So a friend of mine - Sugar Nate, but Sug to his friends - is back in town from Mexico for the holidays. When he and I used to hang, back in the day, we often dabbled in in the ancient Japanese art of Kara-O-Ke, so he decided to get a small group of us out and see what kind of antics we could get up to. We did all right for ourselves, considering it was three days before Christmas; the highlight of the night (for me, anyways) was when a complete stranger got up to dance with me when I sang "Kiss", and I don't mind saying that she was quite the looker.
To our dismay, however, behind our table sat a group of five stumblingly drunk boys, who were barely eighteen and out on the town looking for . . . I don't know what. Not the ladies, if their performances and attire had anything to say about it. However, no matter how much pain they may have caused my ears and musical heart, there is something to be said for the experience of a bleach-blonde indie-rock kid screaming out "It's Raining Men" at the top of his lungs.
I guess you just had to be there.