Monday, November 25, 2002

It was a short night

It was a short night at Happy Hour last week for ol’ Chuckles - two quick beers, a fistful of provocative conversations, and then time to bolt for the Music Hall where I will admit to getting myself deeply funky.  We scored the key seats (front row balcony right over the corner of the stage) and watched the place fill up and then explode in a rumbling, staggering conflagration of bootyshaking at the big-ticket conclusion of the SF Funk Fest: the Funk All Stars concert.  I can’t remember another show in which members of the performing troupe ran off stage, grabbed a joint, and ran back to toss it to the audience, where it was joyfully and promptly ignited and consumed.  I entered the fray with a disability, having the tiniest booty known to man - a bootini, so to speak.  But I shook what I had from when the opening band kicked off at 9 pm till the end of the encores at 1:50 am.  Maybe I’d have had more booty if it wasn’t shaking so much but there was nothing I could do about it.  As I sit here in my beige cubicle under neon lights listening to the occasional click of nearby computers and the muttering of colleagues strolling around, I think back to the depth and thickness of the funk that rocked my pale person and I can almost smell the carpet burning… good times....