Shock of Pleasure

DC, says:

No one really wanted to hear about the preceding 12 days. I know, better to have too much than not enough work.

So, when I looked forward to the 16th as my first evening without responsibilities in a while I asked myself what to do. The mind numbing effects of the previous time block were immediately apparent in making the decision. I didn’t have the energy for anything 140 bpm+. I was all ready reading another depressing WWI novel so I was not prepared for starting a major undertaking like doing À l'ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs while dressed up like a police officer. My girl was out of town so my usual dining expeditions were going to be pretty dull. Initiating another social circle event appeared too complicated. As well, there was still the overwhelming fast approaching deadline.

The criteria were set. I needed something out of headquarters, low key yet inspiring, with enough light that I could write. I decided that I had enough screen time and was going to break out the gold leaf book and write in cursive. True enough, it would need to be transcribed later, but I still enjoy pen to paper. Since the current project is probably going to be career altering in some way I still needed to put some more time on it.

Since deciding which conditioner to use seemed complicated, I needed help. I mean, we have like six. Whatever, in this situation I turned to www.pegasusnews.com and searched for events. Well, what do you know? Shock of Pleasure or is it The Shock of Pleasure? Oh determiners you’re always just around the corner. Since I had missed this band last year at the Bitter:Sweet show, I thought this would be perfect. I could have a lemon drop, enjoy some downtempo and work on the manifesto a little. I picked out my tortoiseshell glasses and hoped I wouldn’t be bothered much.

Having never actually been to the bar at the Mansion, I wasn’t sure what to expect. The valet seemed nice enough and I was hopeful that if he could park some of these other cars that he’d avoid stripping the clutch too badly.

Inside, the deep red and mahogany tones were just what you would expect. The set up was a little odd for a live band, but I suppose there actually was a small stage area. Some technically competent, but otherwise terrible lounge style band was canoodling through some standards. Nervously hoping this was an opening act, I took a small table and settled in with a pleasant cocktail.

Now, the scene here was really something to see. I wondered if those ladies in the middle spent all their money on collagen lip injections and then couldn’t afford to get their hair done all the way to the roots. It also seemed apparent to me that the short skirt girls didn’t think this place was really as baller as bottle service at Wish and those guys were about to get ditched at the next bathroom trip. I also checked the hotel directory to see if there was an orthopedic surgeon on staff here because it looked like about half the crowd could go for a hip arthroplasty at the break. (There’s not, but the staff can get you one.) There were guys in tuxes slow dancing with leathery women like they were at a fictional prom. There were other people ooga booga caveman dancing around to who knows what. I was shocked to know they still made pants with those many pleats in them!

I realize I aspire to be both old and wealthy at some time. Since I may only achieve one I also realize that I am just as likely as anyone else to have some progressive neurologic disorder but still want to go shake it at some hotel bar to “Mack the Knife” or whatever. As a result, I declared the bar at the Mansion so completely totally not cool that it actually is cool. It’s hip, too. Mostly hip fracture.

People ask me why I like downtempo. Maybe it was from spending parts of my youth in the foam pits of raver chillout rooms spraying OFF at those guys when they would try to spin their twirly light sticks in my face. Maybe it was from the time hanging out with that girl from Portsmouth and that guy who was named after some kind of animal listening to all that depressing Bristol trip hop. Maybe I need some sort of balance in my apparently hypomanic episodes.

Still, the music was continuing in the terrible genre. I also determined that there was really no practical way that this bunch could take down and then have The (?) Shock of Pleasure set up, check and get in to a set before 95% of the audience was taking their bedtime Ambien, Scotch and Senokot combination.

Confirmed. No Shock of The Pleasure this evening. No.

I wish just once the damned valet could put the seat back the way I had it.