I’ve been having, or may still be in, one of those long periods where I can’t work up the ambition to write. I suppose it could be the result of a number of things; hours of deck staining (finally), working late a few days, and increased gym attendance (well… sort of... not really). The single greatest motivation to be writing now is to not let my blog become stagnant (assuming most of you haven’t already given up hoping for updates).

Highlights of the past two weeks include:

I went to an Asian restaurant with some other people for a friend’s birthday celebration. Even though the atmosphere of the place needed plenty of work, the food was great.

To be honest, I’m not entirely certain what it was that I ordered. First of all, I can’t properly recall the name. Moo Poo Chow Mein, Gai Poo Lo Mein… There was definitely “Poo,” in it somewhere. Don’t get me wrong, it was great tasting, but it had a name that, even a few years ago, I would have read and said, “Huh huh… This says ‘Poo’.”

Other items on the menu were equally ambiguous. That seems to be characteristic of proper Asian food places; they like to use words like “Ancient,” or “Mysterious,” instead of, like, naming ingredients. In describing the breaded shrimp, they even said it was smothered in “Romantic Sauce.” I kid you not. Maybe it’s just my American Skepticism, but I’d feel safer avoiding the “Romantic Sauce.”

The most notable items on the menu were, of course, the drinks. The regulars were present, Rum and Coke, Mai Tai, Bombay Sling. The more exotic drinks were matched with more appropriate names; The Zombie, Dr. Funk, Suffering Bastard. Being ignorant of the ancient Asian method of mixing a drink using 97% alcohol and 3% juice, I decided to be adventurous and ordered a Zombie... I think it was a Zombie, my memory of it is a little fuzzy. It may have been called a "Kick Jon In the Face."

By the end of the evening, my glass of… Zombie, was half empty (or half full, depending on what kind of person you are) and my head was buzzing quite a bit. I had the foresight to stop right there and not drink any more, seeing as how I had to drive home. Had I not been driving, I might have finished the whole glass and discovered the next morning why they called it “The Zombie.” I felt a little bit of it when I woke up; that acidic burning and queasiness that makes you stumble around, groaning like the undead. I had dodged the bullet that time.

I have respect for the courage of the birthday boy, who ordered the “Suffering Bastard,” which was served in an evil tiki mug that looked like it wanted you dead. I would guess that he has more of a drinking threshold than I do, but halfway into his “Suffering Bastard,” he was fully cocked. He’s not the kind of guy to act that way just for show; at least, I don’t think he is, so I think it’s safe to say that Suffering Bastard was some strong shit. He managed to finish the drink, which I think was a feat worthy of a prize… like the demonic cup it came in, but there was no such fanfare.

All things considered, it was a good time.

And speaking of good times, the next day, I saw Grease… oh, sorry… GREASE! (Copyright law states that I need to use appropriate exclamation).

G’s fiancée was in the stage production of the show being held in the park. It was a three night affair over the weekend, and G and I caught the Sunday show. Thought the weather looked threatening, it managed not to rain until the second to last song, when Sandra D. came out dressed in the form fitting black outfit which, depending on the actress playing the part, was created by God himself. Even then, the rain was short and it moved few, if any people from their seats.

Of course, the fun began before the show with a demonstration of various dance maneuvers by students of a local dance studio. At the end of their demonstration they invited audience members up front to try some dancing of their own. When not a single audience member volunteered, they began the draft. G and I had made the mistake of placing our lawn chairs near the center isle; a very visible spot. When the dancers came off stage to abduct audience members, one dancer zeroed in on me like a guided missile. She took me by the hand and we went up front where we began initiating “The Twist.” She was an attractive lady, much older than me, but a seasoned dancer, and she had me dancing in no time. Granted, there isn’t much to “The Twist.” You twist… that’s about it. My instructor left to draft more dancers, and I continued “The Twist,” in front of an audience which, after the show had started, would be counted as nearly 1,000 people.

I laughed and pointed a vengeful finger at G, who also laughed, and took multiple pictures of me using his cell phone. My laughing and pointing got him in trouble when my “dance instructor” recruited him up front as well.

I can’t really say I loved it, but I wasn’t ashamed. I guess I’m just used to making an ass of myself.

Of course, after we had taken our seats, they did the same thing again, but this time with a more complicated dance. A different dancer dragged me from my seat this time. What the hell?! Was there a fucking sign on my back?! I couldn’t protest; what would I say?

“Damnit, I came here to see “Grease!” without feeling the beat or getting funky. I fully intended to watch this production without any toe tapping or otherwise having a good time. Let go of my hand.”

We engaged in a group dance called the “Wander,” or the “Traveler,” or some name that implied movement that I could not master. I kept seeing myself as Steve Martin in “The Jerk,” born without a sense of rhythm, trying to clap his hands to the beat with disastrous and comedic results.

Eventually the show started or, as I like to call it, “The Time When The Dancers Started Leaving Me The Hell Alone.”

I can’t say I was ever a fan of “Grease!”, but seeing it performed live on stage was entertaining enough in itself. All told, I enjoyed the whole thing. The acting was fine and the singing was amazing. Everyone handled their own part beautifully, but what surprised me was how professionally the ensemble sang together in the full-cast bits. Not that I was expecting amateur hour, but I think “Grease!” was this particular company’s first performance, and yet the seemed like old pros together.

Of course, what do I know about theater? The only live performances I’ve seen have involved a mosh pit. (Which I always watch from the back of the venue).

They certainly deserved the wild success they saw that weekend in attendance and critical reviews. My hat’s off to them.

So those are the highlights, otherwise it’s been work and play as usual.

See you back here soon... I promise.