I’m in the middle of a project so no time to post the rest of Devil vs. God, but in the in between time, here’s another story from my hooping life.
I had a long (but fun!) Friday night that started with minor panic attacks and ended with me eating donuts and dancing to house music!
My memories of Saturday contain snippets of me groaning about lost sleep, breakfast, fretting over an outfit, bad time management, and cursing myself for not eating enough food Friday night to counteract the gin & tonics.
But despite my moaning, I managed to get myself out of bed long enough to find an outfit to wear and go to my friend’s housewarming party (the source of my bad time management gripe) before heading to Prohibition Underground, a speakeasy-themed party on the right side of the Bay.
I get there with my hoop over my shoulder and see a good amount of people roaming outside the door: smoking cigs, waiting for the potties, grabbing some air, etc. Also outside the door is a *cough* friendly *cough* door person who says, “It’s so crowded in there, you’ll never be able to hoop.” I “cough” because that isn’t really a friendly or helpful thing to say at all! (maybe I’m overly sensitive)
Let me explain, I bring my hoop knowing that if there is room–I will hoop. I don’t go to a party thinking, “I’m so damn special the crowds should clear for me and my hoop.” I feel like, unless you are being paid or asked to do that, you’re just being a douche. It’s like those kids who used to clear the floor to do a breakdance battle. There is a time for making some room, like when it adds the experience of the party and/or when you can perform and have a reasonable expectation that you won’t hit anyone and a time for not making room.
In the receiving room are lines of people waiting to pay for a ticket or find their name on the ticket list. There’s a slight feeling of craziness as I watch one person trying to make sure all the people he came with are paid for, one girl is swearing she’s on the list, other people are trying to get out to smoke, others are trying to get back in. Oh, and by the way, there’s this thumping OONTZ OONTZ bassline that is making parts of the building shake which also makes it a requirement to communicate with a raised voice.
I walk into the first room. It’s filled with a louder OONTZ, a poi performer on a small stage, and kids bouncing along to the OONTZ happily: with pacifiers. Yes—pacifiers. The kidz had pacifiers, candy bracelets, and one even had fairy wings. And I could tell these people were doing it earnestly, not sarcastically or in a bid to capture an older idealized form of self; a phenomenon that happens to to some people as they age. These ones still had that young “I only need one vowel to get high” look.
I can’t remember the last party I went to where I had to make space on the dancefloor for person plus fairy wings. But when it comes down to it, I prefer candy ravers coming back in vogue then let’s say, the goth emo ravers from awhile back. What did someone say? “This depression is the best ever.”
More to come later.
xoxo – qc
1/7 — read the next part