I know what you're thinking: Not another
"Hasen's gay bar adventures" post. Well, what did you expect? Huh? Another boring lecture about air pollution? Or maybe more b-ball action? Well, too bad. It's gay bar story time. If you don't like it, go read this blog instead:
http://katielovie.blogspot.com. Still here? Ok, let's get started. Once again I was invited to the gay bar. This time it was to the Trapp Door to watch Miss Gay Utah relinquish her crown. The night consisted of different drag queens going up on stage, dressed like the girl from katielovie.blogspot.com, and lip-syncing to songs like
Strangers in the Night and some gay-oriented parody of
Barbie Girl. The set ended with Miss Gay Utah getting up and knocking the crowd out with some well-choreographed dance to a european-sounding song with a beat that would make Dick Cheney want to dance. If he wasn't a robot. An evil robot dressed in the skin of some poor human farmer that he murdered just to "get in his pants" (that isn't a sex joke, it's a robot crawling into a dead human's skin joke).
After the show, staff cleared the tables and chairs and an enjoyable night at the theater soon became a thrashing throbbing dance-a-thonic supersonic beat-bustin' melee of night children dancing to survive. Bodies spun and leapt, sweat rained from every direction, people yelped as they thrust their bodies into Michael Jackson moves that would have impressed even the King of Pop himself (for those of you born after 1991, MJ is the King of Pop, not Bono--while I'm in parenthesis, if any of you have had enough, you are welcome to visit this blog instead:
http://luhmanfamily.blogspot.com, or this one: http://hardwaredelpc.blogspot.com/). I must say, it's been years since I was so infected with the dance dengue fever. I lost myself. Soul left body and I became the music, the energy, the sweat. Gender took a back seat to passion and everyone was immediately beautiful--dancing because they didn't know what else to do, didn't know if there was anything else. In that moment, dancing became breathing became life.
That's when my pants split. Yup, wiiiiiiide open. My legs were spread wide--someone had just finished diving under them and disappearing into the pulsating crowd--and I lunged down to slap the ground with both hands. As I came up, I thrust my derriere straight back, intending to follow with my upper body in a slithery motion. In that instant of perfect fluid motion--I'm telling you, I was like hot water--I felt, and heard, the seat of my pants totally tear from tippety top to buttocksy bottom. It felt as if the record player came to a screeching halt. I stood straight up, wide-eyed, drop-jawed, no longer a mass of flowing liquid energy twisting through the crowd like a ribbon, but now a rigid tinman with unbending knees or elbows, terrified and confused, reeling in shock. As I froze, the room spun around me. Eternities passed in a second. And then, from somewhere deep within my unmoving corpse, came a voice. I could barely hear it the first time, didn't understand what it said. But then it got louder: "Dance" it told me. I couldn't move. "Dance" it said again, this time bolder. I was still frozen. But then something happened. Deep in my stomach I felt something churning--like an ocean in turmoil. Its intense warmth began to spread up into my chest, and down into my loins. Then it filled my throat, my shoulders, my thighs. In one final surge the ocean of energy filled my entire body and the voice screamed a third time: "DANCE!" I instantly exploded into a hurricane of flame and ecstacy, shaking it like it has never been shook before. I became a sudden Lord of the Dance, a moving work of art, a celestial body unconfined by lesser laws of physics. And I danced.
I'd like to take a moment for some shameless self-promotion. I write for a new Utah news publication called The Regal Seagull. It focuses on Utah-related culture, events, and politics. If you care about me or about orphans who have had to fight through life the hard way, pulling themselves up by their own bootstraps (bootstrap bootstrap), battling hunger, hatred, and loneliness, then you will please take a quick second to jump over to RegalSeagull.com and check it out. As I write this, the site isn't completely finished, but it's functional enough to navigate, and it doesn't look half bad.
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