Making Letters With Your Arms is Fun

Somewhere along the line, I came down with my first illness of any kind* in over two years – a cold – prior to the anniversary party. It was almost as if my body was preemptively rejecting the very notion of having to play the Hokey Pokey and the Chicken Dance and say cheesy things like “alright, let’s get everybody up and dancing.” Sadly, my mind knew I had to be there at my post. The body was offering the out but it was overruled by a misplaced sense of responsibility.

So with mucus descending my nasal passage, I ascended the deejay platform and performed, I must say, remarkably well. The musical transitions were seamless. Considering the vast majority of the crowd was 65+ years old, the dance floor was occupied (until, apparently, 9 PM curfew hit or a coordinated attack of hip dislocations struck). One poor misguided woman requested some Charlie Pride or something they could dance the “two step” too. Having no Charlie Pride or the faintest idea what a “two step” was, I mumbled something about ‘seeing what I could do’ and then proceeded to launch into some Flo Rida and Soulja Boy. Ten minutes later, the woman had left. Problem solved. Don't mess with DJ Nitmos.

As the evening progressed, the tone of the song requests became increasingly bizarre. A nine year old requested Cheap Trick’s “I Want You To Want Me” dedicated to her parents. A drunk in-law requested “Me So Horny” dedicated to his mother. I assume there was an inside joke there. I hope.** I was happy to oblige. You want to turn this bus to the insanely bizarre? I’ll do it and hit the accelerator cackling maniacally all the way.

I hit all the old favorites: “Celebration”, “Wild Thing”, “Brick House”, some country tunes, and some oldies for the Blue Hairs in attendance. And then, scanning my list of available songs, what did my wondering eyes stumble across? Why, of course, "Y.M.C.A." by the Village People! How can it be a party, nay, par-tay, without "Y.M.C.A"?

This rocked the joint. Arms going alphabet crazy over the heads. The faint odor of Ben-Gay wafting up to the deejay booth. Oh, what a party we had!

Good food. Good music. Great deejaying. No strokes. No heart attacks. Only one case of the funky cold medinas reported.

Post party, my cold started to subside. It couldn’t stop me so it surrendered. DJ Nitmos was in da howse and rocked it old school.

Literally.

*Besides my taco experience on the way to the Boston Marathon.
** We were in northern Michigan after all.
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Still battling the last vestiges of the cold, I decided to hit my 16 miler Sunday night and just see how far I could go. The good news is that the piss quality beer served at the party didn't seem to interfere with my long run. In fact, it probably helped me drop the 'e beforehand. Thanks Budweiser! Thanks for being more worthwhile going out than coming in!

16.0 miles
1:54:12 time
7:08 pace