden beds in the backyard. I assumed dance parties were permanently on hold. But not long ago we received a knock on the door and the same neighbor happily informed us he was moving to Thailand and we were free to party on. And also, did we have some moving boxes he could use?
And so we got back on schedule. Three or four dance parties a year, one at the beginning of the summer (last Friday night), one for Sarah’s Bday in August, and a couple in the winter- Halloween or New Years or Reggae Xmas.
This. One. Was. Awesome. This was a proper dance party, meaning people were here to dance and that’s about it. The music was so fucking good (Thank you DJ JEN O, DJ KM FIZZY and DJ SNAKKS!) and that kept people from… getting too drunk or breaking stuff or sneaking into our rooms to make-out or doing drugs in the bathroom. There just wasn’t enough time between killer jams. While cleaning up the next day I kept finding whole, cracked beers, left in a fit of “I love this song” mad dash back to the dance floor. Because no amount of beer, or food, or sex or anything other vice, feels as good as dancing.
You have to dance to remember that.