Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Another 16 year old in tha mix

Vincent Says:
Don't you ever f***ing squeeze my tummy like that again!
I warned her about what would happen, I said don't do it. But she insisted. And I couldn't do anything to help the fact that I flatulated on her lap...

January 20th 2007
The scene of a young Noah's 16th birthday bashment. An event looked forward to by many as it would mark the coming of age of another young black youth and also a bitchin' excuse to just jam.
In the basement of a beautiful home on Quail Road there one would find a Dj, chips, pop, blacklights, an ample dancefloor and a gaggle of hormonal, pubescent, teenagers.
All of whom were ready to party. Actually, let me rephrase that. Some were ready to party, others were ready to attend a party. For the problem was in the fact that some young men and women felt a little inhibition. The kind of creeping, yanking, knotted feeling in the gut that arises when one thinks of awkward encounters on the dance floor. Unfortunately, said feeling was enough to keep a fraction of the party population sitting or standing, rather than getting their "freak on" so to speak.
Now regardless of the natural unavoidable fear of dancing in public, there are other factors worth mentioning.

Exhibit A: Noah's older sister Kayla Thompson and her posse are a force to be reckoned with when it comes to dancing, good enough to keep kids from my own school from dancing at my house, out of fear of being shown up. The only problem is that Kayla and company are not the kind of folks eager to embarrass people in public, unless of course you get up in their grills. Perhaps their dancing was enough to keep the less free spirited from jumping up and bringing their sexy back... Which is a crying shame.

Exhibit B: Some people have developed a dependency on drinking alcohol while doing anything out of their comfort zone. I call these people disappointments, though often not to their faces. The act of dancing is a therapeutic and funky experience and to limit yourself to dancing while drunk (or in your undies in the privacy of a locked bedroom) is just a waste of life.

I personally danced a considerable amount and made an effort to question and then yell at those who deliberately chose not to dance, only taking pity on Bent due to his tragic physical lack of rhythm he's had since birth. It's really unfortunate and he doesn't really like to talk about it. Although we did talk about other such things like the rise of gangster dancehall and who the cutest girl in the room was. To which I answered "***************************, of course."

Seriously! that's what it sounded like, you couldn't hear a thing down there. But whenever Bent went to blurt out his special girl the music would stop, 3 times in a row he almost revealed his secret love while the girl was standing only a couple feet a way. It was was a mighty close call.

As the party started to wind down we were left with the loyal few, who truly enjoyed themselves.
With the tragic loss of another kid's childhood we reminice on the good times. Namely by taking part in a party wide game of good ol' fashioned hide and seek.
It's the simple things that most cats feel too cool for these days that bring true joy. The moments that touch on your memories as you look through photos or wash your dishes or play an oldschool jam from 2007.
"That was a good year". I'll say to myself. But will you?


Bent said...

wo 2 posts in 1 day, is it christmas?