inspired by birds
Nothing like dancing on a bar top to keep you young. Unless, of course, you're super drunk and even the gentle Christmas lights strung throughout the bar can't hide your crow's feet and you yell out, "Oh my god, you guys, I'm so crazy!" and what everyone hears is, "Oh my god, you guys, I'm trying desperately to hang onto my obviously fading youth!"
I didn't yell on Friday night, but I did--for the first and possibly last time ever--climb on top a bar and, well, actually I hula-hooped. Apparently it's what they do at Birds if you stay past 10:30 p.m. Who knew?
We had a great time watching the absurdly comedic, semi-improvised Glass Beef Musical at UCB (and sneaking peeks at Natalie Portman, who was in the audience), then we headed next door for a few Citron martinis and the next thing I knew, Alberto was pushing me toward the bar. I would be lying if I said he had to push hard.
Soon it was clear that it was all part of Alberto's plan to get on the bar himself and prove that straight boys can move their hips. It was good he went second, because he would have been a tough act to follow.
Unfortunately none of it was captured on film, so for all you know this is a belated April Fool's joke. (Also not seen here: the zillion hours of family videos my dad painstakingly copied to DVD for my sister and I, a project that has taken most of the first two years of his retirement, but which I'm too lazy to figure out how to format for YouTube--not that I'd make anyone watch a zillion hours, but there are a few choice minutes that are very "Kittens, inspired by Kittens!" which I'd like to share in the spirit of self-humiliation.)
But here's what the rest of the evening looked like.
I didn't yell on Friday night, but I did--for the first and possibly last time ever--climb on top a bar and, well, actually I hula-hooped. Apparently it's what they do at Birds if you stay past 10:30 p.m. Who knew?
We had a great time watching the absurdly comedic, semi-improvised Glass Beef Musical at UCB (and sneaking peeks at Natalie Portman, who was in the audience), then we headed next door for a few Citron martinis and the next thing I knew, Alberto was pushing me toward the bar. I would be lying if I said he had to push hard.
Soon it was clear that it was all part of Alberto's plan to get on the bar himself and prove that straight boys can move their hips. It was good he went second, because he would have been a tough act to follow.
Unfortunately none of it was captured on film, so for all you know this is a belated April Fool's joke. (Also not seen here: the zillion hours of family videos my dad painstakingly copied to DVD for my sister and I, a project that has taken most of the first two years of his retirement, but which I'm too lazy to figure out how to format for YouTube--not that I'd make anyone watch a zillion hours, but there are a few choice minutes that are very "Kittens, inspired by Kittens!" which I'd like to share in the spirit of self-humiliation.)
But here's what the rest of the evening looked like.
Comments
And hula-hooping atop bars: dig it.
Christine: I kind of like "Yay lame!" as an embrace-your-uncool-side mantra.
Claire: Every year should have a little shininess in it. Even though I think 32 is going to be more shag-carpet, texture-wise.
Yeah, I think there will be more Citron martinis in my future too.