We were just Staying Alive
For the last hour, I’ve been distracted. Musically. The gang on Glee decided to time warp, back to 1975. And I had experience.
To be fair, back in the mid 70’s, you had no choice. Disco may have sucked, but it did so everywhere. A night out at Jim’s, or a trip on the Showboat via the Tradewinds, it didn’t matter. The music was drawn from one corner of the record shop. All dance, all the time. There was no public headbanging; we were bumping. And yes, Virginia, polyester existed. It was affordable and machine washable. I won’t admit to wearing leisure suits, for the record.
Tonight, the cast put a lot of energy into their Bee Gees hommage. No, I didn’t need to get up and boogie. Past that age, ages ago. But the tunes were familiar. I’d been to the church, if not the altar. I’d danced on a floor with backlighting, and survived. My friends were all there (go ahead, buddies, admit it).
I don’t think I actually saw Saturday Night Fever, when it was in the local cinema, but the songs were playlisted. Everywhere. All the time. Some fads are like that.
We’re going to have to get a better dogline. The current skinny rope burns when it runs out. There should be a rule, or a plan, or a pair of heavy leather mitts for the moment when somebody brimgs their hormonal ticking timebomb along in front of the house. For now, there’s just pain. The kind that requires ice and ointment.
