No Friday Funnies today. I'm too tired and hung over. In a veritable explosion of social activity, I've attended two Christmas parties this week, and I'm set for K.B.'s birthday party tonight. That's three events in five days, a lot for a hermit like me. Put that together with some half-assed Christmas shopping (which is still not done) and intense Christmas card writing (did you receive yours? No? That's cuz I haven't mailed it yet), a dental checkup, and a thorn-in-my-ass Second Circuit appellate brief that's been the bane of my existence for a month, and I am seriously running on fumes right now. I could sleep through New Year's without even trying.
It's been fun though. Last night's firm holiday party was the best one I've been to in years. Good company, free booze, and lots o' dancin'. The really sweaty kind. Particularly in my case. Rather than go with an all-covering t-shirt, I made the mistake of wearing a tanktop underneath my dress shirt and tie. That would have been fine if all I was going to do was sit on my ass and drink. But that's not what I did. No, you see, after a few drinks, I tend to get the Boogie Fever if there's some good music playing. And by "good" I mean recognizable 80s or disco music, or a rap song that I know (there aren't many).
The band last night was pretty good, so I actually made it out onto the dance floor without any prompting. I took my jacket off and sashayed down to where my friends and colleagues were doing what I call the "dancing dodgeball circle." Remember dodgeball in grade school? Everyone in the class stands in a circle and tries to peg with malice aforethought the unlucky miscreant standing in the middle, who in turn, is engaging in the five D's of Dodgeball: dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge. Ahhh, the sweet Zang! of rubber 4-square ball hitting skull! Good times.
I digress. The dancing dodgeball circle parrots the original, and it's a beautiful thing. For one, it's social. You have a full view of everyone dancing with you, and you're all in it together. The feeling of synergistic unity is palpable. The dancing dodgeball circle is also versatile. You don't have to stay where you are. You can move around and dance with others. It's allowed. You can even turn yourself around and briefly engage a person outside the circle if you like. But ultimately, you have to come back and keep the circle intact. You can't break the circle. That's a cardinal sin and grounds for immediate shunning.
By far, the best part of the dancing dodgeball circle is the opportunity it affords each member of the circle to showcase his or her unique dancing talents. It all begins by an inspired step INTO the circle. Maybe a lyric moved you. Maybe you've hit that special drunken "I don't give a shit" zone. Maybe you've been pulled in by someone else in that zone. Whatever. Upon entering the circle, the solo dancer engages in a personalized shifting of feet and waving of hands, while the people surrounding him or her clap or shout in encouragement. My personal specialty is The Running Man, which involves pantomiming the movements of a runner. Not a sprinter, mind you. That would look stupid. This one's a slower, more deliberate move, like that of a marathon runner. The key is to have this quizzical look on your face, like you know you're jogging in place, but you don't know exactly why, or where you're supposed to be going.
I don't want to brag, but I fucking nail it. Every time.
Anywho, last night I got a little too exuberant with The Running Man, and his demented cousin, Pseudo-Charleston Charlie. As previously mentioned, I wore a tanktop under my shirt, not the usual t-shirt. After 45 minutes on the dance floor, I was a sweaty mess. It was bad. But the pathetic part is, I couldn't see how bad it was because (a) I was drunk, and (b) there were a lot of multicolored lights spinning around which disoriented me. In fact, I couldn't tell how damp I'd become until some friends forwarded pictures from the party, and I took a look at my sorry, sweaty self. It's hilarious. In almost every picture, I have two wet patches, one on each shoulder. They look like epaullettes from Aquaman's Army. And because I chose to keep my tie on for some reason, my whole collar is ringed with sweat. In a couple of pictures, I look like I tried to hang myself in the bathroom. Lovely.
My personal foibles aside, it was good fun to see people cut loose outside of work. You don't get a full sense of a person in an office context. For the most part, everyone's focused on work and doing a good job. When you take people out of that arena, you see another side of them as people. It fills in the gaps, which is nice.
But now I really need a nap.
