(Is it my imagination or did I just spend half an hour of my life filling out the 'MTV Blue Book' for freelancers? I had the standard standardized test-taking anxiety as I penned in my info to get paid whenever the mood strikes the ViaCom gods and godlettes and shrews and shrewds and accounts payables.)
So after freelancing Saturday away, and shooting for the column, met up with members of Janet Reno Fanclub at a bistro-style Italian joint and then headed out with the willing to hit rock venues beyond, and worthy dance floors.
Second-last stop was a bar of dyke variety, Adva's special request, and after we all paid the nominal cover she circled the room, determined that nobody there was thrilling and was ready to leave only to find that Yours Truly + 3 were engaged in the act of freeform Dancing - in what was once the dining room of a stately Middling City mansion but what is sadly now decorated in the style best described as gay bar bunker.
So dance, dance, dance, then I said to Doug Let's jump on podium and go-go, baby, those two boring gay boys have hopped down. So up we hopped. Then, as the boys had been half-nekkid I whipped off my top to dance - en bra - and Doug removed his top. Adva fumbled with my camera bag to attempt some social documentation, NJP-style, and I laughed at her, mid-gyration, as she tried to shoot us sans flash. Then she got wise to the lighting situation and then fumbled to throw on the flash and, I am still astonished, got off two decent frames of us. None of which will be posted on epinw as 1. who in hell knows this html crap to make it happen and 2. your imagination is a powerful tool, so fucking use it, s'il te plait.
Tomorrow night is a gourmet buffet of events, first Ice-T at a local godly college then badasses The Donnas at the venerable punk club.
Off to deadline points beyond, catching up on things to clear the way for more mad fun, and go-go lifestyle fun.
My unabashed love.