Dancing

One of the fellows was asking one of the other fellows who was the best dancer last night, and he refused to answer. "But," he said, "it looked like Emily was having the best time."

I'd been in the mood to go dancing for months, and had been thwarted at every turn, but last night, at the spur of the moment, we managed to stuff a bunch of fellows in a huge suburban and show up at the Barbary. Of course, the Barbary had a little cover charge, and, since the fellows had just been at a piano bar with a cover charge, they didn't want to pay it. The bouncers suggested as an alternative the Barbary's 90s hip hop bar next door, which had DJ's and dancing (I, of course, didn't know much of the music, since I was homeschooled in the 90s, plus it's hard to dance to since it's slower, I think).

I have never seen a place like this before. One of the walls was a mural of the Last Supper; another was a rich red wallpaper that could have come from a palace in Vienna.

The DJ's were the cutest. Well, the one on the right was the cutest. He had a blue and white cardigan which he took off and put on every five minutes. The same with his uber-hipster neon fake Ray Bans. His hair was red and tall--it's hard to explain, but it looked like the plastic Bart Simpson that was spinning on top of the records. Not only was there a plastic Bart Simpson spinning, but there was also bear with hair all over it in tie-dyed baseball cap spinning. The DJ at one point put a bear hat with his face coming out the mouth like the man wearing the actual bear in True Grit.

Have I mentioned that the place was loaded with hipsters? I mean, I've never seen that many fedoras and cardigans in one place, especially not at a place where people were dancing. It was so funny because all the hipsters looked bored (typical hipster expression). But dancing is not a thing that you're supposed to be bored while you're doing it. You're supposed to be into it; it's one of those things that requires absorption, as Hegel would say.


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